Stranger in My House (A Murder In Texas) Read Online Free Page A

long moment she studied the ceiling. A tiny crack reminded her of a crooked smile. It seemed to mock her. She sat up. The tawdry bedside mirror greeted her, reflecting a dark-haired girl in a rumpled tee. Not Frankie-ish at all. But Frankie’s nighties were as modest as Dolly Parton’s cleavage, which would be damn embarrassing if there was a fire. Digging through Frankie’s drawers had uncovered an extra-large Rangers shirt stuffed behind a stack of sheer panties and camisoles. Kirby had grabbed it as if it was a lifeline.
    The floor creaked outside Kirby’s suite. Knuckles rapped softly against the bedroom door. A key scraped in the lock. The doorknob twisted. Her heart stopped.
    Kirby slid her hand under her pillow. Smooth metal warmed her fingers. She released the safety. She’d listened to Frankie, stashing the case—locked—in the back of the closet. But she’d be damned if she was going to face Frankie’s attacker unarmed.
    “Miss Frances? Are you awake?” Miss Bea’s voice was sticky sweet with ill will.
    Kirby gazed in the mirror as she tried to think. A brown-eyed girl in an oversize T-shirt stared back at her. The door to the sitting room brushed over the thick carpet. No creaky hinges on Frankie’s door. Was this on purpose? Had whoever attacked Frankie wanted to make sure Frankie wouldn’t hear them coming?
    “Miss Frances?”
    She’d never pass as Frankie. What would Miss Bea do if she knew Kirby was an impostor? Kirby’s hand tightened on the Glock.
    “Miss Frances? Are you awake?” The softness in the woman’s croaky voice sounded sinister, witchy and up to no good.
    But Kirby had come here for evidence, and catching a suspect in the act of a crime would surely be irrefutable evidence of everything Frankie and Charleen had faced in this house.
    Kirby plunked down in bed, landing sideways so she could keep a hand under her pillow. With her other hand she yanked the sheets over her shoulders.
    “Miss Frances?” The voice came from close by. The words sounded almost intimate. Miss Bea was in the bedroom.
    A jolt of adrenaline zapped through Kirby’s body, but she held her position. The rustle of Miss Bea’s blouse pushed close. Kirby tensed, prepared to spring.
    But Miss Bea stopped just short of the bed. What is she doing?
    “Answer me, Miss Frances. Are you sleeping?” She spoke in a low voice, but loud enough to wake most sleepers. Still Kirby had the impression that Miss Bea didn’t expect Frankie to wake up.
    Although Kirby dearly wanted to do just that.
    But the green contacts were soaking in the bathroom, and Miss Bea didn’t seem like anybody’s fool. She’d know right away something was off. What would she do? Call the police, who would report Kirby to her sergeant up in Tulsa if they didn’t lock her up. If Miss Bea and Mr. Shaw were holding Charleen, would they realize Frankie was suspicious of them and hurt Charleen? Kirby pictured the endless, empty miles of Shaw Valley land she’d passed through yesterday. If Charleen was dead—and as much as Kirby didn’t want to admit it, nothing else made a lot of sense—would the discovery of Kirby lessen the chances of at least recovering Charleen’s remains?
    Mmm-phew, mmm-phew, mmm-phew. Kirby forced her chest muscles to rise and fall and added a delicate snore.
    Miss Bea bent closer. An electric current vibrated over Kirby’s skin. The cloying scent of rose petals and hand sanitizer pressed against her nose. Carefully, so no movement was visible, Kirby’s hand tightened around her weapon. Every muscle in her body tensed, preparing for an assault.
    Miss Bea hung over the bed, so close Kirby could almost feel her thoughts. She was waiting, but she was watching, too. For what? A signal to pounce?
    Her breath blew hot against Kirby’s cheek. Rose and sanitizer twisted together and sharpened. Kirby’s nose twitched. Her lungs tightened into a fist. She was going to sneeze. She tried to pull her shoulder blades together, to