Stranger At My Door (A Murder In Texas)

by Mari Manning

  Her self-control began to fray. “Get out of here, Mr. Gerry.”

  “Tell me what he said.”

  The last threads of her patience broke. “I wouldn’t tell you shit if my life depended on it. Coming over here like this, hollering at me, giving orders. Did you really think I’d help you find the money you all stole and let my daddy take the blame for?” Her voice was so tight with anger, her throat ached. But she had to twist the knife. Needed to. “I hope I find the money, because you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to call the police and report it. Then I’m going to take that big old reward and give away every cent of it. Got my eyes on the animal shelter.”

  The color drained from Gerry’s face, and his jaw dropped. She’d managed to shut him up, so maybe there was a God after all. But he’d get his voice back soon, and she didn’t intend to wait around for that. She was through.

  “Go home, Mr. Gerry,” she said as she scurried up the porch steps.

  As her hand touched the door, Gerry roused himself. “Don’t you dare walk away from me, girl.”

  Her eyes widened, and she was just about to tell him where he could go, when the rumble of her old Radio Flyer stopped her. Hollyn emerged from the side of the bungalow, pulling the wagon. She stopped when she saw Dinah.

  “Thought I’d give the wagon a good scrubbing before I went, Miss Dinah.” Her eyes slid over to Gerry. “Sorry. Didn’t know you had a guest. Do you want me to pour iced tea before I take off?”

  “You go on, honey lamb. Mr. Gerry is leaving.” She skipped up the steps and slammed the door behind her.

  Her confrontation with Gerry Sutton had left her oddly energized, and Dinah went back upstairs ready to face the box. Perched on the edge of her dresser, the open top yawned at her like a hungry mouth. Her hands began to shake as she pulled out the crumpled manila envelope stuffed inside. Don’t let this get to you. Don’t!

  A rough hand had scrawled Benjamin Jon Pittman across the envelope in a thick black marker along with her daddy’s TDCJ inmate number and the date of his death. She released the metal prongs holding the envelope closed, and the bulky contents shifted. A worn Bible slid onto her lap. Tucked inside was a thin pamphlet—Loving Jesus in Prayer. Her father hadn’t been a religious man when she was growing up.

  She riffled the pages of the Bible. They flew by, exposing scribbles where he’d made notations. Her hard-bought cynicism cracked. Inside the front cover was his number. He hadn’t even bothered with a name. It touched a bruise deep inside her heart, and tears filled her eyes. She brushed them away and set aside the books.

  The envelope was much flatter now. When she reached inside, her hand closed around her daddy’s worn leather wallet. Teardrops ran down her face, and she had to use her T-shirt to wipe her cheeks. The wallet fell open on her lap, and his driver’s license stared up at her. She remembered the photo, his dark curls pressed against his head with gel, green eyes crinkled at the corners, a half-smile shaping his mouth. He’d looked handsome and happy, and she’d been so proud he was her daddy. The expiration date had passed six years ago.

  The wallet was nearly empty, and the leather sagged. There was no money or credit cards, but in a half-hidden pocket behind the license she found her senior picture. He’d checked it with his other possessions when he got to Beeville. She pressed her fist against her mouth and choked back a sob for the beaming blond girl wearing a black silk dress and pearls. The shadows had been closing in, but she hadn’t noticed them yet.

  A few items rattled at the bottom. She tipped them out. A gold wedding band and a small envelope fell out. She scooped up the ring and clutched it tight.

  “Talk to me, dammit. Say something.” But her father’s spirit had left it a long time ago, and it was just ordinary gold warming itself against her palm. The same rough hand that had written Daddy’s name on the manila envelope had labeled the small one, too: $8.76. She shook it. The change jingled merrily.

  Dinah sniffed and took another swipe at her leaky eyes. That was it. Everything her father had, except for the clothes he was buried in and a few shirts hanging in his closet across the hall. Hollyn had offered to clean out her momma and daddy’s things. Maybe Dinah would let her do it. It was over. Time to get rid of everything.

  She stuffed the Bible and the other items from the prison back into the envelope and shoved it into the box, but the envelope jammed. She pulled it out and felt around the narrow box. Her fingers brushed against a wadded slip of paper bunched at the bottom. She smoothed it out. It was a letter from the prison warden dated the day her father died. Silly way to pack a box. But the hand that had labeled the envelope and the money pouch had scribbled the words carelessly. Maybe not so strange after all.

  Ms. Pittman:

  Please accept our condolences at your father’s passing. He was an outstanding prisoner and helpful to the other inmates. After his cancer diagnosis last year, he became a God-fearing man and spent most of his last days in Bible study.

  This letter was dictated by your father shortly before his death. We apologize for the many “indecipherables,” but he was quite weak at the time and on pain medication. This transmittal was gathered over several days.

  He requested that it be sent to you along with his belongings.

  “Di—

  I have thought about you every day, though I don’t [indecipherable] it. Don’t feel sorry for me. I deserved everything that came. I have accepted Jesus…in this [indecipherable] and He has seen me thru comfort [?]. I pray that he has been yours, too, although you are too much like your daddy for me to hold much hope of your spirit [sounded like] surrender.

  [indecipherable] teaches the truth shall set you free…my final lesson. Don’t believe anything you hear…from [indecipherable] and Teak [sp?]. We did it…all 4 but it was my idea—mad about my [indecipherable] desk job so I wanted to show them…what would happen if I was off…the force. Don’t let temper…ruin your life…like I did. [Monday, 09:18]

  It was…wrong. I said give the…money back…but [indecipherable] said…turn me in if I did. So I took it and [indecipherable] so he couldn’t…find it. But they turned me…anyway. I am sorry about your…momma and what I did. But God has [indecipherable], and…my days are filled with….[sounded like] hope. [Monday, 14:05]

  You won’t know where it is…[sounded like] under nose. Remember the [sounded like] parable…God’s kingdom…is a vinyard [sp?] and each [indecipherable] penny a day. Then think…historic [indecipherable] where [sounded like] moon [indecipherable]. [Tuesday, 06:07]

  You must make this right, Di…[indecipherable] careful. Trust…no one. Take the gold…straight [indecipherable] in Austin or he…say it’s his. I…love you [sounded like] truly. [Tuesday, 06:34]

  Note: Patient lapsed into coma at 06:41.

  A copy of this letter has been forwarded to the authorities in your region for follow-up as required by law.

  I love you truly. She stared at the words. Her daddy’s last words, maybe his last thought, had been for her. Her eyes began to water again. Don’t let him get to you.

  She skimmed the letter again and stopped at the last entry. It didn’t make sense. Why did he say gold? He’d stolen a quarter-million dollars in greenbacks. If there was a quarter-million dollars in gold floating around, it would probably fill a decent-sized closet, wouldn’t it? He could have buried it in the backyard like Gerry said, but wouldn’t he have said so? Besides, the letter made it sound like Dinah knew where the money was, and it was just a matter of returning it to its rightful owners.

  She sighed. Whatever. Like she’d told Gerry, if it turned up, she was giving it back. Every penny. If it didn’t, nothing changed. She was selling the bungalow and getting the hell out of El Royo.

  Dinah’s eyes drifted over the last entry again. Trust no one. The words seemed to jump off the page at her, and the anxiety drifting around the edges of her consciousness hardened into genuine fear. Maybe Teke wasn’t the only one slated for a nasty fall. Maybe she was, too. But
why? Dead or alive, she was of little value to anyone, wasn’t she?

  “Miss Dinah? I’m back.” Hollyn’s voice drifted up the stairs.

  Dinah jumped. She’d hadn’t heard Hollyn come home. “I’ll be right down.”

  She began to stuff the letter back into the box and stopped. Trust no one. She folded the paper into a small square as her eyes slid across the bed—under the mattress was too obvious—over her dresser—forget the jewelry box—and past her bookshelf—the first place someone would look. Then she turned back to the bookshelf. Her old doll, Itsy Bitsy. The one with the China-blue eyes and twist-off head. Momma had never discovered Dinah’s cigarettes or the airplane-style bottles of vodka hidden in Itsy Bitsy’s hollow body.

  “Miss Dinah?” The bottom step creaked under Hollyn’s weight. “Are you okay?”

  “Start unpacking the groceries, honey lamb. I’m just straightening up.”

  “Yes, Miss Dinah.” The step creaked again. Hollyn was coming up.

  Thick dust lay over the books and dolls. Carefully, so she wouldn’t disturb it, Dinah twisted off Itsy Bitsy’s head. The smell of a well-aged Marlboro cigarette rose from the neck, but she didn’t have time to remove it. She stuffed the letter through the narrow hole and twisted the head down. She slid it between her Barbie car and her chemistry textbook.

  Hollyn’s head popped around the door. “I’m fixing to get the groceries put up just as soon as I change. It’s hotter than the devil’s anvil out there already.” She glanced at the box. “So what was inside?”

  Dinah wiped her dusty hands on her shorts. “Not much. A Bible, wedding ring, empty wallet. My daddy’s pocket change. That was it.” She picked up the box and stuck it in her closet. “Go on and get yourself changed. I’ll start unpacking the food.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Uh, hi.”

  Dinah popped up from the blanket spread on the grass and twisted around. Rafe, dressed in jeans and a dark blue polo shirt, watched her from the back stoop. Without his uniform, he looked younger, less burdened. He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.

  “Your housekeeper said you were out back.”

  She stood. “Just soaking up some sun.”

  His eyes swept down her body. “I can see.”

  Why had she grabbed her skimpiest bikini? She could almost feel the strings holding the little crochet circles loosen under his gaze. “Why are you here?”

  He came down the steps, lifting his Stetson from his head as he approached. “Are you busy this evening?”

  There was something wrong with her ears. “What?”

  “I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight.”

  Obviously not. She waved her arms at the small yard and the moth-eaten blanket under her feet. “Prepping for the Miss America pageant.”

  He laughed, and his forehead smoothed.

  “Maybe you better start at the beginning because it almost sounded like you were asking me out.”

  His brow lifted. He had nice eyebrows. Not too thick. Well-defined. “Would that surprise you?”

  Not only surprise her, but break her precious taboo. “I don’t date cops.”

  “Why?”

  It would take all night to explain—if she was in the mood. Which she wasn’t. “Look, Rafe, you’re a great guy and all, but I can’t go out with you.”

  He sighed, took a step closer, and let loose a dimpled smile. Her fricking heart skipped a beat.

  “It’s not a date exactly,” he said.

  “Sounded like it.”

  “I need a beard.”

  She tried not to smile. Tried, but didn’t quite make it.

  His eyes met hers. They danced with amusement.

  Huge belly laughs burbled up from some deep, forgotten place inside her. Hunky single cop asks half-naked town pariah to be his beard. Preposterous and funny.

  Rafe began to laugh, too. His deep, masculine guffaws entwined with her peals. Dinah shook with amusement until her body was weak. It had been a long time since she’d laughed. It felt good.

  She finally managed to choke out, “Are you gay?” No way.

  “Not yet.”

  Her body doubled over in another fit of giggles. Rafe grinned.

  When she wrestled herself under control, Rafe’s expression sobered. “It would mean a lot to me, Miss Dinah, if you would help a desperate man out.”

  He was good. Trotting out the old southern charm. Miss Dinah, indeed. “Where are you proposing to take me, and what exactly would I have to do?”

  “It’s a family barbecue. Out at Hacienda Osito. I said I was bringing a date.”

  What about Esme? After the quarry, Dinah had cut herself off from all her friends, their pity too much to bear. They backed away without a fight. But not Esme. She wouldn’t leave Dinah alone until Dinah screamed at her to “stay the hell out of my life.” She still remembered her words exactly and the pain in Esme’s eyes. Dinah had packed up her things the next day and left early for college so she wouldn’t have to deal with Esme’s hurt.

  “What’s your family going to think when you show up with me?”

  A rueful grin hitched up the corner of his mouth. “Rafe finally got himself a date.”

  “Will Esme be there?”

  “Why?”

  “We were friends until my daddy blew our lives up. She tried to help, and I might have said some things I regret. I guess you could say I was too ashamed to be grateful.”

  “She won’t be there.”

  “What happens if you don’t show up with someone?”

  “There’s an eighteen-year-old girl waiting for me. One of Ernesta’s friends. My mother is already planning the wedding.”

  This was an interesting wrinkle. Even out of uniform Rafe didn’t look a day under thirty. “How old are you?”

  He had the grace to drop his head. “Thirty-two.”

  “Your mother sounds desperate.”

  His eyes widened. Hurt flashed in their depths. He lost someone he loved. “I made the mistake of telling her I was looking for a sweet, hometown girl. She took me literally and has been on a mission to get me arrested as a dirty old man ever since.”

  Why not go? She was clearly not his type since she didn’t do sweet, and L.A. was her home now. Plus it had been eight long years since all the bad things had happened. The Pittman family would always be part of town lore, but the news was old, and most folks must have moved on by now. At least she hoped so.

  “So, will you do it?” he asked. A smile played on his lips, the dimples made another appearance.

  “I need a little time to clean up and change.” She looked up. Hollyn was watching them from the screen door. She waved at Dinah. “Would you like me to bring drinks?”

  “If you want to wait in the house, Hollyn can pour you a glass of her cold mint tea and serve you up her sugar cookies. That girl sure can cook.”

  He followed her into the house. “You won’t regret this.”

  “I already do.” But a tiny bubble of expectation floated inside her.

  Rafe was sitting in the kitchen under Hollyn’s watchful gaze when Dinah finished dressing. Her wardrobe was lean, but her jean skirt was only a few years old, and Hollyn had dug out her Old Gringo cowboy boots from somewhere. She paired them with her freshly washed green blouse and some slightly tarnished silver bangles her mother had left behind.

  “You look great.” Rafe rose from his chair. His eyes took her in slowly, wandering from her boots, up her body to her curly hair, which she’d let float free around her shoulders.

  She reminded herself this wasn’t a real date, and he was cop, but it had been a long time since a man had complimented her. “Thank you.”

  “Miss Dinah, you are going to be the most beautiful lady at the party.” Hollyn smiled like a proud mama.

  “Are you going to be okay here by yourself?” Hollyn looked like she was going to have that baby any minute.

  “Don’t you worry about me, Miss Dinah. I’ll be just fine. I’
m fixing to put my feet up and relax. I found some old gossip magazines in the recycling bin next door, so I am going to catch up on all the Hollywood news.”

  “Run next door and call the hospital if you feel any twinges.”

  “Sure will, Miss Dinah. Go on now.”

  Rafe drove a banged-up Jeep Wrangler convertible. Fast food wrappers and empty soda cans littered the back seat.

  “Not a clean freak, huh?” said Dinah as she climbed in.

  “I didn’t think you’d come, or I would have cleaned up.”

  “I didn’t think I would either.”

  Hacienda Osito—the Honey Bear Ranch—about twenty miles west of town was a relatively small spread, only about fifty acres. It was dwarfed by the Shaw Valley Ranch, which covered the adjoining seventy-five square miles. But Rafe’s father was a vet not a rancher, and all the animals on Hacienda Osito were patients except for Dr. Ernesto’s stable of beloved Appaloosas.

  It was bittersweet to ride this route again, remembering the times she’d driven along this way to visit Esme. She closed her eyes and let the warm breeze caress her face. For the first time since she’d come back to El Royo, it felt like home.

  When the Jeep slowed and turned, Dinah opened her eyes and sat up. A metal arch over the drive announced Hacienda Osito. A honeybee had been incorporated into the grillwork. In the distance, a sprawling adobe ranch house reflected the late afternoon sun. The aroma of Texas barbecue meat filled the air.

  Her heart began to thump. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Are you sure about this, Rafe?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You weren’t around when everything happened. This is a small town, and people have long memories.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  Maybe he was right. She wanted him to be.

  Rafe parked the Jeep in the driveway. The low rumble of voices and laughter drifted from behind the house. She followed him through a shady grove of oak trees to a wide, grassy yard where two long grills had been set up. Smoke billowed skyward, disappearing into the bright blue sky. A crowd milled around or sat at picnic tables sipping drinks while children chased each other through the knots of grown-ups. The genial voices softened and died. The children stopped screaming. The air zinged with tension as one-by-one, the guests gaped at Dinah.