by Becki Willis
“What can we do? There has to be something we can do to speed this along.”
Madison hesitated, slightly uncomfortable with what she was about to say. “I suppose I could enlist Collette to help,” she finally suggested. She still hadn’t told Brash about the message, nor was she certain she ever would. It was weird enough, her having heard it.
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea!” Genny said, with an enthusiasm Madison didn’t share.
Sharing.
That was the reason for her discomfort.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Somewhat reluctantly, Madison arranged to meet Collette the next day. Brash had appointments with his ‘higher ups’ and the River County ADA, so the timing was good for another trip to Waco. With the afternoon off, Collette offered to help Madison in her search. They agreed to meet at the McLennan County Courthouse.
Now, faced with the seemingly endless volumes of public records around her, Madison felt a bit overwhelmed. Her visit to the local courthouse had been much less stressful, especially given the fact her research there was straightforward. There, she had been armed with the names of both Nigel’s parents and had faced few variables. None of his eight siblings had marriages or subsequent births recorded in the county tomes to complicate her research. Their births, and in most cases, their deaths, were their only mention in the records of time. Plus, River County had only a fraction of the residents McLennan County had.
“You said your mother-in-law was doing some research for her family tree, right? Do you know where she looked? How she got started?” Madison asked.
“You’ll need a name, at the very least, and a year. Guesstimates may have to do. Who are we looking for?”
Madison turned toward the other woman. “I never told you, but Nigel Barrett was the client whose family I was searching for. Even though he’s gone now, I thought if I could locate his relatives, they could at least attend his memorial services.”
She didn’t mention she was trying to clear Tony’s name and, in doing so, clear Brash’s, as well. The less they mentioned Brash, the better.
“Of nine children, only Nigel and two siblings survived to adulthood,” she explained, glancing down at her notes. “Earl Wayne Barrett and Betty Jean Barrett Thomas. Earl had two sons and a daughter. One of the sons passed away as a child, the other may or may not still be living, so the daughter, Barbara, is the most viable candidate. Betty Jean had one daughter, Laura Jean, born in ‘56 and married multiple times, from what I understand.”
“Give me the dates of their births, and I’ll check out Earl and his children,” Collette volunteered. “You look for Laura.”
After two hours of digging through old records, they took a break at the coffee shop across the street.
“I’m afraid Earl and his descendants are a dead end,” Collette sighed. She stirred cream into her coffee and took a cautious sip. “James Earl died in prison, and I found a death record for a Barbara Barrett Morse that appears to fit our girl. So, it appears that any legitimate heirs, or relatives, will have to come from Betty Jean’s descendants. Any luck on your end?”
Madison sipped her coffee with a nod. “A little. At any rate, it’s more than I had. I already knew her daughter had a connection to the Ruiz family in Chilton, but when I reached out to them, they denied knowing her.”
“The ones that own the big furniture store? I see their commercial on TV.”
“Yes. Today I found proof she married their son, Garmin Ruiz, in ‘82. Since she married a Sammy Huddleston just a few years later, I’m assuming they divorced, and the Ruiz family banished her from their family tree.”
“Did she have children?”
“I haven’t found any so far. But I did learn something else of use.”
“Oh?” Collette asked with interest. “What’s that?”
“I had her name wrong, which may account for not finding her online. Her name is Lorie Jean, not Laura Jean.”
“Hmm, that could be it. That means this Lorie Jean and her children would be the only relatives for poor Mr. Barrett, huh?”
“It appears that way. You know, in all the craziness that’s happened since the wedding, I never got to ask you about Nigel Barrett. I was surprised to see that the two of you knew one another.”
“Yes, I did know him,” the other woman confirmed. “I suppose it won’t be violating any privacy laws to say he was one of our patients at the clinic. Very sweet old man. He always struck me as lonely, too. He told me once that he had no family.”
Madison sipped on her coffee, making no comment on Nigel’s personality. Perhaps he conducted himself differently at the doctor’s office than he did at home. “He told me you were the only technician who knew how to draw blood.”
Collette smiled with what looked like genuine affection. “He always said that. I don’t normally draw blood, but when they had trouble hitting his vein that very first time he came in, I gave it a try. After that, he would specifically request me, claiming I was the only one who could do it without it hurting. I didn’t mind helping out. We’ll certainly miss him at the clinic.”
“Sitting beside him as you were, I suppose you heard the argument between him and Tony Sanchez?”
“How could I not? I was worried about Mr. Barrett’s blood pressure. He was so angry!”
“Did you happen to see Nigel eat seafood that night?”
“Oh, no, absolutely not. He was highly allergic. Just like Bobby Ray was. Worse, actually.”
This surprised Madison. “You were aware of his allergies?”
“I did the man’s blood work and studied his genetic makeup,” Collette reminded her. “I knew everything about his health condition.”
“Do you recall if he mentioned his allergies that night at the table?”
“I don’t remember.”
“What about the conversation that led up to the argument? Do you remember what was said?”
“I already gave my statement to the police. Ask that hot husband of yours.”
“This is for my own curiosity.” Madison was quick to steer the conversation away from Brash.
Collette swirled her coffee before answering. “Something about mineral rights. Mr. Barrett had them, the other man wanted them. It went back and forth for several minutes, before Mr. Barrett got to his feet and started yelling, which everyone heard.”
“And Tony didn’t return to the table after that, correct?”
“No. Even his friend left.”
“Tony didn’t by chance bring Nigel a plate of food, did he? A refill, maybe, when he went after seconds for himself?”
“Why would he? That sounds like something a friend would do, and they didn’t seem too friendly, in my opinion.”
“It was just a thought.”
Collette set her coffee down and looked Madison square in the face. “I have a few questions for you, too.”
Madison braced herself. Please, please, please! Don’t let it be about a threesome!
“They kept talking about mineral rights. Apparently, the football player thought he should have them, instead of leaving them to Mr. Barrett’s estate. Now that Mr. Barrett has passed, what becomes of them?”
“Good question. Presumably, they will pass to his estate.”
“Is that the real reason you’re looking for his next of kin?”
“In part,” Madison admitted. “Like I said, I also think it would nice if a relative could attend his services.”
Plus, she said to herself, I’m trying to prove that person could be responsible for his death, so that no one accuses my husband.
Collette couldn’t hear the thoughts running through Madison’s head, especially as she herself was speaking. “Then I suggest you find this Lorie Jean woman. Oh, and RR78.”
“Speaking of RR78… I wonder who he might be. We haven’t found any record of Earl or Betty Jean’s grandchildren.”
“We’ll keep looking. Because if I understood what Mr. Barrett and the football player were saying, som
eone could inherit a sizable estate. I don’t really understand how mineral rights work, but they must be important, if the player was willing to kill over them.”
“Keep in mind, there’s no proof Nigel was murdered.”
“I saw the look in that other man’s eye,” Collette argued. “It wasn’t an accident.”
“We don’t know that.”
Collette shook her head in disagreement. “Bobby Ray’s death was an accident. He couldn’t resist taking a bite of his favorite food now and then, because I refused to cook it for him. I even gave up eating it myself when we got married, even though his allergies were never that pronounced. But Mr. Barrett was known to have severe allergic reactions to seafood. His entire family had a history of respiratory issues and sensitivity to allergens, whether they were seasonal, airborne, or food allergies. Mr. Barrett would never have deliberately eaten that shrimp,” she concluded.
She leaned in a bit, changing subjects. “Speaking of Bobby Ray, that brings me to my next question. Pete Vansant tells me you met with some of the troops last week. Why?” Her gaze was direct.
“Like I told you, Collette, Brash felt that something wasn’t quite right when your husband died. I wanted an opportunity to speak with his peers and hear their impressions from the day.”
Collette pulled in a deep breath, clearly upset. “Look, Madison—” she began, her voice filled with irritation.
Madison held up a hand to stop the tirade she sensed was coming. “Please. You don’t have to say anything. After talking to his friends and after the conversation you and I had the other night, Brash and I have concluded that your husband died of natural causes. I’m sorry if we caused you any undue stress during an already difficult time. Please understand that we only had the best intentions at heart.” She didn’t bother adding that, with his body already cremated, foul play couldn’t be proved or disproved now, even if they continued to pursue the issue.
“I understand. And I do appreciate that.” Collette nodded demurely and tucked her hands into her lap, accepting the apology with grace.
Madison drained her cup and collected their trash.
“Well, hello, Mrs. Erickson,” a man said, approaching their table with a cup of java in hand. “What are you doing over on this side of town?”
Collette’s smile was polite, if not a bit stiff. “Just having coffee with a friend.”
“You know who I am, right? Frank Fuller, from the clinic.”
Her expression warmed only marginally. The smile on her lips never quite reached her eyes. “Yes, of course, Mr. Fuller.”
“I’ve just been over at the courthouse,” he explained, even though she didn’t ask. He rattled on, not appearing to notice her lukewarm reception to his presence. “I told you about my work as a landman. Or a petroleum land agent, as they call us these days. I guess they think that sounds more impressive.” He reached into his front shirt pocket and pulled out a handful of business cards. “See? Says it right there on the card. I’ll leave these two here with you ladies, in case you ever have need of my services.”
“I doubt it, but thanks,” Collette said. “My friend isn’t local.”
“Oh, well, sure. I work all over Central Texas. Went out to West Texas once, but it’s too flat out there for my tastes. Good oil country, but dry and dusty. And East Texas has too many pine trees. Messes with my allergies. North Texas’ not too bad, but I prefer it here in the middle of the state, thank you very much.” He rocked back on his heels, sloshing a bit of coffee on the floor as he did so. He looked down in disgust. “Look at me. Such a klutz.”
As he swooped down to wipe up his mess, Collette rolled her eyes.
“Say,” Frank Fuller said as he straightened, sending only a bit more dribble over the side of his cup, “did you hear about Nigel Barrett? The poor man died over the weekend. He told me he was in a bad way, but I never realized he was that close to the end.”
“Yes, I heard. It’s a real shame,” Collette agreed. She made a show of gathering her purse, signaling they were about to leave.
The man either missed the subtle clue or chose to overlook it. “From what I hear,” he continued, “it wasn’t the cancer that got him. I heard on the news that he may have been murdered.”
“Very sad,” Collette murmured.
“He was a big landowner, you know. Oh, well, sure. Of course you knew. Nigel told everybody about his land.” He made a motion with his hand, as if waving away a pesky fly. “With the industry cranking back up, and him being in the hotbed of activity, he could have stood to make a small fortune, just on his bonus consideration.”
Madison would have introduced herself, but Collette stood and stuffed her chair back under the table.
“It was really great seeing you, Mr. Fuller, but we have to go. My friend has a long drive in front of her.”
“Oh, well, sure. You be careful out there, Missy. Gotta drive for all the other fools on the road, not just yourself.”
“Absolutely,” Madison murmured, confused by Collette’s sudden rush to leave. The other woman wheeled about and started for the door, expecting Madison to follow.
As they stepped onto the sidewalk, Collette huffed out an exasperated breath. “I’m sorry, but that man would talk our ears off if we gave him half a chance! Believe me, in thirty minutes, you would be begging me to intervene.”
“I would have been interested to hear what he had to say about Nigel, though,” Madison admitted.
“Oh, well, sure,” Collette mimicked the man. She rolled her eyes again. “I swear! It takes him an hour to explain a chance meeting in an elevator. Save yourself the bother,” Collette advised.
Inside her purse, Collette’s telephone rang. “If you don’t mind,” Collette said, ignoring the ring tone playing in her purse, “I think I won’t go in with you. I have some errands to run.”
“Absolutely. I know you have the afternoon off and have better things to do than help me. I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You’ve been a true help.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
They crossed the street and parted near the steps of the courthouse, where Collette offered a final word of encouragement.
“You and that hot husband of yours keep your chins up. Whatever is going on will be over soon, and everything will work out. I promise.”
“Thank you, Collette,” Madison smiled. “I appreciate it.”
Madison returned to the archives for more research on Lorie Jean Thomas. With the added surnames of Ruiz and Huddleston, she spent another forty-five minutes looking for the third marriage certificate Granny Bert had alluded to, and for a death certificate. She found neither.
As she started for the exit, she noticed Frank Fuller sitting at a large table, surrounded by several opened volumes of the thick tomes. She hesitated for only a moment before approaching.
“Hello. Frank, isn’t that right?” she asked with a smile.
“Oh, well, sure. That’s right. Frank Fuller.” He stood and thrust out his hand.
“We weren’t properly introduced before. I’m Madison Reynolds.” Realizing the slip, she started to correct herself, but stopped. If Frank Fuller were following the story of Nigel’s death, he would no doubt recognize the name deCordova. Just this once, she would let the slip go.
He peered over her shoulder. “Where’s my favorite lab tech?”
“You mean Collette? She had to leave.”
“She works in the lab over at the VA hospital,” he needlessly explained. “Runs some high-tech piece of machinery, but drew blood for Nigel as a special favor.” He waved his hands again, a gesture Madison already recognized.
“Is that how you knew Nigel Barrett? He and I are from the same town.”
“Oh, well, sure. I met him at the VA hospital. Struck up a conversation while we waited our turn to have the blood sucked from our veins.” He said the words almost cheerfully, as if he were describing a sporting event instead of a procedure most people dreaded. “Ran into him a
time or two after that, mostly in the waiting room or the elevator. Sure hated to hear of his passing.”
“Yes, we all did.”
“Wonder what’s going to happen with his land, now that he’s gone?”
Madison’s hesitation was the only encouragement he needed to continue. “When he found out what I did for a living, being a landman and all, he asked me what happened in a situation where there was no heir apparent. I could tell he was worried about passing on without having someone to leave his estate to.”
“Yes, he was. I was working with Mr. Barrett at the time of his death,” Madison explained, “helping him find his heirs. That’s actually why I’m here today, searching records. I’m sorry I couldn’t find his relatives before he passed away, but I’m doing my best to find them now.”
“Oh, well, sure. That’s good of you. Not to mention you could be making someone very rich. Another oil boom could have made Nigel an easy million, many times over.”
“On seven hundred acres of land? That’s more than I would have imagined.”
“Oh, well, sure. That and more. Nigel held a small percentage of the royalty deed to most of the Barretts’ original land grant. They were part of Stephen F.’s Old Three Hundred, you see. Nigel told me all about it, too, sitting in that waiting room.” Frank rocked back on his heels again, bumping into the chair behind him.
Madison blinked at him in surprise. “Are you sure about that?”
“Absolutely. I’d never encountered such a thing, and I thought I’d heard it all! But Nigel explained how it was written into the original deed, and how a judge had interpreted it to mean the Barrett estate would always have a stake in the royalty rights for that chunk of the Brazos Valley. Just goes to prove,” Frank said with a pleased smile, “you never know what you’ll learn at the doctor’s office.”
“You called them royalty rights,” Madison noted, “not mineral rights.”
“Oh, well, sure. As opposed to executive rights.” He nodded, even though the explanation went over her head. “Generally speaking, owning executive rights to the minerals allows a person to enter into a lease agreement and receive leasing bonuses, shut-in payments and royalties, and the like. The person who owns royalty rights has no say in leasing the minerals but earns money off them whenever oil or gas is produced.” He shifted his stance and started a more detailed explanation. “You see—”