Free Stranger in My House (A Murder In Texas) by Mari Manning Page B

sweat ran down her face. She wiped it away and lifted the rifle from the tack box. It was only a few pounds heavier than her Glock. A kid’s gun. Or a lady’s. Resting it against her shoulder, she aimed out at the fields and checked the sight. Waves of lavender swayed into view. Had the shooter meant to warn them away from the ridge? Or had he meant to kill Frankie?
    She fingered the ornate stock. It had been hand carved and polished to a deep luster. A rifle made for show and sport. The intertwined leaves and branches framed two letters: BV . Bea Vine.
    The water stopped abruptly. “Frankie? What are you doing in here?” Displeasure glittered in Maguire’s eyes.
    She set the rifle down. “I wanted to talk to you.”
    “Seems like you were sneaking up on me.”
    She was damn sick of being the bad guy. Irritation tightened her jaw. “I didn’t sneak. I walked. Into the barn. To talk to you.”
    “So what do you want to talk about?”
    “I just saw Miss Bea. She seemed upset.”
    “Yeah?”
    “What happened?”
    He shrugged and took a few steps closer to her. “None of your business.”
    “Of course. I just wondered if it had something to do with her gun.”
    His mouth thinned. “No. Go back to the house, Frankie. I got work to do.”
    Some folks lied in interrogation; others preferred to blow smoke. Like Maguire. “So the gun used in the attack this morning was hers. Right?”
    “Forget about this morning. I have everything under control.”
    “It’s a simple question. Yes or no.”
    “Since you know it was, why are you asking?”
    “I thought no guns were allowed on the ranch.”
    A speculative look lit his eyes. “We talked about this last month. Remember?”
    He was lying. Wasn’t he? She had no choice but to take a chance or not get her questions answered. “No. I don’t. Are you sure?”
    “You asked if it was loaded,” he said.
    “Definitely don’t recall asking that. And you said what?”
    “No. Shaw let Miss Bea keep it for sentimental reasons. Anyone who wanted to use it would have to drive into El Royo and buy bullets.”
    “The shooting should be reported. The local cops will check the gun shops. See who bought ammo in the past week.” Why didn’t he want to call the police? Why didn’t Frankie? It didn’t made sense.
    The way he tilted his head, the way he looked at her like he could read her thoughts, told her one important fact. He knew why the police weren’t called, and he thought she should, too. “Nothing happened out there. An unknown person shot a gun. Probably by accident.” He jerked his head at the rifle. “Maybe it was that gun, maybe not.”
    “Did you check the chamber? Is it loaded?”
    “Listen, Frankie. No one was hurt. Besides, Miss Bea says she didn’t do it.”
    “You don’t believe her,” Kirby said. She wanted the truth from Maguire, and she wasn’t letting go until she got it.
    He glowered at her. “You a mind reader now?”
    “You tell me. I say you confronted her, she proclaimed her innocence, you didn’t believe her. Does that just about sum up what happened a little earlier?”
    “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spoke roughly.
    “I think I do.” She narrowed her gaze and met his, daring him to lie to her face.
    He rubbed his chin and studied her. A dangerous gleam lit his eyes. “Never seen you so nosy before.”
    Panic squeezed her, then it was gone. He couldn’t prove she wasn’t Frankie, and in a few days she’d be in Tulsa, and Frankie would be back in Shaw Valley and, hopefully, reunited with Charleen. There was nothing more to learn here, and by the looks of him, Maguire needed time to cool down. A dangerous gleam lit his eyes, and his mouth had tightened into a hard line.
    “I should go,” she said, stepping back from him.
    “Stick around, Frankie . The new you is sort of growing on me.” His gaze swept down her body and landed on her ballet flats. “Maybe you’d like to help me clean the lavender