by Becki Willis
“Mrs. Gleason, I need to ask you some questions about your late husband.”
The sigh that slipped out was just short of resigned. “Yes, very well. What would you like to know?”
“Why had Ronny hired someone to work in the houses for him?”
“He was going on another one of those silly fishing trip.”
“He had gone before?”
“Yes, at least three or four times, just last year.”
Brash took out his notepad and started jotting down notes. “Did you ever go along?”
She gave him an incredulous look. “Do you have any idea what the salt air does to skin as delicate as mine? Of course I didn’t go.”
“Do you know who he went with?”
Ramona waved five long nails in the air, painted almost the same shade as the robe that steadily slipped from her shoulder. “One of his friends. Paul or Pete or Pedro, something like that.”
“Mrs. Gleason, would you mind if I took a look at Ronny’s cell phone again?”
“You can take the thing with you, if you like. We’ll get it later. It’s in the bedroom.”
Brash cleared his throat, as if willing the seductive tone out of her last words. He wasn’t about to step foot in that woman’s bedroom, not even for a signed confession from Ronny’s real killer; that room was probably home to countless of scandalous confessions-needing-made.
“You know, one thing strikes me as odd. Most growers I know stay close to the farm at the end of the flock, saying too many things can go wrong. Didn’t you find it odd that he was leaving for a week, just a couple of weeks before your sell date?”
“I don’t keep up with all the little details of the chickens.”
“Hmm. So what about Las Vegas? Did Ronny ever go out there?”
“We went last year, around our anniversary. We stayed in this fabulous suite, bigger than most houses in Naomi! There was even a baby grand piano and four fireplaces in it.”
“That must have cost a pretty penny.”
“Do you remember the piano scene from Pretty Woman?” Ramona asked out of nowhere. When the policeman answered in the affirmative, the bleached blond gave him a heavy-lidded look and purred throatily, “Ronny assured me it was worth every penny.” As she re-crossed her legs, he knew for a fact that blond was not her natural hair color.
“So you’re -uh- saying -uh- that Ronny only went to Vegas once last year?” It was difficult to concentrate, but Brash did the best he could.
“That’s right.”
“But he -uh- went fishing several times.”
“That is correct,” she cooed, taking victory in the tiny beads of sweat that dotted the Chief’s forehead.
“I’d like to ask you some questions about your finances, Mrs. Gleason.”
“Please, call me Ramona.”
“Did you and your husband have any financial problems, ma’am?” It took him a while, but Brash got back to business. It helped that he kept his eyes firmly glued to his little notebook. “From what I understand, growers get paid four times a year, is that correct? That must be tough, making ends stretch that far.”
“I wouldn’t know. I have my own account and monthly budget. Ronny took care of all the bills and paperwork.” From the sound of her voice, Brash guessed she was offering a brilliant smile, but he didn’t dare look up. “I just spend the money.”
“Would it be possible for me to take a look at his bank statements?”
“Why?” Her voice no longer sounded flirty. It sounded sharp.
“I heard Ronny didn’t always pay his bills in a timely manner. I heard he was particularly lax on making payments on his tractor and several sets of new tires. But that last fall he suddenly paid off most of his debts.”
“Again, I wouldn’t know.”
“That would be around the time you bought your new Tahoe. Do you happen to know if he financed your vehicle, or if he paid for it out right?”
“He wrote a check.”
“So do you know how he suddenly came into so much money?”
“Not a clue.” Her answers were short and acute.
“Did your husband have any life insurance policies that you know of?” This time, he looked up from his notebook.
Ramona Gleason sat up straighter on the sofa, for once not posing for the best angle. “Exactly what are you implying, Chief?”
“I’m not implying a thing. I’m asking if your husband had life insurance policies.”
“Yes, of course he did. We both have policies. It was a requirement from our bank when we bought the farm, in fact.”
It was time to do a little fishing. “I hear that a lot of the growers like to get together and attend cockfights. Do you know if Ronny ever went to any of them?”
The widow shrugged nonchalantly. “He was always disappearing to something. I don’t know if it was cockfights or card games, but he was gone at least two or three nights a week.”
“You never asked him?”
“We had an agreement. He didn’t ask me where I went or how I spent my allowance, I didn’t ask him where he went or how he spent the rest of the money.”
“Do you remember ever hearing your husband mention the name Clyde Underwood?” Clyde was a small-time bookie, known for running bets in the area.
“Not that I recall.”
“The Merriman brothers?” They played for slightly larger stakes.
“No.”
“What about Tom Haskell?”
“There was a Tom or Tim that called here sometimes. As I recall, he was a rather rude man.”
“I would imagine so.” Tom Haskell was currently a resident at the Huntsville State Prison, yet he still managed to run a profitable gambling ring from behind bars. Brash had heard his name whispered in connection with cockfighting, but there was no real proof that he was involved. Of course, there was also no real proof of the cock-fighting ring itself. But if Brash was a betting man, he thought the odds were pointing in favor of its existence.
“Would you mind getting me that cell phone, Mrs. Gleason? Then I can be on my way and let you get back to doing whatever you were doing.”
Ramona got slowly to her feet, bending just deep enough to give him another free shot. With swaying hips, she sauntered across the room. In spite of himself, Brash watched the fascinating swish of red plush fabric. When she reached the doorway, she stopped and turned back toward him. The robe had miraculously come untied, hanging open just enough for a full-body peek. “Like I said, it’s in the bedroom.”
The light that came into Brash’s dark eyes was not the one she had expected. The harsh glint reflected in his voice as he said evenly, “I’ll wait here while you get it, Mrs. Gleason.” He deliberately looked back down at his notebook, but not before he saw the fury that hardened her face.
With a huff, she flounced around and stomped noisily down the hall. When she returned a few minutes later with the phone, her robe was cinched tightly around her waist.
“Thank you, Mrs. Gleason. We’ll get this back to you as quickly as possible.”
“I have no need for it.”
Brash paused when he got to the front door. “I have just one more question for you. Do you know why anyone would want to kill Ronny?”
“I have no idea what went on inside that foreigner’s head.”
“I assume you mean Don Ngyen?”
“Of course. That’s who killed him, wasn’t it?”
“There was enough evidence for an arrest. But can you think of anyone else? Or what reason Mr. Ngyen might have had for wanting your husband dead?”
“The Ngyens wanted to buy our farm, even though we told them it wasn’t for sale. Maybe it was retaliation. Maybe Don Ngyen was a sore loser.”
“Maybe,” the Chief agreed. But his tone said he was skeptical.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dean Lewis finally called In a Pinch Temp Services for help. He confirmed that his wife knew nothing of the call, but that he was desperate; he needed someone to work in
his insurance office for at least three days and there was no one else to ask.
Driving her grandmother’s borrowed Buick, Madison stopped by the office the next afternoon and got a quick intro to the job. With contract and retainer check in hand, Madison sailed off to the school campus with lighter spirits. As she waited in line to pick up the twins, she made plans on how to best spend the money.
Nothing as fun as new clothes or something for the house, but it would cover the cell phones for another month. And there might even be enough to get her hair cut. Madison ran her fingers through the grown-out ends, trying to remember the last time she had it trimmed. Before Gray died, certainly. There had been no money for it since then, especially at her favorite Highland Park salon.
The front door of the car jerked open, interrupting Madison’s pity party. “Hey, Mom, my friend Megan wants to know if I can come over and spend the night.” Madison was as surprised by the term ‘my friend’ as she was by her daughter’s sudden appearance.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention a Megan,” Madison said with a slight frown. “Who are her parents? Does she come from a good family?”
Right or wrong, in all small Southern towns a person was judged by his or her family. Coming from a ‘good’ family made all the difference, even if the person in question was, in fact, questionable.
Bethani rolled her eyes. “Megan deCordova. Her Dad’s the Chief of Police. Surely that meets with even your standards.”
Bethani wanted to spend the night with Brash’s daughter? Even as she absorbed the unexpected news, Bethani was saying, “Here comes her Mom now. I told her you would want to talk to her before you would let me come.”
“Wait Beth, I -”
Whatever protests she would have made were drowned by a sudden squeal. “Maddy! Maddy Cessna, is that really you?”
Madison swung around in the driver’s seat and saw the woman and daughter duo approaching. The girl was a beauty, with long, straight locks the same dark russet shade as her father’s. She was dressed in jeans, turquoise cowboy boots, and plenty of bling. A pair of trendy glasses perched on her upturned nose, a trait she obviously took from her mother.
Beside her, looking even more beautiful than Madison remembered, was Shannon Wynn.
Brash married Shannon? her mind screamed. When had that happened? She vaguely recalled Genny saying he had come home from the pros to marry his pregnant girlfriend. Shannon Wynn got pregnant with Brash’s baby?
Apparently so, her mind reasoned, as her eyes bounced back and forth between the two. Except for the hair, the teenager had most of her mother’s attributes, right down to the cute little nose. That nose had been just one of the many reasons Madison had never liked the black-haired beauty; everything about Shannon Wynn had been perfect. Perfect hair, perfect height, perfect nose, perfect smile. Beside her, Madison always felt like a gawky giant, all arms and legs and nose.
Even now, Madison glanced down at herself inside the car, thankful for the camouflage. There was nothing wrong with the dark slacks and sensible shoes she wore, nor with the simple long sleeved blue top. But the outfit could have as easily come from her grandmother’s closet as it had hers.
Close to forty, Shannon deCordova looked as trendy and chic as the teenager beside her. Still slim but curvy, she wore a simple cranberry sweater over a pair of rhinestone-studded jeans that looked similar to her daughter’s. Her boots were wool-lined leather and matched the sleeveless vest she wore. Both bore a designer label.
Perfect size, perfect look. Perfect daughter, perfect husband. Perfect life. Madison struggled not to roll her eyes. Perfect, perfect, perfect.
Reluctantly rolling down the window of the borrowed car —and realizing the long, over-sized vehicle did nothing to boost her ego— Madison managed to smile and sound at least somewhat enthusiastic.
“Shannon, hi!”
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard you moved back here!” the black-haired woman said. A gust of wind whipped the dark locks across her face. As she used both hands to push the hair away, Madison noticed several rings flash in the sunlight. Though some of them were trendy pieces of costume jewelry, at least three had the sparkle of real diamonds. Without aid of a mirror, she expertly patted her hair back into place. Perfect once again. “I hear you’re staying at Miss Bert’s?”
“Well, yes, until we can get more settled.”
“Oh, I think that’s wonderful. At times like these, you need the love and support of your family and friends.” Madison looked for sarcasm in the woman’s words, but they seemed completely sincere. Shannon was still going on, not a touch of ridicule in her tone. “What’s that silly saying about not being able to go home again? Whoever made that up must not have come from a real home to begin with. And Miss Bert is the perfect antidote to anything that ails you!”
“She is something, all right,” Madison said with a smile.
“Brash told me you had an accident the other night. I hope you’re all right?” Again, the concern in her voice sounded real.
“A little shook up, but I’m fine. Unfortunately, my car didn’t survive. I just got word that the insurance company totaled it.”
“That’s terrible. But I hear that’s sometimes for the best, when a settlement is concerned.” She looked over at her daughter, who was waiting anxiously for the conversation to change. “This is my daughter Megan. She’s invited Bethani to spend the night, and I just wanted to come over and make sure you were on board.”
“Hi, Megan.”
“Hello, Mrs. Reynolds. It’s nice to finally meet you, after hearing about you all these years.”
Madison shot a glance at Shannon, expecting to see worry on the other woman’s face. No telling what stories she had told the girl, all of them painting Madison as the evil witch. She had been an outsider, after all, not transferring to The Sisters until her freshman year, but it was enough to qualify her for Valedictorian when they graduated. After a bitter fight over whether or not elective courses should count toward the grade point average —Madison took challenging courses like Advanced Trigonometry and Human Psychology, while Shannon took Photography and Drama— Shannon won the title by a small margin. Grades, however, had hardly been the only spot of contention between the two of them. Madison had to wonder how the other woman had portrayed their rivalry.
Instead of dread, Madison saw a smile spread over Shannon’s face as her daughter continued. “I know all about the little circle of love floating around The Sisters High.” She used a singsong voice to relay the tale. “Maddy Cessna had a mad crush on Brash deCordova. Brash deCordova had a mad crush on Shannon Wynn. But Shannon Wynn only had eyes for Matthew Aikman, who, alas, could see no one but Maddy Cessna. And so the circle went, round and round, until they all fell off.”
The girl was so dramatic that Madison found herself laughing, right alongside Shannon. “I don’t think I even remember your mom liking Matthew. But at least in the end, she got her man,” she said.
“Yes I did,” Shannon beamed boldly.
As ridiculous as it seemed, the knowledge somehow stung, even after all these years.
Ridiculous, because twenty years had passed and she had not seen any of the members of that circle since. By the time Brash went off to college and came home for occasional weekend and summer visits, she was dating Matthew. Then Matthew was graduating, and they discovered a long-distance relationship was just too difficult. A year later, she went off to college and met Grayson, and her life gravitated away from The Sisters. She kept up with a few of her old classmates, but Shannon Wynn was not one of them.
“So can I go, Mom? Please?” Bethani came around to stand by her newly made friend. Together, they made pathetic faces, complete with begging noises.
Madison laughed at their antics and gave in. She was thrilled that Bethani had made a friend, even if she was less enthusiastic about the girl’s parents. “Oh, all right. But you’d better behave yourself and mind your manners.”
“Of
course! You’re the best, Mom!” Bethani stooped down to brush a kiss on her mother’s cheek. “We’re going by Aunt Genny’s for snacks, then we’ll swing by and get my clothes.”
“Are you sure this is okay with you?” Madison asked, glancing at Shannon.
“Of course. We’ll be delighted to have her.” Shannon’s smile looked genuine enough, so Madison gave her blessing and bid them goodbye, just as her phone binged with a message from Blake.
Don’t forget, practice this afternoon, then bowling with the guys. Be home by curfew. LYB.
A smile touched her lips. Even at fifteen, he never failed to include their family’s trademark ‘Love you bunches’. It was a phrase that Gray started when the twins were little. The sentiment was something the kids had never out-grown; too bad their father had.
With a sigh, Madison watched her daughter walk away with her new friend and her perfect mother. No doubt tomorrow Bethani would be singing the other woman’s praises, relaying all the details of her perfect home and her perfect life.
“With Brash.” Madison said the words aloud, just to remind herself that Brash deCordova was a married man. For good measure, she threw a little self-righteous anger into her voice. He had no business making her heart pitter-patter the way he did. He had actually flirted with her! Here he had the perfect wife waiting at home for him and a daughter as cute as a button, yet he had flirted with her. Her! With her mousy hair and her lanky form and her age-neutral wardrobe.
A glance into the mirror confirmed her worst accusations. Her hair looked rangier now, more grown-out than it had before her reunion with Shannon. After seeing her old rival, the reflection in her mirror was disheartening.
You have a little extra money, a playful voice whispered in her head. And an afternoon without kids.
Pulling out of the school parking lot, the Buick lumbered its way to Talk of the Town.
“I don’t care,” Madison told the beautician. “I want something new, something completely different.”
