Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis by Maria Swan (feel good novels TXT) 📕

Brenda paused, and I could bet she was smoking. “That Angelique gets chatty when she has a cocktail or two.” Wow, Brenda was certainly snarky, and here I thought she loved it down at the ranch with the new business and the girls as Lois and Angelique liked to call themselves.

“I’ve never seen Angelique drink, and no, I don’t know about her and Tristan’s dad. Brenda, please don’t tell me he was having an affair with Angelique while Tristan’s mom was alive. It would break Tristan’s heart.”

“No, no. Quite the contrary, Angelique claims they were each other’s first love. The Dumonts owned a large home in Martinique, and Angelique’s family lived on the property. I think she said they worked for the Dumonts, and according to her story she was barely sixteen when Tristan’s dad, who was eighteen, came to spend his summer vacation there. You can fill in the blanks, right? So he returned every summer and promised her she would be his bride as soon as he was done with college. Well, she says he met Tristan’s mom and never went back to Martinique and left her without as much as a goodbye.

“Fast forward twenty-five years later, he’s a widower, and they accidentally bump into each other somewhere in France, and the flame instantly reignites. So you see, in her mind, Tristan’s mom was the home-wrecker. Therefore it was only fair that Tristan stepped up to the plate and finally gave her what she considered to belong to her all along.”

I couldn’t breathe. Either Brenda had developed a case of powerful hate against her quasi-employer Angelique Dumont, or Angelique had lost her mind. I didn’t believe the story, not for a minute.

“Hey, Monica, you still there, or did I put you to sleep?”

“I—I can’t think straight. This is—crazy. Do you believe it? I mean, I don’t know how Tristan’s dad was, but according to Tristan, he was honest, intelligent, giving. I mean, it’s not like he had to marry Tristan’s mom because she was pregnant. She was a widow with a young boy. A boy he raised as his own.” I had to stop and catch my breath.

“Exactly. Kiddo, I’m proud of you. You didn’t lose your cool for even a second. Anyway, Angelique seems to have a crush on that new guy, Leo. Even Lois noticed, and that created a lot of tension. I think that’s why Lois isn’t around much and why Angelique drinks. Hey, this is the longest conversation we have had in a long time. I should send Bob over to talk to you more often.” She laughed, more a short cackle than a laugh, and I heard loud barking in the background. “Speaking of the devil,” then louder, “Hi, Leo, where did you find this vagabond dog of mine? Dior, want to talk to your pal Monica? Come here, big boy.”

I could hear heavy breathing at the other end of the phone. “Hi, Dior, this is Monica. How is my big pooch doing? Do you miss me? I miss you too.” A loud bark nearly deafened me. Then strange sounds.

“No, no. Dior, don’t lick the... no. Stop it. Bye, Monica.” Some loud laughing in the background and that was it.

Thank God I was sitting down. Wow, just wow. Talk about soap opera. I closed my eyes and summoned Angelique’s image in my mind, I couldn’t remember ever getting a sense of her being sort of... hmm, sort of what? Liar? Cheater? Gold digger? No, not really. But she was very frail and sick the first time I met her. Hence, the ever-present Lois to assist her. And Brenda had labeled them recluses because they refused to eat with everyone else. That part I did remember as we served their food in their room and... they had their own cache of wine. And none of this was my business, except for Tristan.

How did I even get myself into this senseless sort of mess? Never mind me, how about Tristan? Why did he have to be the one to find that poor woman? Unless... unless she really had needed to talk to Tristan. What if she knew he was coming back that night? But how? I only found out hours earlier. Had she been able to reach him? He did have a cell phone, and so did she. If only I had answered her call Wednesday morning while I was showing Greg the house on 8th Place. What if? I wanted to scream, instead I whispered, “Oh, Tristan,” again and again. Maybe the power above would hear me and—

My cell chimed. Tristan.

“Hello...” Not sure I could trust my voice. Choking on my own breath.

“Fiat, how are you?” I looked up to an imaginary heaven. Owe you one.

“A lot better now.” Breathe, Monica. “What’s going on? Are you home? Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course. Oh, you mean...” A pause. “Everything... has been... removed. And yes, it feels a bit... creepy, lots of mixed feelings. The detective working the case seems to think that the victim may be the same person who came to the house while you were picking up the mail.”

“Yes, so I’m told. How did she get in the house?” I really wanted to say words of comfort to him, but I had no idea how to do it without getting personal. What if someone was recording us? I suspected we shared the same concerns.

“Is Angelique there?” I waited. His silence made me nervous. “I spoke to Brenda, and she said Angelique drove up to Phoenix.”

“Yes, she did.” Short, not sweet. To a perfect stranger the conversation would appear a little cold but not distant. But I wasn’t a stranger, and I sensed the weariness in Tristan’s voice. My whole being wanted to find soothing words, to ease whatever pained him. If only I could. We exchanged meaningless pleasantries as polite casual friends would, perhaps both hoping to convey deeper meanings with our silences rather than unnecessary, incriminating words. Still, I knew in my