Stipulations and Complications

by Becki Willis

  “Why do you think someone has been in here?” Nick asked.

  “I heard them talking on their phone. Not only were they in here, they were searching for something.”

  Nick bristled immediately. “Are you accusing one of our crew of stealing something?”

  “Not yet. But I do know they were in here looking for something.”

  “How do you know it was a worker?” Nick challenged. “Maybe someone else came in. Maybe one of the local looky-loos slipped through security and came up here to snoop around.”

  “I overheard the man say if he got caught, it would mean his job.”

  “So why didn’t you catch him?”

  “I was in the hidden stairwell, but the latch wouldn’t work from the inside.” When the other man started toward the bookcase, Brash warned, “Don’t touch anything. I’ll have to dust for prints.”

  “I suppose this is going to delay us even longer.” Nick was clearly not pleased, his mouth curling down into a scowl.

  Brash’s shrug was anything but casual. “Control your men. Do your job in keeping them out of my hair, so I can do my job and get out of yours.”

  When Nick would have made an angry comeback, Amanda stepped in. She said a few low words to Nick, who frowned again but nodded. He threw a reluctant glance at the police chief. “I’ll talk to the foremen, see if all their men are accounted for. And I’ll have them reiterate the consequences of crossing the police tape.”

  “That’s a good start. If this happens again, I’ll have no choice but to declare the entire house off-limits.”

  Before his temper could spark, Amanda waved her co-worker away. She practically shoved him out the door, but was quick to turn back around. “Brash, may I have a word with you?”

  “Sure. What can I do for you?”

  Amanda took his amiable attitude as encouragement to cross the room. She came close enough to touch his arm. “Brash, I hope you know we aren’t trying to be difficult. But we’re on a tight schedule, with many factors riding on our ability to follow a precise timeline.”

  “I do realize that, Amanda. Unfortunately, solving crimes seldom follows a time schedule.” He offered a smile to soften the edge in his voice.

  “Are you certain a crime has even been committed? That unfortunate soul could have died of natural causes.”

  “That is certainly a possibility.”

  “Do you really think a clue still exists up here?” She glanced around the room skeptically, but her hand still rested upon his arm.

  “I know it’s not a high probability, but I have a job to do, Amanda.” He dropped his head slightly, adding weight to his low comment.

  Madison stepped into the room at the precise moment Amanda moved closer, lifting her pretty face up toward Brash’s. Maddy gave the tiniest of gasps, pulling Brash’s attention to her startled face. He read the hurt in her expression, the misunderstanding in her eyes. She thought she had interrupted an intimate moment between him and the producer.

  Damned if he would jerk away guiltily, as if he had done something wrong. He had no interest in Amanda, but Maddy had to learn to trust him. Ignoring the awkward tension in the room and the way his blood revved at the sight of the tall brunette, he kept his voice neutral as he greeted her. “Madison. Thank you for coming down.”

  “Of course.” Because it would be rude to ignore the other woman, Madison offered a cool smile to the television producer. “Good morning, Amanda.”

  Brash felt the blond woman stiffen, her fingers curling into his arm before she dropped her hand and moved slightly away. Clearly disappointed by the interruption, Amanda’s smile was forced. “Not really,” she sighed. “Filming hit another snag, so now we’re behind schedule. Again.”

  When she cut her eyes toward Brash, Madison sensed trouble. “Is there a problem?”

  Before he could answer, the producer excused herself. “I’ll let Brash tell you about it, while I see if I can calm Nick down. Brash, I’ll speak to Paul and get you that footage you asked for.” She tapped his arm again, her fingers lingering a full beat longer than necessary.

  “I appreciate it, Amanda.” He smiled down at the other woman.

  Madison felt the prickly green thorns of jealousy curl around her heart. The man’s smile was potent enough to be considered a lethal weapon. The smile wasn’t even meant for her, but she still felt its effects, standing on the edges of its radiance.

  Ever since Genesis made the statement about Amanda having feelings for Brash, Madison’s attitude toward the other woman had inadvertently changed. She liked the producer — had, anyway, and still wanted to — but now Madison saw the woman as a threat to the tenuous relationship she was building with the chief of police. They faced enough obstacles without throwing a smart, attractive, likable blonde into the mix.

  She waited for the producer to leave, noting how Amanda was dressed in a fashionable yet professional pantsuit of dark plum, while she was wearing basic black slacks and a plain white blouse. Maybe she should take Derron up on his offer to go shopping…

  Irritated at her own lack of fashion sense, Madison’s voice was a bit sharper than necessary. “So did you find something new?”

  Brash arched a curious brow at her tone but answered the question. “No new evidence, but I did discover we have a new problem.”

  “I think I’ve already met my quota for the week.”

  “There’s a quota?” The skeptical smile was just playful enough, just charming enough, to steal her breath away. “And I’m just now hearing about this?”

  “Some of us have a lower threshold than others.”

  “Don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he said wryly, “but both of us seem to have a higher-than-normal problem threshold.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed.” When she limped further into the room and saw his questioning gaze, she explained, “Turning my ankle is just one example of this week’s current problem quota.”

  “How did you do that?”

  She waved away his concern with a vague, “Naturally clumsy, I guess. So tell me what happened here.”

  Brash gave her a quick recap of the morning’s events. As expected, his report resulted in a huge frown upon her pretty face.

  “To your knowledge, is anything missing?” he asked.

  Madison pivoted around the room, doing a quick survey. She raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “Nothing glaringly obvious, but who knows?”

  “I’m surprised to see that most of Miss Juliet’s possessions are still in the house.”

  “Tell me about it,” Madison muttered with a sigh. “When Granny Bert inherited the house, she took out the personal effects — clothes, medicines, that sort of thing — but she was admittedly so overwhelmed with the enormity of the gift that she left most of it intact. Not knowing quite what to do with it, she left all the furnishings and decorations.”

  “I can understand Granny Bert leaving it all, but I’m surprised the network didn’t ask you to clear it out before they started the remodel.”

  “Apparently, leaving it makes for better television. Reminds viewers this was someone’s home. Makes it more ‘personable,’ I think Amanda called it.”

  “I was in another bedroom earlier,” Brash recalled. “It was completely empty.”

  “We’re clearing them as we get to them. They even film taking everything out, so that viewers get a sense of each step of the process.” Madison resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but let a touch of drama drip into her voice.

  “And you’ve never had a problem with anything being taken?”

  “Not that I am aware of.”

  “I see that the jewelry is still in the jewelry box. I wonder why Granny Bert didn’t take that, when she took the other personal effects.”

  “I assume she took whatever was valuable and left the costume stuff. Maybe our would-be thief knew this stuff was fake.”

  “Maybe.” Brash studied the room at large, casting overt glances her way. After a moment he asked, “So what
’s the worried look about? What’s bothering you?”

  “Last night, Granny and I were talking about —” she glanced at the open doorway, deliberately turned away from it, and lowered her voice as she continued “— a journal that Miss Juliet was known to keep. Granny said it most likely would be here in the bedroom. She thought it might hold a clue as to why Miss Juliet had the secret passages, particularly the hidden room in the sub-basement. You don’t think—You don’t think someone… overheard our conversation and tried to find the journal themselves, do you?”

  “Where did you have this conversation?”

  “In Granny Bert’s living room.”

  “Where there are cameras and mics.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “But I very clearly stated the opt-out, marking the conversation as private and not for television.”

  “But it was still recorded, meaning someone could still hear what was said.”

  Madison worried her bottom lip. “I-I hadn’t thought about that,” she admitted. “We have a verbal agreement that those portions of the conversation are to be ignored and promptly deleted.”

  “You may have some sort of agreement with Nick and Amanda, but there are probably dozens of technicians who handle the audio first. Besides, just because they erase something, doesn’t mean they can un-hear it.”

  “True. I’ll make a mental note to be very careful of what is said, opt-out or not,” Madison murmured.

  “The question is, even if your conversation was overheard, why would someone care about the journals? Who would that someone be?”

  Madison shook her head with a hopeless sigh. “I haven’t the foggiest.”

  Chapter Seven

  With the noon hour over and the restaurant thinning out, Genesis made herself a plate and declared it time for a much-needed break. It had been a busy morning and she was starving.

  Normally, she ate lunch with her staff, choosing to sit with them at a back table after the lunch hour was done. Over the last few weeks, a new member had joined their little group. Cutter Montgomery was a regular diner at the café, but his schedule had recently changed. Since his later meal time usually coincided with the work staff’s, he had taken to joining them at their table.

  Genesis suspected it had something to do with her youngest waitress, Shilo Dawne Nedbalek. The dark-haired beauty had an obvious crush on the young fire chief. After only a few days of eating together, Genny was convinced the entire table of women had succumbed to Cutter’s charms.

  She refused to dwell on the fact that she, herself, may have been included in that crowd. So what if he was young enough to be her cousin? She knew the analogy made no sense — there were no age restrictions on cousins — but to say he was young enough to be her little brother gave off a sleazy vibe; you couldn’t have a crush on your own brother.

  And like it or not, Genny suspected she did, indeed, have a crush on the firefighter.

  She had always thought him handsome. Tall and slim, with nice shoulders and lean hips. He wore his dark blond hair short, but sometimes when he took off his cowboy hat, a thick shock fell across his forehead in charming disarray, giving him a rakish look. His hazel eyes sparkled with humor and he had a smile that engaged his entire face. Cutter was more than just handsome. He was downright sexy.

  The foolishness had started with that silly dance on Valentine’s Day. Genesis had hosted a big party at New Beginnings, her way of giving back to the community for making her business so successful. She and Cutter happened to be dancing together when the band honored her with a song, a slow and sexy rendition of The Lady in Red.

  Perhaps it had been the spotlight, or the excitement of the evening. Perchance, it had been the overall hype of Valentine’s Day in general. But something happened between them that night as they were dancing. Something unexpected. Something primitive. It had swirled between them, a live current of awareness that zinged the air and stole their breath away.

  They had spent the first few days avoiding one another, each embarrassed by their own reaction to the sensual moment. By silent accord, the dance was never mentioned again. It had taken a few weeks, but they had finally fallen back into an easy rapport, the one that had once come so naturally to them. Genny was not about to risk it all again by dwelling on a silly and fleeting crush. Given time, this foolishness would run its course. And in the meantime, she would simply ignore it.

  “You’re eating early today,” Cutter observed as she settled into the chair across from his. Usually the last to be seated, she often arrived at the table as he was having dessert. Today, however, he was just starting his meal.

  “This is breakfast.”

  He looked at the assortment of foods on her plate, none of them traditional breakfast foods. “I prefer bacon and eggs,” he teased.

  “Yeah, well, so do I, but I’m usually so busy cooking them for other people I don’t have time to eat them myself. So I settle for the mess-ups. Someone ordered cheese enchiladas, not this chicken one I’m about to devour.”

  “What is that stuff?” he asked, pointing to the creamy white mound on her plate.

  “Risotto.”

  “Riso-who?”

  Genny laughed at the expression on his face, ignoring the fact that even twisted in mock horror, his face was gut-wrenchingly handsome. These were hunger pains flipping around in her stomach, not a reaction to him. “Risotto,” she repeated.

  He jabbed a fingertip into the mixture, curiously testing the texture. “What is it?”

  “Sautéed bits of vegetables, cooked into rice and heavy cream. It’s delicious. You should try some.”

  He still looked skeptical. Genny laughed again. Scooping a bite onto her fork, she held it out for his inspection. “Here, try it. I promise you’ll like it.”

  Instead of taking the fork from her as she intended, he opened his mouth so that she could feed it to him. Little erotic shivers of delight danced down her arm and played havoc with her stomach. Genny pretended not to notice. Not when his hazel eyes pranced with mischief.

  “Mmm,” he said. “Not bad. In fact, that’s pretty good.”

  “Have I ever steered you wrong?” she teased.

  “Never. You’re the best cook I’ve ever known.” His eyes twinkled again. “Just don’t tell my mama I said that. Here, give me another bite.”

  “How about you get your own bowl of it?” Genny pretended to grumble as she scooped up another forkful and fed it to him.

  “What is this?” Shilo Dawne demanded, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Are your hands broken?”

  Seemingly unabashed, Cutter offered her a maddening grin. “No, but they are full.” He indicated the half-pound burger he held with both hands.

  “You spoil him, Miss Genny,” the waitress complained. She splashed sweet tea into his glass, flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder, and stalked off from the table.

  Genny knew that Shilo Dawne had a strange way of flirting with Cutter; half the time, it seemed, she was angry with him, or took offense with something he said or did. She had a cute pouty face, after all, and most men seemed to like that. Cutter, however, usually seemed baffled by her behavior and seldom took the bait. Instead of coaxing her into a better mood, he normally argued back or, like now, simply ignored her.

  Shilo Dawne was probably mad at him now, Genesis realized, because of his antics with her. She did have to admit, his casual sharing of her food — by her own hand, no less — did suggest something… intimate between them. With a frown, she belatedly remembered the cameras. She hoped they had not caught the silly moment on tape. She certainly hoped they would not air the meaningless gesture and make more of it than warranted.

  “Why the frown?” he asked.

  “I forgot about the cameras. I can just see it now.” She panned her hand through the air, imagining a ticker tape at the bottom of a television screen. “‘Local eatery force-feeds its customers,’” she intoned.

  “Or it could be a good thing,” Cutter shrugged. H
e traced his own imaginary ticker-tape feed. “‘Best cook in Texas has customers literally eating out of her hand.’”

  Genny grinned, showing off the dimples that she deplored but everyone else adored. “Okay, I like that one. We’ll go with that.” She dug her fork into the enchilada and took a bite, stringing cheese from her mouth to the plate. They both laughed at her messy endeavor and Cutter’s clumsy attempt to help with a napkin.

  After several minutes of eating in silence, Cutter nodded to the camera discreetly blinking in the corner. “So how’s life under the microscope?”

  “Believe it or not, I actually forget it’s there. Those first few days, we all walked around on tiptoes, trying to pose and primp for the camera, but that grew old really quick. A busy lunch rush has a way of making you forget about smiling pretty for the cameras.” She flashed another dimpled grin. “Now I don’t give it another thought. Funny how quickly you can become accustomed to something.”

  “I’ve noticed a lot more strangers in town since they started filming. Guess it’s good for businesses around here, but we’ve already had an increase in traffic accidents. Seems like we go on twice as many calls these days.”

  “The price of fame. Stipulations, as Maddy calls them.”

  “Speaking of Miss Maddy… any word on the skeleton?” For months, Cutter had used the same respectful label with her, referring to her as ‘Miss Genny.’ Somewhere along the way, perhaps even before the dance, he had dropped the moniker, symbolically narrowing the age distance between them. Now he simply called her Genny.

  “Not really. Brash turned it over to the state lab, but who knows how long that will take? She did ask me to come over to the Big House this afternoon, to help her look for some sort of journal Granny Bert remembered Miss Juliet keeping. They’re hoping it might have a clue as to why she had all the secret passages and the secret room.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I hope Rudy hurries with my car. He’s putting new tires on it. I’ll head over there as soon as he brings it back.”