Death of a Rancher's Daughter

by Susan P. Baker

  “Who would that be?” Sandra whispered behind her hand to Erma.

  Holt stared at his legal pad and shook his head like he didn't know how to respond. After a moment, his head came up. “I'll ask the questions, if you don't mind. You answer them.”

  The judge jerked straight up. “Mr. Holt, in this courtroom, I instruct the witness as to what's proper, not you.”

  Holt snorted like a rode-hard horse. “Certainly, Your Honor.”

  Her face unreadable, Rufina kept her eyes on Holt.

  “Have you any other assets to use as collateral for bail, Mrs. Barboza?” Holt asked.

  “Not really, sir. But I think my acres would be worth a lot, is that not true?”

  Holt shrugged. “Pass the witness.”

  Sandra shook her head when the judge raised his eyebrows at her. She stood again as he instructed Rufina to step down. “Mrs. Roy Schindler.”

  BJ and Rufina crossed paths. BJ brushed against Rufina's shoulder. Rufina's eyes on her friend were like watery black pools. When she sat next to Sandra at the end of the table, she emitted a long sigh. There was so much more to her Sandra needed to learn.

  Erma took her friend on direct examination, while Sandra stroked Rufina's hand.

  “You're Mrs. Roy Schindler, correct?” Erma asked.

  “Yes. Billie Jo Schindler. My husband, Commissioner Schindler, is deceased.” She raised the microphone's long neck to her mouth.

  Sandra kept a straight face. BJ had responded as hoped.

  “How are you related to Rufina Barboza?” Erma asked.

  “We've been best friends since we were children.”

  “Since you were born, pretty much, right?”

  Rufina took Sandra's hand and formed what Sandra had come to recognize as a smile.

  “Her parents worked on our ranch. Mrs. Barboza—Rufina—and I were born the same year. We used to play together as toddlers, and we went to school together.”

  Erma nodded. “And now? Is there another facet to your relationship?”

  BJ shrugged. “You could call it employer-employee, I guess. Rufina manages the household and has for the last fifteen years, give or take.”

  “Ever since—”

  BJ glanced at the judge. “Kind of a long story, Judge.” She straightened her shoulders. “She began managing the household staff when her parents retired, but there's some history you ought to know.” She looked at Erma as though for permission to continue.

  “Go on,” Erma said. “You're fine.”

  “Before that, Rufina and her husband, who worked on the ranch, were taking care of my children at their cottage, while Roy and I were at a political affair. There was a fire. Rufina's husband died.” Her eyes teared up when she frowned in Rufina's direction. Her voice grew high-pitched and broken. “And my friend was badly burned.”

  Rufina's head fell to her chest. A quiet sob poured out of her. She covered her mouth with her hand. Sandra dug in her shoulder bag for a tissue. She steeled herself to stop her own tears. She tried never to get worked up, but since the Stuart-thing and her depression, she hadn't always been able to control herself.

  BJ continued, “When Rufina returned from the hospital and rehabilitation, I begged her forgiveness. I wanted her to come and live in my home.” BJ's eyes were full of pain. “She wouldn't do it. She lives in one of the cottages, though. Real close by.”

  “When did she become household manager?” Erma checked something off on her legal pad.

  BJ turned to the judge. “I wanted to give her money. The insurance paid some money, but I wanted to give her more. Rufina wouldn't take it, but when I needed her, she came to work for me. We're like sisters.”

  “Mrs. Schindler, you understand we're asking the judge to set bail today, so Rufina can get out of jail?”

  “Yes, I want to pay the bail bond.”

  Rufina shook her head and said in a raspy voice, “I'll pay my own way.”

  The judge scowled at the defense table.

  Sandra pressed Rufina's hand. “Shh. You can't talk now.”

  “Judge, I will make her bond. BJ's voice was hard as granite. She turned to him. “She's my friend. My family has been enough trouble to her. I'm paying.” Her voice boomed from the microphone and bounced off the back walls.

  “Okay,” Erma said. “How much can you pay?”

  “Whatever it takes.” BJ cocked her head at Holt as though daring him to try for a figure out of her reach.

  “Pass the witness.”

  Holt jumped up. “Mrs. Schindler, you understand if you make her bail and she escapes to Mexico, you'll lose your money.”

  “Son, she's not going anywhere. I don't know who put that idea into your head.”

  “Your boy named Rex?” His mouth formed a cruel line, as if he'd thrown a punch.

  Erma elbowed Sandra and whispered, “Little shithead.”

  “Yes.” BJ clenched her teeth.

  “Why would Rex think Rufina would run to Mexico?”

  Sandra sprang to her feet again. “Judge, I've asked for the court to instruct Mr. Holt not to call my client by her first name.”

  “I'm not, Judge. I wasn't addressing her client.”

  “It's the same thing, Your Honor. It's belittling. I hope you aren't going to tolerate this behavior at trial.”

  The judge came to attention again and jabbed his pen in her direction. “I'll tell you what I'm not going to tolerate, young lady, and that's you berating me for not doing my job as you define it.”

  Sandra drew a deep breath. She'd crossed the line without intending to. Had Holt set her up? He wore a sly smile, his face reminding her of a fox's. “May I approach the bench, Your Honor?”

  The judge crossed his arms. “Come ahead.”

  “Judge, I want to apologize. I realize I overstepped my bounds and hope you'll forgive me.” Sandra reached her hand out to him. “Sometimes I get carried away.” Apologizing killed her, but Sandra knew the rules. She didn't want to be on the judge's shit list for the rest of her life and possibly into the next one. She might not see him in that court setting again, but no telling where visiting judges might pop up around the State.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Don't let it happen again.” He gave her hand a quick shake and directed his attention to Holt. “While you're both up here, Sam, I can't think of a reason not to set bail for this woman.”

  “I figured you were going to say that. How much?”

  The judge's eyes flickered at Sandra. “Five hundred thousand.”

  “Five hundred thousand!” Sandra took a step back. “Dollars?” She shook her head. A litany of words tumbled through her brain, most of them would cause her to be thrown in jail for contempt if they spilled from her mouth.

  The judge's forehead drew up. “Don't start with me, Mrs. Salinsky.”

  Sandra sighed. “No, sir. Since we're up here, would you be so kind as to set this case for trial?”

  “Now, Mrs. Salinsky,” the judge's tone of voice was like one someone would use to address a child, “I told you yesterday I can't do that. You and Mr. Holt go out in the hall and call the court coordinator for a trial setting.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sandra welcomed the chance to breathe different air than the judge.

  “You write all that down, LuAnn?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “We're in recess then.” The judge left the bench.

  Sandra stalked back to counsel table, her teeth aching from clenching them so much. “You get all that, Erma?”

  Erma backed her chair toward the bar. “Yep, five hundred thousand. Good job, daughter.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?” Was Erma being sarcastic or genuine? Sandra was in no mood for sarcastic.

  “Hell, the ten-percent that will have to be paid out is chump-change for BJ.”

  Holding a set of handcuffs, a deputy approached their table.

  “Just a minute, please, Deputy,” BJ said as she stepped off the witness stand. “I j
ust want to hug my friend for a moment. Any law against that?”

  The deputy nodded. “Go ahead.”

  BJ wrapped her arms around Rufina and stooped over her in a hug. “I'll have you out in a jiff. And no arguments over money, you hear?”

  Rufina nodded. Her long hair flowed around her like a veil.

  Sandra headed for the hall where Samuel Holt stood with his cell phone to his ear. What was he up to now?

  “The coordinator asked how soon you want the case set. I told her I could be ready quickly.”

  Sandra put her hand out for the phone. “Hello, this is Sandra Salinsky. Who am I speaking to?”

  “Amber Chamberlain, Mrs. Salinsky. I told Mr. Holt I don't have any settings for a capital murder trial for quite a spell.”

  Sandra swallowed the lump in her throat. “It's not capital murder, Miss Chamberlain.”

  “Regardless. The soonest I could schedule you with no guarantees is next December.”

  “Holy crap.” Sandra was glad the judge had set bail, no matter how high. At least Rufina would be out and about.

  “What did you say?”

  “Sorry, Miss Chamberlain, but are you telling me you have no judge who can try this murder case in less than almost a year? I'm going to file a speedy trial motion.” She had trouble believing there wouldn't even be a visiting judge available. Could Holt have something to do with that?

  “Listen, Mrs. Salinsky, you can file what you please, but suddenly I have no settings until March of next year. Get my drift?”

  “Boy do I,” Sandra said. “Thanks for your help.” She clicked off the phone and tossed it toward Samuel Holt who fumbled but managed to catch it.

  “Hey, Salinsky, what the hell?”

  “I see what's going on.” Sandra did an about-face.

  “You ain't seen nothing yet.”

  Sandra looked back. “And neither have you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Worn out from the long trip home, not to mention the court hearing and her activities on Monday night, when Sandra arrived at her condo Tuesday night, she showered and fell into bed. For once, her monkey mind didn't disturb her sleep.

  Rejuvenated on Wednesday morning, she donned some sweats and ran on the seawall for a few minutes. The cold, damp, salty air energized her even more.

  She and Erma had engaged in their usual banter during the drive home, but also discussed their strategy for Rufina's case. Since Erma had raised Sandra, their thinking aligned on most everything, so it was easy, even fun, to come up with a game plan.

  After taking a shower and having a protein smoothie for breakfast, Sandra headed to the office, wanting to arrive earlier than the others so she could have some quiet time. She wanted to pound out some motions to file in Rufina's case, not wanting to wait for Patricia to do the documents any more than she wanted to wait over a year for the trial. A hearing before the presiding judge, not some visiting judge, was her preference, though she'd take what she could get. If she could find out who would be trying the case, she’d see if her hearings could be scheduled before him—or her.

  She was in the middle of drafting a speedy trial motion when her cell phone rang before nine a.m.

  “Is this Sandra?” asked a vaguely familiar male voice.

  “Who is this?” She was in no mood to be disturbed. After the work on Rufina's case, she needed to address the stack of files that had accumulated on her desk Monday and Tuesday.

  “Jared. I looked for you at court yesterday, but you were gone.”

  Sandra didn't like the school-girl sensation in her chest. She didn't want anything to do with Jared. She'd sworn off men like an alcoholic swears off booze after joining AA. Yes, she'd had a slip, but it was a one-time thing. She didn't want complications in her life. His calling placed her in a position of having to deal with him. She'd scooted out of town and planned to avoid him when she went back. Now this. “How'd you get this number?”

  “Is this a bad time? I thought we could go to breakfast.”

  Sandra pushed back her chair and picked up her coffee cup. “Are you in Galveston? Because I am.”

  “Oh. I wanted to see you before you left.”

  “Why?” She wanted to hang up and get to the work on her desk. She hadn't yet checked her calendar to see what her schedule looked like for the rest of the week. All she remembered was the divorce scheduled on Friday. Still . . .

  His voice grew deeper. “Did I do something to offend you? I thought we had uh—fun the other night.”

  Sandra stared at the ceiling. Her feelings betrayed her, but she wasn't going to succumb to them. Involvement with another man was not what she wanted. “Look, Jared, I did have a good time. I enjoyed meeting you and our evening together. We live hours apart, and I'm not looking for a long-term relationship.”

  “Whoa. That about sums it up, I guess. You have a great life then, Attorney Salinsky.”

  The phone went dead. Sandra set aside the heaviness in her chest as she laid her cell phone next to the landline on her desk. That took care of Jared. She allowed herself a moment to remember how considerate he'd been in the sack and turned back to her computer.

  “Hey, what's up?” Patricia was laden with the newspaper, her purse, and a large cardboard cup of coffee. She had her coat half off, looking like she was ready to start the day. “How was your trip?”

  “I have a stack of motions I want to file on Rufina's case, so I thought I'd do them myself. Everything going okay around here?”

  “Lots of messages for you, but otherwise, fine. Best time of year to leave town, since everyone is slow to restart after the holidays. Let me put my things down, and I'll make you some coffee.”

  “Already did. You go ahead and have yours, and we'll talk in a few minutes.” Patricia had become addicted to chain-store coffee years earlier from the first moment she'd stepped foot over their threshold. She'd confessed to knowing she spent too much money on it, but claimed she didn't have a life, so why not spend her money on something she enjoyed? Sandra envied how Patricia put so much heavy cream in her coffee every day and never gained an ounce. Sandra had to work hard not to end up looking roly-poly like Erma.

  Patricia shuffled off to her own office, leaving Sandra alone with her computer. Sandra had loaded the same software on her computer that Patricia's held, except the probate stuff. Erma did probate, not Sandra, and Erma wouldn't touch a computer with a ten-foot pole. Patricia did all Erma's paperwork as well as her email. Erma wouldn't even try to get her own email. At least she’d answer her own cell phone.

  Sandra poured herself another cup of coffee while her speedy trial motion printed. She'd mail one of every motion to Holt's office, one to Rufina, and file one away. The clerk's, she'd fax. While she leaned against the counter, she watched through the glass-paned door as her mother maneuvered her Lincoln Continental between Patricia's little Toyota and the tree that dominated the backyard. Having arrived the earliest, Sandra had parked her Volvo next to the back steps with plenty of room to spare.

  When Erma came inside, she said, “One of these days, that tree is going to have to go.”

  “Morning, Erma.” Sandra had heard the tree refrain often enough to ignore it.

  Erma dropped her black leather handbag on the dinette table and shed her coat, hanging it on the coat rack in the hall. “What are you up to this brisk morning?”

  Sandra sipped her coffee and smiled at her mother. “Barboza motions. Did you get some sleep?”

  “Humph. Except for getting up three times.” Erma picked up her purse and strutted into her office. A few moments later, she returned.

  Sandra handed her a mug of coffee prepared with plenty of sugar and cream, the way she liked it.

  Erma's eyes did a once-over of Sandra's face. “Sandra, I—”

  “Don't start on me this morning. I'm not in the mood for it.” She stalked from the kitchen, circled her desk, and landed back in her chair.

  Erma stuck her head inside the door. “I want to say how gra
teful BJ is that you took Rufina's case.”

  “Fine. I've got work to do.” She wasn't going to discuss her taking the criminal case or her taking another job.

  “Well, and me, too.” Erma stepped inside the doorway. “I'm thankful, also.”

  “Don't go maudlin on me.” Sandra rummaged through her briefcase to find the Gillespie County District Clerk's card with the fax number on it.

  “You know I'm not much for sentiment, daughter.”

  Sandra found the card. No fax number. She glanced at Erma and took a deep breath. That her mother rarely revealed her feelings was the understatement of the century. Perhaps she should stop and give the old girl some feedback, though she battled with the same issues herself. Growing up with a mother who worked night and day, giving her very little face time except at meals and when she tucked her in some nights, didn't give Sandra much to model after.

  Erma stood in the doorway, mug cupped in her hands, a solemn expression on her face. She wore what had become her signature color, black, as though on her way to a funeral, and stared at Sandra.

  “It's decent of you to say so,” Sandra said. “I appreciate it. Just next time . . . “ Sandra stopped herself. There wouldn't be a next time.

  “I get you.” Erma backed across the hall. “Well, let me see what's doing.”

  Picking up their landline, Sandra dialed the Gillespie County Clerk's office. “Morning, Annie? This is Sandra Salinsky. How are you today?”

  “Fine, Mrs.—Sandra, and you?”

  Sandra hated wasting time on pleasantries but forced herself to go through them. “Fine. Back at home.”

  “How was the drive?”

  Sandra rolled her eyes. “Fine, thank you. Listen, Annie, I don't want to take up a lot of your time. I know how busy y'all are in the clerk's office. Your office card doesn't reflect the fax number. I need to send you some motions.”

  “Oh, I'm sorry, Sandra. I must have given you one of the old cards.”

  Sandra couldn't help but wonder whether that was intentional. Did they forget to give new cards to all the out of town attorneys? “May I have the number?”

  “Well, of course. Got a pen?”