Stranger in My House (A Murder In Texas) (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Here was a sight Seth didn’t see every day. A city slicker in a dark suit, briefcase wedged under his arm, hitchhiking. Must belong to the Cadillac with steam billowing under its hood.

Seth pulled up alongside him. “Having some trouble, sir?”

The man’s face shimmered with perspiration. Sunburned skin glowed under the pale strands of his comb-over. “My car broke down, and I’m late for an appointment at Shaw Valley Ranch.”

“Hop in.” Seth popped the lock. “I’m going that way myself.”

“Appreciate it. That sun was going to do me in before long.” The man climbed into the cab, leaned back, sighed deeply. “You saved my life.”

Seth cranked the AC. “So what’s your business at the ranch?”

“I’m Jonathan Cargill. Eenie Shaw’s attorney. Came out from L.A. last night and drove up from Austin this morning. Damn rental cars.”

“Seth Maguire. I’m the ranch manager.” He scanned the unbroken plain withering beneath a blazing sun. “Bad place to break down.”

“Good place to end up dead.”

When they pulled up to the house, Shaw was waiting. A worried frown creased his round forehead. He hustled down the steps.

Cargill climbed from the truck, dabbing his neck with a handkerchief. “How do you survive in this godforsaken place, Eenie?”

“And L.A. isn’t its own kind of hell?”

Cargill grunted, and the two men shook hands.

Shaw waved him toward the house. “Come on. Let’s get you inside. A glass of Bea’s sweet tea will revive you.” Shaw stopped and turned. “Mr. Maguire?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’d like you to hear what Jon has to say.”

“I got some things to do.” Poking his nose in Shaw family business didn’t feel right.

“You and Frances have grown close, and I imagine you have an interest in news that affects her.”

He’d spent all night reasoning his heartache away. Shaw had just brought it back. “I don’t want to interfere in family business.”

Shaw actually winked at him. “Could be your business someday, from the look of things.”

Cargill was studying him curiously.

Shit.
Had the whole freaking world been watching him and Kirby? “No, thanks.”

Shaw’s gaze turned hard. “Consider it an order.”

Seth slammed the truck door and stomped after Shaw and Cargill. He’d never felt so stupid in his life. All he’d wanted was a little fun. This was happening because
she
had lied.

Miss Bea was waiting in the hall. “Brittany and I have searched the ranch. Miss Frances has disappeared. Again.”

Shaw patted her shoulder. “We’ll get started without her. Jon has to get back to L.A.”

Cargill dabbed his neck again. “I have a court date tomorrow morning.”

Miss Bea had opened the curtains and removed the macaw. A pitcher of sweet tea sweated on a coffee table. The parlor almost seemed normal as long as he ignored the dust hanging in the air and the creepy portrait of a beak-nosed old man over the mantle.

“Mr. Maguire, you sit over there.” Shaw waved his cane at a chubby, overstuffed chair covered with red flowers.

If Seth stayed, he’d be lying, and he was many things—most of them bad—but he didn’t lie. Just ask Kirby. “I really shouldn’t be here. Miss, uh, Frances and I aren’t that close.”

Shaw studied Seth. “I want you here.”

Miss Bea and Cargill were already perched on a red velvet sofa, and Shaw was lowering himself onto a high-backed leather chair with feet carved to mimic cattle hooves. He leaned forward and pointed his cane at the flowery chair.

“Set yourself down, Mr. Maguire.”

He did. But he was seething, only he wasn’t exactly sure whether he was mad at Shaw or Kirby.

Cargill riffled through his briefcase. “Here we are.” He pulled out a folder. “You were right, Eenie. Joe Swallow was married twice.”

Seth frowned. Joe Swallow? Why were they talking about Kirby’s daddy?

Cargill spread the folder across his knees and picked up a sheet of paper. “We didn’t catch it at first because the marriage took place in Mexico. Apparently neither Joe nor his first wife had it registered in the States. It only lasted a few years.”

“What about divorce papers?” It was Miss Bea.

Cargill cleared his throat. “A petition was filed in Harris County, Texas, but the first Mrs. Swallow killed herself before any action was taken. We found an article in the
Houston Chronicle
dated a few days after the tragedy. She took sleeping pills. Her two-year-old daughter was found in the apartment with her.”

He was talking about Kirby.

She found her dead mother and still turned out better than me.

He should have held on to her, been the one who didn’t leave.
Asshole.

He gazed out the window so he wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. A pine swayed in the hot wind. Heat shimmered off the hood of the pickup. Where the hell was she?

Miss Bea leaned forward. Her little black eyes sparkled. “Thank the Lord. Joe had two heirs.”

“Correct,” Cargill said. “Kirby Adelaide Swallow and Frances Charleen Swallow.”

“Adelaide is the name of my great-great-aunt. The one who ran away and married into the Cherokee nation,” Shaw said.

“Yes, well, we still haven’t been able to contact this girl. She lives in Tulsa and works as a police officer, but she reportedly took a leave of absence a few weeks back. No one we’ve contacted is exactly sure where she went, although her supervisor told us she’s in Texas visiting a relative.”

“She’s here.” Through a fog of dread and shock, Seth’s own voice sounded a million miles away. Kirby was an heiress. Just like Frankie.
Where is she?

Miss Bea’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“He’s right,” Shaw said. “She has been pretending to be her sister for the past few weeks.”

“Why would she do a fool thing like that?” It was Miss Bea again.

Seth’s sense of dread burst into full bloom. He should have seen it right away. Frankie hadn’t
asked
Kirby to Shaw Valley, she’d
lured
Kirby to Shaw Valley. And if he hadn’t been so hung up on Kirby herself, he would have seen it. If he’d gone to Shaw the second he’d known the truth, she’d be here. In this room. Safe.

But he’d chased after her like a hormone-crazed teenager. And all the while greedy Frankie was setting a trap for the sister who threatened her inheritance. One day…or night, when no one was looking, Kirby would walk through a door or into a field or over a hill, and Frankie would walk out. Who could prove Kirby had ever been here? No one would believe him. Or Shaw. Kirby would just disappear.

He rose to his feet. “Because Frankie asked her to.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Black bodysuit. Black boots. Binoculars hanging from her neck. Glock held steady and aimed at Kirby’s wildly beating heart.

Frankie.

Zack’s murderer was Frankie. How could it be? Why? And what about Charleen? Was she part of whatever Frankie was up to?

“I don’t understand,” Kirby said dumbly. No other words came to her. No concrete thoughts. Just dumbstruck incredulity.

Frankie’s green eyes watched Kirby like a cat watches a doomed mouse. “Set that rifle on down, sister dear.”

The barrel of the Glock reminded Kirby of a snake. Black and hungry. Poised to strike.

Kirby took a deep gulp of air and tried to steady her breathing as the realization slammed into her. Frankie meant to kill her. She had to think clearly. If she was going to get through this and bring Frankie and perhaps Charleen through whatever they’d gotten themselves into, she had to think clearly.

“Are you going to shoot me?” Kirby asked.

“That’s the plan.”

“I won’t hurt you, Frankie. We’re family. We’re on the same side.”

“Do what I say.” Frankie pulled back the slide on the Glock. “Don’t make me shoot this thing.”

The lessons hammered into Kirby’s head on negotiating with armed and desperate perps—reassure, react with sympathy, above all saying anything that will defuse the situation—withered. This was different. This was her sister.

How did you lie to someone you loved? How did you look them in the eye and tell them everything was going to be okay, when it probably wasn’t? How did you stay true to your oath against the demands of blood? They’d never taught that class at the academy, but she knew what Scott and the Tulsa Police Department, as well as the El Royo cops, would expect of a fellow officer. Uphold the law. Kirby eyed the brittle creature—her half sister and lookalike—holding a gun that she knew from experience could do serious damage at this range. “You don’t really want to hurt me, do you?” Kirby asked. “I’m your sister. I care about you.”

“Right. You care about me so much you fucked Maguire after I told you to stay away from him. Does he call you Frankie when you’re screwing?”

Kirby swallowed hard. “It was a mistake. You were right about him.”

“I was?”

“I don’t think he knows how to love, so he uses women.”

“Love.” Frankie snorted. An acid smile curled her lips. “How cute. Did his dick shrink when you went all gooey eyed on him?”

Pretty much.

Why was she arguing with a murderer about who Seth freaking Maguire liked best? He’d shown his true colors, and Grandy was probably sitting on a cloud shouting
I told you so
at Kirby right now. A cloud she would soon be floating on, too, if she didn’t disarm Frankie. Oddly, the thought calmed her. Kirby straightened with renewed energy and determination. Get the gun out of Frankie’s hand and do whatever it took for them both to walk out of here alive.

“Frankie, honey, let’s put down our weapons together and talk. I want to help you. We can go away from here. Find a new place. Start over.”

Frankie took a step closer, although she was still out of range for a tackle. “Do what I say—put down the rifle.”

“If you shoot me, Seth will hear the gun. So will Mr. Shaw and Miss Bea and all the others. They’ll come running.”

“Then after I shoot you, I’ll have to shoot everyone on the ranch.” Frankie’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and her mouth curved into a sneer. “Of course, I might keep Maguire around. Is he good in bed? He is, isn’t he? I can tell by your face.”

Her words hit Kirby like a gut punch. Frankie with Seth. He wouldn’t do it. Would he? She’d seen how his face twisted with pain when he told her to get out of his life. He’d never betray her by sleeping with Frankie. She knew that much was true, even if she didn’t know anything else. Not that it mattered. Seth wasn’t hers. He wasn’t anyone’s, nor did he want to be. Maybe he wouldn’t want Frankie, but there would be other women in his life and in his bed. Would he ever think of her when he was making love?

Kirby tried to shove Seth out of her head. Frankie had gone off the rails, and Kirby’s first and only priority was getting that gun out of Frankie’s hands. Second priority, if she got that far, was figuring out what to do with Frankie. Could she live with herself if she turned her half sister in to law enforcement? Could she live with herself if she didn’t?

“Frankie—”

“Put it down, sister. This is your last chance to save the others. If you do exactly what I say, they’ll go on living.”

“Why me, Frankie? I’m family. I want you to be happy.”

Frankie raised her arm and pointed the gun at Kirby’s head. There was no mercy in her face. “Put down the gun. Then I’ll tell you.”

Kirby laid the rifle on the grass, close enough to grab when the time came. “Sure. No problem. I just came up here to help you.”

From a million miles away, Seth’s voice drifted on the hot wind. “Kirby! Where the hell are you?”

Kirby’s heart twisted at the sound of Seth’s voice. She’d been so eager to help Frankie, so trusting, so colossally naive. Seth had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t listened.

Why had she ended up hundreds of miles from home facing the business end of a gun? Because she wanted to belong. Hell, she wanted to be loved, and she’d assumed that Frankie—and Seth—would love her if she made them happy. When it came to the wrong turns she’d made these past few weeks, naive barely covered it. If she got out of this mess, she’d go home, tell Scott good-bye and find someone as wonderful as Seth who’d love her back…if she got out of this mess.

“Kirby. Answer me,” Seth called again.

Frankie’s head tilted up, her forehead creased. “What was that?”

“What was what?”
Distract. Debrief. Drag out. And if you get the chance, run like hell.
Her first patrol partner, an old-timer named Mike, told her that. “Where’s your momma got to, Frankie? Do you know?”

Frankie jerked her head at the quarry. “Down there.”

“Down where?”

“In the water.” Frankie lifted an eyebrow.

Kirby let her eyes drift over the black pool. Could it be true? But she knew it was. No wonder Zack looked like he’d seen a ghost when she suggested he drink the water. Fingers of panic crept close and brushed against Kirby. Frankie had killed her own momma. She wasn’t going to think twice about killing a half sister she barely knew. “What happened?” Kirby asked. Her voice was too high. Too bright. She needed to pull herself together. Concentrate.

“I killed her.” Frankie shrugged matter-of-factly. “The hardest part was getting sweet Mama to climb up here at night so no one in the house would see where she went.”

“So how did you get your mama to go for a midnight hike?”

“I told her Zack was up at the quarry with a friend. A young, hot friend. You should’ve seen her light up.”

Hurry, he’s this way.
“Sarah Slade heard you.”

Frankie grinned. “The she-hawk accused me of corrupting that stupid bird.” She put a hand on her hip and pinched her mouth until her lips disappeared. “‘Your loose ways are upsetting the household, Miss Frances.’ I almost laughed my panties off. Like I would waste my time corrupting a bird.”

“So what happened when you got up here? Were Zack and his friend waiting?”

“Zack was. He conked her on the head for me. Then the stupid dumbass got scared. He wouldn’t help me roll her into the water. ‘I’m just an accessory.’ That’s what he said. ‘They can’t put me on death row for that.’ But he stuck around and watched.” Frankie winked. “I promised him a little reward.”

Keep her talking.
“Did, uh, Zack get his reward?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you killed him.”

“He said he was going to Louisiana to work on the oil rigs. But he didn’t, so what else could I do? It was just a matter of time before he got drunk and started running his mouth about Momma. Besides, he figured out there were two of us when I showed up at the bunkhouse. I couldn’t let him live after that.”

KI.
Not
kill
or
killer
.
Kirby.
“He wrote K-I on the floor. He was trying to write my name. You were the only one who could have told him about me.”

“Didn’t help him much.” She straightened her arm and brought the gun up to Kirby’s head. “Didn’t help you much, either.”

Kirby’s stomach twisted, and she sucked in a breath to calm herself. “Charleen should have floated to the top by now.”

“She did. That first day you came. That’s why I shot at you. I figured Dudley Do-Right would try to protect the womenfolk and take you back to the barn. After you both ran off, I stuck rocks in Momma’s clothes. Watched her sink for good.”

Did she look as appalled as she felt? That could be dangerous. But the words tumbling out of Kirby’s mouth gave her away. “Frankie, sweetie, why would you murder your own momma?”

“She was going to tell you the truth.”

“I don’t understand.”

“About this place. You’re so stupid, sister dear. Going around acting holier than thou, people falling over themselves to give you everything you ask for, and you don’t even care.”

Kirby ignored the insult. Besides, it was exactly what she’d always thought about Frankie. “The truth about this place?”

“Everything you’re looking at. It’s supposed to be mine. When Eenie finally checks out, I’ll be a millionaire.”

“That’s wonderful. You’ll be able to go anywhere you want. Buy beautiful clothes, a nice house, anything.”

Frankie shook her head. “Daddy was Eenie’s heir. I lied to you when I said it was my momma, but it was Daddy. Momma said not to worry about you because they didn’t know he’d been married to your momma. But then she changed her mind.”

Kirby was so stunned, it was all she could do to echo Frankie’s words. “Changed her mind?”

“Momma was always begging me for money, so I told her I didn’t want her around anymore. She got pissed and told Eenie to look for a second daughter.”

She didn’t want to end up at the bottom of a quarry because of this nearly comatose ranch. Frankie could keep it, and everything that went with it, including Seth Maguire. “The ranch is all yours, Frankie. If they try to give me half, I won’t take it.”

Frankie tilted her head and studied Kirby. For a moment her gaze turned speculative, and Kirby felt a frisson of hope. Then Frankie’s eyes hardened. “You’re just saying that.”

“Think about it. What’s a cop all the way up in Tulsa going to do with a big old ranch like this? Besides, I got Grandy’s house.”

“People will say anything when they know they’re going to die. Zack said he loved me. So did Momma.”

How could this have happened and no one noticed? How could Frankie have gone off the deep end and no one noticed? Kirby grimaced. Miss Bea had noticed, but no one listened.
Keep Frankie talking. Wear her out and hope she lets down her guard.

“Why did you leave the truck in the field?” Kirby asked.

She was rewarded by a visible relaxing of Frankie’s shoulders. “I had to make a liquor run. Little me is no match for Zack.” Frankie smiled. “But little me and liquor. That’s another story. But stupid Maguire stood outside half the night staring up at your window like a lovesick puppy. By the time I got the hooch and finished with Zack, it was almost light. Someone might have seen me if I parked by the barn and walked through the fields.”

Kirby inched away from the edge of the quarry. “Now that I know you’re safe, I’m going to pack my bag and get on back to Tulsa where I belong. You can stay here at the ranch, the one and only heir to Shaw Valley. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Frankie stepped backward and reached into a cluster of catclaw. “Already packed your bags, so to speak.” She pulled the Louis Vuitton case from the bushes.

“How did you get my suitcase out of the house?”

“Eenie has a secret door. Goes right out into the woods. And I had all night to get the case up here since you and Maguire were screwing in the coach house.” She snickered. “Did you like my little surprise?”

“The knife?”

“You were supposed to stay away from him. I warned you.” She shoved the bag at Kirby. “Open it up.”

“It’s locked.”

“I found the key in the dresser next to this gun. And removed the Taser, in case you had any ideas.”

“Frankie. Can’t we talk a little more? I’m sorry you’re upset with me.”

Frankie straightened her arm and aimed the Glock at Kirby’s head. “Do it.”

Kirby stooped down and pressed the latches, talking as she opened the case. “You’re my sister, Frankie. I would never do anything to hurt you. You have to believe me.”

She wanted to say she loved Frankie, because in a way she did. But since it hadn’t worked for Charleen or Zack, it was unlikely to work for her. “Take out the handcuffs.”

“Frankie.”

Click, clack, click, clack.
Frankie’s boots echoed on the stone as she moved into impossible-to-miss range, but still too far away for Kirby to pounce. The Glock glowered at Kirby’s forehead. “Take out the fucking handcuffs.”

Kirby lifted the handcuffs from the nest of bedsheets and rocks. She’d never noticed how cold they were or how scratched. Above her, a mockingbird laughed, and hot wind stirred the pines. Under her feet, the limestone’s silvery veins twisted. Would these be her last memories?
Come on, think of another question.
Keep Frankie talking until she was worn down or close enough to tackle.

“Why did you kill Bobby? It was you, wasn’t it?”

“After Seth found the she-hawk’s gun, I had a genius idea. Frame her for Zack’s murder. Bobby was just a way to get everyone pointed in the right direction. Preponderance of evidence, so to speak.” She patted her binoculars. “I watched the police haul her away yesterday. I guess that worked pretty well.”

She dropped her head. Her lips formed a disappointed moue. “I thought about adding you to her victim list, but there can’t be two of me, can there?”

“Seth knows about the switch.”

“He’ll tell a wild story. No one will believe him. Or I can kill him, too. What’s one more when my future is at stake?” Frankie’s face flushed. She was losing patience. “Cuff yourself to the suitcase. Both hands.”