Stranger in My House (A Murder In Texas) (22 page)

“Tomorrow when Mr. Cargill comes, you will understand everything.”

She had to say something. Defend Frankie until Frankie could defend herself or accept responsibility in her own way. “I hope you’re right, Cousin Eenie. Because right now all I understand is that you’ve accused me of a crime and exonerated Miss Bea from a murder that has her fingerprints all over the murder weapon.”

They’d reached the end of the corridor. Below them Sarah Slade was still squawking about poison. Mr. Shaw studied her.

“You will understand tomorrow. In the meantime, grow eyes in the back of your head, Frances. For all our sakes.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Have you seen Miss Frances?”

“There she is, boss.”

Kirby bounded out of the house like an eager puppy. A soft breeze caught the ends of her hair and lifted them. She sailed over the back lawn and across the barnyard, the sunlight glowing against her skin like honey, and he almost forgot to be angry. Almost.

“Where the hell have you been?”

She tilted her head. Her eyebrows knitted. “With Mr. Shaw. Is something wrong?”

“What were you doing with Shaw?”

Her eyes narrowed. “My job.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Our conversation was private.”

“Talking about me again?” He couldn’t wipe the sneer from his face.

“Why don’t you just tell me what you’re all worked up about?” Alarm crossed her face. Satisfaction filled him then fell away, replaced by self-loathing.

Manny and Brittany emerged from the barn. Manny toted a bale of hay on his shoulder. Brittany giggled. Their steps slowed, and their expressions sobered. They studied him and Kirby.

He lowered his voice. “Garage. Now.” He brushed past Kirby and strode away.

“Fine.” She followed him, the light crunch of her boots against the gravel a caress, the scent of her skin a kiss.

How could he have been reduced to a mass of messy emotions and allowed a woman to get her claws into him so damn fast he hadn’t even noticed? How could he—
he
, Seth Maguire—have fallen so damn hard and so damn fast he never wanted to get up?

The garage was cool and dim and reeked of gasoline. He should take her up to his apartment, but he wasn’t feeling gentlemanly. “Tell me what you and Shaw talked about.”

“You’re acting like an immature idiot.”

“That’s rich. I’m immature?
You
are calling me immature? The biggest blabbermouth in Texas.”

Her lips tightened. “Maybe your other girlfriends liked being hollered at, but I don’t.”

He’d pissed her off. Well, good. Now she knew how he felt. “For Shaw you keep secrets. Mine get spilled to the whole fucking world.”

“What secrets? What are you talking about?”

“You told Shaw about my sister and what we discussed last week.”

“Is that what this is about? I was trying to help you.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t waste a minute, did you? Did you tell him the night you dragged it out of me? Were you and Shaw shaking your heads over what a loser I was? That’s why you didn’t go straight to your room, wasn’t it? You just couldn’t wait to tell Shaw about me.”

Her expression softened. “That’s not what happened. I asked for his help because I want you to be happy. You’re getting worked up over nothing.”

“Nothing? My family’s complete destruction is nothing? Giving Miss Bea the ammo to screw me whenever she wants is nothing?”

“You were a kid. None of it was your fault.”

“You should have asked me first!” The words blasted from his mouth and rattled the keys hanging by the steps.

She drew back from him.

His anger roared through him like a wildfire. “You had no right to go running off your mouth to Shaw. He’s turned me into a freak show. Me and Hannah are officially in his gallery of losers.”

The color drained from her face. “How dare you call the people he helps freaks and losers. And how dare you make me the bad guy.”

“I didn’t ask for your help. You think that just because you always do what’s right, you can fix everyone else. Well, you can’t. You can’t fix me.”

“I—I just wanted you to be happy.” Hurt glittered in her eyes.

He looked at his feet because he couldn’t bear to see her pain. “Happy? Who the hell is happy? Look around. See any happy people? There’s no such thing. Life sucks.”

“You know what I think? I think you’re scared.”

He tried to snicker. “Really.”

“Yeah, really. You butt heads with everyone, bark orders, take charge of everything because you’re afraid that if you don’t, someone will figure out that inside, you’re just like everyone else.”

“Well, don’t stop there. Enlighten me. What do everyone else’s insides look like?”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “With pleasure. You are a flawed human being subject to insecurities just like the rest of us and just as vulnerable as the rest of us and just as needy for love and understanding as anyone else.”

He tried to pull the dagger out of his back before he started bleeding. “I’ve gotten along just fine in my life without being analyzed, and I don’t need to start now. And since I’m sure you can do much better than a flawed human being like me, I’ll leave you to it.”

She leaned into him, the scent of her hair filling his senses. “Don’t be like this. I love you.”

Love.
She’d said the word. Shock bolted through him. Then came the self-loathing. So strong it nearly rocked him off his feet.

“I thought you didn’t care for me. Being as I’m flawed and all.” He was roaring at her, but the pain inside him was too raw, too insistent. He couldn’t contain it.

To her credit, she didn’t back down. But he hadn’t expected her to. Not his Kirby. “I said you had issues just like everyone else in the world.”

“And you’re perfect, I suppose.”

“Of course not. Grow up, Seth. Love doesn’t keep score. It’s about acceptance.”

He wanted her. He hated her. And he was jealous of that old man who’d created all that beauty inside her. “Is that another Grandy platitude?” he spat.

Her jaw dropped. “It’s from the Bible, if you must know.”

“Then it’s a damn platitude.”

“You are unbelievable. Lord Almighty, I just put my heart out there, and you call it a platitude.” Pain leached the color from her skin and sharpened the delicate bones of her face. Why wouldn’t she just go? Write him off as damaged goods and go.

“You love me even though I’m not worthy. That’s not love. That’s charity. Go love someone who is grateful.” He stomped out of the garage before he did something stupid like drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness.

“Wait, Seth. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Stay the hell away from me.”

Brittany and Manny were outside. Two mouths gaped and four round eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. They’d heard the whole argument—or least the meatiest parts. He shot Manny his wild-dog glare.

“Get back to work.”

They jumped and scurried to the barn. Brittany turned in midtrot. The shock had faded from her face. She smiled at him. “She’s a bitch.”

Manny grabbed her arm and yanked her into the barn. “What’s wrong with you?”

Brittany came right back at him. “Well, she is, and I’m glad Mr. Maguire figured it out.”

Pivoting, Seth strode across the drive and into the grove beside the house. Shaw was right. It was the only place on the damn ranch where a man could be alone with his thoughts. His blood pounded in his ears like a son of a bitch, sweat oozed from every pore in his freaking body, his fists were so tight his palms were bleeding. He wanted to kill someone. Not someone—the memory of someone. Kirby. But he didn’t think he could. Ever.

Above him, birds chirped a requiem to his dying anger. His flawed insides filled with regret. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stem the emotions swelling behind his eyes.

What the fuck was wrong with him? But he knew. No one could ever really love him. Not if they knew him for the nobody he was. The nobody who’d never done anything that mattered. The nobody whose love would become a curse if he gave it.

Just ask Hannah.

He couldn’t bear to hurt Kirby like he’d hurt Hannah. Kirby was better off with someone steady. A man who wouldn’t abandon her when things got tough. So would Hannah…except it was already too late for her.

Kirby dragged her feet and the remaining scraps of her heart upstairs. Preachy, interfering know-it-all. That’s what she was. That’s how she’d treated Seth. His eyes—defensive, outraged…relieved—followed her like a storm cloud.

You can’t always know what God intends for others, Kirby-nee.

Where was Seth now? What was he doing? Was he sorry? Was he hurt? Did he still want her?

A hiss, harsh and low and close, made her jump. “Mr. Maguire saw through your slutty ways just like I said.” Brittany had followed her.

Kirby paused in front of Frankie’s door. “This isn’t a good time.”

Brittany’s little mouth curled with malicious satisfaction. “Told you so.”

“I don’t know what you heard, but it wasn’t about you.”

“A real gentleman like Mr. Maguire wouldn’t talk about me with a slut like you.”

Kirby wanted to shake sense into the silly, stupid girl.
You think that just because you’re good, you can fix people.
Seth had nailed her in one angry sentence.

Maybe it was time she worked on herself. Let Seth deal with Brittany’s puppy love. But cantankerous, ham-handed Seth would probably make a mess of it. “Mr. Maguire is a grown man. A complicated one. I think you’re only seeing the parts of him you want to.”

“That’s not true. He needs someone who will take care of him.”

Kirby’s throat burned with unshed tears. She
was
trying to take care of him. “He needs a grown-up.”

“I’m old enough to make my own decisions, and I’m old enough to be with Mr. Maguire. Seth. Besides, I don’t need the biggest whore in all of Texas telling me about the man I love.”

It made Kirby angry. Not that Brittany wanted the same man Kirby loved. Not even that Brittany thought she was better. No. What was slowly igniting a blaze in the back of Kirby’s eyes was that Seth might hurt another dewy-eyed woman who couldn’t stop herself from falling in love with him.

And it made Kirby angry that stupid, naive Brittany was going to walk into the same trap as Kirby, thinking
she
was different,
she
was destined to tame this untamable man,
she
was Seth’s Joan of Arc, rescuing him from a lonely, loveless life. Well, everyone knew what happened to Joan of Arc. She got burned.

Letting the anger take hold of her tongue, Kirby stared down Brittany. “You are a complete nitwit if you think Seth is interested in you.”

Brittany’s jaw dropped. Her pale eyes gazed at Kirby in stunned disbelief. Then her heavy breasts heaved. Her arm flew up.

Yeah, right. Little Brit would have to move faster than that if she wanted to assault a police officer.
Kirby grabbed the girl’s wrist in midswing and held it.

Brittany struggled to free her arm. Kirby’s grip tightened.

The girl squealed. “
Ooh.
Ouch. You’re hurting me. Let go.”

“Not until you calm down.”

Brittany raised her voice to scream level. “Someone help me.
Please.
”

Not good.
The last thing Kirby needed was Mr. Shaw or Miss Bea or—God forbid—Seth running to Brittany’s rescue and discovering a catfight in progress.

“I’m going to release your wrist, but I want you to keep your arms down at your sides.” Kirby withdrew her hand.

Brittany rubbed at her wrist before looking at Kirby. “I wouldn’t touch you if—if—if you were made out of candy,” she sneered. She twisted away from Kirby. “Just leave me and Seth alone.”

Exasperated, Kirby called a warning at Brittany’s disappearing back. “You’re being pigheaded.”

Brittany stopped. “Am not.” She turned her head and looked back at Kirby. Through the dusty haze, her eyes gleamed. “Haven’t you hurt him enough?”

She swallowed hard to loosen the lump in her throat.
Yes.

“It was an argument,” Kirby said. “People say things they don’t mean when they’re mad.”

“You’re so stupid, you probably think that. He doesn’t want you. He told you to leave him alone.”

There was no comeback to that. Brittany was right.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The longest night of Kirby’s life scraped by like nails on a chalkboard.

At dawn, the rumble of garage doors sent her flying to the window like a lovesick loser. But humiliation has its rewards. Seth emerged, haggard but handsome, and her comatose heart managed a tiny flutter before he jumped into the white pickup and drove away.

The sheriff had returned the white pickup before Miss Bea’s trial, which wasn’t protocol. But he probably didn’t need it with her prints all over the murder weapon.

Kirby’s forehead wrinkled. Either Miss Bea was the dumbest or craziest murderer in the history of crime sprees. Why not put the truck back where she found it? Why park it in the lavender where it was sure to draw attention? Miss Bea didn’t seem dumb or crazy, so why did she do it?

And the bloodstains. Why would a woman who disinfected an entire wing of the house on a daily basis leave a bloody mess in the truck?

A beam of light flashed at Kirby from the ridge. Blinded, she staggered back, shielding her eyes against the white glare. Dots of light danced in her eyes.

What the hell?

She shoved the drapes back. The ridge. Its high, curved sides reminded her of a slumbering giant. Or perhaps a giant crouched against the landscape, lying in wait. But for what? Her?

No more games. No more pretending to be Frankie. The answer to everything—Charleen’s disappearance, Bobby’s death, Zack’s murder—was on the ridge or it was nowhere, because it wasn’t in the west or east wings. It wasn’t in the barn or the orchard or the lavender fields. And it sure as hell wasn’t in Seth’s bed. So it had to be the ridge, because someone was up there. Someone not afraid and not hiding. Either she found the truth this morning or she didn’t. And if she didn’t, this afternoon she was going to the cops and then she was going home to Frankie and confessing defeat. If Seth wanted her, he could follow her to Tulsa.

Kirby threw on jeans, the Rangers jersey, and Miss Bea’s old runners. She braided her hair, tossed the green contacts in the trash, and dug in the panties drawer for her Glock.
Dang.
She’d have to grab Miss Bea’s rifle.

The only witness to her departure, Sarah Slade, cocked her head when Kirby jogged past. “Hurry, he’s this way. Hell’s bells.”

Kirby laughed. Resolution felt good. “Good morning to you, too, you noisy bird.” She sailed out the back door and sprinted across the drive. In the barn Manny was scooping out feed for the horses.

“Morning, Manny.”

“Morning, Miss Frances.”

Miss Bea’s rifle dangled from a rusty hook. Kirby nodded at it. “You think Miss Bea would mind if I borrowed her gun?”

Manny’s face turned redder than a flannel shirt. “The boss wouldn’t want you toting a gun. Miss Bea, either.”

“It’s just for a little bit. I want to go up to the quarry.”

His lips pursed stubbornly.

She floated a white lie past him. “I, uh, think I lost an earring, and, well, with the shooting and Zack, I’d just feel better.” If she had to get physical, she would. But she really didn’t want to hurt Manny.

“You have to ask the boss.”

Yeah, right.
Kirby grabbed the rifle and prayed he wouldn’t try to wrestle it away from her. “It’s probably not loaded anyway.” She raised the bolt handle and pulled it back. One bullet in the chamber, two in the box.

Manny made a grab for the gun, but she locked it down and turned her back on him, aiming the rifle over the heads of lavender to check the sights again.

“If someone was up there, I could scare them away with this.”

“If Miss Bea catches you”—Manny grimaced—“she’d be steamed. The boss, too.”

“I’ll be quick. The rifle will be back here before anyone misses it.”

“Maybe I should go, too?”

She sidestepped his half question. “What’s the best way to get up the ridge without anyone in the house noticing?”

“You’d have to go out the back of the barn and circle the coach house and the big house and come out through the woods.”

“Thanks.”

Behind his thick glasses, his eyes registered disapproval. “Maybe you should wait for the boss to get back. Shouldn’t be too long.”

“I don’t want to disturb him just for an earring.”

Another deep blush suffused his face. “I guess after yesterday, uh, well, he might get, uh, ornery if you asked him for help.”

“Exactly.”

“He wasn’t very nice to you. Mr. Shaw wouldn’t have liked that.”

“I should get going.”

“Miss Frances?” He kicked at the straw with his good foot.

“What?”

“I’m worried about Brittany. She’s got it in her fool head that the boss is going to marry her. I’m afraid he’ll hurt her feelings.”

Kirby really needed to get to the ridge before Seth returned. “I’m not sure what I can do.”

“Do you think it would be okay if I asked him to let her down easy? He could say that she’s beautiful and all that, but he’s not good enough for her.”

“You like her, don’t you?”

He studied the ground. “She’d never go with a guy like me. Not when there are guys like the boss with two good feet and seeing as far as he does.”

“You’ll never know if she’d go out with you unless you ask her.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I will.”

“I better go.”

“Miss Frances?”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t tell you this before, but, uh, I heard someone on the ridge when Miss Charleen went missing. It’s probably nothing. That’s what the boss said.”

“The boss told you not to say anything to me?”

Manny’s eyes sidled away. “Not exactly. Anyway, it was a scream.”

She was going to kill Seth. How dare he interfere with her investigation? “Man or woman?”

“Woman. It sounded like you.”

Like me…or like Frankie?
The thought froze in her brain. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to believe it. Maybe she still didn’t. But maybe she knew who was waiting for her on the ridge.

“Makes me think you shouldn’t go up there without the boss. Even if he is mad.”

Brittany’s voice rang across the barnyard. “Manny? Mr. Maguire?”

“Brittany?” Manny scurried from the barn.

Kirby slipped out the back, eager to confront who or what waited on the ridge so she could get the hell out of Texas.

She jogged around the coach house and crouch-walked behind a row of whitethorn. When she reached the house, she straightened, ran, stuck close to the walls, ducked into the shelter of the woods.

She glanced over her shoulder. No one had followed.

A hot wind stirred the air, rustling the leaves over her head. She slipped between trees, welcoming the shade, then she was in the lavender field and under the burning sun again.

Heavy with pollen, the lavender tickled her nose as she crept down shallow furrows. She batted away the tall heads, but they just swung back, covering the nape of her neck with fine seed. Leaving the shelter of the lavender, she climbed the ridge, adrenaline twitching in her limbs, blood pounding in her ears. She gently pushed aside brush and set down her feet, staying as quiet as possible.

She headed for the limestone outcropping looming over the trees, jumping from tree to tree. Through a screen of catclaw, the dull quarry water blinked, but she didn’t see any movement.

Had she imagined the light? Was this just her way of setting a deadline so she could give up and go home? She elbowed a low bush out of the way and stepped onto the limestone rimming the quarry at the water’s edge.

A slender figure slowly raised her arm. Pale fingers gripped Kirby’s Glock.

“It’s about time,” Frankie said.