Murder for a Rainy Day (Pecan Bayou Book 6) (5 page)

"Huh?" She was beginning to sound like Leo talking in weather patterns. Maybe this woman was my subconscious so inundated with meteorology talk that now these terms were creeping into my nightmares. Characters in my dreams were even talking about the weather.

I never told Leo that I rarely watched The Weather Channel until I started dating him. He would be heartbroken to know that. In my mind, either it rains or it doesn’t. It never really concerned me before. I had The Weather Channel bookmarked on my cable now, that was for sure.

"Goodbye Bootsy. Don’t screw this up." Martha Hoffman started dissolving in the corner. She was there, and then she was gone.

"Betsy?" I felt Leo getting into bed next to me. "Are you okay Bets?" His hands slipped around me.

"Sure. I was asleep." I said, looking at him through half-open eyes.

"You were having a full-fledged conversation. Did you know you were talking in your sleep?"

"Yeah? What was I saying?"

"Something about the Weather Channel."

"It’s so silly what comes out of your mouth when you’re dreaming," I said.

The next morning I sipped my coffee, feeling groggy—the effects of working my way through an entire quart of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey after Leo came to bed. I couldn’t get dead Martha Hoffman out of my head, and the best activity I could think of to eradicate her creepy visit was to consume massive amounts of ice cream.

Leo was up and in the shower, getting ready to take off for another day of storm tracking. I had my laptop on the kitchen table and was putting finishing touches on the barbecue recipes for the city council grill-off. A knock at the door made me jump. A face, eerily distorted by the beveled glass, peered through at me.

"Betsy?" Whatever it was, it knew my name. Was Martha using the front door now?

"Mind if I come in darlin'?"

"Hey Dad," I said, relief in my voice. "Come on in. Have you had your coffee?"

"I could use another cup," he said, pulling up a chair. He took off his hat and placed it on the table. "You should know I spent part of the night last night worrying about you. What with Leo gone so much working the storm, I started to have thoughts you would go into labor and for some reason not be able to call anybody."

It was good to know that even a seasoned parent like my father had middle of the night panic attacks. It helped me not to feel so guilty about my own anxiety over the boys being so far away.

"Last I heard women going to labor do not lose their abilities to call someone. I know the entire police force has me on their radar, thanks to you."

"Well, sure."

"If I can't get Leo, you and Aunt Maggie are on speed dial." As if they weren't already.

"That gives this sleepy old man some peace of mind."

Leo tromped down the stairs from the bedroom and poured himself a cup of coffee, the smell of fresh aftershave drifting through the room.

"Good morning, Judd."

"Morning Leo. And, how is the storm chaser today?"

"Busy."

"Somehow, I figured that."

"Yes sir. It looks like we might have a big one on our hands," he said searching in the cupboard for a cereal bar. I finished those off two days ago.

I couldn't help noticing how excited my husband was about a destructive storm on its way. It could impact the people in Texas both financially and mentally. It was a little twisted, but I understood.

"Yeah, yeah, Lester Jibbets was just saying the woods of Pecan Bayou are getting quiet. The animals know when a storm is comin'. "

"He said that? If we could just get Lester on the payroll at the weather bureau," Leo said, still searching.

"He's too busy with his port-a-potty empire to work for you. I just hope that with all this running around you're doing for the storm that you don't forget my baby here is about to have a baby."

"It’s crossed my mind a time or two."

"Well that's good to hear."

"You have to admit I am juggling quite a bit right now. This storm could be another Katrina." Leo walked over to the refrigerator and looked inside, pushing aside plastic containers and ketchup bottles. "You know, maybe I’ll just pick up a biscuit on the way," he said, closing the door.

My father continued. "Don't make me do SWAT team drills to get her to the hospital."

"Your so-called SWAT team practice mostly involves running in and out of Earl's Coffee," I said. "Their timing was great right up until Earl took out that fresh batch of coffee cake."

"You know we still need to talk." I said, reminding Leo of our phone conversation before the baby shower.

"And we will, but I have to get going right now," he said, kissing me on the cheek and heading out the front door.

My father's walkie talkie cackled on his shoulder.

"Judd? Are you there?" He tapped on his radi
o.

"Yes Mrs. Thatcher. I'm here having coffee at Betsy's."

"Oh. How is she doing? Is the baby coming?"

"She's fine. Just checking on her. "

"Wonderful. You tell her to put her feet up. She needs to take it easy because we don't want to hurry that little guy."

"I'll be sure to share that with her. Is there something you need, Mrs. Thatcher?"

"Oh. I almost forgot." Mrs. Thatcher chuckled on the other side of the line. "We have a bit of a situation, Judd."

"And what would that be?"

"I need you to get over to the town square to the Charlie Loper statue."

"This is a first. Don't tell me the statue is disturbing the peace."

"You could say that."

"What's going on?"

"Well, for the first time in more than one hundred years we have a horse thief among us."

"Pardon?"

"Charlie's horse. It's been stolen."

Wanting to be a part of tracking down the first horse thief in a century, I grabbed my flip flops and followed dad to the crime scene in the town square. Even with the heat, there was a crowd gathered around the statue. I spotted Rocky, the ever-vigilant reporter making his way to the front. Rocky might be an old guy, but a good news story wasn't going to slow him down. Behind him, Stan from NUTV followed with a camera on his shoulder. This was big news when both outlets of the Pecan Bayou media showed up at once.

"Unbelievable. You'd think these people would all have jobs to go to," Dad said, a little too loudly. 

As we came closer to the statue of Charlie, we found him standing his corner, but now instead the horse reigns in his outstretched three fingers, the pointer and ring finger had broken off when the thief disconnected the reigns. Charlie Loper was effectively flipping off anyone who passed by him.

"There goes the tourism dollar," I said.

"Who in their right mind would want to steal a giant fiberglass horse? What is this world coming to?" Judd said.

"Do you think they can glue some fingers back on it?" I asked.

"Hell if I know."

"Why don't I call Libby to see if they have any leather riding gloves in the museum that we could put on him," I said.

"Yeah, and while you’re at it, tell her that her daddy's horse has been stolen. She's going to love hearing that."

My father walked over to where the horse had been standing. He drew in a breath and then expelled it as he looked around. "I can see some tire tracks where the perpetrator pulled up on the curb."

I was dialing Libby on my phone, but turned around to see her approaching us, her phone ringing. I ended the call as Ruby Green stepped out of the crowd to walk with her. Obviously I hadn’t been the only one to think of calling Libby. The Charlie Loper Museum and Ranch was a few miles outside Pecan Bayou so she made good time getting here. Libby looked as if she jumped in her Caddy with her robe still on reminding me of the first time I met her.  On that day she had been under the influence of some sort of drug and was hanging out of her upstairs window shouting at me to clean her house.  

Libby placed her hand on  the statue as if he were a living being.

"Oh, Daddy. I'm so sorry about this. I know how much you loved Ol’ Bess."

We stood awkwardly by while she conversed with the dark brown lump of metal. As she started to give it a kiss, I spoke up.

"I was just wondering. How heavy was the horse?"

"Yes," my father added. "How many guys would it take to load it onto a truck?"

Libby turned away from her father's bronzed face. "I don't know. It could be pretty tough to lift. That's why we put wheels under the hooves. We needed to move it around to dust it at the museum."

"So somebody might have rolled him right up a ramp into a truck."

"That means it could be a person acting solely on their own," Rocky said, now standing behind us. "Which brings us back to the first question. What kind of lunatic steals a giant toy horse?"

"Quite possibly one of our fine citizens of Pecan Bayou," my father said, gesturing to the crowd of onlookers.

"I was really going for the drifter angle," Rocky said.

"Well, if it was someone here in town, it would pretty hard to hide a life-sized horse," I said.

"Unless of course our thief stole Ol’ Bess and plans to put it in a Putt-Putt golf course or some drugstore cowboy tourist trap."

"There is another dude ranch in the valley who’s been stealin’ my business," Libby said. "Maybe they stole Daddy’s horse as well."

"Will you be using the same guidelines for punishment they did one hundred years ago?" Rocky asked.

"No," my father said flatly. "We will not be stringing anybody up for this."

Rocky scowled, disappointed he didn’t have a hanging to cover.

I looked over and realized Stan had been filming the entire conversation for NUTV. I nudged my father, who then walked over and put his hand on the camera lens.

"Not right now Stan. Can’t you see Miss Libby is in her robe?"

"Will there be a press conference?"

"Not likely," he said. "And don't be using that film without my permission, ya hear?"

Stan shut off the camera. "Back to the farm report, I guess." It was his top rated show.

Once Libby brought out some leather riding gloves and put them over Charlie’s poor mutilated hand, the crowd thinned out. I started to head for home, but couldn’t stop thinking of Benny’s Cocoa Pecan Pie. I stopped over at Benny’s Barbecue, though he hadn’t officially started serving lunch yet. Benny was in the back, turning pieces of chicken. From the sweat on his brow, it looked like it was over a hundred degrees by the stove. Benny took a towel and swiped at his face.

"Hey Betsy," he called through the rectangular opening between the kitchen and front counter.  I noticed an attractive brunette waitress standing in the corner, texting on her phone. She was a new addition to the staff, which was unusual in a family-run business.

"Hi, Benny. You’ve hired help."

"Oh." He came out, wiping his hands on the towel. "Sorry." He gestured the waitress over, and she jammed her phone in her apron pocket. Benny put his arm around the woman whose uniform looked a little tight around the bust line. Who was I to judge? None of my clothes had fit for months. Right now, I was walking around in the equivalent of a flowered tent that hung over shorts.

"This is Sasha. She’s my new waitress. I just hired her." 

"Nice to meet you Sasha."  I nodded and then looked to Benny. "I didn’t know you hired outside of family."

"Well, Celia and I have handled it for years, but Sasha here came in and asked for a job.  Celia’s studying for her accounting exam, so it just worked out."

"Good for her," I said.

"Sure. Celia kept the books here since we bought this place. She has a talent for it." 

Sasha smiled and turned to me. "I’m newly divorced." As if needing a rim shot, she snapped her gum.

"I’m sorry to hear that."

"Don’t be."

"Okay." An awkward pause settled between us so I tried to get my mission back on track. "So, I’m here to…"

"Nope. I already know. I have my psychic hat on today." From under the counter Benny pulled out a brown paper bag, folded down neatly at the top, with my name on it.  "Benny’s Cocoa Pecan Pie. On the house."

I gasped. Was I that predictable?

"You’ve been in here practically every day since you found out you were pregnant. Benny’s pie is your craving. Do you know what it is? The cocoa. It’s a triple cocoa blend I order special from King Arthur Flour. You can’t just get it anywhere. No ma’am. I’m so proud that I’ve been such a big part in making this baby."