Ten-Gallon Tensions in Texas: A Kate on Vacation Mystery (The Kate on Vacation Mysteries Book 3) (5 page)

Skip also rose. “Okay.”

Kate jumped up. “I’m going too.”

“Why?”

“What else am I supposed to do? Your mother’s entertaining the kids. We just need to be back a little before noon, to get ready for the picnic.”

They all moved toward the back door.

“By the way,” Skip said. “Joellen seemed real broken up about Sam. I didn’t even think she liked the guy.”

José arched an eyebrow at him. “She hasn’t liked him all that much in recent years, but she used to be married to him.”

Skip froze in mid stride. “Seriously?”

José shook his head. “You’ve been outta touch way too long, man.”

Once she and Skip were settled in their rental car, Kate said, “That gun Jimmy had yesterday, was that a .38?”

“Probably,” Skip said.

“You didn’t mention it to the sheriff.”

“He’ll find out about it soon enough.” His tone was grim.

At Bolton Cars, Bobby Joe’s butt was protruding from the front end of an early 1990s vintage pickup truck. His grease-stained cowboy boots scuffed on the cement floor as he wiggled around, examining the engine. “Ya need to let this baby go, Fred, and buy yerself a new truck.”

Kate hid a smile.

Skip cleared his throat. “Uh, have you seen Jimmy today, Bobby Joe?”

The mechanic backed out from under the hood. “He never came in this mornin’.”

Skip shook his head. “I reckon he was a bit hung over.”

Which does not explain why he wasn’t home when Sheriff Gutierrez came calling
, Kate thought.

“Your father had a .38 pistol he kept at the restaurant,” Skip said. “You happen to know where it is?”

Bobby Joe scratched his head, leaving a smear of grease in his blond hair. “I don’t recall seeing that gun since before Daddy passed. Must still be at the restaurant. Why?”

“The wait staff said it’s not there now,” Skip said.

Bobby Joe’s expression was a little hard to read.

Half curious, half wary
, Kate thought.

“Why you lookin’ for it?” Bobby Joe asked.

“I’m just helpin’ José some.”

“Sam was killed with a .38?”

Skip nodded.

“You’ll have to ask Joellen ’bout that gun. I ain’t seen it in years.”

Kate followed her husband onto Joellen Bradley’s front porch. She hung back some, wondering if she should have stayed at her mother-in-law’s house. These people knew Skip, but would they consider her presence an intrusion?

Skip had to ring the bell a second time before the door opened.

Joellen, wearing a terrycloth robe, looked out at them, bleary-eyed. “What?”

“Good morning,” Skip said. “Can we come in?”

Joellen stepped back and gestured for them to enter.

In her living room, polished wood coffee and end tables clustered around a chintz-covered sofa and matching armchair. A wooden rocking chair sat at the other end of the sofa. Joellen took the armchair. Kate and Skip perched on the edge of the sofa.

“I’m helpin’ Sheriff Gutierrez out,” Skip said. “He asked me to find out what happened to your daddy’s .38.”

Joellen was silent for a beat. “It was a .38 that killed Sam then?” When Skip nodded, she continued, “Ain’t seen hide nor hair of Daddy’s gun since a year or so before he died.”

‘What’d he do with it then?” Skip asked.

“I haven’t a clue,” Joellen said. “Maybe he sold it or gave it to somebody.”

Kate noticed several pictures on the fireplace mantel. She pointed to one of them. “Is that your son?”

“Yes.” Joellen rose from her chair and took down one of the photos. She handed it to Kate. “This is my favorite, taken last fall at the Cowboy Festival.”

The boy looked to be about twelve, in that pudgy preteen stage just before his first adolescent growth spurt. He wore a red Western shirt, leather chaps, a Stetson a tad too big for his head and a huge grin.

Kate smiled at their hostess and opened her mouth to compliment the boy.

The subject of the photo rounded a corner into the living room. In gray sweats, his hair sticking up and pimples on his broad face, he barely resembled his younger self of just six months ago.

“Why y’all talkin’ so loud? You woke me up.”

Joellen glared at him. “Samuel Francis Beauford, that was rude. You apologize right now.”

“Sorry,” the kid mumbled and disappeared around the corner again.

Joellen turned to them.

Kate hoped she had sufficiently wiped the surprise from her face. The boy was Sam Beauford’s son!

“Please excuse Sammy. His father’s death has hit him hard.”

Skip rose. “No problem. Thanks for your time.”

Kate also stood and handed the framed photo back to its owner. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

Joellen gave a slight shake of her head. “I guess hearing he’d been killed shook me some last night, but I’m over it. That man was more trouble than he was worth.”

“Still, it’s hard to lose somebody whom we’ve loved in the past,” Kate said.

Joellen gave her a weak smile as she ushered them to the door. “Thank you for your kind thoughts.”

When they got back to the house, both Suzanne’s car and a sheriff department’s cruiser were parked out front. Skip pulled their rental into the driveway, behind his mother’s SUV.

They heard the raised voices even before Skip could open the kitchen door.

“I told ya I don’t know what happened to the damn gun!”

Skip swung the door open. Jimmy stood in the middle of the kitchen, toe to toe with José Gutierrez.

The sheriff stepped back. “How many beers have you had this mornin’?”

“None a yer business,” Jimmy yelled.

Skip strode across the room and stuck an arm between them. José backed up another step. Skip prodded his brother-in-law farther away from the sheriff. “Take a deep breath and calm down.”

Jimmy sucked in air, then blew it out. Grimacing, Skip jerked his head back.

“One of your salesmen said he saw a bulge in your pocket,” José said, “when you left the car lot yesterday.”

“Yeah, I had it with me then, but somewhere durin’ the afternoon, it must’ve fallen outta my pocket. I couldn’t find it when I got home.”

José scowled at him. “So there’s a loaded gun lyin’ on the ground somewhere. That’s just great.”

CHAPTER SIX

Once the sheriff had left, the Canfield clan hustled to get ready for the family picnic.

“Edie, Billy, put your swimsuits on under your clothes,” their granny called out. “At some point, I’m sure the kids’ll be goin’ swimmin’ in the pond.”

“What pond?” Kate asked Skip.

“There’s a duck pond in the park. Kids swim there all the time.”

She wasn’t too sure how she felt about her children swimming in a pond full of duck poop.

“Don’t worry,” Skip said. “There’s only a few resident ducks. It’s not polluted or anything.”

“Define few.”

“A half dozen. Hey, I swam there as a kid, and I turned out okay.” He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out of one side of his mouth.

Kate shook her head at him but she couldn’t completely suppress her smile.

After slathering sunscreen on herself and the children, they headed downtown.

When they arrived at the town square, the picnic was already in full swing. Table after table was laden with food offerings, everything from barbecue to corn on the cob, and one dish she hoped her kids would not decide to investigate.

No such luck. “What are those, Mommy?” Billy asked, pointing to the deep-fried delicacies.

“Uh, they’re kinda like chicken nuggets.” That turned out to be the wrong thing to say.

Billy grabbed one off the platter and popped it into his mouth. He chewed happily for a few seconds, then his face screwed up in a funny expression. “Tastes more like a hamburger, Mommy.”

Kate stifled a laugh.
Close enough.

“Those are prairie oysters, son.”

Kate turned. Bobby Joe Bradley, wearing a sheriff’s deputy uniform, stood behind them.

Billy tilted his head. “What’s that?”

“Never mind,” Kate said, feeling the heat creep up her cheeks. She grabbed a paper plate from the pile at the end of the table and put another of the deep-fried calf testicles on it. She added some barbecue, a half ear of corn and some beans. “Here you go.”

Billy took the plate and looked around. “Where are we supposed to eat?”

“Anywhere you can find a place to land, son,” Bobby Joe said.

Kate gave Billy some napkins and a plastic fork. “Go over there with your sister and cousin.” She pointed to where Edie and Sherry had plopped themselves down in the shade of a eucalyptus tree. They both balanced plates of food on their laps.

Kate turned back to Bobby Joe. “How come the deputy uniform?”

“I help out for events like this. A little extra money never hurts. We got the chili cook-off comin’ up later.”

Kate smiled. “I suspect Texas chili is gonna be a bit too spicy for my kids’ tastes.”

Bobby Joe grinned back. “Now see, you ain’t been raisin’ ’em right. You start addin’ a little chili pepper to their milk soon as they’re weaned, and then their tastes develop just fine.”

Kate chuckled. She took a bite from the prairie oyster she’d stabbed on her fork. It definitely did not taste like chicken.

Skip walked up, balancing a plate of food in one hand. “Hey, darlin’, they got pony rides. Edie might be interested, although it could be a little tame for her, compared to Fiddlesticks.” They’d finally given in to their horse-crazy daughter’s pleading and had bought her a pony last year. He was aptly named. Fiddlesticks definitely had a mind of his own.

Once they had eaten, Skip escorted Edie and Sherry to the pony ride area. Kate wandered over to where her nephews and sister-in-law were standing.

A voice blared across the park. “Okay, folks, almost time for the three-legged race. Grab yerself a partner and head on over to the gazebo.”

“Why don’t you two run that race?” Suzanne said, her voice distracted as she looked over her sons’ heads.

Kate followed her line of vision. Jimmy was standing near the area where the chili pots bubbled over charcoal fires. He lowered his flask from his lips and slipped it into his pocket.

“That race is dumb,” Frankie said. His older brother nodded. Neither boy noticed their mother’s lack of attentiveness because they never lifted their eyes from the devices in their hands. Junior was texting on his phone, and Frankie was playing a handheld game.

Billy ran up. “Mommy, can we be in the three-legged race?”

“We meaning who?”

“You and me.” The child beamed up at her.

That’s what she’d been afraid he meant. Slogging across a field, one leg tied to Billy’s, was not her idea of fun.

“Who came up with this dumb shit anyway?” Junior said.

Suzanne glared at her eldest. “James, Jr., you watch your mouth!”

Junior looked up from his phone. Kate suspected he was going for a sneer but his expression was more scared than rebellious.

“Just for that, you’re gonna run that race with your cousin,” his mother said.

“Mom!”

Suzanne extended her arm, pointing toward the crowd assembling at the starting line. “Move yer butt!”

Junior let out a long-suffering sigh and pocketed his phone. “Come on, Billy.”

Kate tagged along as the cousins headed across the field. Junior was half again Billy’s height. She leaned down and whispered in her nephew’s ear. “You can win if you put your arm around his back and your hand under his opposite arm. Lift most of his weight off his feet.”

Junior glanced up at her. “Oh yeah?” His eyes glinted with interest. “Thanks, Aunt Kate.”

She stood on the sidelines in the blistering heat. Sweat trickled down her back under her lightweight cotton blouse.

A tall man in jeans and a short-sleeved plaid shirt walked along the line of participants, passing out bands that were to be used to secure their legs together.

Junior leaned down and adjusted theirs. Then he scanned the crowd, found Kate and waved. She gave him a thumbs up.

He stretched his arm around his cousin’s shoulders and spoke to the younger boy. Billy nodded.

“This should be interesting,” Skip said from beside Kate.

She flashed her husband a grin, then returned her gaze to the boys.

The crack of a starter pistol and the teams hobbled across the field as fast as they could. One, then two pairs tumbled to the ground. Junior and Billy teetered and stumbled a few times but they managed to stay upright.

The cousins inched ahead of the competition. They crossed the finish line and went down in a tangle of legs and arms. Skip and Kate jogged in their direction.

But the man in the plaid shirt had hoisted the boys to their feet and was helping them remove the strap from their legs. Then he stood between them, holding up each of their hands, and yelled, “And the winners are Junior Bolton and his cousin, Billy Canfield.”

The onlookers cheered and hooted as the boys were presented with blue ribbons, the tops of which were cutouts in the shape of ten-gallon hats. Billy wiggled loose as soon as the man had pinned his on his shirt.

He ran to his parents. “We won! Did you see us, Mommy? We won, Daddy!”

“We saw you, Billy,” Skip said with a chuckle in his voice.

Junior caught up with his cousin. “Come on, pipsqueak. Let’s go for a swim.”

Kate turned to Skip. “Is that pond safe?” she asked in a low voice.

“Sure. It’s not all that deep. And Junior will watch out for him.”

“Where’s Edie?”

“With my mother last I saw her, checking out some of the booths.” He gestured in the direction of a row of wooden structures.

They walked in that direction. “What all’s there?” Kate asked.

“Some of the locals are taking advantage of us out-of-towners by selling their wares. There’s a quilt booth, I think, and jewelry, and one lady’s selling homemade jams.”

“Wish it was closer to Christmas.”

Skip grinned down at her. “You could start your shoppin’ early.”

They strolled along, admiring the handmade goods.

A male voice boomed out over the crowd, announcing the beginning of the chili cook-off. “Come on over, folks, and grab yerselves a bowl. Or two or three. Then vote for your favorite.”