“What?”
“If you think you can translate accurately, without, uh, putting in your two cents, your spin on it. Some interpreters have a hard time being strictly a mechanism for translation.”
“I could do that. I could, if it means my freedom—maybe my life.”
Sandra stared into the fire. Would the judge agree to let Rufina go to Galveston with her? Why not? The judge knew both Erma and her. Holt sure as hell wouldn't like it. He'd be objecting, groaning and moaning. She didn't want to spend a lot of time thinking about what his reaction would be. She'd try to make it happen in the morning. “I think we may be able to pull this off, Rufina.”
“Bien, Sandra. If you think Erma won't mind.”
“I'll call her. By the way, may I have a drink of water and some aspirin if you have any?” The aspirin wouldn't sit well on her empty stomach, but in a few minutes, she would go back to BJ's for dinner.
She placed the call to Erma.
Afterward, she explained to Rufina what would happen the next day and to pack a big bag, one large enough for a month's stay. Sandra was confident Rufina would be going to Galveston.
Rex stood just inside the ranch house door Sandra had used to go to Rufina's cottage, though how he knew when she would be back, she had no clue. He invited her in with a sweep of his hand. Weird. Definitely weird. He smelled like he'd been hitting the mezcal again.
“Hey, Sandra,” he said. “Welcome back.”
Sandra rubbed her arms to warm them as she scooted past him. “Hello Rex,” she said in a formal tone, hoping he'd realize she wasn't in the mood for his antics.
“We're having pulled pork. Do you like pulled pork, Sandra?” He walked too close behind her after she strode past him toward her room.
From what Erma had told her, BJ had served pork when Erma had eaten there. “Whatever.” She could almost feel Rex's breath on her neck. For some odd reason, she remembered an old joke her mother used to tell when she'd had one too many. She'd tell of being hired by a client arrested for sodomy, back when sodomy was an oft-charged crime. Erma would grin, having trouble containing herself when she told what a great lawyer she was, because she got the charge reduced to following too close. She'd slap her knee and laugh and laugh, and since her belly laugh was contagious, others would join in, whether they'd heard her tell that story more than once.
Sandra stopped, causing Rex to bump into her, and turned on him. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Aren't you going in to supper?” He stepped back, but not before she was practically suffocated by the whiff of alcohol.
“I'll be in the dining room in a minute.” She put her palm within centimeters of his chest. “Now get away from me.”
He shrugged. “Well, all right, if you want to be that way about it.”
God, he was one strange dude. She continued to her room. When she closed the door, she had the sense that someone had been there during her absence and rummaged through her things. There wasn't much to find in her overnight bag and her purse. She dumped out everything to see if anything was missing, to make sure no one—namely her number one suspect, Rex—had planted something. The thought of his hands in her things caused her to shiver. She didn't know what he could be up to, but what she did know was she couldn't trust him. He could be a patron of one of those spy shops, fancying himself a spy for the district attorney. That would be easy to picture.
Not finding anything unusual, after returning everything to its respective pockets, she washed up in the bathroom, scrubbing her hands. The thought of him was just icky. No telling where those hands had been. She left the bedroom, but fortunately he wasn't lurking in the hallway. She didn't see him until she arrived in the dining room.
Billie Jo glanced at her. “Ready for a meal? I put the earlier stuff away. Hope you didn't want any of it. Thought we could eat buffet-style.” Her eyes shifted to Rex who sat at the far end of the table, a leer pasted on his baby-face.
So much for discussing what she was free to discuss about the case with BJ. Or even the accommodations, or rather, the change in the accommodations. The aroma of the roasted pork lured her to the counter where she filled her plate with vegetables and a lump of meat. She took a chair on the far end from Rex and tried to pretend he wasn't present. Billie Jo sat opposite him so that she and Sandra were adjacent to each other.
Sandra's mouth watered as she bit into the pork. Tasty and tender. “Nice meal, BJ. Thanks.”
Rex made several attempts to engage her in conversation, but Sandra didn't reply.
BJ said, “I guess you can't discuss anything Rufina said, can you?”
Sandra shook her head. “Attorney-client privilege. BJ, even though it's still fairly early, I hope you don't mind if when I finish dinner, I go to my room. I need to make some calls, and I'm tired.”
“Not at all.” She stared down at her dinner. “I understand.”
“Hey, Sandra,” Rex said, “we have some cognac if you want to come into the den for an after-dinner drink.”
He was about as subtle as, who, no one ever? “No, but thank you for asking.”
“So what did Rufina say about not wanting to come out of her house?” He took a swig of whatever he was currently drinking.
“Rex, I know you're trying to have fun, but I'm not going to play.” She glanced at her plate. After two more bites, she pushed back her chair. “Excuse me.” She picked up her plate and headed toward the kitchen where she handed it to one of the women who worked in the house. “I'm off to my room. BJ, will I see you in the morning?”
Rex said, “You won't see me, I'll be going back to work in San Antonio.”
“I'll be up. I don't sleep late.” BJ walked with Sandra to the hallway.
“Goodnight,” Sandra said and strode down the hall. As soon as she arrived at the guest room, she went inside and locked the door behind her, thankful it was en suite, and she wouldn't need to go out to the bathroom. She also locked the bathroom door that led to the adjoining room where Erma had stayed the last time.
Someone had left a folded nightgown and fluffy towel on the bathroom cabinet, so Sandra stripped down and showered. After brushing her teeth and her hair and turning down the bed, she went to the door to switch off the light. Was she imagining a light knock at the door? Thinking it might be BJ, she unlocked and opened the door.
Rex stood there, the odor of booze on him stronger than ever. “Hey, Sandra.”
Sandra pushed the door, but he put the toe of his boot in the way.
“What do you want, Rex?”
“You haven't been answering my emails.” He ogled her, his hand on the outside doorknob.
The little shithead thought he could frighten her. She'd like to knee him right in the groin. “You don't want to do this. Pull your foot away, and we'll both forget about it.” She gave the door another little push, but it wouldn't budge.
“Oh, I don't mean no harm, Sandra. I wanted to tell you something.”
Sandra gritted her teeth. “What is it that can't wait until you send me another email?”
He ran his eyes up and down her body. “You sure you don't want that drink?”
“So are you going to tell me what you want?” Had BJ gone to bed? She couldn't know what Rex was up to. And probably not what he might be capable of.
“I wanted to tell you that I look forward to seeing you next month when you come back up here for trial.” A look of little boy innocence climbed on his face.
Sandra shivered. Why did she think Rex had known about the trial setting before he ever arrived at the ranch? She didn't respond.
His face grew dark.
She steeled herself, holding her hand steady on the knob, prepared with her right knee to defend herself. “I'm going to bed now, Rex. Take your hand off the doorknob and your foot out of the doorway, or I'm going to scream bloody-murder, and your mother isn't going to be real happy with you.”
“I want to help you out, Sandra, that's all.” His watery eyes flared, and he
blinked twice like he was trying to focus.
His words piqued her interest. “What do you mean?”
“I told the DA the Schindler family would be real appreciative, real appreciative, the next time he stood for election if he could help us get to trial earlier for that murdering bitch, Rufina. I told him the family wants to put all our sorrow and grief behind us as soon as possible.” He stared at Sandra as if hoping to be rewarded with some kind of reaction, relaxing his grip on the doorknob. His foot twitched.
Sandra's reaction was to throw all her weight against the door, slamming it and twisting the lock. She wouldn't give the little motherfucker the pleasure of seeing how pissed she was, at least not that night. She wouldn't forget what he'd done, though, and neither would Erma. If the right opportunity presented itself . . . they’d get him back one way or the other.
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, Sandra left Rufina in a bakery on Main Street before going to the courthouse. She thought she'd find Holt and explain what she wanted while she waited for the judge to take a break from her hearing. On her way to Holt's office, she spotted him waltzing down the hall with a cup of coffee. When he saw her, he practically skidded to a stop. His previously placid face turned into one huge scowl.
“Ah, Miss Salinsky, what brings you here again today?”
“I hope you don't mind, Mr. Holt, but there is one little matter I wanted to take up with the judge before I head back to Galveston. Let's see if she'll talk to us when she takes a break.” She glanced at her watch. “Which, if I know Judge Olsen, will be any minute.”
“What's this about?” Holt led her to his office. “After you.”
“I don't want to miss her,” Sandra said. “You want to meet me in there?”
“Gotta get my jacket.” He swallowed some coffee and straightened his tie. Sandra stood just inside the door. He pulled a blue pinstriped jacket that matched his pants from a hook on a hat rack. “Let's go.” He crooked a finger at her.
When they reached the little chambers office, the judge was returning from the direction of the ladies’ room. Sandra said, “Good morning, Judge.”
“Good morning, counsel.” She looked from one to the other of them. “What can I do for the two of you?”
“Judge, I wanted to let you know, since you're assigned to hear matters on the Barboza case this week, I'm taking my client to Galveston to stay with us until the trial. I wanted to give notice and make sure I'm not stepping on anyone's toes.” She cocked her head at Mr. Holt, waiting for his objection. “For her protection.”
Holt's face grew red, and he drew himself up like a red-breasted robin he often reminded her of. Before he could say anything, the judge said, “Don't bust a gusset, Mr. Holt. I know what you're probably thinking, that Miss Salinsky's client will be out from under the jurisdiction of the court.”
“But, but—”
“Last time I checked,” Sandra said, “Galveston was still within the confines of the great State of Texas.”
Holt said, “Our regional presiding judge would never allow it. Never. The defendant is charged with capital murder.”
Sandra snorted with disgust. “I think we've already established Mrs. Barboza is not charged with capital murder, Judge Olsen, and Mr. Holt needs to quit saying that.”
“Well, she will be as soon as the Grand Jury hands down the indictment,” Holt said.
“Mr. Holt,” the judge said with a tone of ire in her voice. “I agree with Ms. Salinsky. It doesn't serve you well to keep alleging cap murder when the defendant is only charged with first degree murder.”
Holt grunted and clenched his jaw.
Sandra stood silent for a moment. First degree was still nothing to sneeze at. “My client doesn't feel safe in Fredericksburg, Judge. She thinks someone is out to get her. Certainly, you would agree, it would be to the real killer's benefit to dispose of Mrs. Barboza since everyone is so convinced she committed the murder. If she died, even “accidentally,” the case would be closed.”
“No one is out to get your client, Miss Salinsky,” Holt said.
“You don't know that. She feels how she feels, Mr. Holt. For one thing, her own brother is furious at her. Whether he'd try to harm her?” She shrugged.
“I know her brother,” Holt said, “and he'd never harm a hair—”
Ignoring that statement while she really wanted to find out how he knew him, Sandra said, “Anyway, after she made bail, the only way she would leave her house was for me to promise to protect her. The only way for me to protect her is to take her to Galveston to stay with Erma until we return for the trial. Judge, she's so afraid, I'm the only person, besides Mrs. Schindler, she would even let inside her house since she got out of jail.”
Holt's face had faded to pink. “What guarantees do we have that you'll return her to court?”
“Aw, come on. Mrs. Schindler trusts us, and she put up the half a million dollars.”
“Well...sounds like a reasonable request to me,” the judge said.
“Your Honor, really? Money is nothing to BJ Schindler,” Holt said. “Half a mil—she'd never miss it.”
“Judge, you know where Erma and I are located. In fact, though you moved up here, I know you'll be back in town sometimes. You could check on us. Or send someone. Would we risk our reputations if we thought there was any chance at all Rufina would flee?”
“Well—”
“It's not right,” Holt said. “A defendant is not supposed to leave town after making bail.”
“It's not like I won't know where she is,” Judge Olsen said. “I know exactly where Erma Townley lives, as well as where their law office is. I don't see the harm.”
Holt closed his eyes. The muscles in his jaw flexed.
Sandra bit her lip. She glanced again at Holt. He knew the game was over. Rufina was going to Galveston.
Sandra and Rufina pulled up in front of Erma's stately historical home after dark. The drive from the Hill Country to the Gulf Coast had been uneventful after they passed through a rainstorm, the gridlock on Interstate 10 into Houston being no worse than usual. Though focused on the perilous traffic, Sandra still managed to get Rufina to open up about her family's background and life growing up on the ranch. Background information like that could be helpful in trial.
Dark didn't necessarily mean late, since they were in the middle of winter. It was only dinnertime, but both women were drained. They'd driven from Fredericksburg to Kerrville, down to San Antonio, and caught the interstate. They'd only stopped briefly to pick up sandwiches.
Erma met them on the outside stairs under the bright porch light. “Hey, y'all come on in.” She took the smaller of Rufina's two bags and curled an arm around the tiny woman’s shoulders.
“Erma, you are too kind to let me stay here,” Rufina said as they climbed up to the front door. “I’m very grateful.”
“Nonsense,” Erma said.
Sandra lugged Rufina's larger bag and dropped it in the entryway. She breathed heavily, another reminder to get back on her exercise schedule. The aroma of grilled beef floated out from the kitchen in the back of the house. Her mouth watered, but she wasn't going to stay for dinner.
“Take your coat off, Rufina, and hang it on the hall tree behind you next to the door,” Erma said, toddling toward the stairs to the second floor. “Traffic bad?”
“We drove through a heavy rainstorm, but otherwise SOP for I-10, taking our lives in our hands all the way here,” Sandra said. “I wish there was a different route, but what the hell?”
Rufina shrugged off her coat and draped it over one of the hall tree knobs. She gazed around the entry hall at the tall windows and ceiling and down at the original wood floors. “Bonita, Erma. This house looks like you.”
“Thank you. Now let's take your things up to the bedroom and so you can settle in.” Erma led the way up the stairs. “I have some dinner waiting in the kitchen. Once Sandra leaves, we can have a talk and you can get cozy. And don't worry. See the keypa
d next to the door? I have an alarm system. My house is safe.”
“I'm not going to stay long.” Sandra picked up the big suitcase and followed Rufina, who followed Erma up the stairs and into the guest room. Rufina had a bit of a spring in her step, as if she were already feeling at ease.
Sandra dropped the suitcase next to the four-poster bed. “I know you'll be comfortable in Erma's care.”
“Sandra, you want some dinner?” Erma asked.
“No, I want to get home and take these clothes off and relax.”
“Wait a few minutes,” Erma said. “Rufina, I'll leave you to unpack. The bathroom is right next door. Plenty of linens in the cupboard. Come down when you're ready. If you want to rest for a while, there's no hurry about dinner. I can heat it up.”
Rufina nodded and rubbed her lips together. She brushed her fingers under her eyes. “I'm very grateful. Sandra, I will see you mañana?”
“Absolutely,” Sandra said on her way out the door. “Goodnight, amiga. Get some sleep. We have our work cut out for us.”
Once downstairs, Sandra said, “She's a sweetheart. Like anyone else, she has two sides to her, a quiet demure side and a talkative, animated side. We had some interesting conversation on our way here.”
“This was an inspired idea,” Erma said. “What happened when you talked to the judge?”
Sandra wanted nothing more than to go home, but she beckoned Erma into the den where she gave her the blow-by-blow of the meeting with Holt.
Hearing the story, Erma laughed. “I bet he was about to stroke out.”
“Yeah, he was. He'll survive.” She stretched and yawned. “Let's talk more tomorrow. I'm hungry. I'm tired. I'm going home, check my messages and my calendar, and if there's nothing that can't wait, I'm going to eat and go to bed.”
“Don't blame you.” They walked together to the door.
“One more thing,” Sandra said. “Rex. I gotta tell you, Erma. He's more than a little creepy.” She related what had happened at her bedroom door the night before. “I had the feeling if he could have, he would have, if you know what I mean. He's way younger than I am, but he was looking me over like I was a cougar after him.”
Death of a Rancher's Daughter Page 14