When the Stars Fall (The Sisters, Texas Mystery Series Book 2)

by Willis, Becki

“Darla?” she called. “I’m here!”

  Hearing no reply, she stopped inside her little office long enough to deposit her jacket. Secretly glad for the excuse to go to the front of the building, she made short work of the long hallway. She reached the door leading into the reception area and bumped it open with her shoulder.

  She promptly bounced right off it. The door was locked.

  Fighting down a ridiculous sense of panic, Madison tried the handle again. Nothing. She knocked on the wood panel. “Darla? The door’s locked.” She waited a few moments, then tried again. “Darla, I was letting you know I was here, but the door seems to be locked.”

  Hearing no movement from the other side of the door, she concluded that Darla had stepped out for a moment. It was five till eight and the office was not officially open yet. Turning back down the hall, she was just past the break room when the lights suddenly went out, plunging her into darkness.

  Her feet stalled and she stifled a frightened gasp. Faulty lighting, she was sure. Or perhaps Darla thought she was turning the light on instead of off.

  “Darla?” she called over her shoulder. “Could you turn the lights back on, please?”

  No answer. And no light.

  Biting into her lip and wondering why, oh why, she hadn’t turned the light on inside her office when she threw her jacket inside, Madison sucked in a deep breath and trudged on down the hallway. She thrust out a hand toward the wall to guide her path. Halfway down the long passage, her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and she could see where she was going.

  The ghosts, noisy once more, cheered her along her way.

  Once in the relative security of her office—it was difficult to think of the tiny, dismal room as a sanctuary—Madison flipped on the light switch and reached for the phone. She pressed extension 3 and heard exactly what she expected: nothing but endless ringing. Then she pressed “1”, Darla’s extension.

  “What is it?” Her barked greeting was as hostile today as it had been yesterday.

  “Oh, you are in,” Madison said in surprise.

  “Of course I’m in. I’m always here by seven-thirty.”

  “I tried the door to the reception area, but it was locked. I guess you didn’t hear me knocking?”

  Instead of answering, Darla asked coolly, “Did you need something?”

  Taken aback by her rude manner—and wondering why it even surprised her—Madison stuttered, “I-I was just letting you know I was here.”

  “Fine. I’m leaving today at lunch, so you’ll be the one going to the courthouse this afternoon. You know where it is, I presume?”

  Riverton, the county seat of River County, was hardly bigger than The Sisters. It would be difficult to miss the huge old courthouse that dominated the center of town. “Yes, of course.”

  “Good. I left some files in your office. Put them away.” With that order, Darla hung up the phone.

  Madison wrinkled her nose in distaste as she dropped the receiver back into its cradle. Apparently office etiquette differed from social etiquette, which dictated that the caller be the one to signal the end of the conversation. That, or Darla had just hung up on her.

  Turning her eyes to the table in the middle of the room, she saw a huge, sloppy pile of papers and manila folders. She half suspected Darla had upended one of the cardboard boxes and dumped its contents onto the table, just so Madison would have to file them away. She began sorting through them and dividing them into smaller, more manageable stacks.

  About fifteen minutes later, she heard Derron came in the back door. He flipped on the hall light and popped his blond head in to say hello. He glanced at a few of the files she handled and frowned.

  “Why do you have those in here?”

  “Your mother left them here. She told me to file them.”

  “Those belong in the file room. Anything dated five years ago or earlier is stored in there.”

  “But… almost all of these are old files!”

  Derron wagged his blond brows. “You’ll get your exercise today, dollface. That’s a lot of files to carry.”

  “I think that was the whole idea,” Madison muttered. Darla had gone to extra effort so that Madison would be banished to the dark dimensions of hell, otherwise known as the File Room.

  But, Madison gloated silently, the joke’s on her. Darla was the one footing the bill for the dirty little trick. If she wanted to pay her to do non-existent busy work, Madison was more than happy to cash the check.

  By the time Madison sorted all the files and returned them to their proper home, it was almost noon. With Derron’s blessings, she gathered the forms she needed to fill out at the courthouse and left Boundaries early enough to drop by the house. A quick bite to eat, and she was on the road headed to Riverton.

  She took the shortest route, even though it led down a series of twisting Farm-to-Market blacktop roads. The scenery was prettier out here than on the major highway that connected the towns. At least this route was illustrated. Oat fields on her right were dotted with Howard Evans’ herd of registered Brangus cattle. On the far horizon of Clem Johnson’s land, oil field crews scurried to take down a workover rig. Across the road, two pump jacks rocked in steady rhythm, earning their nickname of a metal rocking horse. She slowed as she turned onto the county road that took her past the Gleason Poultry Farm. Ignoring the bad memories that still haunted her in the middle of the night, she concentrated on something positive. Don Ngyen had probably taken over by now, finally owning the farm promised to him for so long.

  Madison cranked up the radio, determined to drown out the unpleasant memories of being kidnapped and almost burned to death. She sped past the farm, pressing on the accelerator as she entered a straight stretch of road. There was no one else on the remote section of blacktop, allowing her a sense of freedom and spontaneity.

  Bopping her head in time to the music, Madison sang along with the familiar tune. She was a bit off key, but what did it matter? There was no one around to cringe at the sour notes. What she lacked in musical ability she made up for with enthusiasm. She belted out the song, complete with facial gestures and body movements. Aretha Franklin might even owe her a little respect for this fully animated rendition.

  Caught up in her dual roles as lead singer and drummer, Madison almost missed her turn. The last-minute maneuver required both hands, destroying her beat against the dash. She hit ‘rewind’ on the satellite radio service that came free with the car for the first three months. By summer, she would have to give up the handy features to avoid another bill, but she might as well enjoy it while she could.

  She was doing the final roll-down of the word when a flash caught her eye. Sunlight glinted off the shiny grill of a car approaching from behind. A car coming up fast and hard on her bumper. Madison instinctively punched her foot onto the gas pedal, shooting ahead of the speeding car. She was surprised when it kept pace.

  “Geesh, if you’re in that big of a hurry, go around me,” she grumbled aloud.

  The car kept steady behind her, prompting her to grumble louder. “What are you waiting on? You have plenty of room. The road is perfectly straight.”

  When the car made no effort to pass her, she went so far as to motion to the driver to come around. By now, she was traveling faster than she liked down a road pitted with holes and known to have active deer crossings. If she slowed the slightest of speeds, the car would tap her bumper. How would she ever explain that to the insurance company?

  The car finally decided to pass. Grateful for the small favor, Madison pulled her foot from the pedal as the white vehicle came up beside her. Her gratitude lasted only until she got a glimpse of the driver. She could not see a face, but the fedora and the trench coat were all too familiar. And, she realized, so was the car: it belonged to Caress.

  Determined not to panic, Madison took a quick inventory of the situation. She was still going a breezy 68 on a road designed for 55. Trench Coat kept pace with her, not even attempting to pass. Coming up sharpl
y ahead was a damaged guardrail, still mangled from the pickup truck that skidded into it last month and went facedown into the gully below. Even if she tried to swerve off the road before the ravine, the ground was still soft from a recent rain. More than likely, she would be stuck in the mud and at the mercy of the relentless Lincoln.

  Her only hope was to speed up and outrun the car, sailing past the guardrail before the other driver could push her into it. The only problem with that plan was that the road curved just beyond the gully. Madison wasn’t sure she could make the bend at anything faster than 45.

  She only had a few seconds to make her decision. Madison decided to risk it. As she moved her foot in place, a large green tractor came lumbering around the bend. The white Lincoln, still in the passing lane, was directly in its path. Trench Coat had no choice but to speed up and shoot in front of Madison, squeezing into the right lane between the tractor and the guardrail.

  A driver less skilled would have never made the curve, but Trench Coach managed the road with ease. But with a witness around, Trench Coat had no interest in terrorizing Madison. The white car sailed on down the road and quickly disappeared from sight. Madison slowed down to little more than a crawl as her knees began to knock. She pulled over into the first available driveway, sat there long enough to collect her senses, and then headed back in the direction in which she came. No way was she proceeding down the room so that Trench Coat could ambush her.

  The re-routed trip into Riverton was blessedly dull. Madison collected the information she needed and came home by way of the highway. She made a mental note not to travel the back-roads, at least not unless someone knew where she was. And on the way home, she called Brash. She pretended the only reason was to report the use of Caress’s car and the would-be plot to run her off the road, but the real reason was that she simply needed to hear his voice. The deep timbre of his concern made her feel somewhat protected and gave her a sense of security as she continued the drive home.

  After a quick dinner with the kids, Madison squeezed in a few hours to work on the case she had accepted from the private detective in Houston.

  Donny Howell claimed he suffered a debilitating injury while working in the oil field industry. His employer was fighting the Worker’s Compensation claim he filed and wanted proof that his injury was not severe enough to warrant the back brace he wore. Her new job, via the private detective, was to follow Donny and catch him engaged in any sort of physical activity.

  Madison found it ironic that the man lived on the same street as Caress, and that he, too, did not believe in closing his curtains at night. After three boring hours of waiting outside his house, she knew for a fact he did nothing that evening but sit on his couch and drink a six-pack of beer in front of the television.

  It must be some sort of prerequisite for living on North River Oaks, Madison mused. The homeowner’s association must clearly state that anyone living on this street must do so with their curtains wide open. That way, there’s no secrets from their neighbors. And it’s so much more efficient than gossip.

  From where she sat, she had a clear view into Caress’s kitchen window. A light was on beneath the overhead microwave, offering just enough light to see beyond the kitchen, into the doorway of the dining room. The room where Caress had been murdered at the hands of Trench Coat.

  A chill moved through Madison, but it had nothing to do with the frosty February air. Trench Coat knew who she was. Trench Coat made the threat clear today: back off. Do not be talking to the police.

  Somehow, Trench Coat had known she was on that road today. The only explanation was that she was being followed. Trench Coat knew enough about her life and her schedule to know where she was and when she would be alone.

  Trench Coat, it seemed, knew quite a bit about her.

  She, on the other hand, had no idea who hid behind the hat and coat. And that lack of knowledge made her vulnerable.

  Could Trench Coat possibly be George Gail? Her gut said ‘no’. Then again, her husband had lied to her and deceived her for months, and her gut never once put up an argument, suggesting that perhaps her gut was no judge of character.

  If not George Gail, then who? Who else had reason to want Caress dead? According to Darla and Derron, everyone loved their friend.

  In fact, most everyone she had spoken to agreed on that fact. Caress Ellingsworth was a valuable and well-respected member of the community. She was famous. According to some, the star brought a touch of dignity and class to their community, not to mention a fair share of business. Tourists, though few and far between here in The Sisters, often drove by her house, in hopes of seeing the well-loved soap star. People from neighboring towns attended the Christmas play each year, eager to see not only her performance, but also her vision for directing the story. Visitors meant revenue. Revenue meant the towns of Naomi and Juliet profited from the aged actress. So why kill the main attraction?

  Because, Madison knew firsthand, this had been a crime of passion, not premeditated murder. Trench Coat and Caress had gotten into a heated argument and somehow, Caress had wound up dead. Caress, in fact, had been the first to strike.

  So the question still remained: who knew Caress well enough, or was angry enough with her, to fight with her in her own home?

  Madison quickly discarded the idea of it being an intruder. When she first glimpsed them through the window, they were engaged in a conversation, not yet an argument. And Caress was clearly not frightened of the other person, judging from the way she had shoved and slapped. She had not cowered. Obviously she knew her killer well enough to let him or her into her home.

  A lover, perhaps? It had to be someone other than Curtis Burton; Trench Coat’s size and shape was all wrong for the lanky cowman. And just because neither Derron nor his mother knew of a lover, did not mean there was not one. Somehow, Madison needed to find out whom else the actress had been involved with.

  Madison’s imagination fizzled out after that. She could think of no one other than an intruder or a spurned lover who could have done this.

  She would not—could not—allow herself to consider another possibility, no matter how obvious: a lover’s jealous wife would have perfect motive for wanting Caress dead. But that category would include George Gail, and she wasn’t ready to give up on the thought of her innocence, not yet.

  As Madison stashed away her camera and acknowledged that tonight was a bust as far as catching Donny Howell was concerned, she made another realization: if Brash discovered the affair between Caress and Curtis, he would naturally consider George Gail as a suspect.

  Which might mean it would be up to Madison to help prove her client’s innocence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “What was so urgent that you had to call me at the light of dawn and insist we meet?” Madison asked as she slid into the booth at New Beginnings across from George Gail.

  Unfazed by the harsh tone in her companion’s voice, George Gail pushed a plate of sticky buns toward her. Sparkly blue eye shadow winked in the morning light. “I know how early you go to bed at night, so I figured you must get up first thing. I wanted to catch you before you left the house.”

  “At 5:47? Where else would I be?”

  George Gail offered an innocent shrug.

  “Don’t you ever sleep?” Madison grumbled.

  “Not much, not since this whole ordeal with Caress began.” Wringing her hands with a sudden bout of nerves, George Gail fretted. “How could I sleep these past few weeks, knowing my husband was having an affair right under my nose? And how can I sleep now, knowing I might have…” she darted a glance around the room, then lowered her voice to a whisper “…killed someone?”

  “George Gail, I don’t think you killed anyone.”

  “Shh! Keep your voice down!”

  “Look, there’s no evidence that points to you.”

  “Then how do you explain the blood?” she hissed.

  “You probably cut your finger that night and just don’t remember.�
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  George Gail visibly brightened. “Say, that sounds good. I think that’s what I’ll tell the police when they come to arrest me.”

  Madison frowned. “The police are not coming to arrest you.”

  “Then why did the chief ask to stop by the house today?”

  “Maybe to talk about the fire at the sale barn? The intruder at your house Sunday night? Maybe he’s collecting for a food drive. I don’t know, George Gail, and it’s too early in the morning for me to have to think about it. I need coffee.”

  “To be such an early riser, you’re not much of a morning person, are you?” the heavy woman smirked.

  “I’m not an early riser! You woke me up and insisted I meet you here!” Madison pressed her fingers to her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

  After a daunting first two days at Boundaries, then sitting for three hours last night on a failed stake-out, she was in no mood to face George Gail’s needy wheedle before her first crucial cup of morning coffee. So far, it was not lining up to be a good day.

  Or perhaps she was wrong.

  “Here’s the five hundred dollars I owe you,” George Gail said, slipping an envelope her way.

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

  “You sound surprised. Did you really think I would stiff you?” The blue shadow did not look so sparkly when George Gail frowned.

  “No, of course not. Not exactly.” Madison fidgeted in her seat. “I mean, that was the night you were a little… fuzzy. I thought you might not remember.”

  “Like I can’t remember whether or not I stabbed a woman to death?” she asked in a mope.

  “Please don’t start that again. You know as well as I do that you are not capable of murder.” Much to her relief, she saw Genesis headed her way with a mug of steaming coffee. “Bring the whole pot,” she told her friend before she even reached her.

  Genesis arched a graceful brow and shot a discreet glance toward George Gail. “Having that bad of a morning, are we?” she grinned.