Brash curled his body into a protective shield so that he led the way through the doorway, while still allowing her to cling to his arm. Madison hovered close behind him, colliding against his broad back when he stopped abruptly a few feet past the dining room table that seated eight.
“You might want to go back into the kitchen, Madison.” This time, his somber tone came out flat.
Scrunching her face up in preparation for what she knew would be an unpleasant sight, Madison peeked around the solid form of the police chief. At some point, her hands had come up to cling to either side of his waist.
The first thing she noticed was the odd angle of Caress’s legs. Instead of the feathered slippers she expected to see, a pair of thick socks cloaked the older woman’s feet, even though they lay too far apart to be in natural pose. She was already dressed for bed, an odd mix of satin gown and flannel robe.
Hidden half behind Brash, Madison did not immediately see the knife, but she saw the damage it had done. Caress’s clothes were ripped in long, angry slashes. At first, all Madison could see was the side of the other woman’s body, spilling out of the thrashed nightclothes. A very inopportune thought flashed through her mind: that was the boob Curtis Burton could not wait to see? She expected something full and perky, not something wrinkled and sagging.
Madison was immediately ashamed of herself, even before she saw the blood. A tiny shift to the right, and her vision was suddenly awash in red. The dark liquid still gurgled out of the half dozen knife wounds on Caress’s chest and throat, the cruor collecting beneath her body on the once-white carpet.
Who puts down white carpet? And in a dining room? Again, inappropriate thoughts swirled around inside Madison’s head, but it was better than letting the hysteria overcome her. It bubbled just below the surface, much like the blood in Caress’s abdomen.
Madison hid her face in Brash’s back, unable to take any more of the grizzly scene. She breathed in the scent of him, spicy cologne mingled with the starch of his uniform and a slight hint of sweat. It was a comforting combination, one she could grow dependent upon.
“Madison.” His voice was gentle but firm. “You need to go back into the kitchen. I have to attend the body.”
Madison slipped away without protest. She swallowed hard, refusing to look back over her shoulder, even to get a glimpse of Brash’s compassionate eyes. She stumbled back into the kitchen, just as the paramedics and the firefighters came storming into the room. She slid up against the counter, making room for four extra bodies in the small confines of the galley-style kitchen.
“Miss Maddy? Are you all right, ma’am?”
Leave it to Cutter Montgomery to take a moment to check on her. She already had a soft spot for the handsome young firefighter, and this gesture endeared him to her all the more. He had been the first to respond when she found Ronny Gleason’s mutilated body in the chicken house; she would always remember Cutter’s calm, reassuring presence that awful day, and how he called to check on her later in the afternoon, even when no one else thought to do so.
“Yes.” She managed a nod and a weak smile. “She’s in there.”
Cutter put a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Hang in there, ma’am,” he murmured before he passed through the space and joined the others round the body. Another law officer trailed him into the room.
Bits and pieces of their initial probe floated out to her.
“A dozen or so lacerations, all presumably inflicted by knife, five of them deep and potentially life-threatening.”
“… level of violence suggests a crime of passion. The attacker must have known the victim.”
“Wounds are deep and severe. Whoever did this was strong.”
“And very angry.”
“… next of kin?”
“Might call Darla Mullins. They’re good friends.”
“What time did this happen?”
“Eye witness puts time of death around 12:45.”
“Witness? Who’s the witness?”
“Madison Reynolds.”
“… that found Ronny Gleason? What are the odds of finding…”
Madison stifled a cry. What, indeed, were the odds of finding two dead bodies within a few weeks of one another? And here in The Sisters, no less? Leave it to her to be a long shot.
She heard Brash again, barking out orders about preserving the scene and taking photographs. As more emergency personnel arrived on the scene and neighbors came out of their homes to see what the commotion was all about, Brash directed the flow of traffic in—and mostly out—of the house. He posted Cutter at the door to keep unessential people from entering.
Madison wondered how she had managed to make the very short list of ‘essential’ people. So far no one had taken her statement, other than to confirm a time line and to question positive identification of the assailant. Since she had no idea what the person looked like, her eyewitness account would have to wait, at least until they had secured the scene.
That left her very little time to come up with her story.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Madison knew enough not to touch a thing. She had watched enough television to know that, theoretically, the police could fingerprint every room of the house, analyze DNA from obscure objects, or find trace evidence on mundane surfaces that might eventually track down the killer. She also knew enough about the small community of The Sisters to know that, realistically, none of that would be done. At best, the three-man team of police officers would do a visual survey of the room; seeing nothing amiss—only one place setting and one water glass in the sink, all washed and turned upside down to dry—they would not waste precious resources by processing the room.
Still, she was careful not to contaminate any potential evidence. She tried not to lean against the granite counter top, but her legs soon grew weary and her back ached from holding herself upright.
When she could take it no longer, she called out to the volunteer fireman who manned the door between kitchen and dining room. “Cutter, I need to sit down. Can I go out to my car?”
He shot a glance into the dining room, where Brash was busy taking photographs. “It’s probably best if you don’t, ma’am.”
“I don’t think I can stand here any longer,” she confessed. She was tired and cranky and wanted to rest.
He hesitated a moment longer. “I tell you what; I’ll take you out to the firetruck. You can wait for the Chief there.”
She nodded, willing to take what she could get. He spoke to someone in the other room, then came round to take Madison’s arm and escorted her out. As they stepped out the door she and Brash arrived through over an hour ago, she was momentarily stunned by the amount of people and vehicles that had accumulated in such a short time. All three patrol cars, two firetrucks, an ambulance, and a half dozen personal vehicles crowded into the driveway and spilled out into the street, where a steadily growing crowd strained to get a glimpse of what was happening. Two men wearing jackets from the fire department stood between the crowd and the house, holding busybodies at bay.
Madison’s mind flashed back to the day she found Ronny Gleason’s body and something the chief of police told her. He reminded her things were done differently in the rural communities than in the city where she had been living. Here, the volunteer fire department was a valuable asset to the law agency, filling in gaps where needed. With only three officers to serve both towns, the skeletal crew often depended on the VFD to be first responders and to provide traffic control, medical attention, a chain of command, and whatever else was needed. Even now, Cutter Montgomery took on the responsibilities of a law officer, rather than the welder-by-trade/volunteer-chief-and-fireman that he was.
“Madison!”
Someone called her name from the crowd as she walked toward the firetruck parked beneath the awning. She saw Genesis trying to rush forward, waving her arm to get her attention from among the crowd, but her friend was stopped short.
“Stand bac
k,” one of the firemen on crowd control cautioned in a stern voice.
Immediately leaving Madison’s side, Cutter approached the invisible barricade. “It’s okay, Perkins. Let her through.”
Feet apart, hands on hips, the other man shook his head in refusal. “deCordova said no one gets in.”
Cutter’s voice took on a steel edge. Even though the man on the line was a dozen years his senior, Cutter’s tone hardened with authority. “I said let her through.” He motioned for Genesis to come forward, then threw his arm around her shoulders to guide her past his glaring fellow fireman.
Until then, Genesis forgot what she was wearing. The minute she had gotten Madison’s text, she jumped from bed, threw on a pair of jeans and loafers, and flew out the door. She belatedly realized her top was a cute little cross between sleep shirt and baby doll, a thin pink jersey knit with ruffles and the glittery words ‘Just because I sleep alone doesn’t mean I sleep ugly.’
She saw the way the other man leered at her. Without even a jacket to hide behind, Genesis curled her shoulders inward to hide the fact she wore no bra. Cutter followed the man’s gaze, noticing her provocative top for the first time. Genny’s cheeks flooded with color when she saw the surprise in his hazel eyes.
Once again, Cutter immediately came to the rescue. Throwing a menacing glare at the gawking Perkins, Cutter shrugged out of his own jacket. “Cold, Miss Genny?”
She was grateful for the way he shielded her body with his own as he draped the warm material around her shoulders. It smelled of leather and spice, and a pleasant hint of woodsy smoke. Cutter squeezed her shoulders before releasing them, offering her encouragement and a warm smile.
“Better?”
Snuggling into the warmth of the jacket, wondering about the sudden goosebumps that appeared on her arms, Genesis smiled back. “Much. Thank you, Cutter.”
“My pleasure.”
“Montgomery!” someone bellowed from the house. “Quit flirting with the ladies and get back in here!”
“Duty calls.” He was still grinning down at Genesis, despite the fact that a dead body lay inside, growing colder by the minute. He stood aside so the two friends could see one another. “Genny’s here, Miss Maddy. Everything will be fine now.”
His voice was so calm and reassuring, both women could not help but believe him.
By the time Brash worked his way to Madison, the clock was striking two.
“Sorry this took so long.” He apologized the minute he slid into the front seat of the firetruck. Even though he was obviously harried, concern showed in his blue eyes. “How are you holding up?”
“About as expected.”
He turned a speculative gaze at Genesis. “What are you doing here?”
“She texted me.”
“Ah, yes, the Bobbsey twins.”
Genesis made a face. “I guess you’d like to be alone with Madison.”
Yes, but right now I just need to question her.
Did he say the words aloud or in his head? When neither woman’s face registered surprise, he supposed the impulsive thought remained his secret. His only answer was to lumber back out of the truck and open the door for Genesis. “When we’re done here, she can go.”
She peered around his broad chest to her friend. “I’ll wait for you at your car.”
Before getting back inside the truck, Brash asked Madison, “Do you want to do this here or somewhere else? We can go back inside, if you like.”
“No!” She had already spent over an hour inside the house with a dead body, thank you very much.
He settled his large frame into the driver’s seat, pulled his trusty notepad from his front pocket, and twisted to level his blue gaze upon the woman in the contrasting maroon and orange outfit.
“So. Madison.”
The heavy tone of those two words was enough to weigh on her nerves. She raised her chin a notch and looked at him as coolly as she could manage through sleep-depraved eyes. “Yes?”
“Explain to me why you were in front of Caress’s house to begin with.”
“That’s where my car was parked.”
He completely threw her with his next question. “Do you let your kids get away with that stunt?”
“Wh-What stunt?”
“When you ask your teenage kids a question, do you honestly let them get away with a smart little answer like that?” He did not wait for her reply, charging right in with an angry, “I know your car was parked there, Maddy. What I want to know is why your car was parked there.”
She had practiced her answer. Determined not to reveal her client’s involvement just yet, particularly not until she could talk to George Gail and be assured that she was passed out at home at the time of the murder, Madison found a plausible excuse for her own presence. She pasted on what she hoped was a sheepish smile and looked at Brash through her lashes.
“I-I was star gazing,” she admitted timidly.
“It’s too foggy outside to see a dad-burned star unless it fell onto your nose!”
“Not that kind of star.” She crooked a finger toward the house and tapped the air. “That kind of star.”
He was clearly dumbfounded. “Caress?”
“She’s a famous soap star, you know.” Madison tried to look suitably impressed. “Until a couple of years ago, she was the Heather Lothario of the soap screen.”
“Who?”
“Heather Lothario. You know, Music to the Soul?”
He stared at her blankly.
“Two for Vegas?”
She might have had a third eye, the way he stared at her.
“Oh, come on, surely you’ve heard of Made You Say It? You have a teenage daughter. How could you not know who Heather Lothario is? She’s a huge star!”
“These are television shows?” he guessed.
“These are movies, Brash. Huge box office hits. Huge.”
“I don’t have time for movies. And I know what you’re doing. You’re stalling. And I’m still waiting to hear why you were parked in front of Caress Ellingsworth’s house tonight.”
“I told you. I was watching for a glimpse of the famous actress.”
“So you’re telling me you’ve become a Peeping Tom.”
“Peeping Tom suggests slinking around among rosebushes, peering through the gap in the curtains. I was sitting out in my car, on a public street, looking through a window that had the blinds fully opened.”
“So you’ve become a stalker.”
“Stalker is a harsh word, don’t you think? I was merely looking through a window. Anyone could do the same.” She pointed over her shoulder to the crowd out on the street. “See, all of them are doing it now.”
Brash muttered a curse beneath his breath. “Have they been watching the entire time?” he stormed angrily, rooting around for the hand-held radio clipped to his side.
“Don’t worry, they can’t actually see her. I couldn’t see them, either, when they fell to the floor. But when only Trench Coat came back up, I knew something was wrong.”
“Trench Coat?” he asked, then held up a finger as in ‘hold that thought’. He barked into the radio, demanding someone close the blinds in the living room. Only when he saw the disappointment on the faces of the crowd did he turn his attention back to Madison. “Trench Coat?” he repeated.
“The person who attacked Caress. He was wearing a trench coat, so I nicknamed him that.”
“You nickname people while you watch them commit murder?”
“If I had known he was murdering her, I would have called the police immediately!”
“Why didn’t you anyway, Madison?” The quietness of the question was more unnerving than his yelled words.
“I-I thought she was just having an argument. In the privacy of her own home. I didn’t think it was illegal.”
“Obviously this was much more than a simple argument.”
“I didn’t know that at the time. It started as a shoving match, a slap here and there. In fact, Caress’s
reaction was so melodramatic that I thought it was some sort of rehearsal at first. By the time I realized it was real, it- it was too late.”
He recognized the distress in her eyes, the guilt etched upon her face. He put his hand on hers. “It wasn’t your fault, Maddy. You had no way of knowing Caress’s life was in danger, not if it happened the way you described.”
“It just seemed to escalate so quickly,” she murmured, recalling the scene that went from face slapping to murder in the time it took to make a quick phone call.
Brash withdrew his hand from hers and got back to business. “Tell me more about Trench Coat.”
“Only slightly taller than Caress, but definitely bigger. Broader.” She hulked up her shoulders to indicate the extra width. “He was wearing a long khaki trench coat and a hat and had his back to me the whole time, so I never saw a face. Not even a hair color.”
“So how are you certain it was a man?”
Madison studied him covertly. Was this a trick question? Did he suspect George Gail? Maybe he already knew about the affair between Caress and Curtis.
“Well, I-I guess I just assumed…” she murmured.
“You know what they say about assume.”
She nodded and muttered one of Granny Bert’s favorite axioms, “It makes an ‘ass’ of ‘u’ and ‘me’.”
“So her attacker could have been a woman?”
“Again, I only saw the person’s back, and they had on a coat.”
“So that’s a yes?” he persisted.
“I guess it’s possible. Whoever it was, he or she was bigger and stronger than Caress, but she didn’t seem to be afraid of them. She gave as good as she got.” Madison’s voice faltered. “At least, until there at the end…”
“Start at the beginning and tell me exactly what you saw.”
Madison relayed the details the best she could. Brash had her clarify several points, taking notes on his pad. They exhausted the subject, and after thirty minutes, she thought he was finally through questioning her.
When the Stars Fall (The Sisters, Texas Mystery Series Book 2) Page 9