Texas and Tiaras (The Book Cellar Mysteries 2)

by Melissa Storm

  “I don’t hear anything,” Brian mumbled as he reached for the clasp of his belt.

  “Is—is someone there?” Brooke called, craning her neck to search the house for a possible intruder.

  In walked Ligia.

  “Auntie B! Uncle Bri! First I have to see a murder at close range and then this? Oh my eyes! Oh my eyes!” She attempted to shield her eyes with her forearms, but she had definitely already taken in the full scene.

  “Liggy! I thought you had study group tonight.”

  Brian adjusted his pants and Brooke said a quick prayer of thanks for the well placed interruption. Thank you, Jesus, for creating Ligia and bringing her here at this exact moment.

  “It got canceled. I wanted to ask for your help with… Never mind. I’m just going to go pour bleach in my eyes now.”

  “I’ll be up in a sec, okay?”

  The moment Ligia disappeared up the stairs, Brian started to undo his pants again. Did he seriously still want to do this?

  “Bri, I’m not really in the mood anymore.” Not that I ever was to begin with. “And Ligia needs me. Rain check, okay?”

  “You’re beginning to owe me an awful lot of rain. Besides, don’t act like that niece of yours is all pure and innocent,” Brian growled. “With the way she parades her giant fake tits around for all to see, it’s more than a little clear what she wants.”

  Slap! As Brooke brought her hand up and whammed it into her husband’s cheek, she felt completely disconnected from her body. Who was this new woman she was becoming, and who was this man standing here with her in the kitchen? It was almost as if the two of them were in a play. As if this wasn’t real life. As if there would be no repercussions for simply acting in response to the script Brian had given her. Except…

  Oh, no. Brooke shrank back against the kitchen counter, afraid of how her already volatile husband would react to her violent outburst.

  “What the...? It was just a joke!” He cursed and rubbed at the swell of his cheek.

  “Brian, I’m sorry. I’ve just been emotional lately, because…” Shoot, had she really just almost told him about the pregnancy? Now was not the time to be slipping up!

  “B—Because I’ve been working so hard and not getting enough rest.”

  “I know you’ve been working hard. That’s why I came home early with a surprise. Not as if you deserve it now, but—aargh!—it still stings.”

  As much as he had deserved it, Brooke knew she needed to apologize to keep this whole thing from exploding. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, right where the subtle imprint of her hand still glowed red and angry against his skin.

  “There. Better?”

  He contorted his face in a half grimace. “I can’t believe you hit me.” He forced a laugh as he rubbed at his cheek.

  She wanted to say “and I can’t believe you tried to force yourself on me. Sometimes people surprise you and not in a good way.” But instead, she chose to redirect him, to stroke his ego a little. “Now what was my surprise?”

  Brian’s face took on a smug expression. Whatever the surprise, he clearly expected it to win him major points. “I know you’ve been working hard lately. That’s why I hired a gardener to help you out around here. I know how much pride you take in the yard, and lately it’s been looking a little worse for wear. I wanted to help. In fact, there he is now.”

  Brian rushed over to pull open the window. “Hi, Emilio. Como estas?”

  Brooke stepped forward to follow Brian’s line of vision, and sure enough a youngish Latino man stood at their window, pruning the roses. Was he the source of all that noise earlier—the noise Brian had pretended not to hear?

  “Hi, Mr. Fischer. Is this the Mrs. Fischer I’ve heard so much about?” he asked in a thick Mexican accent.

  “Yes, quite the looker, isn’t she?”

  “You were not lying when you said your wife was the most beautiful in all of Texas. It is a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. To commemorate the start of a long and fruitful relationship, I have brought you a gift.”

  “A gift?” Brian puffed up his chest and made eyes at Brooke. “Can I hire them or what?”

  Emilio reached a hand through the window and extended a single, perfect rose. It was white, even though all her roses were red.

  “A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady. I have asked Mr. Fischer if it would be okay to plant some white roses in your garden too, and he has said yes. I have chosen white for you, for white is the color of purity and innocence and new beginnings.”

  She hesitantly accepted the offering, and though she plucked it gently from his grasp, a thorn snagged the pad of her thumb. “Ouch,” she mumbled. She sucked the tiny pinprick of blood from her thumb, still trying to look grateful for the gift.

  “Sorry, miss,” Emilio said with a smile. “But you must always watch for the thorns.”

  Chapter Eight

  Annabeth

  Annabeth sat in her car outside the mystery house, which once again looked deserted. The lawn had been mowed recently; grass clippings dusted the empty driveway. Several potted plants lined the path to the house. Whoever lived there kept the place up. She had run the plates on the vehicle the night before and come up with a woman’s name.

  Marcus looked through public records until he finally found a marriage certificate that linked Sara Reyes to one Juan Reyes. There was no public marriage record on file, but some obituaries listed them as married. They hadn’t been able to find out Sara’s maiden name or when she and Juan were married—or even if they had any children.

  Marcus was looking to see if any of his contacts in Mexico could check records there, which was doubtful. Records keeping wasn’t as streamlined there as in the U.S.

  Another dead end.

  Annabeth’s phone rang. Mr. Morgan’s named popped up. She let it go to voicemail like the last two times. That morning she had texted him about going out on another stakeout. He would want an update and she didn’t have any new information for him. Not yet at least.

  Annabeth jumped in surprise as a cop car pulled up alongside her with its lights flashing.

  “Ma’am, is there a reason you’re parked here?” The officer eyed her suspiciously over the top of his sunglasses like some cartoon cop.

  You’ve got to be kidding me. This dippity-do deputy was wasting his time with her when he could be out protecting and serving the public from slime balls like Fin and his family?

  His elbow hung out the window as he leaned out. Most likely trying to catch a glance at her cleavage. “We’ve been getting complaints from neighbors that a vehicle fitting your description has been coming around a lot. So if you don’t have any business here, then you best be moving along.”

  She would have to be more careful. She got the feeling that Fin really didn’t want her around this house. She wondered if he had sent in bogus reports to police with her license plate and car make and model. Maybe she should start jogging or borrow a dog and go dog walking. She put on a practiced smile but gritted her teeth. “Yes, officer. I’ll be on my way. I just pulled over to send a text message. Safety first!”

  “All right then.” He scratched his head and glanced at his dash. He couldn’t really fault her for following the law. “When I swing back around in a few minutes I expect you’ll be gone.”

  “Thank you, officer.” She let out a sigh as he drove away.

  A new text came through—from none other than Fin.

  Don’t go looking unless you are prepared for what you might find. It would be awfully sad if one of your little friends came to an unnatural end.

  Fin wasn’t going to go down without a fight. She took her impotent rage out on her vehicle and slammed her foot to the gas, leaving a trail of burned rubber smell in her wake as she made her way to the Book Cellar downtown.

  When she arrived, she sat in her car with the air conditioner on full blast. The others were already inside waiting for her. She could see their cars parked neatly beside each other. Jesse had group-texted
everyone the night before and demanded they attend a meeting of the Drink and Gossip Club at 8 PM sharp. This would be the first time they’d all be in the same room together since that ill-fated night just over a month ago. Well, everyone except Vi, who still refused to set foot in the same room as Brooke.

  As much as Annabeth didn’t want to deal with their small town drama, she had quickly learned that staying on top of their shenanigans was important. The last thing Herald Springs needed was another vigilante swooping in to save the day.

  The entire drive to the Book Cellar, her phone buzzed with the incoming messages. Fin wasn’t letting up any time soon. She parked her car and shut off her phone—the only thing she had control of right now. That’s it. I’m going in. The drama that waited for her on the other side of the double doors couldn’t be worse than what was going on inside her head.

  The door chimed her arrival, but no one seemed to notice. Jesse and Brooke stood whispering together, thick as thieves, while Ligia stood browsing the new releases in the store section of the Book Cellar.

  “...I don’t know. I think it’s been hacked. There are some weird charges on my credit card too. I so don’t need this right now.” Jesse’s raised voice carried across the room. “I haven’t done a blog post in over a week. My readers are getting pissed.”

  “Hi. Sorry I’m late.” Annabeth waved to get the attention of the self-centered bunch.

  They all glanced in her direction and then at each other.

  Did I miss something?

  Jesse clasped his hands together in a loud clap. “Great, we’re all here. Let’s get a seat in back where we can talk in private.” He led the way to the far back of the shop to a private nook. “I’m sure you’re all wondering why I called you here tonight.”

  Annabeth settled into the seat between Jesse and Ligia and across from Brooke, who seemed distracted and unusually quiet. The group dynamic had shifted without Vi there. Vi hadn’t been on the group message and wasn’t there when Annabeth arrived. Why hadn’t Jesse invited her? She could see why Vi would say no, but not to invite her at all seemed odd.

  A waitress approached their table and took their drink orders, then put down a plastic basket full of tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa. Once she had walked away, Jesse turned his attention back to the ladies. His hands tented together and his elbows rested on the table. He clearly meant business. “Ladies, we have a problem. Vi is not doing well and I’m really worried about her.”

  Anna let out a sigh and glanced briefly at Brooke, who looked away from the group.

  The Queen B’s arms were crossed over her chest. She looked terrible. Her stringy, unwashed hair had been thrown into a messy bun and she wore a pair of straight-leg jeans and a gray marble T-shirt. It was the most casually dressed Anna had ever seen her.

  Jesse cleared his throat, his gaze trained on Brooke as well. “Yes. well, I met with her yesterday and took her to see Joy.” He glanced at Ligia. “That’s her sister. She has some special needs and lives in a group home.”

  Ligia’s face fell. “Oh, how sad!” And she did look genuinely sad about the news, too sad for a fact in passing conversation.

  “Yes, well that’s not the problem,” Jesse said, giving her a condescending smile. “The real situation at hand is that the shelter might be letting Vi go—”

  Brooke’s pale face suddenly went red. “What? They can’t do that! It’s illegal.” She pulled out her phone. “I’ll call my friend from Brian’s firm. She specializes in labor laws. I can bring an end this ridiculousness in two shakes of the princess’s tail.”

  Jesse placed his hand on hers. “Toots, while I love your enthusiasm—I do—I have another plan.”

  “But—”

  He smiled his sweet southern charmer of a smile, the one that could make any girl weak in the knees. “Trust me.” He popped a chip into his mouth and munched on it with an enthusiasm that would be disgusting, had it been anyone other than Jesse.

  “The shelter lost some funding from the state. Apparently, the Indian Consulate is investigating the shelter for wrongdoing in a client’s death. The one who was taken by that sex ring. The one Vi was in charge of. They will have to perform layoffs if they don't get the grant or funding from another source to cover the loss.”

  Annabeth’s jaw dropped. The suicide. How did he know about it? Her chest stung with the shared culpability she felt about her part in the girl’s death. Had she pushed the girl too far, or was it just an end result of her drug addiction? An inevitability? Annabeth ventured a glance at Jesse, her eyes stinging with tears she refused to let fall. “How did you know?”

  He shot her a lopsided smile. “There isn’t much I don’t know, Annabeth. I thought you would have picked that up by now.” He winked at her. “Now if y’all will let me finish—”

  Ligia’s eyes brightened and she sat straighter in her chair. “Oh, maybe… No, definitely! We should definitely throw a party!”

  The poor man threw up his hands in defeat. “Good Lord, you women don’t let a man get a word in edgewise.”

  Ligia shot him an annoyed look and went into full excited-girl mode. It was all over the top, even for her. “So yeah, like we could do some kind of sexy masquerade ball for Halloween. Maybe some female empowerment-y type thing like…” She tapped her teeth with her manicured nail. “Oh! We could do great women in history. What do think, Auntie B?”

  Brooke startled at the sound of her name. “What?”

  Her overly energized goddaughter rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’ve got it. It could be the test drive for my Texas and Tiaras business. We could raise money and get people to sign up to volunteer to help out at the shelter. That way they can’t fire Vi. Who needs grants when you can raise the money yourself? We’ll take care of everything for her.”

  Jesse pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, sure, that’s one idea—”

  Ligia all but squealed. “This is going to solve all of Vi’s problems! And maybe it will make up for the fact that I was the one who got us into this whole mess to begin with.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Brooke said as she stared at the table in front of her. “I told you. It’s not your fault.”

  Annabeth shook her head and added, “It’s really not, Ligia. I hope you’re not blaming yourself for—”

  She stopped midsentence when the waiter arrived and handed out their drinks.

  Jesse sighed with delight and then downed half his beer in a single gulp.

  Brooke stared at her drink, her usual glass of wine, though it sat there untouched in front of her. The Queen B’s flat affect concerned Annabeth. Was she going to go off the deep end again? Did Jesse not see her faltering or notice that the Queen wasn’t as resilient as she tried to make herself out to be? Annabeth understood stoicism. Never let the world show you that they hurt you, her mother had taught her. But the older she got, the more she began to realize what a burden it was to hold in all the feelings that welled inside of her on a daily basis. Without Vi to talk to, Brooke was set adrift without a life raft. At risk of drowning in the sea of her unspent emotions. It frightened her how the more time she spent with Brooke, the more she understood her. How alike they really were.

  “Is Joy okay?” Brooke’s uncharacteristically soft tone almost went unheard.

  Jesse nodded. “Yeah, she’ll be all right. She’s just having a hard time adjusting to everything. The owner said something about some damage to the dorm wall. They were charging Vi way too much for the repair so I called and got the money back and did the repairs myself.”

  Annabeth sipped her beer and placed it back down on the table. “So...how do we get Vi to agree to let us help her out?”

  The lackluster Queen raised her gaze and met Annabeth’s. The fire in her eyes might have dimmed but it was still there. “We don’t.”

  Chapter Nine

  Vi

  Ding, dong, ding.

  Vi stared at her door contemplating whether or not to get up and answer it or to continue to stare
numbly at her TV screen. She didn’t even know what she was watching—some Saturday afternoon movie. All she could focus on was breathing in and out. The pain had been intense all night and had lasted into the morning. It had been two days since she’d slept more than two hours at a time. The pain pills weren’t working as well as they once had. Standing on the precipice of having to take more to manage the pain frightened her.

  Ding, dong, ding.

  “For the love of all that is good and holy!” She tossed the remote and lumbered over to the door, then used her good arm to fling it open in irritation. A heavyset woman dressed in scrubs stood on the welcome mat. I need to get rid of that thing. Do they make unwelcome mats?

  “What?” She leaned into the door frame—in too much pain to stand upright—and waited for the frightened looking woman so speak up or take off.

  “Umm...I...” The woman stammered and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, avoiding looking at Vi head on. “I’m Ruby, your home health worker. Are you Violeta Hernandez?”

  Vi clung to the doorframe, ready to slam it shut with her good arm. “You won’t be needed.” The door slammed so hard in the frame that the wood started to splinter. She might need to take it a little easier next time. She couldn’t exactly afford to get it repaired. The vibrations had radiated up her arm, but this was nothing new. Pain, constant pain, was the new usual.

  If it wasn’t for Brooke, she wouldn't be in this mess. It was all Brooke’s fault. Well not all of it. The poor girl’s death had had nothing to do with Brooke, and everything to do with Vi’s own incompetence as a counselor. She should have listened to Annabeth when she had warned her that the girl was using. Maybe they could have found her stash and prevented her from taking that final deadly hit.

  What made me think I could help other people when I can’t even keep my own life in order?

  She sank back down on the sofa and started to doze. Her phone’s buzzing awoke her with a text message from Ricky.