by Becki Willis
“What was her theory about fires?”
“To be quite honest, I didn’t usually pay her theories much never-mind. She was always working on uncovering some big mystery, which usually amounted to nothing more than an oversized imagination and a bunch of malarkey.”
“I found several notes on her desk,” Madison fibbed. “I understand she had been using herbal remedies lately.”
“Yep. If fact, it all started with one of those books she was reading. It sounded so interesting that she decided to look into them herself. I think it might be one of the few times one of her theories actually held water.”
The client in the beautician’s chair joined the conversation with a loud harrumph. “I don’t know about that. She gave me a recipe for herbal tea. It was supposed to provide energy and stamina, but all it gave me was constipation.”
“You must have written it down wrong, Earline. Everyone knows Gloria had enough trouble in that department without adding to it!”
“She wrote the recipe down herself, so there! I didn’t do it wrong.”
“Then you must have made it wrong,” the beautician insisted.
“Or it could be that her handwriting was sloppy.”
Breaking into their argument, Madison protested, “Based on everything I’ve seen at the office, Miss Gloria had excellent penmanship.”
“No, I distinctly recall that I had trouble deciding if she had written a ‘2’ or a ‘3.’”
“Maybe she was drinking when she wrote out the recipe?” Madison offered.
Both women were aghast. On this, they agreed.
“Gloria did not drink!”
“Oh, heaven’s no! She was definitely a teetotaler. Probably because of what happened to her uncle on her momma’s side. I’m sure you’ve heard that story a time or two!”
“Knew her well,” the old black man nodded. Jolly Dewberry still ran his service station the old-fashioned way; he offered service, along with the gasoline. He elaborated as he cleaned Madison’s windshield. “Never knowed her to drink, but I did notice her staggering a bit the last time she left. Almost fell getting back in her car.”
“When was that?”
He scrubbed on a stubborn smudge left by a bug meeting the windshield at seventy miles an hour. “Now that you mention it, I believe it was that same day she died. Asked me to fill ‘er up, then decided to come inside and get a coke. She liked my old-timey dispenser. Said drinks from those cans just didn’t taste the same as glass bottles. And that the aluminum would eventually eat into our brains and cause cancer.”
“Do you remember which kind of soda she liked?” In Texas, ‘coke’ was a generic name for all soft drinks, not a brand.
“Mostly Sprite, but she favored root beer if I had the kind with no caffeine. See? That’s another thing that don’t add up. If Miss Gloria didn’t drink caffeine, why would she take up drinking liquor?” He shook his graying head. “Don’t make no sense.”
***
Madison glanced around nervously. “Are you sure we have permission to do this?” Her voice held the warble of worry. It seemed like old times, back when they were in high school. Genny as the instigator, Maddy as the faithful sidekick.
Even now, it was Genny who turned the key into the lock. “I don’t see why not. Carson Elliot gave us the key to Miss Gloria’s house, so it’s not breaking and entering. And since her death was more or less ruled an alcohol overdose, we aren’t tampering with an investigation. We should be good.”
“Should be,” Madison grumbled, following her friend over the threshold. “I just hope Brash sees it that way.”
“It’s not like we’re going to take anything. We’re just looking around.”
Still, it felt strange, walking into the home of a deceased woman they barely knew.
Despite her confident jargon, Genny stalled near the door. The house still had that lived-in feel, despite the eerie silence that echoed throughout the space. “It looks like she could return at any moment,” Genny whispered.
It was a cozy scene. A plaid chair in the corner of the room, its fabric frayed and its seat cushion creased from frequent use. A worn ottoman stood nearby. A half-read paperback lay face down upon it, the pages splayed to mark reading progress. The shade on the lamp cocked to one side, offering optimal light for reading. Even while they stood there, the digital recorder on the television whirred to life, the timer set to record a favorite program. All that was missing was the owner of the house.
“Probably recording one of her soap operas,” Genny guessed, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I think that may have been one of the reasons Carson hired you. He said Gloria was a huge fan of Caress and was thrilled when you vindicated her death.”
Caress Ellingsworth had been Naomi’s very own resident soap queen. The fact that she retired years ago did not diminish her glory. Devoted fans still reeled from her untimely death this past spring.
“So we’ll just take a quick look around,” Madison said, getting into the spirit of their expedition. “Look for evidence that proves she was a closet alcoholic.”
They prowled through the living room, searching in every drawer and cabinet, beneath every piece of furniture, inside every potted plant. Neither found a single drop of alcohol, hidden or otherwise.
“At least someone cleaned out the refrigerator,” Madison commented as she ventured into the kitchen. Everything was neat and tidy. “It’s possible they could have thrown out any open bottles of wine, but there’s not even a corkscrew in her drawers. No wine glasses in the cupboards. No indication that the woman drank anything stronger than coffee. And decaffeinated, at that.”
“I hope they cleaned the bathroom, too,” Genny muttered. When Madison shot her a warning glare, Genny shrugged. “Hey. Just saying.”
Madison exhaled with a guilty sigh. “Okay, so I agree. And I guess there’s just one way to find out.” She took a deep breath of courage as she stepped into the hall and went in search of the bathroom.
Genesis crowded behind her for moral support.
The room still reeked of bleach. The heavy smell of sanitation was almost overpowering.
“So I guess this is where they found her?” Genny murmured. She tried not to imagine the poor woman, lying prostrate beside the commode on the cold tiled floor.
They wandered around the spacious bathroom, each poking through a different area. It was an old bathroom in an old house. Instead of built-in cabinetry, it featured a wall sink and a decorative skirt to hide the plumbing. Storage was a freestanding cabinet and a wooden table in the corner. The table was outfitted with a skirt to match the one at the sink.
“Looks like Miss Gloria was into natural herbs,” Genny mused, seeing an array of jars and bottles with handwritten labels. “Look at all of these. White Oak. Raspberry Leaf. Slippery Elm. Agrimony. Comfrey. Cayenne.”
“Remember? Carson said she could kill a cactus but had recently gotten into the healing power of plants. I heard the same thing around town and down at the pharmacy. Mrs. Shubert said she hardly came in at all anymore, now that she was into natural healing.”
Genny studied a jar of dried leaves. “Wonder if she buys her herbs from Myrna Lewis?”
“Why Myrna?”
“Didn’t you know? Myrna started up a business. She does yards now, and started cultivating and selling her own flowers and herbs. I heard business was so good she hired part-time help.”
“Huh. I had no idea.” Madison shrugged as she made a learn-something-new-everyday face and turned back to her snooping.
“I’ve never heard of some of these herbs. Like Marshmallow Root. Wonder what all these were for?”
Madison glanced around the bathroom, her eyes darting back to the commode. “Given the circumstances of her death, maybe constipation?” she suggested timidly.
A smile quirked the side of Genny’s mouth, but she was determined not to laugh. “Maybe so,” she said. She leaned down to peek beneath the skirt. “Oh, my.”
“Wha
t is it?”
“Uhm, her supply.”
“Of alcohol?” Madison squeaked. “This is where she kept her stash of liquor?” Yet on second thought, it would make sense. Few people would think to look in a bathroom for booze.
“Not alcohol.” Genny pulled the curtain aside so her friend had a clear view to the shelf below. Bottles of liquid, at least a half dozen in all, were lined up in neat rows.
“Are those what I think they are?” Madison asked with rounded eyes.
“That depends. Do you think these are disposable enema bottles?”
“Yes.”
“Then, yes, they’re what you think they are. But it looks like she refilled them with her own solution.” Genny’s lips curled in distaste and she dropped the curtain, dusting her fingers as if tainted.
“Maybe it’s some sort of herbal remedy.”
“Maybe. But anyone needing that many enemas has a serious medical condition.”
Madison made a face. “According to Molly Schubert, enema sales have dropped dramatically since Miss Gloria started using her herb remedies. They had to run a special, in fact, to get rid of back stock. Apparently she kept them in business, at least on that front. And in case you are wondering, she preferred the up-close-and-personal method over laxatives. Too unpredictable, she claimed.”
“Believe me, I was not wondering. In fact, this definitely falls under the ‘more information than I ever wanted to know’ category.” Genesis placed her hands over her ears, even though the damage had already been done.
“You and I might find this all rather amusing, even if in a morbid sort of way, but you would be surprised how many people knew that Gloria suffered from frequent bouts of constipation. Apparently there are certain people, particularly within her age bracket, that feel discussing bowel habits is a perfectly acceptable topic of conversation. Much to my dismay, at least four of those people went into detail, one of them quite graphically, I might add, about how they suffer from the malady far worse than our friend Gloria.”
“All righty then.” Taking a moment to rid herself of the mental images that dared peep into her head, Genny winced. “I can see life as a private investigator must be full of glamorous insights such as this.”
“You would be amazed.”
When Genny would have scurried from the room, Madison stopped her. “Wait a minute. All those bottles don’t make sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“According to the death report, she died after giving herself a ‘large-capacity’ enema, the kind with a bag. So why all the bottles?”
Genny threw up her hands in a gesture of innocence. “Don’t ask me. I eat plenty of bran and fiber. So in case you’re wondering, I don’t need these things.”
After Genny slipped from the room, Madison lingered long enough to snap a few pictures with her phone. She photographed the neatly aligned bottles and the names of the herbs. After looking for hidden alcohol, she searched the medicine cabinet for anything that may have pointed to depression or a serious medical condition. By all indications, and the lack of prescribed medications, Gloria Jeffers was quite healthy for a woman her age. Like the druggist said, she seemed to rely upon all-natural herbal remedies.
“Are you finding anything?” Madison asked as she joined Genny in the bedroom.
“Nothing. And if Carson ever stayed over, he didn’t leave anything behind. No clothes, no hairbrush, not even a stray sock. And there was only one toothbrush in the bathroom.”
Madison absently fingered the dresser. “I can’t get a feel for their relationship. Do you think they were lovers, or just friends?”
Genny looked surprised at the question. “I don’t know,” she admitted with a frown. “I guess I just assumed they were lovers, even though they didn’t seem to be a matched set, so to speak. Carson is so suave and sophisticated, and she was so…” She spread her hand wide, indicating the mundane room. The bedspread was from a different decade, as was the color scheme. While neat and orderly, the style of the house was outdated and worn. Stagnant. And a huge contrast from Carson Elliot’s elegant home.
“I know opposites attract, but I just don’t get the feeling they were intimately involved. If they were, he certainly bounced back fast, judging by the interest he is showing in you. And there’s no need to blush. It’s obvious he’s attracted to you.”
“There is a huge gap in our ages,” Genny pointed out.
“I keep telling you, age doesn’t matter. You and Cutter are the perfect example.” When Genny would have protested, and loudly so, Madison waved her comments aside. “And no matter what their actual ages were, I still say Miss Gloria just seemed so much older than Carson.”
Letting the comments about her and the fire chief slide, Genny stuck to the topic at hand. “They say alcohol ages you. Maybe she wasn’t as old as she looked.”
“And that’s another thing. We haven’t found a single drop of alcohol! If she drank herself into a stupor and died, wouldn’t there be some sign of a drinking problem?”
“Maybe it’s what you said. Someone—like whoever cleaned out her refrigerator—threw out all the liquor.”
“Maybe,” Madison mused. “But if they did, they searched the place from top to bottom and got rid of it all. Because we haven’t found a drop.”
“So here’s the four thousand dollar question. If Miss Gloria was a teetotaler like Carson claims, how did she get so much alcohol into her bloodstream?”
Eyes narrowed in thought, Madison shook her head. “I have no idea. But I keep thinking the answer might just be in her latest ‘theory’ and that file I found. Some way or another, I have to find out more about those fires.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Why the snacks?” Bethani asked as she watched her mother arrange chips around a bowl of artichoke dip.
“I invited Aunt Genny over to watch the show with us tonight.”
The teen eyed the decorative platter that was considered fashionable a decade or two before her birth. “You don’t usually break out Granny Bert’s best plastic. What’s the occasion?” A look of suspicion crossed her face. “Is Mr. de coming?”
“No, he’s out of town again for another law convention.” She hoped she did not sound as despondent as she felt. “But I did invite Cutter to join us tonight.”
Bethani stared at her mother. “Cutter?” she squealed. “Cutter Montgomery is coming here, to our house?”
Madison was confused by the reaction. “Yes, he’s coming here, to our house.”
“And you’re just now telling me?” the teen wailed. Her hands flew up to her long blond tresses. “I have to wash my hair! The show starts in a little over an hour, and I don’t have a thing to wear! Mom, why didn’t you tell me he was coming over tonight?”
“Because I just asked him today, when I saw him at New Beginnings. What is wrong with you? What does Cutter have to do with your hair and wardrobe?”
“Mo—om! He’s the hottest guy in the entire two towns combined. The entire county. Maybe the state. He’s like a movie star and a rock legend, all rolled up in one.” She patted her head, as if searching for unseen curlers. “I don’t have time to wash my hair,” she fretted. “I’ve got to see if my Miss Me jeans are clean. And I’ve got to call Meg. She can come, too, can’t she, Mom? What about Kaci? She has a huge crush on Cutter. Oh my gosh, just wait until my friends hear about this!”
“Megan is always welcome here, but let’s keep it to just us, okay? Cutter’s coming over to help me with a potential case, not to be ogled by a bunch of admirers.”
“Like that doesn’t happen to him every single day,” the teen scoffed, but she let the protest die. She clapped her hands together in excitement. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe he’s coming to our house!”
As Bethani flew off in a flurry of activity, Maddy shook her head and laughed. She saw Cutter on a regular basis and considered him within her circle of friends. It never occurred to her that the twins did not know him half as well and were sel
dom included in their visits.
A short time later, Genny knocked on the front door. Stepping inside, she called out, “Yoo-hoo, we’re here.”
Madison heard Bethani’s excited squeal from the bedroom.
“I’m in the kitchen,” Madison called back. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right out.”
By the time she carried out the tray of refreshments, Genny and Cutter were seated on the couch, engaged in a good-natured argument about baseball.
“There’s no way the Rangers are going to win the series. The Astros will take them in two games,” Genesis predicted.
“Wanna bet?”
“Sure do.”
“Fine. You’re on. If there is a third game, you and I are going. Your treat.”
“Done.” Genny extended her hand to shake on it. “Not that I have to worry about it, though, because there won’t be a third game.”
Cutter bumped his shoulder into hers, grinning mischievously. “When we go to the game, you have to buy me a hot dog. And popcorn. A great big buttery tub of it.”
“What if there isn’t a third game? What do I get?”
He considered it for a moment. “I’ll take you to the movies,” he decided. “And I’ll buy you a hot dog and a big, buttery popcorn.”
“I’ll start scouting out movies, because we’ll be going to the theater, not the ballpark.”
Madison broke into their banter. “Okay, you two. You sound like Bethani and Blake.”
Cutter grinned and bumped Genny’s shoulder again. “She started it,” he imitated a whine. While Madison pretended to scowl, he asked, “So what’s up?”
Madison turned her focus to the man perched alongside her best friend. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask you, if you don’t mind.”
Cutter nodded his concurrence. “Shoot.”
“To begin with, what can you tell me about a fire out at Jerry Don Peavey’s place about four years ago?”
The fireman had traded his standard cowboy hat for a ball cap tonight. The Texas Rangers logo had sparked the point of contention between him and Genny moments ago. As he pushed the bill upward, he rubbed his forehead in thought. “Yeah, I think I remember that. It was late in the year, around Thanksgiving. A deer hunter spotted a small fire while he was on the stand. By the time he called it in and we responded, it had spread over the entire pasture. I think Peavey lost his barn.” As the details slowly came to mind, Cutter nodded. “Yeah, I remember now. The barn wasn’t a total loss, but he had a heck of a time getting his money from the insurance company. He had the whole thing insured for three times as much as it was worth, and they balked about the payout. Said it wasn’t worth it. He had to get the bank involved and prove he had mortgaged it for the same amount.”
