“Right. We’ll come help you. In the evenings.”
“You’ve got guests.”
Collin says, “Fine. Talk about me like I’m not even here. I’ll forgive you if you’ll tell Ava I’m required to help you this afternoon.”
“I’m not getting in the middle of anything with Ava. Self-preservation.”
“Always smart with her. But let me tell you a secret. That video Emily sent Ava? It really knocked her for a loop. She doesn’t like being showed up. But she does like making money, and honestly, your video was the best thing since sliced bread for that.”
Maggie nods. “I would have felt the same.” Then she rolls her eyes. “But I’ll tell you a secret. I think Ava writes catchy tunes. And for some reason, Emily knew better than to send that video to me. I hate it.” Like she hates that someone in that group of Amarillo friends talked to the media about her.
Rashidi puts a finger to his lips. “By the way, Collin lost a fiancée over Emily once. We try not to talk about her in front of Ava.”
“Emily or the fiancée?”
Collin signals for the waiter. “Either one, if I want to keep my nads.”
A squeaky-clean-looking twenty-something appears. Not the one who’d taken their order. “Yes, sir?”
“Shiner, please.”
“Of course. For you, miss?”
Maggie wasn’t going to order a drink, but how can she resist a young person who doesn’t call her ma’am? “Balcones, on the rocks.” She only feels guilty for a second. She hadn’t promised Michele she wouldn’t drink today. Only suggested it wasn’t planned at the time.
“Let me check if we have that.”
“You do. Unless you’re out. In which case, I’ll take Jack in its place.”
“And you, sir?”
Rashidi shakes his head. “I’m good with my ginger ale.”
When the waiter leaves, Maggie turns to Collin. “I’ll bite. How did you lose a fiancée over Emily?”
Collin blows a raspberry. “I was a drunken idiot. I had a crush on Emily all during her first marriage. By the time she got a divorce, I was engaged. I declared myself to Emily anyway—or hit on her, or whatever—and my fiancée, Tamara, saw the whole thing. Emily turned me down flat, by the way. The rest is history.”
“Man, you blew that one.”
“No complaints. Every woman I’ve ever known fades in comparison to Ava. The real story is how I can like this joker so much when he used to live with my woman.” Collin slugs Rashidi in the arm playfully.
Maggie laughs. “My God. It’s like incest around here.”
The waiter returns with their drinks. “Would you like a chilled glass, sir?”
Collin takes the bottle. “Nah, why ruin perfection?”
Maggie holds her nose in the mouth of the whiskey glass and swirls the rich mahogany Balcones. The strong fruity smell reminds her of bananas.
Rashidi takes another bite of egg. “Michele said it went well this morning, Maggie.”
She savors a sip of the whiskey in her mouth. Buttery, like toast and orange marmalade. As she swallows, the flavor turns to spicy caramel. “To say it like Michele would, más o menos.”
“Much more than less,” Collin says. “I’m a cop. You didn’t get arrested, even though they like you for Gary’s death. You had a good day.”
“We’ll see how good it ends up being after I spend the afternoon reclaiming my desecrated house and ruined store. I hope the insurance company continues being helpful. I wouldn’t love me right now if I was them.” She combs her fingers through her hair and is sorry she tried. The wind through Bess’s windows had really done a number on it. “Proving my lost income opportunity from the fall antique show is going to be a daunting, depressing task.”
An accent straight from the wrong side of the small-town Texas tracks whips Maggie’s head around. “Well I’ll be dipped in shit and rolled in bread crumbs. If it isn’t Maggie Killian.”
Rashidi’s mouth drops. Collin grins ear to ear. Maggie closes her eyes for a split second and gathers herself. What are the odds she’d miss a call from Merritt and run into her in the same day?
She stands and holds out her arms. “Merritt Fuller. Sorry I missed your call earlier. Then my phone ate your voicemail.”
“I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.” Gary’s mother moves close enough to give Maggie a stiff hug while still making it obvious that she doesn’t want to touch her. “Maggie. You remember my youngest daughter, Kelly?”
Maggie barely registers Merritt’s nonsensical comment. She’s too busy choking back surprise at seeing Kelly.
The bleach blonde in painted-on jeans and a tight Western-cut shirt, open to show young, firm cleavage, simpers at her. “Maggie.”
“Kelly. Wow. You’re all grown up.”
“Have been for years now.”
At seventeen, the girl is overstating her case a bit. “I heard you did backup with Gary this year. Congratulations.”
“Yeah, well, that didn’t last.”
Maggie feels like she’s stepped in a steaming pile of dog shit and can’t get it off her shoe.
Merritt pats her daughter on the shoulder. “It’s okay, sweet pea.”
Kelly tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I’m going out on a tour of my own. And my single is higher than his on the charts. Or it was. Until he died.”
Maggie pastes on a sorrowful expression to cover her distaste. “Merritt, I’ve been meaning to call. I’m so, so sorry about Gary.”
“Why are you sorry? He got rid of you a long time ago, didn’t he?”
Behind her, Rashidi sucks in a breath. Collin coughs into his hand. It comes out sounding a lot like bitch.
Maggie doesn’t flinch. “Will there be a service?”
“Family and close friends only.”
Maggie reaches for the back of her stool, digs her fingers into the wood. As hard as she’s trying not to react to Merritt, she’s not sure she can hold her tongue much longer. “Great. When and where?”
Kelly’s smile is smug. “Let me spell it out for you, Maggie.” She raises her voice and speaks slowly. “You’re not invited.”
Merritt holds up a hand. “Kelly, enough.” To Maggie she says, “I got a call from the fire marshal who’s investigating the fire.”
“I tried to get in, to get to him. I was too late.”
“That’s not—”
“He loved you so much. And he was a great guy. Even if we weren’t together anymore, I still thought the world of him.”
“I didn’t—”
“I would have called. I should have. Things here got crazy and someone burned down my shop and there was a body inside. But I’ve been thinking about you all. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Maggie, I don’t want to hear this.”
A loud humming noise starts in Maggie’s ears. “Just tell me where and when it will be.”
“You’re a suspect in my son’s murder.”
“But you know I would never harm Gary.”
“Maybe. I hope so.”
The lump that forms in Maggie’s throat grows until it blocks off her breath. She can’t swallow it down, can’t speak. She’s uninvited to Gary’s funeral. She may not have loved him, but he’s been a big part of her life. His death is a huge loss to her. She works her jaw until her throat relaxes and the lump moves out of the way. “Fine. I’ll stay away.”
Kelly pops a hip. “Good. Don’t make me tell you again.”
“Hey, Kelly.” Maggie leans in and whispers into the blonde’s ear. “How’s it feel to be a no-talent slut who’ll never amount to anything now that her big brother isn’t around?”
“You bitch.” Kelly hauls back to slap Maggie.
Maggie catches the younger woman’s arm in midair and mimics the accent of the two women. “Let me save you from splitting your pants and showing us all your religion.” She smiles at Merritt. “So nice seeing you two. Again, my condolences.” When she feels Kelly�
�s arm relax, she lets it drop.
Merritt and Kelly glare at her. A wide-eyed waiter walks up carrying a loaded tray above his shoulder.
“Y’all skedaddle now. I won’t tell anyone about Kelly’s hissy fit.”
Kelly huffs, but Merritt gives her a push and the two women walk to a booth on the far side of the bar. Two men are waiting for them there. Maggie doesn’t want to care, but when she realizes who they are, she can’t help it.
Tom Clarke and Thorn Gibbons. Together. Meeting Mama and Daughter Fuller.
Still in a redneck voice, Maggie sinks into her chair and says, “Butter my butt and call me a biscuit.”
Collin snorts. “What the hell was that about?”
Maggie slams her Balcones, no longer caring about its nose, taste, or finish. “Gary’s family. See ’em in that booth? They’re cozied up with Gary’s former manager and someone who is most definitely not Gary’s buddy.”
“What’s going on?” Rashidi asks.
Maggie picks up her spoon, the better to dig into her shrimp and grits as soon as it’s in front of her. “I don’t have the slightest, but it can’t be good.”
“Ms. Killian,” a familiar voice says.
She looks up. It’s the cub reporter she’d seen a few days ago at the Valero station. She points across the bar. “There’s your story.”
The waiter puts her bowl in front of her. Maggie pounces, her spoon in attack mode.
The reporter looks in the direction she pointed, looks harder. Then recognition sweeps across his face. He lifts his phone and points the camera lens at the foursome.
Maggie blows on a spoonful of the hot shrimp and grits. “You’re welcome.”
Twenty-Four
Maggie returns to Michele’s for Louise and her things.
As she unlocks the front door, she finds herself talking aloud. “If you’re out there, Gary, you know I didn’t hurt you. Would never hurt you. I will always miss you. We had some good times. And I’m not upset with your mother. She loves you. Kelly? Well, someone needs to kick that girl’s ass, and I’m only sorry you’re not here to do it.”
The sun beats down on her. She thinks she feels Gary’s presence in the warmth. Live, his voice was like sitting on a warm, tumbling dryer, rubbing worn flannel against your cheek. Recording flattened it, took out some of the texture and channels. It was still nice, and it served him well, but she loved the warmth of Gary’s live voice. The door swings open and the dogs greet her. She pats them, but keeps walking and talking to Gary like he’s in the house with her.
“I wish you could tell me who did this to you. Hell, to us, Gary.”
Gary doesn’t answer, of course. She hadn’t really thought he would, but it would have been nice.
Inside the house, she piles straps on her arm. A duffel bag. Her hobo bag. A laptop case. Her Martin case. With the other arm she takes the handle of her suitcase and rolls it with her to the door.
Gertrude makes a pitiful sound when Maggie closes her in the house alone. Louise doesn’t give her best friend a second glance. She leaps in circles, then chases her tail until she collapses by the truck.
“It’s not nice to gloat in front of Gertrude.”
Louise grins up at her like a drunk college kid on spring break. Maggie tosses the duffel, guitar case, and suitcase into the truck bed. She looks over the side as they land in goat poop.
Bad call.
But it’s too late now. After loading the dog and smaller bags into the cab, Maggie drives toward what’s left of the Coop. She doesn’t even lower the windows to let the heat out. Suffering is life, life is suffering. What’s the lack of an air conditioner on top of everything else?
She rubs one eye with a fist, then the other eye, exhausted from the month, the night before, and the hard morning. When she’d finally fallen into bed after the fire at the Coop, she’d alternated between thoughts of her ruined shop and ruined love life. Wondered where Hank is. If he’s gone back to Sheila or is still MIA. Damn him. He can’t even stay out of her head long enough for her to properly mourn the loss of a friend and the loss of the Coop.
The truck takes the bumps in the dirt road like a downhill sled on a field of boulders. The jolts keep Maggie awake, but she can’t wait to sleep in her own bed. She’d stashed her favorite sheets away at the bottom of her cedar chest, where they’d be waiting for her when she returned. Dear God, don’t let Leslie have found them. But thinking about her sheets does funny things to her heart. She hadn’t put them there to keep them fresh for herself. Her top-secret plan was to bring Hank back to Texas with her. She’d sprayed the sheets with her perfume before putting them away. Imagined the two of them showering off after the long drive from Wyoming. Pulling the sweet-smelling sheets from the chest, the scent wafting in the air as she dressed the bed. Slipping into the sheets together, their bodies touching, his skin setting hers on fire, she not caring how tired she was from the drive, needing him right then. Right that second.
“Fuck it.” She picks up her phone and punches Hank’s number in by memory. It rings four times. Then it goes to voicemail. She hangs up on it, then steers onto the county road with one hand. She voice-records a text with Siri’s help and sends it.
Hank, this is Maggie. I hear you’re AWOL. I’m worried. Call me. I’ll pick up this time.
She hangs up and blows wisps of hair off her forehead. Unsettling. Unsatisfactory. And unwise. She’d just contacted the one person on her new number that she’d changed it to avoid. Idiotic, Maggie.
But she couldn’t help it. It’s been a full day since Gene phoned her. If she doesn’t hear back from Hank within an hour, maybe she’ll text Gene. Let him know she tried. Ask if Hank’s shown back up at the ranch.
Or at Sheila’s.
Maggie may love him, but he’s someone else’s fiancé now. She can help find him. But she can’t have him. She has to remember that.
A noxious odor fills the cab.
Maggie rolls down her window with the crank handle. She glares at Louise. “You suck.”
Louise wags her tail so hard it’s like someone’s rapping on the passenger door.
“And just so you know, it also sucks to be in love. I don’t recommend it.”
Louise cocks her head.
“It’s true. I’ve been in love with Hank my entire adult life, and we’ve been together a grand total of less than one week of it.” She leans out the window and pounds her hand against the outside of the door, screaming, “Fuck my life. It fucking sucks. Motherfucker.”
Louise puts her head on her paws. Maggie doesn’t feel any better.
Neither does driving up to the dismal remains of Flown the Coop. The complex is like a law enforcement car show at the moment. Vehicles from two counties in multiple branches of their respective emergency response. And news crews. Unfortunately, Leslie’s sedan is still there, too. Maggie parks outside the crime scene tape. She grabs a ball cap and sunglasses from her bag and puts them on, then checks the time on her phone. It’s nearly noon. Checkout time was eleven.
“I’m going to kill her.”
Louise jumps to her feet, ready to rumble with her.
“I’ve got to do this alone.” She shuts the dog in the truck, windows down.
Louise frames herself in the open window, standing tall with her head out.
Maggie keeps her eyes averted from the county personnel and the painful sight of the ruined gray heap of her former store. She marches to her home and knocks authoritatively.
Leslie opens the door with a bright smile that drops immediately to a death mask. “What now?”
“Nearly noon. Checkout time has passed. I need in. You need to be out.”
“You’re not very good at this rental thing, are you?”
“Takes one to know one.”
“I’ve decided to extend my stay.”
“Glad you like Giddings. Now, move aside and I’ll help you with your bags on your way to your new digs.”
“No, I’ve decided to stay here.”
“This isn’t a hotel. This is a private home. Mine. And it’s not available. Not for another night, and not to purchase, so you can quit telling people you’ve bought it.” Maggie catches the brief flicker of surprise that crosses Leslie’s face. “Yes, I’ve heard all about it. And it’s not for sale.”
Leslie’s mouth creeps into a smile. She slams the door in Maggie’s face.
“Open this door. Right now.” Maggie bangs with her knuckles, then pounds with her palm. “Open the damn door, Leslie.”
Louise lets loose a cacophony of barks.
Inside, the house is deathly quiet.
“Son of a bitch.” Maggie tries the knob. It’s locked. She gets out her key and tries it in the lock, but it won’t turn. “What the hell?” She flips the key over and tries again, but it still doesn’t work. She repeats the process unsuccessfully with the deadbolt. She runs to the back door, Louise’s racket following her. The key doesn’t turn the lock in the back either.
“No. Fucking. Way.”
“May I help you, ma’am?” A deputy has come around the house. Her hand is on a gun on her hip.
Maggie doesn’t recognize her. “Oh, how I wish you could.”
“You need to move along now. We’re working an active crime scene here.”
“It’s my house. No one’s told me anything other than my store burned down and a body was found in it. How does that make it a crime scene?”
“It’s being treated as potential arson and murder.”
“Great. Thanks, Lee County, for the heads-up. Unfortunately, I can’t get my renter to leave. She’s overstayed her lease and changed the locks on my house.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. If that’s true, you’re welcome to start eviction proceedings at our offices.”
“Can you take a complaint from me now?”
“No, ma’am.”
“But aren’t you with Lee County?”
“Yes, but we have a process.”
“My life is in shambles. I’ve lost my business. I can’t get back into my home. And your only response is that you have a process?”
Maggie Box Set Page 42
