Seven Sisters (19 page)

“I’ll call your office tomorrow and make an appointment,” I said, opening my car door. “We can discuss it then.”

He grabbed the door from my hand and slammed it closed. His swift and unexpected action caused me to jump.

“I don’t think so,” he said. Then added, “Ma’am.”

I tightened my lips and told myself to breathe deeply. “Fine,” I said and in a terse voice told him everything that had happened since JJ first came into my office this morning.

“Add that note with the conversation you
accidentally
overheard at the party, and it sounds an awful lot like blackmail,” he said.

“So it appears,” I replied, ignoring his gibe.

“Do you think Susa Girard knows what it is Giles Norton had on Cappy?”

“I have no idea.”

“Looks like Officer Girard, Miss Girard, and their delightful mother and I need to chat again. And I’d like to take a look at that note and grave rubbing myself. What kind of flower did you say it was?”

“Lily of the valley.” A cold breeze . . . or the thought of the grave rubbing . . . caused me to shiver. Goosebumps covered my bare arms. I slipped my hand in the back pocket of my jeans and touched the copies of the note and grave rubbing. I knew I should show them to him right now, but he’d irritated me so much, I decided to keep quiet. Let him get his own copies. “Maybe you should talk to Gabe before you talk to Bliss.”

“I don’t have to clear anything with Chief Ortiz. He’s not
my
boss.”

I frowned at him.

“Have you told him any of this?” he pressed.

“I’m on my way home to tell him now. We haven’t crossed paths long enough to talk today. He’s . . . we’ve both been busy.”

He nodded, his eyes solemn. “Ex-wives have a way of taking up a man’s time, that’s for sure.”

“Is there anything else, Detective Hudson?” I said coolly, not about to discuss Gabe or his ex-wife with him.

“Not right now, but I’ll be in touch. You’re doin’ a bang-up job, Mrs. Ortiz.”

“My last name is Harper,” I snapped.

His thick eyebrows went up. “You don’t say? You’re one of them liberated women? Gotta maintain your own identity and all? I’m impressed.”

“It’s not because . . .” I started, then stopped, annoyed at myself for even bringing it up. “Oh, forget it.” I started to climb in the truck, then turned and said, “When you talk to Bliss, please be careful. She’s . . . well, she’s not feeling too good and this . . .”

“Benni,” he said softly. “I’m not going to browbeat a pregnant woman. Give this Texas bubba credit for having some class even if I do wear white-trash boots.”

Again I felt my face go hot. It was disconcerting at times how well he read my mind.

He reached over and touched a finger to my cheek. I jerked back, surprised by the tiny jolt of electricity I felt. His knowing chuckle made me want to slap him. He mimed tipping his hat and said smoothly, “Thanks for the dance, darlin’. Most fun I’ve had since I landed here on the Central Coast.”

I watched him walk away, my hand still itching to do something, like throw a rock at the back of his head or slap my own husband upside the head because his preoccupation with his ex-wife was putting me in this awkward position.

Gabe’s Corvette was parked in front when I got home, but he wasn’t inside the house. They were obviously still cruising around in Lydia’s car. I took a quick shower and pulled on a cotton T-shirt and boxer-style shorts and was making myself a vanilla Coke when Lydia’s Jag pulled up in front of our house. The clock above the stove read eight o’clock. Through the kitchen window I watched him get out of the driver’s seat and walk across the yard, whistling softly.

“Hi,” I said, sipping on my drink at the kitchen table. “Guess we missed each other tonight.”

“Guess so. I was talking to Larry, that deputy district attorney who’s running for DA and Lydia and he discovered they had some people in common. After tasting a couple of wines, we went over to the Thai restaurant for a quick bite. Lydia doesn’t care for Cajun food.”

“Oh.” The ice in my drink cracked, sounding loud in the silence.

He pulled his dark green polo shirt over his head in one swift motion. “It’s warm tonight, don’t you think?”

“Anything new with Sam?”

He shook his head, throwing the shirt over a chair. “He’s worried about Bliss, but other than that, we haven’t really formulated a plan yet.”

But you and Lydia are sure spending a lot of time discussing it,
I wanted to say. Pride and pure-born Ramsey stubbornness kept me from saying it. I was determined not to appear the irrationally jealous second wife. I stirred the ice in my glass with my finger. “I talked to Detective Hudson tonight.”

“Again?” A flicker of suspicion came over his face, then was gone. “Well, I’m glad you’re cooperating with him. This has to be a tough case to investigate. What did he want?”

Starting with the note JJ found in Bliss’s suitcase, I went through everything I discovered today. “Detective Hudson said he’s going to have to talk to all of them again.”

Gabe nodded, sitting down at the table across from me. “Yes, I can see why.” He ran a hand through his thick black hair. “I suspected Bliss knew more than she was telling.”

“Gabe, this detective. What do you know about him?”

He leaned back in his chair, his face concerned. “Just another detective, sweetheart. He’s new on the force, but apparently has good references from Texas. Why, is he causing you some problems?”

“No, not at all,” I said a little too quickly.

His eyes searched my face, but he didn’t press for more information. “Just be cooperative, Benni. And try to get Bliss’s sister and mother to take their concerns directly to him. I don’t like you being that involved.”

“Whether we like it or not, we’re involved with this up to our eyebrows. And for your information, every time JJ has come to me, I’ve not only told her to talk to Detective Hudson, but also that anything she tells me I’ll have to tell you and the detective.”

“Mi niña muy buena
,” he said, getting up. “Looks like I’ve finally got you paper-trained.”

“Sexist pig.” I took an ice cube and threw it at him. He gave a surprised grunt when it bounced off his bare chest.

Later that night, as he lay sleeping next to me, my wide-awake brain hummed like an agitated hive, and I mulled over the events of the day, especially the contents of the envelope Giles gave to Susa.

A grave rubbing of a lily of the valley.

I’ll use it if I have to. Tell Cappy.

Was it a real tombstone somewhere? Unfortunately there were lots of cemeteries in San Celina County. It could take weeks to go through all of them looking for a specific tombstone. Narrow it down, that’s what I needed to do.

As I drifted closer to sleep, the black crayon rubbing drew itself in my mind, and the refrain
Find the tombstone
reverberated like an echo. Where was this tombstone? And whose was it? And the most pressing question of all: What about it would cause someone to kill Giles?

10

GABE AND I spent the next morning, Sunday, laying around reading the newspaper. No one called or came by, and for a little while I could forget everything that had happened in the last week—Sam’s announcement, Lydia’s presence, Giles’s murder, Detective Hudson’s uncomfortable attentions. About noon we met Emory downtown for brunch at a new Mexican restaurant that was getting rave reviews—El Cantina Gallo. Over seafood enchiladas the conversation turned to Elvia’s work habits. As usual, she’d been too busy to join us.

“This is her day off, and she insists on going in for a few hours,” Emory complained over his empty margarita glass.

“That’s just her,” I said, scooping up some guacamole with a fresh, hot tortilla chip. The reviews had been right. “If you’re serious about her, you’d better get used to it.”

“She’s driving me nuts,” Emory moaned, gesturing to the waitress for another margarita.

My cousin was one of those Southern men who knew how to wring every ounce of pleasure out of his leisure time. Though deep inside I knew he and Elvia were right for each other, there were definitely some surface issues that needed work.

“Welcome to the real world, Emory,” Gabe said, laughing. “It only gets worse.”

I elbowed him. “Hey, Friday, we’re trying to encourage, not discourage. Remember?”

While we continued to dispense sage and silly advice to Emory, Elvia’s brother Miguel walked in. He spotted us and waved. Then he spoke briefly to the man at the take-out counter and came over to our table, adjusting the paraphernalia hooked to his heavy leather police belt.

“How’s things going, Miguel?” Gabe asked.

“Fine, Chief. Sunday morning watch is a piece of cake. All the drunks are sleeping it off somewhere. Last night was crazy, though.”

Gabe nodded. “I figured when that new bar next to the Chinese buffet started selling beer for seventy-five cents it would be trouble.”

“Gum Alley is unwalkable today,” Miguel said. “Hope the city gets someone down there to clean it up soon. Puke and piss, that’s all those skippies know how to do.”

“Skippies?” Emory said.

“College students,” Gabe interpreted. “Specifically the drinkers.”

“And to think they’ll be running the treasury when we’re collecting Social Security,” Emory said. “Lord have mercy.”

“Can we change the subject?” I asked, staring down at my enchilada, which was looking decidedly less appetizing.

“Sure,” Miguel said. “Actually, I came over to give you a message, Benni.”

“Me?” I said.

“Tell Dove no.”

I gave him a confused look. “What?”

“Just what I said. Tell her no. Absolutely not. No way.”

“What?”

“Just tell her.”

The man at the take-out counter called out his name.

“Gotta go,” he said. He nodded at Gabe and Emory. “Later,
amigos
.”

“Take it easy,” Gabe said.

“Don’t work too hard,” Emory called after him.

“Ignore that comment,” Gabe added.

I cut another piece of my enchilada. “Wonder what his message to Dove means.”

“Who knows what our dear Dove has brewing in her box of tricks,” Emory said.

“Talk about your mixed metaphors,” I said.

“Keep quiet, sweetcakes. I’m suffering this morning. I don’t need my English scrutinized.”

“Whiny-baby. So are you going to the barrel tasting and artist’s reception this afternoon?”

“Have to. I’m covering it for the paper. You two going?”

“Yes,” I said.

“No,” Gabe said.

I turned to him, surprised. “I thought you were going.”

He took a sip of his Corona beer. “Didn’t I tell you last night that Sam, Bliss, Lydia, and I were going to visit Lydia’s mother in Buellton?”

“No,” I said slowly. “You didn’t.”

“I’m sure I did. Or I must have told you this morning.”

“And I’m sure I would have remembered,” I said, feeling a slowly rising heat in my chest. “I didn’t even know Lydia’s mother lived close by.”

“Lydia moved her there when she took the job in Santa Barbara. Sam wanted us to come with him and Bliss when they tell her about their engagement and the baby. I’m sure I asked you if you wanted to go.”

“No, you’re mistaken,” I said, really starting to get mad now. “You never mentioned it to me.”

Gabe’s face set in that stubborn, contrary look that said he was certain he was right and I was wrong.

Emory’s amused green eyes darted from my face to Gabe’s.

“Well, do you want to go?” Gabe asked, his voice carrying an edge of impatience.

I inhaled deeply, my anger feeling like too much air in a helium balloon. “No, thank you,” I said, as sweetly as I could manage. “I promised JJ I’d go to the barrel tasting.”

“Fine.” He turned to Emory. “Can you give her a ride there and home? I’m late already.”

“Certainly,” my cousin said serenely. “I’ll take good care of your wife, Cousin Gabe.”

Gabe wiped his mouth quickly with his linen napkin and slid out of the booth. He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. “I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.”

“Sure,” I said.

After he left, Emory studied me silently until I finally blurted out, “Oh, for crying out loud, Emory. What can I do, hog-tie him and sit on his chest?”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m tellin’ you, sweetcakes, that woman is plain after your man. You’d best be circling the wagons and filling up the muskets.”

“Now you’re mixing your historical references.”

“So what are you going to do, pray tell?”

“First I’m going to the ladies’ room, then I’m going to let you take me to the barrel tasting. The rest, as my famous kinswoman once said, I’ll think about tomorrow.”

“New lingerie. Many a man has been lured back home with a satin bustier and lacy garter belt.”

I tossed my crumpled napkin across the table at him. “Turn blue.”

As I was leaving the ladies’ room, heading toward the lobby, a voice called my name. A voice I’d heard just a little too often lately.

“Why, Mrs. Ortiz . . . oh, excuse me,
Harper
. What a fine surprise it is running into you on this bright and sunny Sunday afternoon.” Detective Hudson, shooting me his stupid grin, threw his arm around a small, buxom brunette wearing a front-laced blouse similar in style to the bustier my cousin was entreating me to buy to save my marriage. She filled it out much more generously than I would have, and Detective Hudson’s physical preference in women was painfully obvious. His date, not cracking a smile, scanned me up and down, then discarded what she saw with the flick of an artificial eyelash.

“Hello, Detective Hudson,” I said.

“Hud,” he said. “We’re off the clock.”

“And I have someone waiting.” I moved past them only to find myself stopped short by his hand grabbing my upper arm.

“I’ll need to see you in my office on Monday,” he said. “There’s some ideas I want to discuss with you about our case.”

“Sorry, I work at my real job on Mondays,” I said, jerking my arm back.

Emory’s Cadillac Seville was waiting for me out front. In exchange for the ride, all the way to Eola Beach I was forced to listen to another lecture on keeping my husband from the clutches of his evil ex-wife.