Chicken Scratch (The Sisters, Texas Mystery Series Book 1) Page 13

  “The man’s still a looker,” Genesis admitted with a wistful sigh. “Why is it that men age better than we women?”

  “Beats me. It’s really not fair, is it? Those little wrinkles at the corner of his eyes make him look dignified. So does the silver in his hair. His chin is as firm as ever. And, look, not a bit of flab on his abs or thighs. Or his butt.”

  “Believe me, sister, I’m looking,” Genny murmured.

  Together, they watched as the unsuspecting man slammed his car door and jogged up the two steps to the sidewalk. There was no jiggle of lax muscle or excess fat, just six feet of solid male.

  Another melancholy sigh, this one from Madison. “You do realize we’re drooling.”

  “I know. But let’s enjoy the view, just for a moment longer.”

  “Only for old-time sakes, of course.”

  “Of course!” Genny flashed a grin.

  The moment the door opened, the women became quite engrossed in their coffee cups.

  “Are you open?” Brash asked cautiously, peering at the empty tables.

  “Sure. Come on in.” Genesis motioned for him to join them. With a flourishing hand movement, she indicated the seat opposite her on the other side of the booth.

  With the slightest of frowns, Madison scooted over and made room on the bench seat for him.

  “Maddy was just telling me about the funeral. She said it was standing room only,” Genny said as he settled in beside her friend.

  “Half of the people there probably never said more than two sentences to the man when he was alive, but they all wanted to hear what was said about him when he died,” Brash agreed. “Most seemed disappointed that it was closed-casket.”

  “From what I understand, there wasn’t much choice.”

  “None at all.” Brash turned to Madison and acknowledged her for the first time. “Myrna Lewis giving you anymore trouble?”

  “Not so far.”

  “Your daughter sure handled herself well that day. Put the busybody right in her place.”

  “I hope she wasn’t too rude,” Madison worried. Something in the twinkle of his brown eyes sparked her concern.

  “No, she was firm but respectful. You’ve done a good job raising your kids, Maddy.”

  Relaxing, Madison smiled. “Thanks. I need to hear that every now and then, especially now that I’m a single mother. Who knew parenting could cause such massive insecurities?”

  “It’s too important of a job to screw up,” Brash agreed.

  “You just have the one daughter?”

  “Yep. Megan. She’s fifteen, going on twenty. Not sure I could handle more than one, to be honest,” he chuckled.

  “Imagine having two at that magical age,” Madison said. “Although I must say, boys are much easier. Less drama. More food, but less drama.”

  “I remember that age. Never could get quite full back then.”

  “That sounds like Blake! Luckily for me, I have a best friend who happens to own a café.” Madison looked over at Genesis and beamed.

  “He’s my official sampler. If Blake won’t eat it, it’s definitely not going on the menu,” the café owner agreed.

  Watching the interaction between the two friends, Brash grinned.

  “What’s the smile for?” Genesis asked, noting how his eyes bounced back and forth between the two of them.

  “I was remembering why I never dated either one of you back in high school,” he said, still grinning. “I never could decide between the two of you. Tall willowy brunette, or short little blond. While I was trying to choose, Tommy Evans and Matthew Aikman swooped in and claimed you for themselves.” He seemed to have forgotten his own choice of girlfriends during that time, the beautiful and popular Shannon Wynn.

  “You know what they say,” Genesis said with a cheeky grin. “You snooze, you lose. And, of course, that’s assuming either one of us would have gone out with you.”

  Oh, please! If as we would have ever said no! Madison could not help but roll her eyes at the ludicrous thought. Brash glanced her way, saw the futile expression, and gave a warm, pleased laugh.

  “Assuming,” he agreed modestly, but there was a smug ring to the word.

  Madison quickly changed the subject, before she embarrassed herself further. “Anything new on the case?”

  “Which one?” he asked wearily.

  “How many do you have?”

  “Too many. Besides the obvious one of Ronny Gleason’s murder, there are a dozen or so small ones. Someone has been lurking around The Gold and Silver Exchange for the past week and set off the security alarm one night. There was a hit and run fender bender in Juliet last week, a DUI out on the highway this week, and a report of stolen hubcaps from a residence here in Naomi. There’s an ongoing boundary dispute between Hank Adams and Allen Wynn, rumors of an illegal cockfighting ring, complaints about someone trespassing at the Ngyen chicken farm, and reports of a Peeking Tom over on Maple Street. And, of course, there are daily complaints from Myrna Lewis about additional damage from the Hadley adventures.”

  “Granny Bert told me about the cockfighting.”

  “Yeah? What did she say?”

  “Uh, mostly that Ronny Gleason liked to bet on them.” She refrained from mentioning Don Ngyen, not wanting to implicate the man or his family.

  “He’s not the only one. We know some of the parties involved, but I think it goes deeper than just a few local guys, getting together to place a few bets.”

  “Organized gambling?” Madison asked in surprise.

  “It’s a theory I’m looking into.”

  “Wow, here in The Sisters?” Genesis murmured.

  “It’s hard to pin down, because the exact location keeps changing. We know who some of the ones selling the roosters are, but they’re not the ones making the real money.” Brash looked down at Madison again. “What else did Miss Bert have to say about it? Being the firecracker that she is, I’m not surprised if she knows more than we do.”

  Madison tried to recall the exact conversation. “I think she said that sometimes Ronny ran the fights, other times he just bet on them.”

  Brash gave a self-deprecating grunt. “That’s bad, when we have to get intel from an eighty-year-old grandmother.”

  “Better to have her working for you, than against you!” Madison jested.

  “Ain’t that the truth.” Turning a hopeful gaze toward her friend, he asked, “What’s a guy gotta do around here to get one of those Genny-doodle cookies?”

  “Hang on, I’ll see what I can do.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink and said in a staged whisper, “I have connections.”

  As Genny disappeared to fetch more cookies and coffee, Brash kept up the conversation. “So how are things at the chicken houses?”

  Instead of answering, she gave him her new mantra. “Six more days. Just six more days, and I’ll never set foot in another chicken house.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  Madison had to be honest. “It’s hard, sweaty, stinky work. But to tell the absolute truth, it’s really not as bad as you’d think. Still, I don’t want to make it my life’s profession.”

  “I hear ya.”

  “You said something about trespassers at the Ngyen Farm?”

  “Yeah, probably just some pranksters, giving them a hard time about Don. But they said a few odd things have been happening around there this week.” He noticed the frown that tugged on the corners of her mouth. “What?”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything. I thought it was just me. But I-I’ve noticed a couple of odd things this week, too.”

  “Such as?”

  “Little things, but still…. One morning the keys to the golf cart were in a different place than I always put them. Another morning the light was on in a control room, even though I could have sworn I turned it off when I left. And the dimmer switches on the lights in House 4 were changed. Not to mention that the lights went out completely when I was in there yesterday.”

  He grimaced in
sympathy. “House 4, huh?”

  “Exactly. I do good to even go in that house, with the lights at full intensity.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’ve been very impressed with how you’ve handled yourself, Maddy. Not many people could still hold it together after finding his body like that.”

  She knew she did not deserve the warm look of praise in his eyes; the truth was, it was desperation that kept her going, nothing more.

  Something else pricked along Madison’s conscience. This jab of guilt had nothing to do with misguided accolades of bravery. This jab was direct from her strict moral upbringing and Granny Bert’s steady influence. Madison knew she had no business noticing how dark and warm Brash deCordova’s eyes were, how the seat between them zinged with tiny ripples of electricity, how he seemed to lean in toward her as he delivered his compliment. She had no right to be attracted to him; not because she was newly widowed, but because he was a married man.

  Genny could not have arrived at a better time. Smiling up at her friend, Madison shifted away ever so slightly and said in a bright voice, “Looks like your cookies are here!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The telephone woke Madison from a dead sleep at three a.m. Groping around on her nightstand, she found her cell phone and checked the number. Gleason Poultry Farm. Surely, the chickens could do without food for a few hours.

  She hit the Accept button and pressed 1 to listen to the automated message. She hoped her sleep-fogged mind would remember which house called when she woke up in three hours.

  Instead of hearing the usual message of “auger overtime”, she heard the dreaded words Eddie Menger warned her about. “Alert. House 3 has one alarm. Message one, high pressure.”

  Visions of killing an entire house of chickens swam in her head. Madison jerked upright, forgetting not to disturb Bethani. The teen mumbled a protest but turned over in their shared bed and went immediately back to sleep.

  Remembering a horror story Eddie told her about a grower ignoring a high pressure alarm and killing twenty thousand birds, Madison did not take time to dress. It would take fifteen minutes to drive out to the farm as it was. Stuffing her feet into a pair of Bethani’s cowboy boots —her daughter liked the style, not the life— and pulling a jacket over flannel sleep pants and a threadbare favorite tee, Madison bypassed her son’s room as she rushed down the hall. Unless she waved food under his nose, it took far too long to rouse her son from sleep. She would have to make this trip solo.

  She rushed out into the night and into the cold, wet patter of light rain. Ugh. Of all nights for a high pressure alarm!

  Despite the slick roads and limited sight of view, she made it to the Gleason Farm in record time. There were no other cars on the roads slowing her down, and for once she did not worry about speed zones. This was a life or death situation, after all, even if it was not human lives at stake.

  She reset the alarm and checked for its probable cause. Following the instructions Eddie had given her as best remembered, she wondered if she should call him. No, you’ve got this, she told herself, as she watched the numbers slowly back down on the computer screen. She waited five minutes to see if the alarm would cycle again, then gave it another ten minutes for good measure.

  When she was finally satisfied that the chickens were not in danger, she crawled back into the dry, warm comfort of her car. It was not only cold and wet outside, it was pitch black. Cloud cover kept even the moon from illuminating the dark night around her.

  She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of, but her foot was heavy on the gas pedal as she pulled out of the farm and onto the blacktopped county road. If she hurried, she could beat the 3:42 train that ran like clockwork between the cities and potentially separated her from her nice warm bed.

  The rain was picking up, making the black road glisten beneath the beam of her car lights. She turned the wipers to a higher speed as she approached a hidden driveway on the left. The county —or was it the city?— should do something about those overgrown bushes, she thought. It created a blind spot.

  From behind the tangle of evergreen, a truck suddenly darted out. Bright lights flashed on, shining directly into her face as the vehicle headed straight for her. Bracing for impact, Madison knew she was about to be T-boned by the old model truck. She jabbed her foot onto the gas anyway, praying it would be enough to spur her forward and out of its path.

  It all happened in a split second. The SUV surged ahead with the influx of fuel. The rusty old truck —was it red, or was that just the glow of taillights?— missed her by inches, and sailed across the pavement and onto the soft dirt of the road’s shoulder. Beneath her, the SUV’s tires skipped across wet asphalt and began to hydroplane. All thoughts of stopping to help the other vehicle vanished as Madison fought to control her own. The last thing she could afford right now was a new car! Not even an insurance deductible was in her budget, and certainly not an increased policy payment.

  As the random thoughts flitted through her mind, Madison regained control of her vehicle. Luckily, she was still headed in the right direction. With a glance into the rear view mirror and a muttered apology to the other driver for not going back to help, she gathered her senses about her and pushed gingerly on the gas pedal, propelling herself forward at a much slower pace.

  No longer caring about being caught at the train, Madison continued into town at a moderate pace. The near miss caused her hands to tremble on the steering wheel. The crossing arms were coming down just as she pulled up to the crossing. Not willing to risk another close call by darting around the barricade, she chose to come to a complete stop and wait out the train. Cranking up the heater, she rested her head against the back of the seat and took deep, calming breaths.

  When the truck rammed her from behind, she was totally unprepared for the blow. Her head snapped forward and she heard the screech of wood along the hood of her SUV as her vehicle scraped beneath it. Her foot slipped off the brake pedal, even while the force of the other vehicle pushed her closer to the moving train. Madison quickly found the pedal and stomped on it with all her might.

  Relief washed through her when the SUV came to a skidding stop. She was sideways in the road and much too close to the train for comfort, but she was no longer moving. Had the other driver lost control on the wet streets and hit her by accident? And where was the other vehicle, anyway?

  Madison glanced around to locate the other driver as she fished her cell phone from her jacket pocket. She had just dialed 9-1-1 and pushed “send” when she saw the truck again.

  It was a familiar old red truck, now sporting obvious damage to its front fender. Incredulously, Madison watched as the truck backed up and started forward again, aiming directly for her. By the dim beam of the streetlights, she got a glimpse of the person in the driver’s seat. All she could see was the evil and iconic “Scream” mask, glowing an eerie white in the dark, rainy night. Madison screamed as the truck made contact with her rear fender wheel.

  She tried to push on the gas and move out of the way, but her tires locked up. Above the shriek of metal-on-metal and the steady clank of the train, Madison was still able to hear the 9-1-1 operator repeating her request. “Ma’am! What’s your emergency, ma’am?”

  “The Naomi side of the train tracks!” Madison screamed into the cab of her vehicle, unsure of where her phone had landed. “Hurry!”

  Another hit from behind, and she was surged helplessly forward again. Madison felt for the door handle, wondering what option offered the best odds —staying in her car or jumping free— when she saw the caboose sail by, mere inches from her face. At least now, she only had the murderous driver to worry about. The thought should have been more comforting than it was.

  Madison braced herself when she saw the pickup retreat once more. “Not again!” she wailed, preparing for impact. The rain was coming down harder, making it difficult to see the truck behind her, but she tracked its whereabouts by the glow of the head light. Apparently one light had been
rendered useless in the crash, but the other was backing slowly away from her. Did she have time to work her seatbelt free and jump out of her SUV? Would she be more vulnerable on foot?

  Deciding to risk it, Madison pushed against her door. Nothing happened. She frantically tried to get the door open, but the heavy portal refused to budge. Not even the electric windows worked. Preparing for another clash was her only choice. Squeezing her eyes shut, Madison crossed her arms in front of her face for protection.

  Seconds ticked by and nothing happened. Was the truck trying to get a longer head start to build greater momentum and do more harm? Another few long seconds, and still nothing. Madison opened one eye and peeked into the rear view mirror. All she saw was rain. She twisted around in her seat and finally caught the glow of taillights, sailing off in the direction in which they came.

  The police arrived from the other direction. The red and blue strobe lights were distorted through her windshield. Despite rivulets of rain and the spider web of cracks etched across her SUV’s front window, she could make out the police cruiser, even before she heard the wail of their siren.

  Madison groped around on the floorboard for her phone. “The police are here now,” she breathed into it before shutting it off with a shaky finger. She stuffed the phone back into her pocket as she saw Brash running toward her.

  He jerked on the door but found it jammed.

  “It’s stuck!” On either side of the glass, they both yelled the words at the same time.

  “Are you okay?” he yelled. He stuck his face against the glass, looking into the vehicle to see for himself.

  “Yes!” She nodded. “I’m okay! Go after them! They went that way!” She frantically pointed back toward Naomi.

  “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  Brash tried all four doors, only to find that none of them worked. As he surmised that the electrical system was fried, the Fire Department arrived on scene. Cutter Montgomery jumped from the cab of his truck, already wielding an ax. Soon another truck with two occupants arrived, and with the help of the Jaws of Life, they peeled away layers of her vehicle door until she was free.