Goose in the Pond (24 page)

“A what?”

“Water moccasin. They bite without warning, and next thing you know you’re floating in the water facedown.”

Before I could answer, Ash walked up, Dolores glued to his side. They sat down across from us.

“What are you fine ladies whispering about?” he asked. Dolores gazed up at him with what could only be described as adoration. She definitely needed to have a long talk with Evangeline.

“Nothing important,” Evangeline said.

Amusement crinkled his eyes. “I thought maybe Benni was tellin’ you all the inside scoop about Nora’s murder that she wouldn’t share with me.” He said it loud enough for everyone to stop chattering and stare at me.

“I don’t know any more than anyone else,” I said, glaring at Ash. I crumbled my paper napkin and threw it on my plate. “Let’s start this meeting and get any problems solved so we can begin with a fresh slate tomorrow.”

“I agree,” Grace said.

I pulled my notebook out of my purse and quickly ran through the list of things that still needed to be done. After everyone had their assignments, had voiced their complaints and problems, and I made note of them, I closed my notebook and stood up.

“I’ll see all of you tomorrow night at Farmers’ Market. Remember, our storytelling booth opens promptly at six. The first story is at six-fifteen. Everyone is clear on their time, right? We want to attract people to the festival and show how storytelling is a means to promote peace and brotherhood. Let’s keep it civil.” I looked pointedly at Roy and Peter. Peter stiffened his bottom lip. Roy grinned and saluted me.

“Okay, then, good luck and knock ’em—” I stopped and rephrased my thought. “Uh, break a leg.” A nervous laugh rippled through the group.

“Leaving us so soon?” Ash said, his arm still draped over Dolores’s shoulder. She rested her dark, shiny hair on his shoulder, her eyes glowing.

I glanced down at Jillian, who’d been unusually quiet during the evening, picking at her pizza and casting an occasional furtive glance at Ash. Had Ash officially dumped her? Was he with Dolores now? Or was he playing them against each other in a bid to . . . what? Jillian had financially helped both Ash and Dolores. Did seeing them hang all over each other like this make her regret it? I glanced around at all the people at the table and felt a dull headache start to smolder behind my eyes. Secrets. This group was full of them. Secrets they were afraid would get out. Secrets that apparently Nora knew. Secrets, or at least one secret, worth killing for.

I slipped out of the pizza parlor as everyone said their good-byes. I was opening the truck door when Grace caught my arm.

“Benni, have you got a minute?” Her red hair appeared an odd clownish orange under the parking-lot lights.

I shut the truck door and leaned back against it. “Sure, what’s up?”

“It’s about Roy.”

She fiddled with her hair, and I waited silently for her to go on. In the distance the sound of raucous laughter came from the weight-lifting gym that occupied the second floor above Angelo’s. I glanced up at the thick-necked guy in black bicycle shorts and a yellow tank top standing in front of an open window. He gave a Tarzan yell and beat apelike on his rippled chest.

“He was questioned by the police again today,” she said, her clear green eyes darting up at the sound then back at me.

“He was?”

“You didn’t know?”

I felt my jaw tighten. “Grace, how many times do I have to tell people? Gabe doesn’t confide in me about his work. You know that better than anyone.”

“You said he was getting better.”

“He is, but he’s deliberately keeping me out of this particular investigation because I’m working with all of you.” I paused for a moment, then compulsively asked, “What exactly did the detectives ask Roy?”

She shifted from one boot to the other. “They found out some stuff, and it . . . it doesn’t look good.”

I touched a hand to my forehead, not certain now if I really wanted to hear this. But I was involved with these people. They were my friends and also major players in the storytelling festival. It would be easier to put out fires if I had some idea about what started the flames, and of course, I was a bit curious. . . . “What stuff?”

“There was something he didn’t tell the police. He saw Nora that night . . . the night she was killed. But he didn’t do it! I swear, he was with me the whole night. And he’d never kill anyone. I know him.”

“He saw her?” I repeated. “Where . . . what . . . ?”

“He went to the library after it was closed, and they got into this big fight. She was going to back out on the deal they’d made about Zar unless he signed away his part of the insurance money for their son. She’ d been drinking, he said, and she was always irrational when she drank. I guess she’d seen us earlier in the day. Saw him give me a kiss or something, and that set her off again. We’d been careful, but sometimes you forget and . . .” Her voice broke. “The police.” She looked at me accusingly. “
Your husband
thinks Roy did it, case closed. They’re not even trying to look for anyone else. They’ve confiscated all his ropes to see if any fibers match. Can they do that? Should I get him a lawyer? Benni, can you talk to Gabe? Talk some sense into him? Roy didn’t do it. He didn’t.”

“How did the police find out about the fight?” I asked.

“Someone saw it all and called the police. He said he parked on the other side of the park so no one could see his truck at the library and start up a bunch of gossip again. I guess it could have been anyone, but it was late, past ten o’clock. The library had been closed for an hour. They argued outside, next to the employees’ entrance.”

“Why was she there?” I asked, though I knew, having heard Nick’s story.

“She told Roy she’d borrowed Nick’s keys and was using the computer room in the children’s department because it had a color printer. He called her on her cellular phone, and they agreed to meet at the library.” She gave a bitter laugh. “We’re barely able to buy oats for the horses, and she’s carrying a cellular phone. Guess she had to be available at all times for that final offer from the developer.”

“Who did you say reported their argument?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation back to Roy and Nora’s last encounter. Was it Nick? Jillian? I didn’t want to scare Grace, but if I were her, I’d certainly be thinking about finding a lawyer. Fast.

She shrugged. “The proverbial anonymous caller. They apparently were convincing enough to make the cops question him again, and this time he broke down and confessed.” Her nails bit into my forearm. “Benni, you have to do something. Everyone’s more than happy to let the blame fall on Roy, but it wasn’t him, and that means the real killer is out there and getting away with murder.”

I didn’t know how to answer her. What I really wished right at that moment was that I’d never started riding at Grace’s stable, never become friends with her. My life was complicated enough without being torn between helping a friend and being loyal to my new husband. With my long ties in this town and his position, it seemed this situation was one that was destined to crop up between Gabe and me time after time. “I’ll ask Gabe what’s going on, but you know I can’t guarantee any answers.”

“Thank you,” she said, loosening her grip on my arm.

I glanced at my watch, trying to tactfully hint that I had someplace to go. “I’ll get back to you. I don’t know when, but as soon as I can.”

“You’re a good friend,” she said, her voice embarrassingly grateful and humble. “Sometimes I feel like you’re my only friend.” Her words made me feel like a real jerk after my own thoughts about our friendship.

I touched her hand briefly. “I’ll do the best I can.”

She nodded mutely and went back across the street, where Roy leaned against his truck, waiting.

It was past nine o’clock when I arrived at the museum. All I wanted to do was repair Evangeline’s quilt and go home as quickly as possible. I informed the young security guard we’d hired that I’d be about a half hour and would lock up after myself. Inside the museum, I turned on only one set of track lighting in the main hall. I took down her quilt and carried it to the co-op studios, where there were quilting supplies and a place to sit. As I carefully tried to match Evangeline’s neat, even stitches, I lambasted myself for seeing clues where there weren’t any and for being so nosy.
Let the police find Nora’s killer,
I told myself.
You have other fish to fry.
It was so quiet in the co-op, I could hear our ancient refrigerator cycle and buzz. Under the building’s eaves, birds rustled and chirped, settling in for the night. I’d clipped off the last thread and was studying my stitches when I heard the noise. An unmistakable crunch outside the curtainless window. My blood froze in my veins as I stared up at the window, expecting a grotesque face à la Jack Nicholson to fill the window.

A tree branch, I told myself, when I heard it again. Or the security guard making his rounds. I moved away from the window, trying to decide if it would be better to attempt a dash across the courtyard and around the museum to the parking lot or creep over to my office and call the police. I hugged the quilt to my chest, my mind racing, wondering how solid the studio door’s lock was and whether I was overreacting. If it was a tree branch or the security guard, I’d look like a fool calling the police. That was another irritating thing about being the police chief’s wife—if I reported it, everyone and his brother would hear about it immediately and it would be the talk of the station.
You’re imagining things,
I thought when everything became quiet again. I calmly folded the quilt and started for the door. When I passed the dark window, like a shotgun blast it shattered.

I screamed and instinctively hit the floor, the quilt cushioning my fall. I lay there for a moment, dazed. Then, crouching low, I scrambled toward the light switch next to the front door and flipped it off. I wouldn’t be such an obvious target now. I sat with my back against the door, staring out at the broken window. I’d have to go past it to get to my office. Faint moonlight glinted off the broken glass covering the floor. Behind me, a fist pounded hard on the door.

“Mrs. Ortiz!” the security guard yelled. “Are you okay?”

I jumped up and unlocked the door. The guard stood there, his hand holding his cellular phone as if it were a gun he was going to draw.

“Are you okay?” he repeated. “I heard you scream and then I saw someone hop the fence and I couldn’t decide if I should run after him or come see about you and I called my dispatcher and he said to go see if you were okay to let the guy go and I called the police and are you okay? This is my first assignment . . . and you the police chief’s wife . . . oh, shit . . . I really screwed up—” I held up my hand for him to stop talking. He obeyed instantly, like a well-trained hunting dog. He hooked his thumbs in his thick black police issue utility belt in an attempt to hide their trembling. I flipped on the light and surveyed the damage.

I turned to the security guard. “What did he look like?” I asked.

His round blue eyes widened, making him appear about sixteen. He reached up and started picking nervously at a pimple on his cheek. “He was dressed in black. I was at the back of the pasture, checking the perimeter. I couldn’t see his face. He took off over the back fence and ran through the field and toward the feed store.” Next door to the museum was an acre of open pasture, then the parking lot of the San Celina Feed and Grain Co-op.

“He probably had a car waiting,” I said, more to myself than the guard, who was now shaking like a scared puppy. I looked back to the broken glass on the floor. A large rock sat in the middle of it, a piece of paper wrapped around it with a rubber band just like in an old “Spin & Marty” episode from the Disney channel.

I picked up the rock and read the message.

Cruel death is always near; so frail a thing a woman.

“What does it say?” the guard asked, his voice a close imitation of Barney Fife. Before I could answer, a deep voice called out, “Police.” I stuffed the note in my back pocket and whispered, “Forget this.” I scowled to make my point. He nodded dumbly.

Two officers stepped through the doorway. Neither of them looked familiar to me. Gabe had just hired five new officers in the last few months, and these were obviously two of them.

“What’s the problem?” the male officer said. He was short and bull-necked and had that glossy, grooming-brush haircut that seemed to be popular among male patrol officers. His partner was a young, snub-nosed woman with a neat, blond braid and serious gray eyes. Both walked in holding on to the top of their unsnapped holsters in the same way the guard had his phone. The female officer’s expression flickered with recognition when she saw me.

“Better call the watch commander,” she started to say to her partner. “That’s the—”

“We can handle this,” he interrupted her irritably. “Who called 911?”

She shrugged and fell silent, obviously the junior partner in this duo. At that particular moment, I blessed his arrogance. I’d prefer to tell Gabe about this myself.

“I did.” The guard’s voice quivered.

“So what’s the problem?” His face held a slight sneer, telegraphing his feelings about security guards with a turn of a lip.

I jumped in, suddenly tired of all the fuss. “Someone vandalized the co-op,” I said, holding out the rock. “I was in here working on a quilt, and someone threw this through the window. It caught me by surprise, and I screamed. Whoever it was apparently hopped the fence and took off toward the feed store.”

The male officer nodded and pulled out a notebook. “Did you get a look at him?”

“No, when I heard the window shatter, I hit the floor. Then I crawled over and turned off the light so I wasn’t an obvious target. Then the guard knocked on the door and identified himself. I recognized his voice and let him in. He’d already phoned the incident in to his dispatcher.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Quick thinking ... for a woman.”

Behind him, his partner blurted out, “Lowry, don’t be such an ass.”

Ignoring her, he turned to the fidgety guard. “What did you see?”