by Terry Shames
I wish I could confess to her that I’ve met someone, but seeing how tired she looks, I postpone the discussion. Plus, maybe I don’t even need to tell her. It could be that Wendy and I aren’t really going anywhere. It may only be a quick fling. The thought of which makes my stomach plunge. But if I feel that way about Wendy and not about Ellen, is it fair to keep seeing Ellen?
She’s still waiting for my answer, and looking at me oddly.
“I did have a good time. I like those two. And what about you?” I had not planned to ask her, but I want to change the conversation away from dangerous territory.
She puffs out a sigh and looks like she’s going to say something, but instead she takes a bite of her egg salad and chews thoughtfully. There are tears in her eyes. “Would it be okay with you if we didn’t talk about it tonight?”
“Of course it is.” She had wanted me to come over to talk about our Thanksgiving stories, and now she’s changed her mind.
She forces a smile. “Tell me more about the case you’re working on.”
“It’s been a tough weekend.” I tell her some vague details about the investigation. It’s too horrendous to share more. “There are all these loose ends that I can’t fit together. I’m going to have to hand it over to the DPS or the Rangers. They’ve got a lot more resources than I do, and I’m floundering.”
“There’s no shame in that,” she says. “The man was a stranger and you don’t know details about his family or his life. How is the man’s wife doing?”
I tell her about Margaret’s ordeal today.
“Oh, the poor woman. She must feel vulnerable out there at the lake by herself. And to be attacked in her own home! Do you think she’d like it if I went to see her?”
Her generous words remind me of why I like Ellen. She’s thoughtful and kind. She’s popular with the people she teaches in her workshops because of it. “She’ll be out of the hospital tomorrow. I’ll ask her if she’d like to meet you. She has been to a couple of meetings of the lady’s sewing circle that Loretta is part of. Loretta says she isn’t particularly social.”
“Just a thought. Let me know.”
Frazier is keeping up a low growl at Dusty, and I can see Dusty is puzzled. “Look, I have to get an early start tomorrow, and I can see you’re tired. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 20
I’m a good sleeper, but last night I tossed and turned, worrying first about Ellen and Wendy, and then turning my attention to Margaret Wilkins. I’m not doing right by any of them. By morning, I’ve come to a decision I don’t like, but which is the right thing to do.
As I walk up from the pasture, I hear a familiar voice calling out, and I walk around to the front of the house. “I’m here!” I yell.
“Good. Got something for you,” Loretta says. I go up the front steps and hold the door open for her. Loretta bustles in, carrying a plate that wafts a welcome scent, and sets it down on the kitchen table.
“Cinnamon rolls?” I ask, peeking under the foil.
“I felt like baking this morning. It’s that kind of weather. I had gotten away from regular baking, and I miss it.”
“You couldn’t have made me any happier if you had brought me a pot of gold,” I say, snatching one of the rolls and taking a big bite. For a moment I concentrate on the taste of those rolls that I’ve missed. “This may be the best you’ve ever made.”
“They did turn out pretty good.”
I put some coffee on and we sit for a few minutes. She tells me stories from her Thanksgiving visit. “I love my relatives, but I swear they would try the patience of a saint.” She tells me her Uncle Edgar, who is at least ninety, has stopped smoking, but has taken up dipping snuff. “If that isn’t the nastiest habit, I don’t know what is.”
Eventually she brings up the attack on Margaret, which she heard about from someone whose sister is a nurse at the hospital in Bobtail.
“She wasn’t hurt too badly, but they wanted to keep her overnight in the hospital for observation.”
“I called Connie. She’s going over there today to check in on Margaret. She said with the kids home at Thanksgiving, she barely had time to get out of the kitchen. She told me she wanted to ask Margaret and her kids over for turkey dinner, but her family vetoed it. Anyway, I guess Margaret’s kids dropped by to see her kids Thursday night, so they did get to visit.”
I tell her I haven’t come up with any solid leads on the case, and that I’m glad Maria is back. “Maybe between the two of us we can come up with something.” I don’t mention that I’m likely to turn it over to the DPS today.
“That little gal is a firecracker,” she says.
She and Maria have gotten along ever since Maria helped her figure out who was vandalizing her flowers.
It’s nice to spend a little time with Loretta, but after a while I tell her I’ve got to get to work. She jumps up. “I don’t know why I’m sitting here. I’ve got a hundred things to do, too.”
The phone is already ringing when I walk into headquarters. I was planning to call the Department of Public Safety first thing, and they’ve beaten me to the punch. The man on the phone is my old pal with the Texas Rangers, Luke Schoppe. “I believe your ears must have been burning yesterday, and not in a good way,” he says.
“Schoppe, I thought you were going to retire. Did they hire you to maintain the gossip channel?”
“Don’t change the subject. Sounds like we’re going to have to send somebody over there to solve the murder of that man out at the lake. Looks like you’re not as up to the task as I thought you’d be.”
“I’m not up to it as much as I thought I would be, either. I’m stumped. But I’m not going to let my ego run away with me. I was going to call over to the county this morning and ask for some help. It’s taking more resources than I’ve got.”
“Like what?”
“The man, Lewis Wilkins, lived in San Antonio. I don’t have the manpower to send people over there to research who he is and what he might have been up to, although Maria Trevino did a little snooping around when she was there this weekend.”
“Listen, I’m driving over to Bryan in a few minutes. It’ll take me an hour to get there. Can you meet me at the DPS office there? We can talk it over.”
“I sure can.” I don’t like it that the first thing I think of when I hang up is that since I’ll in Bryan, maybe I’ll have a few minutes to stop by and see Wendy. It’s like I don’t have control over my own actions. I haul out my cell phone and dial her number.
I can’t help grinning when she answers. I tell her I have to come over there to talk to a Ranger about the Wilkins case, and she says, “What time?”
“I should be free by noon. You want to get some lunch?”
“I’ll make us something here.” Her chuckle is a like purr. “You think that will be okay?”
I tell her I think it will work out. She says she’s pretty sure it will.
Bill Odum’s wife calls to say that his cold has settled into bronchitis and he won’t be in for a couple of more days. I phone Maria and tell her where I’m off to. She asks me if I want her to go to Bryan, too, and doesn’t seem to notice that I’m awfully quick to say no.
Schoppe doesn’t get to Bryan until 10 a.m. He suggests we walk down the street to a coffee shop. He looks suddenly older. I hope he’s okay. We’ve been friends a long time.
“You mind if we drive?” I ask.
“It’s only a couple of blocks. You getting old?”
“I’ve got a puppy with me. I’ll have to leave him in my pickup, but I don’t want it out of my sight.”
“A puppy?” He laughs.
We find a place in a yellow zone in front. It’s still chilly, but the sun is out and I leave the windows down. It only takes finding one dog that has succumbed to heat in a car to assure that you’ll never make that mistake yourself.
When we’re settled at a table in the corner, he says, “You told me you’re thinking of turning over the Wilkins investigati
on. What have you got so far?”
“You know about Wilkins’s hands being tied when the dogs attacked him?”
“Yeah, we got that in the officers’ report. You said you were looking into his activities in San Antonio. Seems like a dog attack doesn’t point to a city kind of crime, so maybe he was involved in something around here.”
“You’re right, and there is an angle I’m working on.” I tell him there are hints that his murder might have had to do with gambling on dog-fighting. “I don’t have any hard evidence to back it up, though. You know anything about dogfights being held in the county?”
He clears his throat. “Matter of fact I do, but you’re not going to like it. We’ve had a few reports that there’ve been some matches in the last few months here and there. Not only Bobtail County, but Bartleson and Marris as well. The problem is, nobody is likely to pursue it.”
“Why not?”
“You know anytime you ask ‘why,’ the answer is always money. DPS doesn’t feel like it has the resources to put into investigating dogfighting.”
“Why the hell not?”
“For one thing, dogfighting is a big business. A lot of money gets thrown around, some of it in the direction of the law.” We both ponder that for a minute. Payoffs don’t sit well with most lawmen.
“Another problem is that people who get the fights together move around a lot, so it’s hard to catch them in the act. Catching them usually takes an undercover operation. That can take months, if not years, and it takes personnel off bigger cases. Plus, there’s a lot of danger to investigating it. A few lawmen have been killed in undercover work.”
“I never knew the Rangers to be timid when it comes to investigating dangerous situations.”
He fiddles with his coffee cup, keeping his eyes on it, and looking annoyed. “It’s not the danger. It’s a matter of whether the reward is worth the effort. You’re putting yourself in a position to be killed, but if you catch anybody, even if they’re convicted the penalty is a slap on the wrist. So the DPS feels like it ought to concentrate on more high-profile crimes, ones that you can put people away for.”
“What do you mean, slap on the wrist?”
“Fighting or training a dog to fight is only a Class A misdemeanor. And attending a fight is only a Class C. I mean what’s the point of putting officers in such danger if the people they catch get a maximum of two years in prison. And I never heard of anybody getting that much.”
“I didn’t know that. But why would somebody kill a lawman if the penalty is so light?”
“A man who’s willing to put a dog through all that is not exactly the salt of the earth. And I’m going to tell you something else. I once worked on one of those cases; and when we caught the guy, I talked to him. He was pissed off that dogfighting was against the law at all! He thought he ought to be able to do what he wanted to with a dog. He ended up getting a year, and was on probation in six months.”
“One thing’s for sure. If somebody involved in those fights killed Lewis Wilkins, they’re going to get a lot more than a year in prison.”
“That’s true, but, Samuel, I got to tell you I don’t like the idea of you going after those people single-handedly. I think you’re right. You ought to wait until the DPS gets on it. Shouldn’t be much more than a couple of weeks.”
I picture Margaret Wilkins’s face when I tell her the investigation of her husband’s murder is being put on the back burner for two weeks. I can’t let that happen.
“My problem is that I may be wrong about the dogfighting. There are other puzzles.” I tell him about the boat and the money and the attack on Margaret Wilkins. I follow up with Wilkins’s lawsuit and the toll it took on his family.
“Lordy, that man was into a lot of trouble. You’re right, it might have nothing to do with dogfighting.”
“Except that he was killed by vicious dogs. My question is, if the people who snatched Wilkins out of his van and killed him did it because of dogfighting, what was their point?”
“Money, I would guess.”
“That makes sense on the surface, but he had the money with him in the SUV. So why didn’t they take it? It wasn’t hard to find.”
Schoppe strokes his jaw. “They must not have known he had the money on him.”
“Then why didn’t he tell them?”
“You’re right, that points to the idea that whoever took him did it for some reason other than dogfighting.”
I sigh. “But then why did they turn dogs on him?”
He shakes he head. “You’ve got a real can of worms on your hands. Whoever gets assigned to this will be grateful that you have gotten this far.”
I don’t tell him that now I’ve talked this out with him, I’ve changed my mind.
During the fifteen-minute drive to Wendy’s I lecture myself and plan how it will be. As soon as she answers the door, I’ll say that we have to talk. I’ll tell her that I’m seeing someone and that I don’t feel right cheating on her. No, not cheating. That sounds like words from a country and western song. I just need to tell her that I don’t feel right seeing her until I’ve sorted out my feelings about Ellen.
I park, and when I’m gathering Dusty to take in with me, Wendy comes out onto the porch. I’m glad I’ve got a good, strong heart, because it’s keeping double time. She runs down the steps, hair flying, and her laugh practically lifts me off my feet. I put Dusty down, and Wendy and I wrap our arms around each other. My resolve lasts no longer than it takes to get inside the house. There’s not even any pretense that we’re headed anywhere but the bedroom.
After a while, when we’re lying in bed with her head on my shoulder, we’re both quiet. I’m thinking that I have to get back to work, and I’m feeling guilty for coming here at all, much less failing in my resolve to bring up Ellen.
She moves away and lies on her side, propping her head on her hand. “Isn’t it time we talked about Ellen?”
I freeze, wondering if I really heard her correctly. But I know I did. “So you knew I was seeing someone?”
“Yes. My daughter is always trying to fix me up with someone, and when she heard an eligible male would be at Jenny’s for Thanksgiving, she jumped on it. Jenny told her you were involved with someone.”
I sigh and glance over at her. Her look is serious. “I kept trying to figure out a way to tell you. Ellen and I were . . . are . . . having some . . . I don’t know. Difficulties, I guess you’d say. But that’s no excuse,” I add hastily. “I should have said something.”
“Is it serious between the two of you?”
“Serious?” I ponder the question. “We’ve seen a lot of each other. I like her. She’s a good person. But it’s not the same as with you.”
Her smile is radiant. “I was completely surprised by you.”
“In what way?”
She slips off the bed and starts dressing. “It’s been a while since I was attracted to somebody so strongly. I didn’t expect it.”
“Me either.” I get up and begin to dress, too. I stop with my pants on and shirt off. “It’s not fair to Ellen or to you to go on like this.”
She sits down on the bed again, her back to me. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to keep seeing you, but I wouldn’t want you to be seeing her, too.” She holds up her hand to stop me replying. “I know it’s not right to say that, but I’m not into sharing.”
“Yes.” I feel helpless. I don’t know what to say to make it better. I walk around to stand in front of her. “Look, I was completely taken off guard. I didn’t expect anything like this.”
She reaches her hands out and I take them. “Okay, so we’re even.” She smiles.
“All I know is I want to keep seeing you. But I have to work it out.”
She stands up and moves into my arms. We don’t say anything for a minute or two. Then she pulls away. “At least I can feed you before you go.”
We had closed Dusty in the kitchen with his chew toy to keep him entertained, and he’s happy
to see us. While Wendy makes our lunch, I feed him and take him out.
The talk between us over lunch is easy and light. A couple of times I have to remind myself that we aren’t a couple and that I may not see her again.
When we’re finished eating, she says, “Listen, I’ve made a decision. A friend of mine asked me to go out to San Francisco with her. I told her I couldn’t, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“When will you be leaving?”
“She’s leaving tomorrow. I’ll follow as soon as I can get packed.” She laughs. “Don’t look so glum. It will give us a chance to think things over. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
“How long will you be gone?” In the question is my unspoken wish that she wouldn’t go at all.
“I don’t know for sure. A week? Maybe two?” We look into each other’s eyes. “I’m not going to the moon. We can talk on the phone.”
I’m in turmoil all the way back to Jarrett Creek. By the time I reach headquarters, the only decision I’ve made is that I can’t let my personal life interfere with the investigation into Lewis Wilkins’s murder.
CHAPTER 21
Maria is in the office when I get back from Bryan, and she gives me a funny look. “Where have you been?”
Is it that obvious that I took a detour? “I told you I was going to talk to Schoppe.”
“What did he say?”
I tell her that he and I were in agreement that it might be best to turn the case over to the DPS, but that it could take a while for someone to step in.
“Then we have to keep going,” she says. “Let’s brainstorm.”
We talk it out and decide to go back out to the area where Wilkins was killed, and where I found Dusty, so Maria can get the lay of the land.
“What are you going to do with Dusty?” She asks.
“We’ll leave him in the car. He’ll be fine.”
We park down the street from Margaret’s place. Her son’s car is parked in front, along with hers. It seems sad to me that Margaret’s daughter didn’t come to visit her after her attack.