A Lady from Texas
Chapter 1
“I’m telling you, someone killed him. They set his room on fire,” Rebecca said as she discarded the three of clubs.
“Rebecca, you said he was a chain smoker. He probably fell asleep. Isn’t that what the police report said?” Annie Brown, the local district attorney asked.
Rebecca Moore, a celebrated genealogy investigator, and Annie were members of the Muffin Gang, four professional women who met on the last Thursday of each month for a friendly game of canasta and share their latest gossip. The other two members were Nellie Cook, a college professor, and Bonnie Fulmer, a private criminal investigator. They would hold their meetings at various restaurants, usually asking for a back room and a corner in the back of the restaurant. Today they selected the Bluebonnet Café.
“You can’t depend on a 30-year old police report. Times have changed,” Bonnie said. As a private investigator for various local attorneys, Bonnie had been burnt counting on old police reports.
“Murder hasn’t. Dead is dead,” Nellie told Bonnie as she discarded the two of hearts and froze the pile of discards.
“Oh, hell, Nellie. Did you have to do that?” Annie asked.
“I agree with Rebecca.” Nellie ignored Annie’s comment. “It was murder. I think Rebecca needs to go back to Sweetwater and keep digging into it.”
With those words, the game came to an abrupt stop, and all eyes shifted to Rebecca.
Rebecca gave a gentle smile. She loved these moments, a captive audience giving her direction. “Milton Foster doesn’t have a clue that he’s related to big Texas oil,” she started. “All he wants is for me to find out who his father was. Turns out, it appears to be a certain William Foster, died in a hotel fire about 30 years ago. And it was murder. I don’t care what that police report says.”
“Are you sure?” asked Bonnie.
“Who killed him? Why?” Annie added. Those were questions that always flared out as a DA. And if they didn’t come to the forefront in her office, they would certainly jump out at her in a court room.
“I don’t know. I need to go back to Sweetwater and question William’s only brother, Kevin. No other relatives left,” Rebecca explained.
“Have you met the rich old fart,” Annie said, sparking laughter among the four. “It’s too obvious that he would kill his own brother for all that oil,” she added.
“When are you going to tell Milton?” Bonnie asked.
“No, I haven’t met with him, just did a bunch of snooping around. And I don’t plan on tell Milton until I have more details. At least not until after I speak with Kevin Foster,” Rebecca said.
“Are you concerned about the old guy?” Nellie asked. “I would be more interested in seeing what an oil baron lives like. I bet he lives in one of those big Texas mansions, a big Texas ranch that you see on TV.”
“I’m more worried about his reaction when I break the news to him that he has a nephew,” Rebecca answered. “And he is going to have to share his millions.”
“Look! In the parking lot!” Annie stood up, pointing to the parking lot. “A car’s on fire.” They all looked.
“Oh my, God! It’s my car!” Rebecca said, standing up.
“Rebecca, you said he was a chain smoker. He probably fell asleep. Isn’t that what the police report said?” Annie Brown, the local district attorney asked.
Rebecca Moore, a celebrated genealogy investigator, and Annie were members of the Muffin Gang, four professional women who met on the last Thursday of each month for a friendly game of canasta and share their latest gossip. The other two members were Nellie Cook, a college professor, and Bonnie Fulmer, a private criminal investigator. They would hold their meetings at various restaurants, usually asking for a back room and a corner in the back of the restaurant. Today they selected the Bluebonnet Café.
“You can’t depend on a 30-year old police report. Times have changed,” Bonnie said. As a private investigator for various local attorneys, Bonnie had been burnt counting on old police reports.
“Murder hasn’t. Dead is dead,” Nellie told Bonnie as she discarded the two of hearts and froze the pile of discards.
“Oh, hell, Nellie. Did you have to do that?” Annie asked.
“I agree with Rebecca.” Nellie ignored Annie’s comment. “It was murder. I think Rebecca needs to go back to Sweetwater and keep digging into it.”
With those words, the game came to an abrupt stop, and all eyes shifted to Rebecca.
Rebecca gave a gentle smile. She loved these moments, a captive audience giving her direction. “Milton Foster doesn’t have a clue that he’s related to big Texas oil,” she started. “All he wants is for me to find out who his father was. Turns out, it appears to be a certain William Foster, died in a hotel fire about 30 years ago. And it was murder. I don’t care what that police report says.”
“Are you sure?” asked Bonnie.
“Who killed him? Why?” Annie added. Those were questions that always flared out as a DA. And if they didn’t come to the forefront in her office, they would certainly jump out at her in a court room.
“I don’t know. I need to go back to Sweetwater and question William’s only brother, Kevin. No other relatives left,” Rebecca explained.
“Have you met the rich old fart,” Annie said, sparking laughter among the four. “It’s too obvious that he would kill his own brother for all that oil,” she added.
“When are you going to tell Milton?” Bonnie asked.
“No, I haven’t met with him, just did a bunch of snooping around. And I don’t plan on tell Milton until I have more details. At least not until after I speak with Kevin Foster,” Rebecca said.
“Are you concerned about the old guy?” Nellie asked. “I would be more interested in seeing what an oil baron lives like. I bet he lives in one of those big Texas mansions, a big Texas ranch that you see on TV.”
“I’m more worried about his reaction when I break the news to him that he has a nephew,” Rebecca answered. “And he is going to have to share his millions.”
“Look! In the parking lot!” Annie stood up, pointing to the parking lot. “A car’s on fire.” They all looked.
“Oh my, God! It’s my car!” Rebecca said, standing up.