Something Borrowed, Something Bleu (12 page)

Thank heavens the wedding
plans took a back seat at dinner, once more eaten on the patio, but for once not cooked on the grill. Dad brought out one of his reliable specialties: egg-battered chili rellenos stuffed with queso fresco, olives, and toasted pine nuts and drowned in his spicy pork green chili. Add a big side salad, fresh corn chips, garden salsa, and fresh guacamole, and it was a feast fit for royalty. The margaritas were classic, consisting only of aged tequila, Grand Marnier, and lime juice mixed with plenty of ice. After the single-malt Laphroaig Barr had offered, I limited myself to one.
We lingered over the food while my parents got to know Barr a little better, and he them. They asked about his work, about the changes we were making to the house, and about his family. He wanted to know more about their teaching careers and even managed to get my father to tell a few war stories from his reporting days.
When Dad brought out the dessert, we all groaned, but no one said no. Homemade angel food cake smothered in spiced peaches and heavy cream whipped with lots of vanilla.
“I’m not going to be able to move for a week,” I said, settling back in my chair and closing my eyes.
“We’ll do the dishes,” Meghan said, reaching for her own plate.
I cracked one eye. She was such a tiny little thing, maybe tipping the scales to a hundred pounds with snow boots on, but she’d packed away a big portion of that wonderful food tonight and still felt frisky.
Kelly reached over and took her hand.
Oh. No wonder.
“You will do no such thing. It’s my job to do the dishes when Calvin cooks,” my mother said, immediately taking the plate from Meghan and motioning my father to his feet. He obeyed with alacrity.
“Oh, let them do it,” I said to my parents. “They only got to spend the whole day together; don’t deny them some kitchen time as well.”
Kelly grinned.
“Nonsense,” Anna Belle said and bustled into the kitchen with Dad trailing behind her.
“They didn’t get to spend the whole day alone, though. Not with me there,” Erin said.
The trace of bitterness underlying her words made me open the other eye. Kelly regarded her with surprise, Meghan with concern. Beside me, Barr watched the tableau with one eyebrow slightly raised.
Erin saw us all watching her. She launched to her feet and ran inside.
“What,” Kelly said, “was that all about? Did I do something wrong?”
Meghan looked after her daughter with a combination of bewilderment and guilt on her face. “Of course not.”
“Does she resent me encroaching on your vacation?”
My housemate shook her head. “She seems to think she’s the one encroaching.”
Poor Bug, I thought. Eleven wasn’t easy to start with, and there were a lot of changes going on around her these days.

_____

The house wasn’t set up for so many guests, but Anna Belle was surprisingly enthusiastic about having a houseful and had cheerfully made do. She’d made up a bed on the sofa in the basement for Kelly, and happily supplied a sleeping bag when Barr had requested to sleep in the backyard, under the stars. I’d protested, but she’d shushed me.
“All men like to revisit their youth once in a while. Besides, you two will have more privacy out there than anywhere in the house.”
I’d gaped at her, but she just smiled and went to track down another pillow.
Now it was nearly midnight, and Barr and I sat out on the patio enjoying the cool air and talking. Cassiopeia rode her glittering throne overhead. A light breeze carried the scent of night-blooming nicotiana from the side of the house, and crickets chirped from under the bushes.
In low tones, I told Barr about what I’d learned—and hadn’t learned—from Inspector Schumaker that morning, as well as Tabby’s odd behavior at the dairy.
“It was really strange, how cool and collected she was. I tried to convince myself that Joe’s death hadn’t hit home yet, but I don’t know if she misses him at all. Or maybe she’s being stoic in order to keep it together for her daughter.”
“People react to loss in different ways.”
“I suppose so. But Tabby’s all over the board. First she seemed willing to talk about Rancho Sueńo, and then all of a sudden she reversed herself and wanted me to leave. All along she insisted none of it had anything to do with Bobby Lee. I’m positive she’s lying about something, Barr.”
“Of course she is,” he said. “Everyone lies.”
“I don’t. At least not often.”
“Sure you do. You just don’t do it very well.”
I punched him lightly on the arm, but didn’t argue the point.
“Why didn’t you want to tell your parents about any of this?” he asked.
“There’s nothing to tell them, really. It’s all more or less a lack of information, and I don’t want to get their hopes up unless I find out something truly useful.” My shoulders rose and fell. “Something isn’t right about the whole Gwen Miller story, despite what Schumaker told me. I want to talk to the girl who was there, the one who spoke with the authorities at the hospital that night.”
“Do you know who she is?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t want to ask Schumaker. For one thing he probably wouldn’t tell me anyway because he thinks I’m trying to solve Joe’s murder—did I tell you he called and talked to Sergeant Zahn?”
Barr grimaced.
“I know. But I guess Zahn doesn’t hate me as much as I thought he did. Anyway, the other reason I don’t want to ask Schumaker is because he might start to think Bobby Lee really did have something to do with Miller’s death. I mean, I showed him the note, so he knows Bobby Lee did
something
wrong.”
“Or thought he did something wrong,” Barr said.
“That would almost be worse.” One corner of my mouth turned down. “Anyway, take a look at these.” I handed him the printouts from the library. “These are why I was late, and you had to deal with my parents all by your lonesome right off the bat.”
“I like your folks,” he said, taking the papers. “You know I can’t read these in the dark.”
“Oh. Right. Well, they aren’t that informative. The first is about how the hit-and-run driver hadn’t been found yet; that’s not really useful since Schumaker already indicated by his questions this morning that the case is still open eighteen years later.”
“And doesn’t seem to have anything to do with your brother,” Barr said.
I nodded. “Then there are two stories about Rancho Sueńo. Neither was written by the same reporter who first wrote about Gwen Miller’s death. The first one mentions the accident, but merely as evidence that there was inadequate supervision at Rancho Sueńo. The second came out about a month later, and was a weak attempt at an exposé. It cites some of the rules Dunner imposed on the kids who stayed there.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, things like they had to pray with him before each meal, and everyone had daily chores. They grew a lot of their own food, and the teenagers who stayed there had to help. And if anyone was found with drugs or alcohol they had to leave.”
“Except for Ray Dunner and his ‘good weed,’” Barr said, referencing Tabby’s stated reason for spending time at Rancho Sueńo.
“Right. I wonder whether he shared it with everyone, or just Tabby and Joe?”
“I wonder where Tabby and Joe were the night the Miller girl fell in the water,” Barr said.
“Me, too. And where Bobby Lee was that night, as well.” I sighed. “It was all so long ago. Makes it extra hard to get information when people have to rely on memories that are eighteen years old.”
“And when they don’t want to tell you something in the first place.”
“Yeah, then there’s that. Anyway, Dunner’s place didn’t sound that bad. I mean, I wouldn’t have wanted to stay there, but I wasn’t a desperate teenaged runaway looking for, as Schumaker put it, a place to catch my breath. He seemed to think Dunner was doing a good thing out there, though I could tell he didn’t care much for Dunner’s son.”
“Maybe the sheriff’s department knew about the drugs.”
“Hmm. Maybe. For an exposé this sure doesn’t seem very scintillating, yet when Dunner closed the doors to outsiders, it was supposedly because of poor publicity. There were kids involved, but other than Gwen Miller’s death, nothing sordid or even sad. Dunner seemed to be the real thing—a man of God who wanted to do something good. Maybe a little more enthusiastic than some, but not a bad guy.”
A flash of light near the horizon brought a smile to both our faces: heat lightning. Another flash followed immediately, and then another and another. We fell silent, mesmerized by the show. My hand crept over to Barr’s and our fingers intertwined.
After a few minutes of dark sky, I asked, “Do you think Joe’s murder had anything to do with what happened back then?”
Barr inhaled, thinking. “If I’d known the guy I might be able to speculate, but I really don’t know enough about the situation to have an opinion.”
“I guess I don’t either. It’d be an awful strange coincidence if they were completely unrelated, is all.”
“You’re right about that.” Another flicker of lightning on the horizon. “So whatever happened to Ogden Dunner?”
I turned to look at him, all shadowy handsome in the moonlight. “I wonder.”
“We could—”
“Tomorrow,” I said. “Right now I want to stop talking and try out that sleeping bag.”
His teeth flashed white in the darkness. “Hard to argue with that.”

_____

Kitty Wampus had kindly deposited a present beside my bed during the night. My bare foot landed on the cold, wet hairball first thing Thursday morning, which did little to improve my reluctance to greet the day. Grumbling, I cleaned it up then shuffled down to the kitchen, still in my bathrobe and ducky slippers.
Barr sat at the kitchen table typing on his laptop. He had showered and dressed in a pair of khaki shorts, a polo shirt, and Birkenstocks. No cowboy boots or bolo ties on vacation, I guessed.
I sat down across from him and reached for the carafe of coffee.
He looked up and smiled. “Nice bed head.”
My hand flew to my hair. I could feel it sticking up on one side of my head like a punk rocker with a bad stylist. “Thanks.”
“Drink your coffee. Then we’ll talk.” He took a bite of the quiche wedge on the plate by his elbow and went back to his computer.
I sipped in silence, letting the caffeine take effect. It had been a late night—a late and active night.
“How long have you been up?” I still sounded pretty grumpy.
He peered at me from under his eyebrows and refilled my cup. “Couple of hours. Drink.”
Obedient, I swallowed. He knew I didn’t function well on a few hours of sleep, nor without a fair amount of caffeine in my system first thing in the morning. It didn’t seem to bother him. Yet.
We’d see, though, how my morning crankiness went over on a daily basis. Who knew what irritating foibles each would encounter in the other? My first husband had left cupboard doors and drawers open in the kitchen and bathroom all the time. It had driven me crazy for the first two years we were married, until finally I realized he wasn’t going to change so I’d better learn how to live with it.
I put my cup down. “Where is everyone?”
Barr took another bite of quiche and leaned back. He swallowed and said, “Kelly, Meghan, and Erin went to the bike library in Old Town. The plan was to check out some bikes and go for a long ride along the river. Your mother’s at the gym, and your dad’s downstairs.”
“Meditating or yoga-ing or some such,” I said. “How long has he been down there?”
“Hour or so.” He got up and went to the counter where he sliced off a chunk of quiche and put it on a plate along with a pile of blueberries and brought it to me.
I leaned forward. Swiss cheese with bacon, broccoli and onion, no doubt on Dad’s all-butter crust. Yum …
“Thanks,” I said, as grateful to be waited on as I was for the food.
“You’re welcome.” Barr turned his laptop around so I could see the screen.
“What am I looking at?” I took a creamy, savory bite and chewed slowly, allowing the flavors to roll over my tongue. Between that first bite and two cups of coffee, I began to feel downright human. “Are you shopping for a new car?”
“Look at the name of the business.”
“Dunner & Son Auto Sales. Oh, wow. So Ogden Dunner is still in town. Nice job!”
“Well, his business is still in town. He could have sold it, along with the name.”
I pushed back from the table and stood. “I’m getting dressed, and then we’re going down there and find out.”
Barr nodded. “Okay, I’m game. But aren’t you going to finish your breakfast first?”
The wedge of quiche, minus that single bite, beckoned. I sat down. “It’s been eighteen years. I guess it can wait fifteen minutes more.” The next bite contained a big chunk of bacon, verifying the wisdom of my decision.
“What are we going to say to him?” I asked after another sip of coffee.
Barr looked out the window and smiled. “We’ll play it by ear.”
I didn’t know whether he was happy to be in on my little investigation or happy to be with me, but it didn’t really matter. I was just glad to have him by my side and on my side.