Stipulations and Complications

by Becki Willis

  Madison remembered the property all too well. She had accompanied Darla Mullins on the survey — one day of it, anyway — and recalled the heavily wooded thickets and bushy tree lines that dotted the land.

  “Let me guess. He thinks you are being unfair, taking the quality land for yourself and giving him the thickets and gully.”

  “You would think, but actually, it’s quite the opposite. He wants the woods around the gully. He insists that the trees belong to him and he refuses to acknowledge otherwise.”

  “Is there anything special about these trees? What kind are they?”

  Allen shrugged. “Just like the rest of the trees on the place. A mix of post oaks, elms, pine, a few ash, maybe a blackjack or two. Nothing special. He and his son were so adamant about it, they almost convinced me the first survey was wrong. So I paid for a second one to be done, this one by Boundaries Surveying. Unfortunately, Darla Mullins died before the final paperwork was filed.”

  “And while I’m happy to take you on as a client, I’m not sure what it is you expect me to do,” Madison interjected. She smiled up at Shilo Dawne as she delivered their drinks.

  “To be honest, neither do I, but I know I have to do something. Hank has become so paranoid, he filed a restraining order against me. I’m not allowed to step foot on his property, even the part that is, in fact, my own land.”

  “It sounds like you need a lawyer, Allen, not me.”

  “And I plan to get one. But not until I find out what’s so special about that particular piece of land. That’s where you come in.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I just want you to go over the fence, look around, see if you can tell what’s going on. I don’t know, maybe he’s growing marijuana over there. That would explain the paranoia.”

  “Hank Adams is almost as old as my grandmother! You don’t honestly think he’s growing marijuana, do you?”

  “I have no idea. Greed does strange things to people of all ages. Why else does he refuse to let anyone over there, even the survey team? Both surveyors had a heck of a time, getting permission to access his land in order to do their jobs properly. He’s being entirely unreasonable. Not to mention flat-out wrong.”

  “If it’s so cut and dry, why not just let an attorney argue the matter for you?”

  “He’s my neighbor, Maddy. I’ve known the man my entire life. And like you pointed out, he’s close to eighty years old. I don’t want to sue him, not if I have any other choice. I’m trying to be reasonable. If he would give me a legitimate reason, or even just talk to me, I would drop the whole thing. It’s not a lot of land in question, after all. But most of our correspondence is done through his son and grandson. According to them, Hank has dug in his heels and refuses to budge.”

  They discussed strategy as they sipped their cold beverages. Several people spoke as they passed their table, reminding Madison that she really needed an office. It was one of the first rooms scheduled to be finished in the renovation. Given that a television show would be filmed all around it — though not inside the office, once completed — Madison wondered if it could offer more privacy than meeting here at the café. She hated to admit it, but she might be forced to rent an office somewhere in town, even though she had no budget for such a luxury.

  “So we’re set?” Allen confirmed with a smile. He pushed the signed contract toward her, the all-important check for the down payment lying on top. “You think you can do this?”

  “I can tell you that I’ll give you my best efforts.”

  “And that’s all anyone can really ask, now isn’t it?” Allen tapped the table. “Good meeting. I’ll be in touch.”

  Before Madison could gather her paperwork and leave, an unfamiliar woman timidly approached her table. “Madison Reynolds?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  The woman tucked a string of brown hair behind her ear and shifted from one foot to the next, then back again. She was small, thin, with pale skin, and watery blue eyes that skittered away when Madison’s gaze made contact. Her lackluster hair hung around her gaunt face in dejection. Although the woman was well dressed, Madison’s first thought was drug addict, begging for money.

  A long moment stretched between them, before the woman finally blurted, “I-I need your help.”

  Madison bit back a sigh. Definitely a druggie.

  To her surprise, the woman continued. “I need to hire you.”

  “Hire me?”

  A flash of bravery flared in the woman’s eyes as she looked directly at Madison. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? Take on odd clients?”

  “Well, yes, we are a temporary employment service…”

  Her chin lifted a notch and her voice grew stronger. “I have the money, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “No, it’s not that. I was simply surprised…” Realizing she fumbled matters, Madison stood and extended her hand. “I’m sorry. Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Madison Reynolds. And you are…?”

  “Lisa Redmond.”

  She recognized the last name, if nothing more. “Ah. Please, have a seat and tell me how I can help you.”

  Once settled, Lisa Redmond dropped her eyes again and studied her bitten nails.

  Madison prompted the conversation with a friendly, “So? Are you related to the Redmonds here in Naomi? I don’t believe I’ve seen you around before.”

  “Oh, I live in Naomi,” the woman confirmed with a nod. “And yes, I’m related. In a way. I’m married to Barry Redmond.”

  Madison tried to hide her surprise. She had gone to school with Barry, and remembered him as being quite the jerk. A typical misfit with money, he liked flashy cars and flashy girls. Back in high school, he would never have given a second glance to the pale, washed-out woman before her.

  Lisa caught the look Madison unsuccessfully tried to disguise. A sad smile flitted over her face as she misinterpreted. “You’re remembering his first wife. Vivian, the blond bombshell.”

  “No, I—”

  “Or his second wife, Melanie. Same figure, different coloring?”

  “No—”

  “Third wife? Kilala, the one that spoke no English? He met her in Japan and brought her home for three months of wedded bliss. No talking, just… well, you know.” She blushed before repeating the crass words she no doubt heard too often. With a resigned sigh, she explained, “I’m wife number four.”

  “Actually, I lost track of Barry after we graduated from high school.”

  “I doubt he’s changed much in twenty years. He’s still into fast cars and women.” With a twist of her lips that could have been a wry smile, Lisa Redmond explained further. “That’s why I want to hire you. I think Barry is looking for wife number five.”

  “I’m not sure how I can help you, Mrs. Redmond.”

  “I just confided a very personal matter to you. Please, call me Lisa.”

  Thinking this conversation sounded too familiar — much like the one with George Gail Burton two months ago — Madison felt the need to explain her company’s primary goal. In her head, she shuffled through previous assignments, trying to find her focus area. Unfortunately, she was desperate enough to take on the oddest of jobs, meaning there was not a single common thread among her previous clients, other than the paycheck in the end. Before she could start to feel sorry for herself, Lisa pushed an envelope toward her.

  “Lucy Ngyen and George Gail Burton both say a thousand dollars is hardly enough for the excellent work you do. So I put twice as much in there. Is two thousand enough for a retainer?”

  Trying to look professional, Madison tamped down the ridiculous giddiness bubbling inside her. Two thousand is enough to have me dance at your next wedding. “I’m sure it will be,” she said with a demur murmur. “However, I still don’t know what you’re hiring me to do.”

  “Gather evidence that my husband is having an affair.”

  Madison almost groaned aloud. This sounds exactly like George Gail’s case. And look where th
at got me. Almost killed.

  Still, it was two thousand dollars…

  “Well—”

  To be so timid, Lisa Redmond had a habit of breaking in whenever Madison tried to speak. “I want photographic proof that Barry is seeing someone else. I know for a fact that he divorced both Kilala and Melanie without paying them a dime, claiming they were the ones at fault. I don’t want that to happen to me. I hear he’s been seen around town, even at this very restaurant, with more than one woman. I want you to take pictures, record conversations, gather as much evidence as you can to make certain I leave this marriage a wealthy woman.”

  So much for timid.

  Remembering that Genesis had reported seeing Barry Redmond here with Angie Jones, Madison decided the task shouldn’t be so difficult. Within ten minutes, she had a signed contract, another new client, and a satisfied smile upon her face.

  On a roll, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her list of recent contacts. Spotting the name she needed, she tapped the number and waited for the phone to ring.

  By way of greeting, the man on the other end answered with, “Hey, dollface, what’s up?”

  “I need a favor, Derron.”

  “Anything for you, boss lady. Name it.”

  “I need a file. I need inside Boundaries.”

  “Anything but that.”

  “Please, Derron? I know it’s painful for you, going back into the office, seeing your mother’s things. But you know that sooner or later, you have to do something with all those files.”

  There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Yes, I know. But I much prefer the ‘later’ option.”

  “I’m actually trying to help you out here,” Madison wheedled. “I’ll relieve you of at least one of those files.”

  “Make it an entire filing cabinet, and we have a deal.”

  “I-I don’t know about that…”

  “Please, please, please?”

  “You’re doing the puppy dog thing, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, is it working? My eyes are big and soulful, and just a tad bit adoring.”

  Madison could not help but laugh. “Oh, all right. But you owe me.”

  “And I know exactly how I can repay you. I’m going to take you shopping. Your wardrobe is atrocious, girlfriend.”

  “Hey, what’s wrong with my—” She glanced down at her navy slacks, sensible flat-soled shoes, and pale blue sweater set. She didn’t even bother with her protest. “Never mind. Just meet me at Boundaries. Three o’clock sound good?”

  “Blake has a baseball game, remember?”

  “Oh, shoot, I almost forgot!”

  On the other end of the line, Derron Mullins laughed. “You did forget.” He called her out on the fact. “Whatever would you do without me, fair lady?”

  “Be late to half the games?”

  “Let me finish this last section of fence, and I’ll meet you there. Give me a half hour.”

  “Thanks, Derron, I appreciate it.”

  “Tootles, dollface.”

  “Tootles,” she echoed, pressing the End button with a satisfied nod.

  At least if she had a copy of the survey, she would not be going onto Hank Adams’ land blind. He might still accuse her of trespassing, but if she followed the survey exactly, it might come down to a matter of technicality.

  And Madison was all about the details.

  Chapter Five

  Two days later, Madison donned her hiking boots and headed out to the Wynn/Adams boundary line. Using the old farm truck Allen Wynn left on the property, she drove to the back of the place. Pine Bluff loomed in the near distance, guiding her way to the property in question. While not technically a mountain, the local landmark was high enough to be seen for miles around.

  From all accounts, the high ridge itself sat on Adams’ property. There was no dispute over ownership of the limestone mesa dotted with scrubby pines. The problem arose a hundred feet from the base of the bluffs. According to Allen, the fence line over-extended its boundaries by as much as six feet in places.

  Gathering the laser distance meter she had borrowed from Derron, brightly colored orange chalk, a standard measuring tape, and her cell phone, Madison crawled from the truck. As an afterthought, she grabbed her jacket. It was springtime in Texas, meaning the afternoon would warm quickly, but for now, the morning air was still cool, particularly in the shade. Besides, the pockets came in handy.

  After tucking her jeans legs into the tops of her boots to protect them from potential sticker burs and bull nettle, Madison set off toward the woods. Just as Allen claimed, the strands of barbed wire wove a crooked path along the southwest boundary of the tree line.

  “Looks like it was done by a drunk Indian,” she muttered aloud.

  Madison snapped a few photos with her cell phone before crawling through the fence and into the dense thicket on the other side. It took a moment to find a chink in the solid armor of trees. When she deciphered a faint trail into the woods, she hoped it was forged by deer, not the feral hogs known to inhabit the area. The tusked beasts were notoriously mean and dangerous, and not something she wanted to meet up with.

  She had to turn back twice. One path was blocked by thick underbrush, another led to a cavernous nest of briers and scrub that she dared not disturb. She tried to take a few measurements, but the limbs tangled low, causing her to duck and hunch most of the way. By the time she reached the other side, her back ached, her jacket ripped, and an array of twigs and leaves rode piggyback in her hair.

  Good thing she was watching her step as she exited the thicket. Otherwise, she might have fallen into the deep gully that yawned between her and the base of the bluff. The perimeter of the ravine was as jagged as the fence had been, but it so happened she stepped out at the gully’s widest point. Directly at her feet, the ground dropped sharply away, falling to a depth of at least twenty feet.

  With great caution, Madison skirted the deep hole and stepped to her right, where a larger patch of earth offered solid footing. She would make her observations from here, thank you very much.

  “Geez, no wonder Hank Adams wants to leave the fence where it is,” she muttered aloud. “Who in their right mind would want to build a fence down there?” She peered into the ravine, noting the steeply banked sides, the shrubs and young trees poking from the embankment at odd angles, the boscage of crooked trees and bramble that littered the floor of the cavity. “And why would Allen care about the gully, anyway?”

  Madison took a few more measurements, making her way along the crooked line of the gully. True, in places there was plenty of room to build a fence. So why did Hank Adams refuse to give up his claim to the trees? She had seen nothing special about the thicket, other than it being dense and prolific. According to the survey and her amateur skills with the meter, the copse definitely fell on Wynn property.

  Personally, she did not understand why either man would want to claim the wasted acreage. Between the washed out earth and the thick undergrowth, the disputed property was unusable. Did it really matter which man had it under fence?

  After taking a few more measurements and a half dozen more photos, Madison decided she had done all she could. There was no readily visible reason why Hank Adams wanted the disputed acreage; no marijuana plants in sight, no secret outbuildings, no hidden treasure boxes that she could see. The most interesting thing she spotted was a small cave-like den on the far side of the gully, tucked beneath the limestone walls of Pine Bluff. Most likely, the home belonged to a bobcat or fox. She should go, before the occupant of the den came out to stake its claim.

  Particularly if said occupant turns out to be larger than a bobcat. Madison grimaced with the thought, imaging that the lair could belong to a bigger wildcat. Through the years — and definitely through local folklore — a few panthers and leopards were said to roam River County. Sightings were rare, interaction even less common, but occasionally livestock would come up missing, or be found mangled and ripped to shreds. Coyotes w
ere a known threat to ranchers, but some locals insisted that cats did their share of the damage.

  Just in case, Madison hurried away from the ravine and its mysterious residents. She wasn’t sure that entering the deep woods was a better alternative, but the truck waited for her on the other side, and that was enough to spur her forward.

  She did, however, choose a different route, this one a bit toward the southern edge of the boundary line, where the trees did not look quite as populated. It would be a longer walk back to the truck, but hopefully less resistant. As an added bonus, she was able to walk almost the entire way without stooping and bending, other than to dodge an odd limb or two.

  Without fighting the undergrowth and thick foliage, Madison could enjoy her walk through the woods. She remembered traipsing through similar woods as a child, joined by her cousins and a grand sense of adventure. Before her grandfather passed away, he taught them all how to identify some of the native trees and plants. To this day, Madison knew to be wary of the deceptive beauty of plants with shiny pointed leaves; Granny Bert’s anecdote for poison ivy was to slather the victim in a thick coat of calamine lotion. Madison often wondered which was worse, the itchy whelps left by the plant, or the pasty pink, crackled coating her grandmother applied.

  As the trees thinned even more, a quick look down at her GPS coordinates told her the tip of the property line ran roughly where she was standing. She marked the nearest tree with her chalk, on the side that faced Allen’s property. “You could build a fence through here easily enough,” she determined aloud. “Yet there it is over there, a good ten feet from here… Hmm. Maybe Allen is right to pursue the issue. There’s no good reason why Hank Adams should have Wynn property under his fen—”

  A rabbit darted across her path, interrupting her narrative as she squealed in surprise. As she laughed at her own foolishness, she heard a snap to her left. The sound was out-of-place in the woods, echoing with a distinct electronic swish. Madison stopped mid-step, looking around cautiously.