Mistletoe Murder Page 9

  I pushed the thought out of my mind and focused on the cozy living room, with the slipcovered couch and bright red cushions, the mullioned windows framing the view of the rolling Texas countryside, the rag rug on the worn wooden floorboards and the Christmas carols playing on the radio. A fire was crackling in the woodstove, and as a cold wind whipped around the house, I hugged myself, glad to be safe and warm inside. The only potential problem was Chuck, who was sniffing the trunk of the tree in a suspicious way. I warned him not to do any "decorating" of his own and was attempting to lure him to the kitchen when my phone rang.

  I grabbed my phone out of my pocket, shooed my poodle away from the tree, and looked at the Caller ID. It was Mandy Vargas. I picked up.

  "What's up?" I asked as I lured Chuck to the kitchen.

  "I was about to ask you the same thing," Mandy said. "Find anything out?"

  "I'm chasing down a few potential leads," I told her, "but nothing concrete. How about you?"

  "Nothing, really," she said. "Isabella's too upset to think straight, and between all the hullabaloo about the courthouse and my parents, I haven't had the time to look in to things like I wanted to."

  "And Isabella has no idea who else might have wanted to kill her husband?"

  "Not that she's told me," Mandy said. "I asked if she'd be okay if you dropped by; both she and Opal okayed it."

  I glanced at my watch. "I've got some work to do before the Market, but I might just do that."

  "You won't have to worry about Rooster, at least," she said. "He skedaddled for his deer lease. Says he's working 'off-site.' From what I hear, he's drowning his sorrows."

  "You think Lacey will go through with it?"

  "Wouldn't you?" she asked. "The real question is, what possessed her to marry him in the first place?"

  I sighed. "Oh... one more thing. I know Randy had mistletoe in his hair. There wasn't any at Rosita's; is there any mistletoe at your place?"

  "Nope," she said. "Romance isn't exactly on this year's wish list for me," she added somewhat bitterly.

  "Well, keep an eye out," I said. "It could be key. Oh—you heard about the museum robbery, right?"

  "I did," she said. "I'm doing a basic article on it for the next issue. Once I get this stuff with Isabella sorted out, I'll go into it in more detail."

  "Still no word on the bones at the courthouse?"

  "Nothing yet," she said. "Except that they haven't been there that long. So no ancient Indian burial ground, at least."

  "This town is just full of mysteries, isn't it?"

  "Too many, if you ask me," she said.

  I filled the back of the truck with what I needed for that night's Market. The soap had sold much faster than anticipated; next year, I'd have to make more. I might have to find other places to cut mistletoe, too, or invest in an extension ladder; my oak trees were looking a little bare this season.

  I checked on all the girls, making sure they were fed and watered—the chickens were tucked up in the coop, sheltering from the wind, but the cows and goats were out inspecting the perimeter, as usual. Nobody had made a break for it in months; I hoped that meant we had all potential points of egress nailed down, but with Blossom and Hot Lips, you never knew. Even now, Hot Lips was testing the wire fence. I petted everyone and gave them each a carrot—Chuck might not like them, but they were a big hit with the livestock—and then headed to my truck, and to town.

  Opal was working hard on her knitting project when I got to the sheriff's office.

  "Well, I was wondering when I'd see you here," she said, brightening at the sight of the Tupperware container in my hand. "Is that for me?"

  "Yes, but I was hoping you might share with Isabella," I said, handing her the container of muffins. "Is she here?"

  "Where else would she be?" Opal asked dryly.

  "Good point," I said. "Dumb question, really. Can I see her?"

  "I'll ask," she said. "But seein' as she's rereading those Texas Monthlys for the third time, I can't imagine she'll say no.

  She set down her knitting and headed to the back. I could hear voices, and then Opal returned, giving me a nod. "Let me put two of these on a plate for her, though," she said, opening the cabinet above the coffeemaker and retrieving a paper plate with an illustration of Rudolph. She laid two of the warm muffins on the paper plate, added a festive red napkin, and handed it to me. "I'll watch your purse," she said, and then led me back to Isabella.

  "She brought you some warm muffins," Opal volunteered as I greeted Isabella. I'd met her a few times; she looked a little like her sister, Mandy, only wirier, with big, anxious-looking eyes. Her dark hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and she wore loose jeans and a faded blue sweater; evidently, they'd let her keep her own clothes.

  "I'm not sure I can eat," she said, "but thank you."

  "You need to eat," Opal said. "Keep your strength up."

  Isabella sighed. "I'll try."

  I set the muffins down on the little table by the bed, next to the stack of well-thumbed magazines, as Opal withdrew. There was a chair across from the bed; I sat there as Isabella retreated to the bed, wringing her hands.

  "First," I said, "I'm so sorry for your loss."

  She snorted. "I'm supposed to say 'thank you.' I know it looks bad if I don't say 'thank you.' But I never should have married that man. He brought nothing but pain and strife to me." As she spoke, tears began leaking from her eyes. "But I still miss him," she said. "Isn't that ridiculous? After all he put me through? I don't know what to think or feel anymore." Isabella swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Sorry."

  "No need to be sorry," I said gently, automatically reaching for a tissue and then realizing I didn't have my purse with me. "You've had a rough time lately."

  "You can say that again," she told me. "I find out he's sleeping with that woman, and then he turns up with a knife in him." She waved at the little room. "And here I am."

  "Life can change fast," I said. "It's a lot to take in. I'm hoping to help you, though; Mandy told you I used to be an investigative reporter. The Buttercup sheriff's office isn't exactly... well, it's not always the most proactive organization," I continued. "I told your sister I'd do what I can to find out what happened to your husband."

  She looked up at me, and for a moment, she resembled a little girl. "You will?" she asked in a small voice.

  "I will," I said. "But first, you've got to tell me where you went the night Randy died."

  Her eyes flicked away, and she studied her ragged fingernails. "I didn't go anywhere."

  "You did," I said. "Your tire tracks were in the driveway. If you didn't kill Randy, you shouldn't have anything to worry about."

  "But I do," she said, and a kernel of misgiving hardened in my stomach.

  11

  "Why?" I asked quietly.

  She looked up at me. "Because I went back to Rosita's that night," she said in a quiet voice.

  I said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

  "I didn't want to," she said. "But Randy had... well, he had a problem with money. He drank too much, spent too much. I realized I hadn't emptied the cashbox that night... with all the tamale-making, it slipped my mind. If I didn't get it, I was afraid Randy would spend it all."

  "So you went back to get the cash box," I prompted, thinking of what Julie had told me about what she saw the night Randy died. "What time was that?"

  "I don't know. Maybe twelve-thirty?" she said. "I was upset; I know it was after midnight, though. When Randy didn't come home, I figured he was out on one of his sprees."

  "Was the cash still there when you got to the restaurant?"

  She nodded. "It was," she said, and then fell silent, studying her fingernails again.

  "Did you run into anyone while you were there?" I asked.

  "No," she said, too fast.

  "Not Randy?"

  She took a deep breath, then looked up at me. "Not in Rosita's, no," she confessed. "But he was in the parking lot. I'd alrea
dy locked up, and was headed back to the car."

  Well, that much lined up with what Julie had told me. "What did you do when you saw him?"

  "He was angry," she said. "He wanted the money. I told him no, and got into my truck."

  "Did he try to stop you?"

  "No," she said. "He was never violent, I'll give him that. Like I said, I got back into the truck and came home and cried and cried until I fell asleep."

  "Where did you put the cash?" I asked.

  "In a shoebox in the back of my closet," she said. "I have to hide money from him. If he finds it, he spends it. When we bought the house, we had tons of equity, but he took out a second mortgage without telling me. Now, we've got nothing, and we can't afford the payments." She sniffled. "He was going to work for his dad, and that was supposed to help cover the payments, but now..."

  "Did he have life insurance?"

  "A little," she said. "Probably not enough, though. It's probably a good thing we weren't able to have kids," she said bitterly. "No father, and me in jail..." She burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. I moved over to sit beside her on the bed and put an arm around her. Her thin frame shook as I embraced her, and it was some time before the sobs subsided. "I'm so sorry," she said, her voice hoarse.

  "No need to be sorry," I reassured her. "You're in a really bad situation. It's okay to be upset."

  "But what do I do?" she asked. "I don't know who killed him. And I went to the restaurant the night he died. I lied about that."

  "Randy had a key to the restaurant, didn't he?"

  She nodded. "He was helping with the tamales, so he had an extra key made. When I figured out cash was disappearing, I was pretty sure it was him, but what was I going to say?"

  "That is a tough one," I admitted. "Now, I have a hard, hard question to ask, but I have to ask it."

  She swiped at her eyes. "It's about that woman he was seeing, isn't it?"

  I nodded. "When did you find out?"

  "I suspected," she said. "But I only found out when Keith Gehring told me, the night Randy died."

  Not good. "Did you know Rhonda?"

  She grimaced. "Only in passing. I knew she was an old girlfriend, but that was it. Although obviously we had a lot more in common than we knew."

  "She's missing, you know," I said.

  Isabella looked up at me. "What happened?"

  "She and her husband aren’t getting along," I said. "She's vanished."

  "Do you think Keith had something to do with her disappearance?"

  Since I was pretty sure I'd seen her at the Stones' house, and she’d called Shear Perfection since her disappearance, I doubted it, but I kept my thoughts on that to myself. "I don't know," I said. "How long had she and Randy been seeing each other? Do you have any idea?"

  "Months, I think. At least. I really don't know. He only told me what he had to. If it weren't for those texts..." She teared up again. "How could I have been so blind?"

  "It's not your fault," I told her, giving her another one-armed squeeze. "Please don't blame yourself."

  "It's hard," she said. "What's wrong with me? Why didn't he love me?" She dissolved into tears again.

  "I'm so sorry, Isabella," I said. It must be horrible, being locked up here days before Christmas with nothing to think about but the loss of her husband—and his infidelity. "I feel confident, though, that what happened had everything to do with him and nothing to do with you."

  "I wish I could believe you," she said, sniffling. She reached for a tissue from a box at the end of the bed and blew her nose loudly.

  "In the meantime, though," I said once she'd wiped her nose and gotten herself somewhat back together, "I need your help figuring out who else might have wanted Randy dead."

  She took a deep breath and moved away a little bit, so I dropped my arm, which had still been encircling her shoulders. "Okay," she said. "Think, Isabella. Who else?" After a moment, she came up with the obvious suspect. "Rhonda's husband Keith could have done it," she said. "I imagine he was as upset as I was."

  "From what I understand, he was pretty angry," I said. "I haven't talked with him, but do you know if he was friends with anyone who might be willing to talk to me?"

  She shook her head. "I don't really know him."

  "Me neither," I said. "I'll keep asking around. Anyone else? Maybe someone Randy was in business with?"

  "I know things were going south with his business in Katy," she said, bitterly. "That's why he had to come up here all the time. Or at least that's what he told me."

  "What was going on in Katy?"

  "He was a salesman," she said. "Only he spent more time out golfing than selling. His expenses were huge, but he wasn't making any sales." She sniffled. "He kept saying the big account was just about to come, but you know how it is..."

  "It never did."

  "Right. He got fired two weeks ago."

  "Just in time for Christmas," I pointed out.

  "We were about to lose the house," she said. "I found out he hadn't made the payments in three months. He was trying to get me to ask my parents for money, but with my mother’s health problems..." She trailed off and dabbed at her eyes with a fresh tissue. "I told him he needed to talk to his parents. My parents gave us the down payment for the house. I work as the office manager for a medical office, but it's not enough to pay the mortgage." She sniffed. "I got time off to take care of my parents, but I haven't told them about this yet. If I ever get out of here, I probably won't have a job." Her face crumpled again.

  "Let's take one thing at a time," I said softly, rubbing her shoulders. When she'd gotten herself somewhat back together, I asked, "Was there anyone from his work who might have held a grudge?"

  She shook her head. "His boss. But he fired him. What else could he do?"

  "What about Randy's family?" I prompted, wondering what Isabella's take on Stone family dynamics would be.

  "His sister had no time for him," she said. "I never understood why at first—he always said she was just selfish—but now I get it. I was just too stupid to believe her before."

  "Not stupid," I said. "Love does crazy things to us sometimes."

  "Yeah," she said bitterly.

  "Did he ever talk about his missing brother?" I asked.

  She looked up. "How did you know about Chad?"

  "I was over there with Dr. Brandt," I said, "and I saw the name on the Santa Claus on the front lawn. His name was still on the little list in his hand."

  Isabella nodded. "Randy's dad wrote him off, but his mom, Linda... she was still totally broken up about him."

  "Did they ever find out what happened to him?"

  She shook her head. "His mom always said he'd had a hard time finding his way in the world, but he'd just gotten some big break—something in Houston or Dallas, I think. He fought with his dad about it and then took off. He headed up there, called to say he was okay, and then... nothing." She sniffled. "She told me she hired a private investigator to find out what happened to him, but he couldn't find anything. He tracked down the hotel room he was staying in, but he just... vanished. No wallet, no keys, nothing. He didn't check out, but he didn't leave anything in the room. The trail went cold after that."

  "She didn't have any information about what kind of job it was?"

  She shook her head. "No. He said he was just on probation, and he didn't want to jinx anything; he'd tell her more if he got hired long-term."

  "Sounds shady."

  "I thought so, too," she said. "It was a long time ago. She checks the mail every day, hoping he'll send a letter... She even got on Facebook to try to find him. I don't know if he changed his name or what, but no luck."

  "Did he get along with his parents?" I asked, wondering if maybe his departure had something to do with a family feud.

  "Randy always said Chad was his momma's favorite," she said. "I don't know how true that was, or if it was just because she missed him so much when he disappeared. He never said anything about how his dadd
y felt, and as long as I knew him, William never mentioned his name."

  "Bad blood, do you think?"

  "Maybe," she said. "I got the impression William was disappointed he didn't take to ranching. He was hoping to pass on the family business." She sniffled. "Randy was supposed to take over at some point. Truth is, though, we weren't having much luck in the kid department, so who knows? He felt strongly about keeping it in the family. We'd been tryin' for a year, but no luck. Although that's a blessing, now, I suppose." The huge tear rolling down her cheek belied that, but I didn't push it.

  "You really have had a terrible year, haven't you?"

  She nodded. "And now Mama's in the hospital, and I'm here..." She sighed. "I was hoping next year would be when things turned around, but..."

  "You never know," I said with an optimism I didn't quite feel.

  12

  "You going to the knitting group this afternoon?" Opal asked as I headed out from the jail.

  "I'm going to try," I said, "but I still have a lot to do back at the farm before the Market tonight."

  "I understand," she said. "I made almond crescents."

  "Those amazing sugar-dusted cookies you made last year?"

  She nodded. "The very same. I hope you can make it; if not, I'll save a few for you." She frowned a bit. "I hope the powdered sugar doesn't make my knitting sticky."

  "Just have wet wipes around," I suggested. "Besides, things can be washed."

  "They're already made anyway, so it's a little late to shift gears. Four o'clock? And I really do like your hair."

  "Thanks," I said. "I'll do my best to make it!"

  As I stepped out of the sheriff's office, trying to do a mental inventory of the afternoon's chores, the mayor waved me down.

  "Any progress on the Stone case?" she asked.

  "I'm working on it," I told her.