by Becki Willis
The thought was sobering. It gave her a creepy sensation to think that someone was spying on her, watching her every move. But who? Who was watching her? Why hadn’t she seen them? And why would someone want to watch her in the first place?
Madison went back over the sequence of events in her head, examining each piece of information she had gathered.
Ronny Gleason died of electrocution. Since there was no evidence of accidental shock at the farm, it was safe to assume he died somewhere else and someone moved his body. There was the possibility of his death being an accident and someone —possibly a man who spoke poor English?— trying to cover it up for fear of being accused of murder. Madison tucked the thought away as one theory, but she favored another; someone had killed Ronny Gleason because of his gambling and then dumped his body in the chicken house, where they hoped the chickens and the heat would destroy all evidence of foul play. If not for an autopsy and the sharp eye of the medical examiner, the scheme might have worked.
Ronny Gleason definitely had a gambling problem. Frequent trips to Las Vegas pointed to a serious addiction, particularly one this late in his flock. According to Cutter Montgomery, the grower planned this last trip during a critical point of the operation and was even willing to leave it all in her incapable hands. That was a sure sign of desperation if she had ever seen one.
What would make a man do that? she wondered, turning onto County Road 452. Did he owe someone a large sum of money again? Was he that desperate to make some quick cash? Or was it his addiction overruling common sense? Maybe there was a big poker game taking place in Vegas; she would check that out when she got back home, since she had nothing else to do this afternoon. Or, she considered, maybe he was meeting ‘the boss’ and making more plans for his illegal gaming operation. From what she gathered, Ronny Gleason bought the fighting cocks from other people, set up the fights, and took a nice share of the profits, win or lose.
He could have easily made someone angry. Her imagination took flight, wondering if it could be someone more important than a local gambler who lost this month’s rent. A bookie, perhaps, worried about someone cutting into their own territory of organized gambling. Oh, wait, the mafia! she decided. They were more dangerous and more likely to commit murder.
Madison was feeling quite pleased with herself and her keen sense of detective skills until a staggering thought hit her: according to her theory, that meant the mafia was the one watching her every move! Fear slithered down her spine and she quickly shook the idea away. So not the mafia. Surely, there was someone else.
Her eye slid over to the file folder on the seat. One obvious suspect was Ramona Gleason. The envelope she was delivering suggested Ramona’s husband might be worth more to her dead than alive. But was the woman capable of murder? And of the physical strength involved in moving her husband’s body? Maybe she had an accomplice. Granny Bert said she never heard of ‘the plastic widow’ having an actual lover, but certainly everyone thought it possible, if not downright probable. Maybe she had talked her lover into helping her kill her husband and move his body to the chicken houses for decomposition and eventual discovery.
Not that this theory brought much more comfort. Madison twisted her lips in thought as she pulled into the driveway leading up to the Gleason home. If her latest theory was right and Ramona was responsible for Ronny’s death, she was putting herself in danger by coming here. No one knew where she was. The police, the fire department, and probably half the town were two miles away at the Muehler fire.
She told herself she was over-reacting. The truth was, she was no private detective, just like Brash was always insisting. She could come up with dozens of theories —the mafia, a cheating wife, disgruntled gamblers who lost the shirt off their backs in one of Ronny’s fights, even townspeople he owed money to— but they were merely hypothetical. She had no proof. She did not even know the identity of the men she overheard at the fight, the ones talking about the ‘boss’ and Don Ngyen’s innocence. She could scare herself silly with supposed murderers and the fear of being watched, but it might just be coincidence that the abandoned Muehler place caught fire today. And, she reminded herself, Ramona Gleason went to Talk of the Town every Tuesday, so she had an alibi for the time Ronny was killed. Madison was over-reacting.
Still, she shot off a quick text message to Genesis, letting someone know where she was. And she would make the visit brief. She would drop the check off at the door and be gone.
Feeling much more confident, Madison stuffed her cell phone into her pocket, grabbed the envelope from the seat, and pulled her coat around her as she stepped from the car.
The Gleason’s exuberant puppy ran up to greet her as she rang the doorbell. Despite the dog’s large size, she knew the black Labrador was friendly and posed no harm. It pranced around her and alternately barked and whined, begging for attention. Madison laughed as the overgrown puppy jumped up and twirled mid-air, trying his best to impress her. Her laughter died when the dog’s foot came down onto a bowl of milk sitting on the porch. As his huge paw hit the edge of the bowl, the liquid splashed up and got all over Madison’s out-stretched hand as she tried to calm him.
“Kujo!” Ramona cried out the dog’s name as she swung open the door and saw the mess he had created. “Go on, Kujo, get! Get away!”
“He was a little excited,” Madison said needlessly, slinging milk from her hand.
“Sorry about that. You can come in and wash your hands, if you like,” the other woman offered.
Madison hesitated. She told herself she was being ridiculous. And her hand was already feeling sticky and cold. It only made sense to step inside and clean up. Besides, the milk had splashed on her coat and she needed to wipe it off before it stained. She could not afford to send it to the cleaners.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping through the door Ramona held open.
Ramona spotted the check in Madison’s other hand, the one spared from the splash. Without a word, she whipped the envelope out of her grasp as she passed by.
“Finally!” the new widow said with dramatics.
“I actually thought it was rather quick,” Madison murmured. “When my husband died, it took the insurance company weeks to pay the claim.”
“Well, thank goodness that is not the case here. I need this money,” she sniffed.
Madison resisted rolling her eyes. Talk about needing money! I needed money to exist, not to fluff up my appearance!
“The bathroom is that way,” Ramona said distractedly, flinging one arm behind her as she peered down at the envelope in her hands.
The hall had a series of closed doors. The first one Madison opened was a coat closet. She glimpsed real fur and at least two designer leather jackets before she quickly shut the door. She tried the next one, only to discover an office. Maybe she should hire me as a housekeeper, Madison thought as she surveyed the messy room. She moved across the hall to another closed door.
Ah, finally. The bathroom. Madison slipped into the room, immediately appreciating the large space. A huge Jacuzzi tub with dozens of jets dominated the back corner. The room had a classic black and white theme, including the white marble of the tub splashed with ebony. Designer monogrammed towels proclaimed one ‘His’, the other ‘Hers’.
The bathroom at Granny’s was small and cramped. Madison idly wondered if the bathrooms at the Big House could be modified to resemble this one. She shook her head and turned away from the tempting sight, but not before visions of bubble baths danced in her head.
She slipped off her rings and lathered her hands with soap from an ornate dispenser. After washing the sticky substance from her hands, she went to work wiping down her coat. When she was satisfied there would be little or no stain, she rinsed her hands again and reached for her rings.
A thought rambled through her mind. Why was she still wearing Gray’s ring? Their marriage was over long ago, a good two years before his death. She owed him no loyalty, not after all he had done to her, but somewh
ere in her broken spirit, the rings offered a sense of belonging. If nothing else, they reminded her that once upon a time, a man had wanted her enough to give her his name.
Her wedding ring slipped from her fingers and hit the tiled floor. It bounced a few times before rolling across the room. Madison chased after it, but it disappeared under the plant stand at the foot of the tub. As Madison got down on all fours and crawled beneath the cascading fronds of a Boston fern, she wondered if this was some sort of sign. Here she was on her knees again, groveling to keep the ring on her finger.
“Maybe it’s time to take it off,” she murmured aloud, just as her fingers touched the cool circle of white gold.
A dark place on the wall caught her attention and Madison pushed more fronds aside to get a better look. A black smudge scorched the wall around the electrical plug, indicating a recent flash of fire. A thin black mark sullied the white tile of the floor, resembling a cord.
With sick realization, Madison turned her head and confirmed what she already knew: the tub was directly beside the plug. It would be all-too-easy to plug in a small appliance, drop it into the tub while Ronny bathed, and electrocute the defenseless man. Hadn’t Genny said something about Cutter having to reset a breaker for Ramona Gleason? Apparently she did not realize the plug had shorted out and played havoc with her breaker box when she killed her husband.
Stuffing her ring back onto her finger and backing out from beneath the plant, Madison nearly overturned the small table in her haste. A stubborn stem caught on her coat collar and tagged along for a ride as she pushed herself upright on wobbly legs.
“Think, Madison, think,” she whispered.
She had to get out of here. She could not let Ramona know she had seen anything amiss or that she even suspected her. She would have to act calm, cool, and collected as she said her goodbyes and hurried out as fast as possible.
Madison stared at her reflection in the mirror with dismay. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Her skin, always light and kissed with peach undertones, was particularly pale and pasty. One look at her, and Ramona would know something was wrong. “Pull it together, girl. Suck it up and get out of here.”
She gave herself the pep talk before taking a deep breath and reaching for the door handle.
Madison was thankful for her long stride, which carried her quickly down the hall and into the living room. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw the stormy expression on the other woman’s face.
“What is the meaning of this?” she fairly shrieked, tapping her high-heeled foot onto the plush carpet.
Madison darted a guilty gaze toward the bathroom. “I-I don’t know what you’re talk-talking about,” she stammered. She eased a few feet away, closer to the door.
“This check,” she screamed. When she flung her arm out to flash the paper in front of Madison’s face, Madison instinctively ducked. Ramona scowled deeply but did not let the move distract her. “This tiny, paltry, hardly-worth-the-ink-it-took-to-print-it check! What is the meaning of this?”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Madison said, but this time her voice held a note of confusion.
“Would you stop saying that?” Ramona spat. “Of course you know what I’m talking about! You just delivered this check to me, sad amount that it is. What I want to know is why this check will hardly pay for a new pair of shoes, much less for my husband’s funeral!”
Madison felt a prick of guilt. Ramona was using the insurance money to pay for Ronny’s funeral? She just assumed it would go for a new face-lift or tummy tuck, or an island get-away for her and her lover.
Ramona was still ranting. “I wanted the best for my Ronny! I know what people say, but they just didn’t understand our marriage. I wanted him to have a nice casket, a new suit of clothes, a granite headstone! This check won’t even pay for the flowers!” She paced across the room, flapping the check in the air as she whipped around and marched back to where Madison stood. “What I want to know is where the rest of it is! Why isn’t this check for more?”
“I have no idea,” Madison said in all sincerity. “I didn’t open the envelope; I just delivered it to you.”
“Then I suggest you call that boss of yours and find out what the hell is going on here!”
Madison saw her opportunity to escape. “I-I will,” she promised. “I’ll go right now and call him.”
Ramona followed her to the door, mumbling beneath her breath. According to her, the day had gone from bad to worse. She had to break her standing appointment at Talk of the Town —a three-year tradition, down the sink drain!— and now she had been cheated out of what was rightfully hers. Poor Ronny deserved better, she wailed. He deserved the fine funeral she gave him, without it sending his widow into debt.
Madison only heard half the lamented tale as she hurriedly bid goodbye and raced to her car. She threw the car in reverse and tore out of the driveway, flinging the papers from her seat into the floorboard. Her only concern was putting as much space as possible between her and the murderess.
When Madison’s phone rang, she was almost off the Gleason Farm and close to freedom.
“Well, congratulations!” a cheerful voice greeted her.
Madison pulled the phone away from her ear and glanced down at the caller ID. “Eddie?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m just calling to tell you what a fantastic job you did on the chickens. You not only won first place, you kicked everyone else’s butt!” the Service Tech happily announced.
“Really? That’s fantastic. I was so afraid I was going to hurt the flock!” Madison could not help but feel a measure of pride in the accomplishment, even though she knew she had little to do with the flock’s overall performance.
“You should be proud of yourself.”
“I am,” she admitted, sitting up a bit straighter in the seat of the borrowed Buick. She was discovering all kinds of hidden talents today, from detective skills to chicken growing.
“To show their appreciation, Barbour is offering a very rare and unusual bonus. I wondered if you could meet me at the farm so I can deliver you a check.”
“A check?” she asked in surprise.
“As I said, you did an excellent job. I’m headed out to the farm now. Think you could meet me there in about ten minutes?”
“I can be there in two,” Madison said, already making a U-turn in the road.
“See you then.”
A smile lit Madison’s face as she turned onto the farm road. A bonus! Even if it was just a token amount, it was more than she expected. Probably more than she deserved, her conscious railed, but she ignored the sarcastic little voice in her head. She texted Genny as she drove down the gravel road; surely, texting on such a secluded path was allowed.
Big news! Know who killed Ronny. Meeting tech to pick up bonus $$ for chickens. Be there in 10.
She pulled up between the first two houses to wait for Eddie. She had a moment, so she bent to retrieve the papers flung across the floorboard. With a few still out of her reach, she put the car in park and went around to open the passenger side door, slipping her phone into her pants pocket as she did. When a bottle of water fell out on the ground, she stuffed it into her coat pocket and bent down to retrieve a small envelope, almost identical to the one she delivered to Ramona. It was stubbornly wedged beneath the edge of the floor mat. As she freed the envelope, the neatly typed name on the front caught her eye. She frowned in confusion.
“I believe I will take that now, thank you very much.”
The man’s voice startled her. With her back to the unseen man, she realized she knew that voice. It was the same one she heard at the cockfight, the one discussing the boss’s greed that cut into his own profits.
As Madison held the envelope over her shoulder with one hand, she used the other to press ‘send’ on her phone. With any luck, Eddie Menger, the last person who had called, would pick up and know she was in danger.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“You couldn�
�t leave well enough alone, could you?” the man taunted as he snatched the envelope out of her hands. “You had to go poking your nose into places it didn’t belong!”
Madison heard a buzz and feared it might be coming from her head. You cannot faint now! she chided herself, feeling lightheaded.
Behind her, the man snarled. “What the hell are you doing calling me? Get your phone out here where I can see it!”
Belatedly, Madison placed the voice. Eddie Menger! It was his phone buzzing on vibrate. How could she have been so stupid?
“Turn around and show me your phone,” the irate Service Tech said, roughly jerking her arm and spinning her around.
“I-I dropped it,” she lied. “That’s what I was looking for.”
“Then get in there and find it.” He shoved her forward but held one arm behind her back. “And don’t get any ideas about trying to get away. Kill the motor and give me the keys.”
Bending over into the car, Madison did as he demanded, visually searching the car for something to use as a weapon. All she saw was two empty water bottles, a half-eaten taco from her lunch (whose other half was now settling heavily upon her stomach), a bobby pin, a handful of loose change, and a crumbled brochure advertising cremation services.
Granny Bert is planning her funeral? Madison blinked in surprise. And she plans to be cremated? Madison suppressed a horrified shudder, wondering why anyone would want their body to be burned.
“Did you find your phone?” Eddie Menger demanded, bringing her out of her stupor. “Hurry it up!”
“I don’t see it.”
“Oh well, doesn’t matter. I’ll find it later.”
Later? He jerked on her arm, just as she saw the ballpoint pen. She barely managed to slip her fingers around it as he pulled her away from the car. As she deftly worked the pen up the sleeve of her shirt —she might need it later, if this plan did not work— she suddenly flung herself backwards, throwing her full weight into the startled man. He stumbled back and almost fell, but he never lost hold of her arm. His grip was like a steel vise and every bit as painful.