Tumbling Blocks (11 page)

“How could you have possibly heard about that?”

“Constance mentioned her suspicions to Lorraine, Dr. Olson’s nurse, who told her daughter, Sylvie, who told her husband and was overheard by her daughter, Heather, who works at the Tastee-Freez, where she told Sissy Brownmiller’s granddaughter, Autumn, who told Sissy, who couldn’t wait to call me with the gory details, which I had to pretend to already know because you never call me and tell me anything.”

“Give me a break. Constance told me less than twelve hours ago.”

“Which gave you eleven hours and thirty minutes in which to call and tell me so I wouldn’t be humiliated in front of the town’s biggest gossip.”

“I thought you said you pretended you knew about it.”

“That didn’t fool her for a minute, and you know it,” Dove grumbled.

“So, did you hear that my own husband asked me to investigate?”

I could hear her perk up over the phone. “No, Sissy didn’t mention that.”

“That’s because she doesn’t know it.”

“Details,” she demanded.

“Gabe is asking me to keep Constance off his back by pretending to investigate. He thinks she’s crazy, that Pinky died of heart failure, just like her doctor and the medical examiner concluded. But you can’t tell anyone about this. Gabe just wants Constance to think I’m looking into it.”

“Oh,” Dove said, disappointment obvious in her voice.

“It’s really just one more chore I have to do this next week, pretend I’m interviewing the candidates for the 49 Club to find out which one is dying . . . or rather killing . . . to get in. That’s who she suspects.”

“Better you than me. I’ve got pies to bake and baskets to fill.” Dove, as usual, was in charge of the San Celina Farm Bureau’s holiday baskets drive. Our goal this year was four hundred gift baskets to deliver on Christmas Eve to families in crisis.

“I’ve got a bunch of stuff collected in the bin at the folk art museum. I’ll bring it on Sunday, and we can work on them next week.”

I’d taken my shower and was reading a book by a folklorist who had interviewed dozens of artists in the South, when I heard voices downstairs. Minutes later, Gabe was in the bedroom unbuttoning his shirt.

“How was your walk?” I asked, setting aside my book.

“Fine,” he said, tossing his shirt on the top of Boo’s crate.

Boo had fallen asleep a half hour ago, and even Gabe’s entry into the room hadn’t disturbed his deep, puppy sleep. I glanced over at my alarm clock. Ten thirty p.m. I’d set it for two a.m. There was no way a puppy this age could make it through the night without a potty break. I resigned myself to broken sleep patterns for the next two weeks.

“Fine isn’t enough information, Friday,” I said, crawling out from under the down comforter. “What did you two talk about?”

He shrugged, pulled off his jeans and underwear. “Family and things. Just caught up.”

I admit, I was distracted for a moment by his muscular thighs, then looked back up at his face. “I want details. I want to know about why she decided to just up and get married. Did you two talk about that at all?”

“Let me take a shower first. Then you can grill me.”

After he was finished with his steamy shower and settled next to me in bed, I started in. “C’mon, Chief, tell me everything your mother said, or I’ll be forced to use thumbscrews.”

He settled more deeply into his two down pillows. “There’s not much to tell. She met him at the senior center in Wichita. He was born in North Dakota but has lived in Kansas since World War II. He was in the navy, then worked for the railroad. Widowed, no children.”

“Did you ask her why they got married without telling anyone?” I sat up, eager to dish about his mom’s new husband.

“No.”

“She wouldn’t tell you?”

“Didn’t ask.”

“What? You didn’t ask? Why in the world not?”

“Doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.”

I stared at his face. His expression was enigmatic, but I didn’t believe for a moment that this didn’t bother him. “You’re not mad?”

He shrugged; a flash of some kind of emotion crossed his face and was gone. “I don’t feel like talking about it.”

I lay back down and turned on my side, facing him. “I have a confession to make.”

He looked over at me, his face neutral. “Don’t tell me you knew about this, because if that is true, I’ll . . .” He left it open, knowing my imagination would fill in the blanks with something worse than he’d actually do.

“No, not exactly.”

“Elaborate.”

“Your sister Becky sort of told me your mom was seeing somebody, but she didn’t say it was serious.” I reached across the bed and stroked his forearm. “To be honest, I don’t think she knew it was serious, either. Ray told me they called your sisters and told them.”

He stared at me a long moment, considering this new information. “Mom called the girls? When?”

I hesitated, wishing now I hadn’t been the one to mention that. “Uh, I think, yesterday?”

“Fine.” He rolled over, turning his back to me.

“Oh, Gabe, don’t be mad. Maybe your mom was just afraid to tell you. You know, like you . . .” Then I shut up, realizing that pointing out how afraid he’d been to tell his mother about our quickie marriage might not be the best thing to say right now.

He rolled back over on his back and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m not. I’m just . . .” He paused for a moment, and I thought he might reveal what he was actually feeling. “Forget it. Let’s just deal with this tomorrow.” He took my hand, kissed the palm, and turned out his bedside light.

“Sounds good,” I agreed and turned out my light. I lay back on my pillows, uneasy about how quickly he calmed down. To be honest, I almost wished there had been a huge blowup between him and his mother tonight. It would have cleared the air, gotten everything out in the open, settled things. That’s what Dove and I would have done. Then again, she wasn’t my mother. I knew from watching my friends and even the relationship that Dove had with my father that conflicts like this weren’t always dealt with as directly and quickly as Dove and I resolved things. It seemed that having that extra generation between two people helped lighten the animosity.

“Dream sweet,
querida
,” my husband whispered to me.

I tried to discern his mood, anticipate what might happen between him and his mother in the next few weeks, but I only heard his normal voice, a little sad, but normal.

“You too, Friday.”

FIVE A.M. CAME TOO QUICKLY. BOO’S MIDDLE-OF-THE-NIGHT bathroom breaks were going to be the death of me. Any desire I’d ever had about riding in the Christmas parade was long gone. Would Daddy totally kill me if I called and begged off? Probably, since I’d talked him into riding in the parade in the first place.

“Hud owes me big time,” I muttered, setting the table for the breakfast I wouldn’t be sharing with Gabe, Kathryn and Ray.

“What was that?” Ray asked, coming into the kitchen already dressed for the day. He wore a red plaid flannel shirt and blue Dickie work pants.

“Good morning,” I said, glancing down at my faded sweats. I thought I’d be out of the house before anyone woke up.

“Sorry I’m up so early,” he said. “Once I retired, I couldn’t break the habit of getting up at four a.m. I’ve never needed more than six hours’ sleep. Less now that I’m older.”

I poured him a cup of coffee. “No apologies necessary. Feel free to do whatever you like here. This coffee is the real stuff, if that’s okay.”

“Absolutely. I only drink the kid stuff at night.” He took the mug and nodded his thanks. “Why don’t you go on to the ranch? I imagine you have a lot to do today with the parade and all. I know a fork from a spoon. I can set the table.”

“I can’t let you do that,” I said, though I was sorely tempted. “My gramma Dove would kill me.”

He touched a finger to his lips. “It’ll be our secret.”

With that, I took him up on his offer and was out the door in less than a half hour, lugging Boo under one arm. The fancy Western clothes I’d wear in the parade were already cleaned and ready at the ranch. I settled him into his car seat and headed for the ranch.

“He is a cute little guy,” Dove said, taking Boo from my arms, her peach-colored face softening. “Just leave him in here with me.” I knew once she saw him she’d be a goner. She had never been able to resist babies of any kind.

“Boo’s travel bed is already hooked up in my truck, so why don’t you just drive that into town? You can go home with Daddy. I have his leash, a travel carrier and poopy bags in the bag.” I handed her the green and white L.L.Bean bag with his name on it. “His puppy treats and food are in there. He eats three times a day, and I have it portioned off in baggies. He likes—”

She waved a hand at me and set him down on the kitchen floor. “Get out to the barn and help your daddy. I was taking care of babies a million years before you was born.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, smiling with relief. “After the parade Constance set up interviews for me with her three suspects. Could you—?”

“I’ll take him back to your house and visit with Kathryn. Give me a chance to meet her new husband. I need to be at the airport by five p.m. though. That’s when Isaac arrives. He left his car at the airport. He can take me home.”

“No problem. Gabe or I will drive you to the airport. Kathryn will love seeing you. There’s tons of stuff in the freezer for lunch.”

She waved me away again without stating the obvious, that she’d also been feeding people years before I was born. I went into her bedroom, put on a tomato-red cowboy shirt and black Wranglers, brushed off my black felt cowboy hat and stuck it on. On the way out to the barn, I grabbed a freshly baked cinnamon roll and a mug of coffee. The frost-covered grass crunched like corn flakes under my feet. I opened the barn door and heard my father talking to the horses while he tacked them up.

“Hey, Daddy,” I said, walking up beside him.

“Hey, pipsqueak,” he answered, straightening his favorite silver-trimmed saddle on his big old bay mare, Apple. He always rode Apple in parades because a bomb could explode in front of her and Apple would just blink her eyes. “Heard Kathryn got herself hitched. Your horse is all ready to go.” He nodded over at Mustard, another longtime ranch horse with nerves of steel.

“Almost shocked Gabe out of his britches,” I said, stroking Mustard’s neck. Mustard loved parades. I swear his chest puffed up a little when we passed by cheering crowds, even though there was nothing spectacular about his plain brown looks. Maybe during parades in his mind he became the Black Stallion. “Ray seems like a nice man. He’s an engineer.”

“So I heard. Got to be pretty steady to control a train.”

“Gabe didn’t intimidate him. That says a lot.”

Daddy raised his white eyebrows. “He married Gabe’s mama. Kathryn’s not too short on the intimidation ruler herself.”

I nodded and led Mustard over to the four-horse trailer hooked up to Daddy’s one-ton Ford pickup. “Gee, you’re all ready. Did you get up at three?”

“Figured you’d take your time getting here,” he said, his voice still holding a trace of his native Arkansan drawl. “Someone had to get it done.”

“Hey, I got up at five. That’s early.”

He grinned at me. “Done a day’s work by then.”

“Huh, you’d best watch out, Daddy. You’re the last one not married now. Your turn is coming.”

He shook his head and whistled for Spud, the corgi he’d bought a while back. The dog, female despite her name, dashed around the corner, her muzzle dripping water, and slid to a stop in front of Daddy, her face expectant. “Spud’s the only woman I need in my life.”

“For now. I’m thinking about signing you up on one of those Internet dating services. Ladies will be lining up at the end of the driveway.”

“I’ll hide in the hills till they’re gone. Get up in that cab and buckle yourself in. We’ve got a parade to get to.”

By the time we got to the staging area for the parade, the sun was bright, but the air still had a winter chill to it, perfect weather for a parade. Daddy and I were riding twelfth in a parade that had, from what I heard, sixty entrants.

“It’s a record number of entries,” said Bev Adams, San Celina High School’s FFA advisor. She and I had been in FFA together back when we were in high school.

“I think last year proved that having it during the day makes a big difference,” I said, combing my fingers through Mustard’s brown mane. I wished now I’d taken the time to braid and decorate it with silk flowers.

“I think you’re right,” she said, climbing up on the crepe paper and pine bough decorated truck that proclaimed, Happy Holly Days from Future Farmers of America! “I’m sure glad Gabe got it changed last year.”

Traditionally, the Christmas parade had been after dark. But in the last seven to eight years, with the influx of so many out-of-town students as compared to students whose families lived here, drunk and disorderly arrests had skyrocketed. Last year Gabe, with the wholehearted approval of the city council, suggested a daytime parade in an attempt to bring it back to being a family affair. Granted, the floats probably weren’t as pretty since using lights didn’t do much good during the day, but, as Gabe predicted, the number of drunk and disorderly arrests had fallen 60 percent, a statistic that couldn’t be disputed. I certainly liked riding in it better without the worry of some ignorant, city-raised student tossing a bottle of beer at my horse just because he wanted to see it rear up like the Lone Ranger’s Silver.