Stranger in My House (A Murder In Texas) (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

A light rain washed over the Jeep and snaked down the windows in long drops. Kirby studied the string of houses hugging the road. They grew smaller and more ramshackle with every block. Neat lawns morphed into grassless graveyards for rusted bicycles and punctured balls.

“Look, Kirby, I’m not worth your time.”

“Worth my time?”
What does that mean?

His gaze was fixed on the road—a thin strip of blacktop on the other side of El Royo. He shrugged. “I thought I’d make Shaw Valley Ranch into the best spread in Texas when I started. Maybe get a little piece of it as a reward, or at least enough cash to buy my own place. But Shaw won’t budge. And when he goes, Charleen and Frankie are going to sell the land to the highest bidder.”

“Maybe they’ll change their mind.”

“Won’t matter. Organics are bleeding the place dry.”

“Who’d buy fifty thousand acres?”

“It will probably be auctioned off in pieces. I know Dr. Ernesto over at Hacienda Osito is interested in buying a spread for his oldest daughter and her family. There are other ranchers who’ve expressed interest.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

A muscle worked in his face.

“Seth? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” Her heartbeat quickened.

“Show you something.”

“What?”

“Something.” He pressed his lips together.

The houses thinned to one every half mile or so, then every mile, then he turned into a rutted road overgrown with witchgrass and clover. On either side, the flat land rolled away until it crashed against the horizon.

“There’s nothing here.”

He gave a humorless snort and pointed at a stand of live oak and heavy brush pushing up from the flat land like a lone sentry. “Hold on to your seat.”

The Jeep bumped over ground too sunbaked to soften in the rain. Purple and cherry red flashed between tree branches. Then a slice of orange and a sliver of yellow winked from the brush.

“What’s back there? Where are you taking me?”

His mouth twisted, but he didn’t answer. The Jeep skirted a thicket of drooping trees, rolled over a shallow ditch and skidded to a halt.

Nestled beneath the old oaks, nearly hidden by overgrown brush, a double-wide trailer rusted in the warm Texas rain. Strips of purple, red, orange, yellow, green, and blue rolled over the sides in an endless loop. It was the trailer in the photo of the young girl.

“It’s a rainbow,” she said.

“If you’re on drugs. I see a rusted trailer.”

He was right. Rust had crept up the metal sides, nibbling away green and blue paint, establishing beachheads in the yellow, orange, and red. Not immune to time or the elements, the purple had faded to gray. Screens hung at a rakish angle. A cracked foundation block pitched the trailer forward. Rotting seat cushions and broken kitchen utensils and a disemboweled mattress littered the yard.

Seth’s hands clutched the steering wheel as if it was a life raft.

“This is where you lived, isn’t it?” she asked. “When you were a kid.”

“Home sweet home.” He said the words lightly, but the bitterness in his voice was too sharp to mistake for anything else.

He killed the engine and slid out of the Jeep wearily as if his past weighed a thousand pounds. She joined him in front of the trailer, squinting to make the rust disappear and the rainbow brighten so she could see what he must have seen as a boy.

“Do you come back often?” she asked.

“This is the first time.”

“Since you joined the army?”

“Yup.”

He studied the trailer, his still figure holding in an emotion she couldn’t identify. But she could feel its power roiling beneath his skin. He stirred, and his mouth moved. “That’s not exactly true. I come here in my nightmares or when I think of Hannah. Can’t seem to shake the memories.”

She searched his bleak face, tried to summon words of comfort. But there were no words for the ache she felt for his suffering.

“Let’s go in.” He pulled a tarnished key from his pocket.

“Are you sure, Seth?”

His free hand found hers. “What’s done is done. It’s just an abandoned trailer now.”

Except it wasn’t just an abandoned trailer. It was the abandoned trailer where he grew up. What had it been like to wake up every morning on this strip of land? Windswept winters, sunbaked summers, nothing to see but emptiness. A few broken fence posts jutted from the ground nearby. Sagging barbed wire ran between them. The ground inside nothing but rust-colored dirt.

Seth followed her gaze. “The feds dropped herbicide when they found the pot.”

“I’m sorry.”

The trailer door swung open when Seth touched the handle. He slid his arm over her shoulder. “Already unlocked. Come on.”

Her boots stuck to the grimy floor. Stuffing spewed from a bench seat, a cockroach scurried up a water-stained wall, pale mushrooms sprouted in the corners. She rubbed at her nose. The trailer smelled of dust and mold.

“Why did you bring me here?”

He shrugged. “I’ve tried to make this all go away, and the other night when I told you everything, I figured it would be like reliving that part of my life. But…” He sighed heavily. “I was wrong. I felt…relieved.”

“I’m glad.” And she was. Glad she hadn’t messed up his head, glad he’d shared his past with her and felt better.

“Ready for the ten-cent tour?”

In a dingy kitchenette, a little saucepan, half filled with water, perched on a burner, and a mug with coffee dregs in the bottom sat by the sink.

“Seth. Wait.”

He’d already disappeared behind a partition. “What is it?” He reappeared.

“Could someone be living here?”

“The door’s not locked. I’ll wager it’s on the map with local drifters. But there’s no running water, and the electricity was cut off before I left town, so no one could last long.” He held out a hand. “Come on.”

Filthy, broken, silent, and beneath the devastation, a worse one. She could almost hear the voices of a family and better times and the love of a brother for a sister and maybe a daddy and a momma for their children. Maybe.

Seth pushed her along, past torn carpeting and gaping cupboards, a chairless dining area and a curtainless, bedless master bedroom. Another bedroom held a soiled sleeping bag and a Hello Kitty poster. Hannah’s room.

His hand groped for hers.

“Where’s your room?”

“It’s this way.”

He drew her into the last room. Six feet by four feet, if that, mud-colored walls, one tiny window, no closet. Barely a decent hole. How did they squeeze a bed in there? She tried to imagine a blue-eyed child with curly black hair and a stubborn jaw struggling to keep the walls at bay.

“What were you like as a kid?”

“Determined to get the hell out of here.”

Brrring, brrring, brrring.
Kirby pulled her cell out.
Scott Gilbert
blinked across the screen. She stuffed the phone back in her pocket.

“Avoiding someone?”

“Let’s get out of here.” She pushed past Seth.

He grabbed her arm. “Who’s Scott?”

“No one.”

“Come on, Kirby. I just turned myself inside out for you. Who’s Scott?”

She couldn’t look at him. “Just someone I hung out with after Grandy died.”

“Are you sure?” Beneath his words, a quiver, as if he feared the truth more than a lie.

She found his eyes. “Scott’s my sergeant. His wife died just before Grandy did. He was lonely, and so was I.”

“Were you, uh, dating?”

“Just friends. I’d talk about how much I missed Grandy, and he’d listen. Then he’d talk about how lonely he was, and I’d listen.”

Seth searched her face. “You never did anything with him? Make out, maybe, or something?”

“It’s been purely platonic. So far.”

“So far? You didn’t think to mention this to me? Jesus, Kirby.”

Her face was burning, and she wanted to look away from him so she wouldn’t see the jagged, hurting light in his eyes.

“Tell me,” he said.

She owed him this. “Lately Scott’s been after me to take our relationship to the next level, as he puts it.”

“Were you planning to say yes? Was I some kind of advance party before you get down to business?” The grip on her arm tightened.

“No! I’m not attracted to him that way.”

“And you told him this, right?”

Tears glazed her eyes, blurring the image of hurt, angry man. She was grateful. “No. I’d almost decided to accept him.” She gulped in some stale air. “I’d even, uh, gone on the pill. Just in case.”

“Why? You wait twenty-five fucking years to fuck and then you decide to give it up to a guy you don’t want?” He released her arm. “In these parts they’d call you a whore.”

She reared back to slap him, but he caught her wrist. She did the next best thing. “I’d given up on finding someone like you.”

Bull’s-eye.
“Like me?” The color drained from his face.

A sturdy spirit beneath sinew.
But she didn’t say it. Didn’t dare say it. “Tall, dark, handsome, and sexy. Isn’t that what all us whores want?”

For a moment their eyes clashed. Then his shoulders sagged. He pulled her against him. “Oh, Kirby. Poor Kirby. I think you’ve gotten mixed up with the wrong guy.” The words fluttered against her ear.

He was probably right, but it didn’t feel like it. Nestled in his arms, his breath warming her face, his heart beating beneath her fingertips, his body hard against hers.

It felt like bliss.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The doorbell rang. Blood pounded in Manny’s head.

Brittany was really here. She’d really, really come.

He limped to the door, wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt and twisted the lock.

She looked way different than normal. No overalls and pigtails. Instead, a burst of sunshine—pretty yellow dress, soft yellow hair, shiny sandals. She smelled like sunshine, too. Fresh and flowery and fruity. His neck got hot.

“You came,” he said.
Duh.
But he couldn’t think of any other words to say.

“I said I would.”

He didn’t move. His feet felt glued to the floor, which was silly, but try telling that to his legs.

“Come on, Manny. Are you going to let me in or what?”

He was acting like a kid. “Sorry.” He shuffled aside.

She studied the dirty dishes piled on the coffee table in his front room until he squirmed. Mr. Maguire said not to talk, but he did anyway. Maybe if he’d cleaned up he could have stayed strong and silent, but he didn’t like her staring as if something was wrong with him.

“That’s a nice dress.”

She smoothed the skirt against her hips and smiled at him. “I like your ponytail. It’s cool.”

The squeeze of fear took him by surprise. She was trying to draw him in, pretending to be friends until someone better came along. Someone with two good feet and two sharp eyes. Then he’d become an embarrassment. “I hate it. I’m thinking of cutting it off.”

Her face fell, and he got all hot and itchy and rolled his shoulders to make the “I’m an asshole” feeling go away. But it didn’t.

Her chest heaved like she was trying to suck in all the air in the room. “So are you going to play that song for me?”

“I don’t feel like it today. Maybe some other time.”

“Oh.” The tiny word whooshed out of her mouth. Her gray eyes swam with tears. She edged toward the door.

Great. She was going to cry again. The words sailed through his head, but he hated himself. How could he—Manny Rivera—hurt this girl after all the times he’d been hurt? “Wait. Don’t go.”

She sniffed. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“Not really.”

“Then why are you being so rude?”

Why was he? Because he’d figured out that survival depended on shutting people out before they had a chance to do it to him. “Why did you really come?”

“I just thought we could be friends. Since we both like Keith Urban and stuff.”

“Are you sure?”

He’d meant, was she sure she wanted to be his friend, but she took it differently. “I’m not after you. I’m sort of taken.”

“Taken?”

“Mr. Maguire.”

“The boss? What about Miss Frances? Seems like they’re thick as thieves these days.”

“He’s just using her because she’s so slutty.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“He doesn’t have to. I can tell by the way he stares at me.” Manny must have looked skeptical, because her mouth tightened into a stubborn line. “Just you wait. He’s going to get rid of her, and when he does, I’m going to go to him and tell him how I feel. I think he’s a little nervous because I’m a lot younger. But age isn’t important. Lots of young girls marry older men.”

Brittany really was the bravest girl he’d ever met. He hoped the boss was nice when he let her down, because even a dumb guy like Manny could see that the boss and Brittany didn’t go together. “That’s usually for money, isn’t it? I don’t think the boss has much.”

“I just like older men. I want to take care of Mr. Maguire. He seems so lonely sometimes.”

A stab of jealousy made Manny throw back his shoulders. Although why he should give a shit was anybody’s guess. “What’s the big deal with older men?”

“Nothing.”

“Won’t your mama and daddy be upset if you hook up with someone as old as the boss? He’s over thirty, you know.”

“I would never hook up with anyone. It would have to be for love.”

“And your daddy? What will he think?”

Her face fell. “He’s gone.”

“You mean dead?” He’d sure stepped in that one.

She shook her head. “Gone. Blew out of town with the winter wind. That’s what my momma tells everyone.”

“That’s shitty. Do you want to sit down? I have some Cokes in the fridge.”

“Are we friends?”

When he nodded, she plopped in a chair and smoothed her skirt over her knees. “Okay then.”

He brought two cans out from the kitchen. Brittany pulled the tab on her drink and sipped loudly. He dropped his gaze to his shoes, studying the scuffed toes, the unmatched soles—one high and wide, the other “normal.” Why had
he
been born this way? No one was ever going to like him the way Brittany and Miss Frances and Angie liked the boss. That was for sure.

“So what do friends do, exactly?” he asked.

The corners of her eyes turned up, reminding him of a cat. “Share secrets.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Sure you do. Everyone does.” She slurped her Coke. “I’ll go first. You know how Miss Frances has been asking after her momma?”

“Sort of.”

Her eyes turned sly. “Isn’t that what she wanted to talk to you about?”

“Sort of.”
She’s up to no good.
“Look, I’ve got some things to do.”

“Don’t you want to hear my secret?”

He shrugged.

“I saw Miss Charleen leave. She was tiptoeing down the hall and talking to someone on her phone. I think someone was waiting for her.” That sneery, sly smile returned. “But it was weird. She was dressed up like a sweaty old farmer or something.” She pressed a hand to her mouth and stared at Manny. “Ooh. Sorry.”

He brushed at his jeans, shrugged, then gulped his Coke and tried not to burp. It came out anyway. “Sorry.”

“That was the last time I saw Miss Charleen. Then a few days later Miss Frances went away, and when she came back she started snooping around like she’d lost her momma or something.”

“So?”

“So what do you think?”

“Those two have been sneaking around like tomcats since they got to town.”

Her tongue, pink and pointy, licked her lips. “That’s dumb. Tomcats are boys.”

She was laughing at him. Probably made the whole story up. He sprang from the couch and stared down at her. “You think you’re better than me.”

Her eyes widened and filled with tears. “I don’t. Swear.” When he didn’t budge, she sniffed. “I didn’t mean to say that stuff. Please don’t be mad at me. I really want you to be my friend.”

“Why me? Go hang out with your other friends.”

“I don’t have any. Everyone hates me because I’m fat.”

“You’re not fat. I already told you.”

“Compared to most girls, I am. That’s the thing with Mr. Maguire. He’s a mature man. He doesn’t mind about stuff like that.”

The Mr. Maguire in Brittany’s head didn’t seem anything like the Mr. Maguire Manny knew. This girl was headed for a world of hurt, and he didn’t know if he could save her. Which was probably something a friend should do.

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Now you.”

“I already told you. I don’t have any secrets.”

“So why did Mr. Shaw help you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You have to. I told you two secrets. The one about Mr. Maguire and the one about Miss Charleen. You have to return the favor.”

The favor? It didn’t seem like much of a favor. Especially for a guy like him who kept to himself. So why did he suddenly want a friend, and not just any friend—a crazy, headed-for-trouble one like Brittany?

“I’m from L.A. My mother didn’t want me, so a friend of hers and Mr. Shaw’s raised me. I called him Uncle Bobby, and when he died, Mr. Shaw sent for me. He’d promised Uncle Bobby.”

Brittany tucked her legs under her and shifted to face him. “So were you like a foster kid or something.”

“Pretty much.” He eyed her. Would she hate him if he told her the truth? Better to find out now. “My mother took drugs. That’s how I got the bum foot and everything. Uncle Bobby said he felt responsible because he was there at the beginning so he wanted to do something. He said in those days drugs were supposed to bring peace and love, but everyone got corrupted. Like my mother.”

“That’s sad.”

“I didn’t ask for your sympathy.”

She blinked. “I just meant the part about peace and love. It would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess.”

Her pocket buzzed. She pulled out a phone. “It’s my momma. I have to go.”

All the fun seeped from his afternoon. He frowned. What was wrong with him? “You can’t tell anyone what I told you.”

“Of course not! You can’t tell mine, either. Especially about Mr. Maguire.”

“I won’t.”

He walked her to the door. She was close to him, and the scent of her girl body drifted past his nose. Her pale hair glinted in the sunlight. He wanted to touch it. It would be soft. They both reached for the door handle at the same time. A bolt of electricity went through him, and he yanked back his hand.

So did Brittany. Her face went all red.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.” She leaned into him. “Sometimes friends kiss one another good-bye. My momma’s friends do.”

He stayed still, enjoying her closeness. Her breast brushed his arm, then her lips pressed against his jaw. They were warm and damp and smelled of fake strawberries. He’d never been kissed by a girl before, but he could see why the boss was sort of girl crazy. It felt good. Too good.

He pulled open the door. “You better go.”

Before his body did something scandalous.