“Aren't you going to ask me where I was?” Elgin's eyes met Erma's as he piled more vegetables and meat on his fork.
Interesting he would volunteer. “If you want to say.”
He chewed and swallowed his mouthful. “I'd gone home. Alone.” His eyes shifted to BJ like he regretted he'd been alone.
“All righty.” Erma cut another bite of the pork. “That's what I like, the spirit of cooperation.”
“Could we eat our dinner in peace now?” BJ asked.
Erma nodded and smiled at each of them. They all relaxed and started eating again. She swallowed a mouthful. “Where would Rufina get a gun?”
Elgin slapped his fork on the table. “Come on, woman. Give us a break.”
“Up here in this part of Texas, everyone has a gun,” Rex said. “Most people have more than one.”
“You have one BJ?” Erma knew the answer. She'd prepared the estate's inventory when BJ's husband died. Roy owned a shitload of guns. She wiped her mouth and set her napkin down. The food was so good she didn't want to stop eating. There was probably a whole stick of butter in that steamed yellow squash.
“You know, I do. We have a cabinet full of guns—rifles, shotguns, handguns—Roy loved weapons.” BJ cut her eyes at Erma like she wondered what Erma was getting at.
“Do you keep the cabinet locked?” Erma glanced at each of their faces, in turn. Even Rex was suitably serious.
BJ nodded. “Every cabinet is kept locked. If anyone wants to open the cabinet, they have to ask me for the key. Almost everyone is aware of where I keep the keys, though.”
“Like Rex, here?” Erma maintained a solemn face, though when Rex reacted, she found it difficult.
“Now wait a minute. Are you saying I killed my own sister?” His boyish smile had long disappeared. His face grew red, and a vein angling down his forehead bulged.
“I didn't mean to imply that, Rex boy. I just wondered whether everyone in the family knew where your mother kept the keys. Calm down.”
BJ's eyes darted from Erma to Rex. “Erma . . .” She apparently thought better of what she was going to say.
“So Kathy Lynn would know about them? What about the staff? And old Elgin here, did he know, too?” Erma plucked another piece of meat from her plate.
“Yes, Kathy Lynn knows. I suppose the staff knows. They've all been with us a long time,” BJ said.
“Rufina sure as hell knew. She was in charge of those girls.” Rex pointed his fork in the direction of the kitchen. “They had to dust those cases inside and out.” He beamed at Erma over his shot glass before he took a sip.
“But Rufina always asked me for the keys,” BJ said.
“And old Elgin here?” Erma peered through her glasses at Elgin.
Elgin shook his head. “BJ has never told me about the keys.”
Erma nodded. “Of course, I'm making an assumption the murder weapon came from the gun case. What kind of gun did the authorities say was used?”
Rex cleared his throat. “1917 forty-five.”
“Did Roy own such a weapon?” Erma asked.
BJ nodded. “It was his father's from the war.”
“So the forty-five was missing? Has the sheriff determined that particular weapon to be the only possibility or was something else missing?”
BJ glanced at Elgin and Rex. “No. Just that gun. The cabinet was found locked. The keys were where I always kept them. And yes, it was a forty-five. We're waiting for the sheriff to tell us whether the gun used was that particular one. When the sheriff conducted the inventory, everything else was there.” Tears spilled down BJ's cheeks. “But, Erma, anyone who knew where I stored the keys could have taken the gun, shot K-K-Katy Jo, and put it in front of Rufina's house.” She mopped her face with her napkin.
Erma felt a twinge of pity for her friend. “BJ, you're absolutely correct. What's odd though,” she looked at Rex and then at Elgin, “is that a tiny woman like Rufina would have chosen a forty-five. I bet its kick would feel like a donkey's and would leave a bruise on her the size of a dinner plate.”
“If she didn't hold it right, the recoil could have left a mark on her.” Rex shrugged.
“Here's something else I've been wondering.” Erma focused on BJ then Elgin then Rex. “I don't see any real security around here, at least I haven't so far. People traipse in and out without setting the alarm. I wonder, what's the possibility of someone's having waltzed right into this house, taken that gun or brought their own forty-five, and fired the shot?”
Three perplexed faces were turned toward Erma as she swallowed from her water glass and scooted back her chair. “I think I'll retire to my room now. Goodnight all.”
Chapter Ten
When Sandra opened her eyes, she lay naked in an empty king-sized bed. Daylight streamed from above the black-out drapes. An unmistakable musky aroma surrounded her in the blue and green plaid sheets. The antique-looking furniture and cutesy decorations led her to think she must have checked into a country-style bed and breakfast. Then memories flooded her brain. She had checked into a bed and breakfast but not alone.
Holy crap. Court was at nine, and the clock read eight-fifteen. Head pounding as a result of all the beer she'd drunk, she wrapped herself in the sheet in case Jared was still around and went in search of her clothes. She found them hanging in the steamy bathroom. How had she slept so deeply she hadn't heard Jared's comings and goings? In the front part of the little cottage, her purse and coat lay on the buffet with a note, an apple, and a still-hot cardboard cup of coffee next to two aspirin. The note read:
Thank you for an enjoyable evening. I'll call you.
Jared
She could cut her throat. She ran for the shower. Not sure where in town the B & B was located, she didn't know how long it would take her to drive to the courthouse. Not that anything was that long a distance in Fredericksburg.
Her face grew hot at the memories from the night before. She had never felt particularly pretty when she was a young girl. She'd had no father to flatter her. Her mother had no inclination to do so. One summer when she was high school age, Sandra had used her earnings to have her hair styled and a lesson in applying makeup. She remembered the day she unfolded herself from the stylist's chair and heard the murmurs of approval around the salon. “A gazelle,” a woman had said. She'd also taken dancing lessons on the sly, which her mother had always denied her, saying they were a frivolous waste of money. By the end of the summer, she had gained more confidence.
Whether her early history of feeling unattractive or from some other pathology, she knew her weakness. She was unavoidably attracted to handsome men who flattered her, who made her feel appealing. She knew how she responded, and yet the day before, what had she done? Gone to a beer pub ostensibly to pick Jared's brain. Now, she needed to push thoughts about the events following their departure from the brewery out of her mind. She had to hurry, shower, and dress to be at court on time.
If Erma found out, Sandra would have trouble ever living it down. She'd never tell Erma, but her mother wasn't stupid. Eventually, something would clue her in, and Erma would never let it go. Anyway, she wasn't planning on sharing the information with anyone. Jared had been one of the best lays she'd ever had, including both husbands. She wanted to be able to take the memory out and play with it like a child with a new toy. She didn't want Erma besmirching the recollection—making it something dirty, when Sandra didn't regard it that way. She wanted to remember that night only through her own eyes. She had needed Jared at that moment. They'd had a wonderful time. He'd said it was as good for him as she'd known it was for her. But, their encounter was now history.
After showering, she scrambled into her clothes, tied up her hair, and set out for the courthouse. When she went outside, her Volvo, with the keys in the ignition, sat in front of the B & B. She'd love to tell Jared she appreciated his consideration, but she didn’t intend to see him again, so she wouldn't be telling him anything.
At the courthouse, Sandra climbed the stairs a
nd hurried down the hall, entering the courtroom as the judge finished calling the civil docket. Her mother sat at the counsel table. When Erma spotted Sandra, she subtly shook her head. Sandra nodded at BJ, who perched on the end of the front row bench. Rex, thankfully, was nowhere to be seen. And Kathy Lynn, well, again there'd be no meeting with her, since she wasn't present either. Kathy Lynn's name would go to the top of the list of witnesses they would have to talk with before trial.
Leaning over her mother, Sandra said, “Sorry I'm late.” She dumped her things on the table, avoiding Erma's eyes. When the judge finished the civil docket, he called their case.
“State's ready,” Samuel Holt announced, waltzing in from the hallway.
“Defense is ready.” Sandra stood.
“We'll be in recess until the deputy brings the defendant.” The judge went into chambers.
Erma swiveled in her chair and hissed, “Where in the hell were you last night?”
Sandra grimaced. Her head throbbed. She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was paying attention, but no one was. She muttered, “I drank too much, so I got a room. Didn't want to drive all the way out there.”
“I was scared shitless this morning.” Frowning, Erma turned away.
“I apologize. Didn't mean to frighten you. What did you think I meant when I called and said I was staying in town?”
Erma cut her eyes back at Sandra. “Thought you'd be back after dinner.”
“Again, I'm sorry. I had planned on it, but...” She shrugged one shoulder and turned to BJ. “Are you going to testify if we need you?”
“Yes.” BJ’s eyes swept past Sandra. “Here comes Rufina.”
Erma muttered, “We have a lot to talk about on the way home.”
Sandra met Rufina at the far side of the counsel table. The deputy unlocked her handcuffs and shackles. “You doing all right today, Rufina?”
“Yes. You? You're a little pale.”
“Sweet of you to ask about me when we're here about you.” Probably everyone had noticed Sandra wore the same clothes as the day before. She might look rough, but she didn't care. She just wanted the judge to set bail so she could go back home.
“The judge will set my bail today, right?”
“Hopefully. And we'll get a trial date as well.” If the judge would cooperate. Sandra touched her queasy midsection. She needed something more solid than coffee and a few bites of an apple to offset the alcohol.
“Thank you. I know you'll do your best for me.”
Sandra nodded and stood as the judge returned to the bench.
“State versus Barboza,” the judge announced. “Bail bond hearing.”
“Judge,” Holt said, “I don't believe defense counsel filed a writ—”
“Sure I did, Your Honor.” Sandra opened her file. “I hand wrote it. The paperwork should be in the court's file. I filed it yesterday afternoon.” Sandra put her hands behind her back and rolled up on the balls of her feet as Holt had done the day before.
“Well, the State didn't receive a copy as required by the rules. Holt clicked his ball point pen behind his back.
“I dropped off a photocopy, Judge.” Sandra held up a document. “I have an extra if Mr. Holt wants it.” She handed him a barely readable photocopy. Not her fault the copy machine she'd been able to find made such lousy copies.
“Let's move along,” the judge said. “You have any witnesses Mrs. Salinsky?”
“Yes, sir. My client and Mrs. Roy Schindler.” Normally Sandra wouldn't call a woman by her married name—her husband's name—but she wanted everyone, including the record, to recognize who BJ's husband had been, hoping his having been a county commissioner would have some influence.
Holt pivoted and keyed in on BJ as though he'd seen her for the first time. Surely he knew who she was already. BJ's eyes never wavered from his.
“Will the witnesses please rise and raise their right hands?”
Rufina and BJ both stood. The judge gave them the oath and said to Rufina, “Habla Inglés?”
“Yes, sir. I'm an American citizen.”
The judge nodded. “Would you be so kind as to take the witness stand then, Mrs. Barboza? You may be seated Mrs. Schindler.” The judge kicked back in his chair, rocking a couple of times before settling in.
Rufina approached the witness stand. She glanced back at Sandra and climbed into the box. Her hand trembled as she pushed the chair close to the microphone before sitting down. When she slipped into the chair she looked like a child—a horribly scarred, shriveled-up child.
“State your name for the court and the record,” Sandra said.
“Rufina Lucia Morales Zavala Cortez Barboza.” She looked at the judge and raised her hands in a what-can-I-do gesture.
The judge sniffed and busied himself with writing.
“Now, Mrs. Barboza, would you please tell the court your age and address?”
Rufina visibly relaxed as she replied to Sandra's questions. Her answers came readily as Sandra laid the foundation for bail to be set. After a few minutes, Sandra flipped to a clean page on her notepad. “Now we're here asking the court to set bail in the matter of this murder you're charged with, do you understand?”
“Yes, ma'am.” Rufina's eyes darted toward the courtroom door.
A Latino male, who appeared to be a number of years younger than Rufina but still middle-aged, had come in. He wore jeans, a buff-colored wool jacket, and a black felt cowboy hat he pulled from his head. He slid onto the back bench.
“How much money do you have in the bank, Mrs. Barboza?”
“If you are not counting my retirement, somewhere around fifty-five thousand dollars.”
Sandra swallowed her next question and leaned over to Erma. “Where'd she get that kind of money?”
“Beats the hell out of me,” Erma said. “I talked to BJ about how much bail she could make, but BJ never mentioned whether she thought Rufina could make it herself.”
“And you have access to those funds, Mrs. Barboza?”
“I would have to cash a certificate of deposit for the fifty. The five thousand is in my checking account.”
“I see,” Sandra said. “Do you own any property you could put up to secure your bond?”
“Yes, ma'am.” Rufina leaned close to the microphone. “A hundred acres on the way to Del Rio.”
Sandra held in the urge to giggle. She didn't dare look at Holt. She had been so concerned with her mother's and BJ's tricking her into representing Rufina, Holt's attitude, and her own mental state, that she'd stereotyped Rufina. She had simply assumed Rufina had a little retirement from Mason County and nothing else. Sandra hadn't meant to be prejudiced. But she'd made assumptions about this little, old, damaged, Hispanic woman. She'd been out drinking beer and doing other things with Jared when she should have been conducting a thorough background of her client. She mentally kicked herself and vowed to do better with the remainder of the case.
She couldn't help but grin at Rufina. “And is your property free and clear of any liens?”
“Yes, ma'am, it is.” Rufina's tiny eyes glittered.
Sandra stood. “Pass the witness.”
Samuel Holt, sitting with his back ramrod straight, cleared his throat. “Rufina, you told the judge you're an American, correct?”
Rufina held his eyes. “That is correct.”
Sandra jumped up. “Your Honor, I object to Mr. Holt addressing my client by her first name.”
Holt threw his pen down in front of him.
The judge leaned forward and said into the microphone, “I'm sure you know better, Mr. Holt.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Mrs. Barboza, your family is not American, right?”
“My parents came to this country from Mexico. They were legally here. When they retired, they went back to Mexico.”
“Exactly where in Mexico?”
“In the mountains, San Miguel de Allende, sir.”
“Your parents still living?”
“Yes, sir. They
are in their nineties.”
“Other relatives live in Mexico?”
“Yes, sir, and in Texas.”
Holt nodded. “Now, this money you have stashed away, Rufina—”
“Objection, Your Honor.” Sandra jumped up again. Holt was clearly trying to get her goat, so she kept her voice down but still assertive. “Characterization 'stashed away.' While I'm at it, I'm objecting again to him calling my client in such a familiar way.”
“Sustained.” The judge frowned toward Holt's side of the courtroom.
Head down, Holt's eyes cut sideways at Sandra. She smiled instead of giving him the middle finger, which she yearned to do.
“What's the source of this money you have in . . .” Holt looked at his notes, “a certificate of deposit?”
“Objection, Your Honor.” Sandra stood again. “Where she got the money is immaterial.”
“Sustained. Mr. Holt, stick to the issues. You can develop your case later. I only want to hear about bail today.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Holt said, clicking his ballpoint pen. “Mrs. Barboza, when is the last time you visited your parents in Mexico?”
Sandra rose again, thinking she ought to just remain standing. “Objection, relevance. What has any visit she's made to her parents got to do with anything?”
“Judge, I'm trying to show she's a flight risk.” Holt threw his legal pad on top of his pen on the table.
“Be my guest.” The judge raised one eyebrow.
Holt rubbed his hands together as though they were cold, and he was standing in front of a fire. “Mrs. Barboza, isn't it true if the judge lets you out of jail on bond, you're going to run to Mexico?”
“That's being direct,” Erma whispered to Sandra.
“No, sir. Why would I do that?”
“To be with your parents. To hide out?”
“Sir, my parents can come to see me whenever they want. I would buy them tickets.” Rufina folded her hands on the counter as Sandra had seen her do in the jail. “I am not guilty, and I am not going anywhere. Why do you think I would hide in Mexico? Has someone been talking about me to you, sir?”
Death of a Rancher's Daughter Page 8