Goose in the Pond (10 page)

“Why?”

I told him about the argument between Roy and Ash. “I think there’s more history to that fight than the comment about Zar’s stud fees.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, knowing Ash’s reputation, it occurred to me that he might have had a fling at one time with Grace. She and Roy have broke up a few times in the last year, and Grace has enough of a vindictive streak to do something like that if for no other reason than to irritate Roy.”

“Refresh my memory. Grace is . . . ?”

“The woman Roy is living with now. She owns the stables off Laguna Valley Road. You know, behind the redwood Methodist church. It’s where I’ve been riding the last couple of months.”

“I take it Roy and Nora’s divorce wasn’t an amicable parting.”

“Not by any stretch of the imagination. Nora divorced him because he was cheating on her with Grace while their eight-year-old son was dying. You really can’t blame her. That is pretty low.”

“So for revenge, Nora was holding up the divorce proceedings because of the property settlement of some horse.”

“Zar’s more than just some horse. Grace says he’s worth twenty-five thousand dollars. Maybe more.”

Gabe whistled under his breath. “People have been killed for less.”

I scratched his stomach lightly. “I just can’t picture it, though. Roy might be a hothead, but he’d held off this long, and Grace told me last week he and Nora were getting close to an agreement. That’s why they were advertising Zar’s services in the paper. She said they had agreed to split the stud fees until the final details of ownership were worked out.”

“So what about this Ash? With a name like that, it is a good thing he was never a cop.”

“It’s short for Ashley. Ashley Stanhill. He owns that new restaurant on the corner of Alvarez and Elm, near the Art Center. Eudora’s Front Porch. He’s from Mississippi. He’s got a gorgeous accent and that kind of cockiness that a woman wants to hate, but somehow just can’t ’cause it’s so incredibly blatant. He seduces women simply by being so audacious.”

“Oh, really?”

I pulled on his chest hair. “Not me, you jerk.
Other
women.”

“Ow,” he said, grabbing my hand and pressing it to his chest. “You’re really into inflicting pain today. So, tell me more about the environmental guy you mentioned this afternoon. The political one.”

“Peter Grant. I’ve known him since I was a kid. We were in 4-H together. His parents owned one of the biggest almond orchards in the state. They sold it and moved to San Francisco and he stayed. He’s one of those guys who’s never gotten married, lives for his hobbies and his causes.”

“Which are?”

“In a nutshell? Mountain climbing, scuba diving, zero growth, owls, redwoods and wolves, and whatever new animal or cause is the current political poster child. He’s president of the GreenLand Conservancy.”

“The group that’s trying to buy up land around San Celina and make a permanent greenbelt? I understand to a degree what they want. I’d hate to see San Celina turn into another Orange County.”

“Yeah, but the problem always comes back to private ownership. It’s real easy for people like Peter to say the land shouldn’t be owned when it’s not
his
land being legislated. I wonder how generous he’d be if his parents still owned that almond orchard. If ag people and environmentalists don’t find a way to work together somehow, the ranchers and farmers will have to sell out to whoever can buy the land just to pay their inheritance or income taxes. And developers are the only people with that kind of money. I just wish he’d realize we all have the same goals, keeping San Celina from turning into one big suburb.”

“It’s a volatile situation, no doubt about it, but so far both sides have just flung words. So, who else was there?”

“Jillian Sinclair.”

“Constance Sinclair’s niece.”

“Right. And there was Evangeline Boudreaux and Dolores Ayala.”

“Did they know Nora well?”

“Well, Jillian was her boss at the library. I think Dolores and Nora were passing acquaintances. Nora and Evangeline have left together quite a few times, so I assume they’d struck up a friendship. Evangeline’s the type that everyone confides in, so I wouldn’t be surprised if Nora was telling her all the juicy details about her and Roy’s divorce.”

“That’s everyone who was there?”

“Well, D-Daddy was on the grounds, but not actually at the meeting.”

Gabe slid down and tucked the quilt around us, signaling he wanted to go to sleep. I poked him in the side. “Wait a minute, I think I’ve just been had.”

Without opening his eyes, he gave a lazy smile. “And if I wasn’t so tired, I’d have you again.”

“I thought you didn’t want to bring your job to our bed. That was a low-level interrogation, Friday.”

“Now, you’re always wanting to help me with my investigations. It would be even more helpful if you would write all these people’s names down so I can give them to my detectives. Anything else you want to add about any of them? You probably have a better handle on the relationships among these people than my detectives could get.”

“Me? You’re actually consulting
me
on a case? Someone call the newspapers. Someone call the television stations. Someone call the pope. A miracle has occurred in San Celina. Gabriel Ortiz is actually
asking
his wife if she has an opinion about a case. Why, it’s unbelievable. It’s—”

“Pipe down,” he said good-naturedly. “And answer the question.”

“Honestly, Nora was a nice person. Though a bit sharp-tongued at times, she was never mean. I can’t imagine why anyone would kill her.”

“I know you like this Grace and Roy, sweetheart, but don’t be surprised if it turns out to be one of them. Most homicides involve money or sex, and
they
hit the bell on both accounts.”

“I don’t even want to think about that.”

“Well, just remember, no questions,” he reminded, yawning. “That’s my job.”

“You know, with how involved I am with all these people, this time I think I’ll listen to you.”

“That’ll be the day,” he replied.

The next morning, as usual, he was up before me. I lifted my head from where it was jammed into my pillow and watched him through slitted eyes as he pulled on shorts and a sweatshirt. The man’s discipline was phenomenal and sometimes more than a little irritating.

“Your turn to put on the coffee,” I mumbled.

“I do believe it’s your turn this week, but since you were so good last night, I’ll give you this one.” He bent over and tied his jogging shoes.

I struggled up and rubbed my crusty eyes. “Are you saying that if I
wasn’t
good I’d be fixing my own coffee?”

He grinned. “Now, don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Chauvinist,” I said halfheartedly.

“Just think of it as conditioned reflex. Like Pavlov’s dogs.”

“That’s not a very accurate analogy.”

“It’s as good as I can do on an empty stomach. I’ll jog by Stern’s Bakery and get some fresh bagels,” he said, unperturbed by my grumpiness. I was relieved to see he was starting out in a good mood, though how long that would last was debatable. He and Sam still hadn’t actually talked yet.

“Then I’ll make the coffee,” I said. “I need to get up anyway. I have a million things to do today.”

He left the room, and I grabbed my robe. In the living room I was surprised to find him standing motionless, staring down at his sleeping son. His expression broke my heart—a combination of raw longing and deep anger.

He turned when he heard me. His face recomposed itself into his blank, no-one’s-going-to-touch-me look. “I’ll be back in a half hour,” he said in a normal tone. “Don’t have time for a full run.”

I held my finger to my lips and pointed at the kitchen.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice flat. “Sam sleeps like a log. Always has, ever since he was a baby.” Only the strange light in his eyes revealed the emotion watching his sleeping child stirred in him.

While he was gone I made coffee and sliced tomatoes and Swiss cheese to eat with the bagels. As I worked I plotted my day. First, go see Nick. Last night must have been horrible for him, and I wondered if any of his friends had come to stay with him. I had just poured my first cup of coffee when a bleary-eyed Sam wandered into the kitchen. He wore a pair of baggy purple-and-black shorts and a stretched-out sweatshirt faded an odd grayish blue.

“Is Dad gone?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“He’s jogging,” I said. “He should be back in about a half hour.”

“Maybe I should split, then,” he said, holding his mug with both hands and shivering slightly.

“Sit down,” I said, pointing to a dining chair. “You’re not going anywhere. You and Gabe are going to have to come to some kind of truce. You two may not be able to solve every problem you’ve accumulated in the last eighteen years, but you can at least be civil.”

“So tell
him
that.”

“I intend to.”

He smiled over his mug. “Wow, I bet you and Dad really tie it on sometimes. He hates anyone telling him what to do.”

“So I’ve noticed.” I set cream and sugar down in front of him.

“I drink it black.”

“Just like your father.”

He scowled and took a long gulp.

We were on our second cups when Gabe walked into the kitchen.

He glanced quickly at Sam before laying the white bag in front of me.

“There’s a dozen in there,” he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“I’m starved,” Sam said, sitting down at the table. I set out bowls, granola cereal, milk, orange juice, and bananas. “I’m toasting my bagel,” I said, my eyes darting between the two silent men. “Anyone else?”

They both grunted affirmative, glanced at each other, then back down into their bowls. After a few minutes of attempting conversation, I finally gave up and decided the slurping of milk and crunch of bagels were the only sounds I was likely to hear from these two this morning. By the time everyone was finished, I’d made up my mind that I was not going to come home after a stressful day at the museum to this unresolved standoff.

I licked my spoon, then slammed it down on the table. Both heads snapped up and stared at me. “Listen up, boys. I will not put up with this childish game of each of you waiting to knock the stick off the shoulder of the other. I know you can’t resolve all your problems in one visit, but you can be pleasant to each other for as long as Sam is here.” I turned and faced my stepson. His dark brown eyes were wary. “First you, Sam. Just how long do you intend to stay?”

His tanned face grew stubborn. I immediately nipped that attitude in the bud. “Now don’t go all juvenile on me. You want to be treated like an adult, so that’s exactly what I’m doing. An adult who visits has a set time in mind. We need to know what yours is.”

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “A week, I guess.” He shot his father a fierce look. “Maybe I should just leave today.”

Gabe threw his napkin down on the table and stood up. “Run away when things don’t work out like you want. Why doesn’t that surprise me? That’s always been what you do best.”

Sam jumped up, his face twitching with anger. “Well, I guess you were right, Benni,” he said, though his eyes never left Gabe’s face. “I
am
just like my father.” His right hand beat a nervous drum pattern on his thigh.

I took a deep breath and intervened. “Look, why don’t you two deal with all that old baggage later? Right now why don’t we just agree that Sam is going to stay a week and see how it goes? Frankly, he’s my new stepson, and I’d like to get to know him. How about we try that? Just a week?”

I suspected that Sam didn’t have anywhere else to go and was probably short on money and I also suspected that Gabe didn’t really want him to leave. What they needed was just a little time to get used to each other again. At least that’s what I was hoping. When I was growing up on the ranch and the men in our family got to growling and snapping at each other, Dove would just send them packing off to different parts of the ranch to work until they could stand being around each other again. Of course, that was easier done on a two-thousand-acre cattle ranch than in a small two-bedroom house in a medium-size college town.

“Well, guys, how about it?” I looked at the vein in my husband’s left temple and the set of his jaw, gauges I’d learned to monitor for clues to his emotional temperature. His jaw seemed just a little less rigid than it had minutes ago. “Gabe?”

“A week,” he said, and strode out of the room.

Sam shook his head and picked up his almost empty glass of orange juice, concentrating on swirling the liquid around and around. “I should just leave,” he said, his voice sad now that Gabe had left.

“No,” I said, picking up the cereal box and closing the flap. “I meant what I said. I would like to get to know you. Give your dad some time. He’ll come around.” I made my voice light and positive.

He picked up the carton of milk and carried it over to the refrigerator. “I think I know him better than you, Benni. He’d probably be happy if he never saw me again.”

“I
know
that’s not true.” I stopped wiping the table and looked up at him. “Look, just let him get used to you being here and see what happens.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. To be honest, unless I go down to my mom’s in L.A., I don’t have anywhere else to go and about ten bucks to get there.” He said the last part with his head down, not meeting my eyes.

Just as I thought. I opened the cupboard and pulled out a red Folger’s coffee can where I kept some household money. I counted eighty-nine dollars and some change. I held the bills out to him.

“I can’t take your money,” he said, his face coloring. “That’s not why I said that.”

“I know. But it comes with two strings attached.”

He eyed the money longingly. “What?”

“One, call your mother and let her know you’re here and all right.”

He nodded. “And the second?”

“Be patient with your dad and try not to bite when he makes sarcastic remarks. Heaven knows, I understand how hard that is. But he’s going through a rough time with what happened in Kansas and with Aaron. I think he really needs you right now and just doesn’t want to admit it.”