Spider Web (6 page)

“I’m jealous,” Gabe said.

“Every third bite will be for you.”

There was a soft tap-tap on the door. I stood on tiptoe and kissed the bottom of his chin. “My meter’s run out. See you tonight. Stay safe. If someone starts shooting at you, run like a rabbit.” That scene in the Pink Panther movie always made him laugh.

He ruffled my hair, though he didn’t crack a smile. “You always make me feel better.”

After talking a few more minutes to Maggie, hearing the latest gossip about the June wedding plans for her sister Katsy and her fiancé Levi, I headed for my car. It was almost three o’clock. Too early for dinner, so I decided to drop my truck off at the house and walk downtown to Blind Harry’s Bookstore to discuss the sniper shooting with Elvia.

Blind Harry’s, the largest independent bookstore between Los Angeles and San Francisco, was Elvia’s biggest dream come true next to marrying Emory and having Sophia Louisa (or Sophie Lou as Emory and I called her, to Elvia’s consternation). She’d taken a small, semi-successful bookstore that she’d worked at since she was sixteen and turned it into one of San Celina’s crowning business jewels, a true destination bookstore. She’d been slowly buying the owner out when she married my cousin, and he bought the rest of it for her as a wedding present. And, because my cousin was the nicest, most liberated man on earth, Blind Harry’s was solely and completely in her name.

The bookstore was one of the most enthusiastic sponsors of the Memory Festival, and it showed in their amusing front window display. Elephants—stuffed, china, bejeweled and books about them—dominated the scene. A clever touch, I thought. Inside the store, there were at least a dozen displays of books that celebrated anything to do with memory or oral history. There was even a section that promoted mnemonics, the study of tricks on how to remember things.

Blind Harry’s was busy as always. The bookstore was popular with the town’s retired folks and tourists, and the downstairs coffeehouse was one of the favorite meeting places for college students and the town’s young professionals.

I waved at the cashier, a young woman named Tara, whom my stepson Sam had recently started dating exclusively, though I’d been informed by him that it wasn’t actually called “dating”—that was apparently an “old-school” term. They were “hanging out” with each other on an exclusive basis, which sure sounded like dating to me.

I headed upstairs to Elvia’s French country–style office and found her bundling little Sophie into a white fuzzy snowsuit-like outfit. Two floppy bunny ears sprouted from the hood.

“Sophie Louisa Aragon Littleton, you are just downright cute enough to eat,” I said, bending close to her and making exaggerated smacking noises with my lips. I loved how a grown person was allowed to behave like a reject from clown school as long as it was in the interest of entertaining babies.

“I’m going to confiscate your cousin’s credit cards,” Elvia said, zipping up Sophie’s bunny suit. “He wants photos of her in this costume for our Easter cards, which I’ve informed him
he
gets to address. Want to come with us? We’re going to that new photography studio next to Zack’s Photo Shak.”

“I’ve walked by that place but have never gone inside. Looks cute. What’s it called . . . back something?”

“Backdrops. The Cal Poly girls like it because they have lots of clever backgrounds like the Hollywood sign or Mammoth ski slopes.” She handed Sophie to me while she pulled on a gray wool jacket. “Is it still cold and rainy out? I haven’t left this office in hours.”

“Pretty chilly. There are dark clouds, but no rain in the last few hours. So far, it’s looking good for the festival. Fingers crossed that Saturday stays dry, because we foolishly have no alternative plan.” I bounced Sophie up and down in my arms, making kazoo music with my lips. She giggled, smiling a wide, toothless grin.

“Watch it, I just fed her,” Elvia warned.

“I’ve helped deliver calves since I was eight years old. Baby barf doesn’t scare me.”

“I wasn’t thinking about you. She just ate some peas. I don’t want her bunny suit messed up, at least until her pictures are taken.” She held out her arms.

“Gotcha,” I said, handing Sophie back to her mama. “Where’s her stroller?”

“Downstairs in the storeroom.”

By the time Elvia had rounded up Sophie’s black and white polka-dotted designer diaper bag and her own purse, I had the stroller ready. Downtown was busy for a Monday afternoon. I wondered if there was something going on this week at Cal Poly. First week of March? Nothing going on that I could recall. Mardi Gras was last week, and the town had been relatively quiet since Ash Wednesday. It appeared that most Cal Poly students, as well as San Celina itself, were still recuperating from an always raucous Fat Tuesday celebration.

At Backdrops we had six spring- or Easter-themed backgrounds to choose from. I liked the giant Easter basket filled with jelly beans and chocolate bunnies, but Elvia preferred the windmill and pink tulips background. While she consulted with Emory on her cell phone, I wandered around the studio’s lobby looking at the framed photograph samples. The photographer on duty was a man who appeared to be in his late forties with wavy, shoulder-length silver hair and a gold hoop earring in one ear. His even-featured face was conventionally handsome and unmemorable, like the perpetually grinning star of a cable cop show set in an unexpected, funky town like Oxford, Mississippi, or Eugene, Oregon. Right at this moment he looked extremely bored. I wondered how he ended up in this studio taking photos of college girls on fake surfboards and babies in bunny suits.

“You and Benni think just alike,” I heard Elvia say. “I honestly think the bunny costume takes care of the cute department. An Easter basket background is going too far. No, it
isn’t
up for discussion.” Elvia made a face at me and then pointed at the door. Apparently it was going to be discussed. I gave her the okay sign that I would watch my goddaughter.

While Elvia took the discussion outside, Sophie slept peacefully in her stroller, unconcerned with such a monumental decision.

“She doesn’t seem to care one way or the other,” the long-haired photographer commented. He sat behind a fancy carved wooden desk, playing with a decorative pen and pencil set. “But then, they never do.”

I looked at him curiously, not certain if his words were meant to be sarcastic. “It’s my friend’s first baby.”

He arched his dark eyebrows at me. His sober gray eyes were ringed with dark lashes. “Mystery to me. I don’t have kids.”

I bent down and fiddled with Sophie’s jumpsuit. “Me, either. But lots of my friends do.”

“You’re the police chief’s wife.”

His blunt statement took me by surprise. Though I was accustomed to being recognized by locals, this man was a stranger. I’d been married to a cop long enough to be instantly suspicious. I glanced at the door and, with no subtlety, moved between him and Sophie.

He stood up, showing pale, uncalloused palms, his face apologetic. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I should know better than to pop off like that. I know who you are because my wife pointed you out a few weeks back at the farmers’ market. She works for your husband. Yvette Arnaud. She’s a detective.”

Relief flooded through me. “Right, okay.” I laughed nervously, feeling myself relax. “You’re the photographer husband. Yes, Maggie . . . uh, my husband’s assistant, told me about her. And you. Your wife is working the sniper case.”

He nodded. “She worked a similar case in New Iberia and cracked it. Was quite the celebrity for a while. She called me about it a few hours after the incident this afternoon, said she’d probably be late tonight.” He gave a wry half smile. “Deja-voo-doo, as my friend, Jay, would say. I was at our place—well, her mom’s place—in Arroyo Grande. Heard anything more about it?”

I shook my head. “But it’s still early in the investigation. You know how that goes.”

He nodded, pushing his hair back behind his ears. “Been married to a cop for twelve years now. I know how it rolls. It’ll be TV dinners until this guy is caught.”

The door opened and Elvia blew in, a cool breeze entering with her. “The tulips,” she declared, her black eyes shining in victory.

I glanced at Detective Arnaud’s husband. “Good taste wins . . . this time.”

He laughed and motioned at us to follow him to the back. “My name’s Van Baxter, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Van. This is Elvia Aragon Littleton. She owns Blind Harry’s Bookstore.”

They nodded at each other. “He’s married to one of Gabe’s detectives,” I informed Elvia. “She’s working the sniper case.”

“I hope they capture whoever did it quickly,” Elvia said with a shudder. “It makes me a little nervous to walk down the street with Sophia.”

“I’m sure it won’t take long,” Van said, pulling out an order form. “My wife’s a very good detective.”

In less than a half hour, he had the pictures taken and Sophie back in her stroller. I don’t know what kind of photography Van did back in Louisiana, but he certainly had a flair for getting babies to smile on cue.

“The proofs should be ready in a few days,” he told Elvia, taking her deposit. “The cards take about a week. We have to send them to San Jose to the home office. This franchise hasn’t proved itself profitable enough to have our own developing equipment. And I can’t convince Deck the importance of going digital.”

“Deck Connors owns this place?” Elvia’s nose twitched like it smelled a dirty diaper.

“Lock, stock and fake backdrops.”

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Just two months. So far business has been brisk, but I’m told it really takes a year to make a profit.”

“I hope you do well,” Elvia said. “We need to keep the downtown vital for consumers.”

“See you around town, Van,” I said. “Hope to meet your wife soon.”

The front door flew open and five teenage girls rushed in. Their giggles and baby powder–scented perfume instantly filled the small room.

“We have an appointment with Mr. . . . uh . . . Van?” the shortest one said.

He cocked a dark eyebrow at them. “I’ll be with you ladies in a minute.” He turned back to us. “Maybe you’ll meet her later this week or this weekend. I’ve rented a booth at the Thursday night farmers’ market and the Memory Festival to sell some of my prints and cards. Yvette’s supposed to be there helping me.” His grin was lopsided and attractive. “That’s if she still has the day off. With this sniper business, you never know.”

“I’ll look for you both,” I said.

On the walk back to the bookstore, I remarked to Elvia, “So, Deck Connors owns Backdrops too? He’s only lived in San Celina for two years, and I swear he already owns half the town.”

“He’s not a bit shy about letting people know that, either,” Elvia said. “He dominates every downtown association meeting. Just because he owns three businesses down here, he seems to think that gives him triple the vote.”

Her mouth turned down in irritation. “Arrogant man.” “Hmmm . . .” was all I could contribute. There were people like him in every town. “Are you headed back to the bookstore?”

“I’m done for the night. We’re going home to see Papa try to work magic with his new grill. Are you and Gabe coming over for steaks?”

“Wish we could, but he had a business dinner tonight with the sheriff and the new warden. How about tomorrow?”

She nodded, tucking Sophie’s blanket closer around her. “That’s probably better. Emory was just reading the instructions a few hours ago when I called. I think it might be better for him to test the grill before we have guests.”

Elvia and Emory’s blue and gray Victorian was two long blocks from Blind Harry’s. Gabe and I lived only a block past them. When we reached her house, I came inside for a moment.

“
Hola
, Benni,” Señora Aragon said, taking Sophie from Elvia the minute we walked through the door. “Emory still with grill,” she told her daughter, rolling her eyes. “Grill not happy with him.”

I laughed. “Guess you’ll be ordering pizza tonight.”

Señora Aragon was already peeling the bunny suit off Sophie, cooing to her daughter’s first child. “No pizza. I make tacos.”

“Tempted?” Elvia said.

“Always, but I’m really in the mood for chicken and dumplings.”

“Be careful,” she said, walking me to the front door. “Watch out for snipers.” She gave a little shiver. “That’s something I never thought I’d have to say about our town.”

“It’s only a few blocks. I’ll be fine. Personally, I think it was just some stupid college kid fooling around with a borrowed gun.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Emory walked into the room holding a metal rod in his hand. “Hey, sweetcakes,” he said to me. “I know you were expecting barbecue tonight, but—”

I held up my hand. “
No problemo
, Señor Littleton. I heard you were having difficulty putting it together—”

“I’m doing fine,” he said indignantly. “It’s just taking a tad longer than I anticipated.”

Elvia crossed her arms over her chest. “I told him to pay someone to assemble it, but he insisted that he could manage on his own.”

“How unlike my normally lazy cousin,” I said.

“It’s not that hard,” Emory said. “It’s just the wheels and the—”

“Tell it to the marines.” I kissed his cheek. “You won’t starve. Señora Aragon is making you tacos tonight.”

Emory’s face lit up. “She is?”

“Really, be careful,” Elvia said, opening the screen door and coming out on the wide front porch.

“Got your flak jacket on?” Emory called.

“Go back to your instruction book, barbecue boy,” I called back.

“I mean it,” Elvia said, encircling herself with her arms.

“I’ll be fine,
mamacita
.” I blew her a kiss, then skipped down the steps. It was dark already, though it was just a little past five o’clock. I went by the house, fed Scout and turned on the heat so it would be warm when Gabe and I both got home. The temperature had dropped fifteen degrees once the sun went down, and it was probably forty degrees now. Bone-chilling for us wimpy Californians.

During the three-block walk to Liddie’s, I unsuccessfully tried not to think about the sniper. I’d haunted the streets of San Celina practically my whole life. I knew every inch of this town, but walking along the uneven pavement, I could not help glancing up at the oaks, pines and myrtles lining the streets. Then I felt silly. A sniper couldn’t sit in these trees without being noticed . . . could he? Besides, why would he . . . or she . . . shoot at me? Still, I walked faster and was a little out of breath when I swung open the glass door of Liddie’s Café.