“I know. “ Guilt about her level of teasing tugged at Sandra. “Of course you're going to do some examinations. I was just giving you a hard time.” She shrugged. “At this point, though, we don't know who the state's witnesses are. Holt hasn't responded to the discovery motion.”
“It's only been a couple of days.”
“Yeah, but since he got the case bumped up, he has to produce now, not later. We're within thirty days of trial. How about getting on the phone and haranguing his office until they send their responses? That would be a big help.”
Erma bopped a few steps, a sparkle in her eyes. “That, I would love to do. I still haven't figured out whether the son of a bitch was trying to screw us or what.”
“I'm sure he was, but at this point it doesn't matter, since we really want the setting.” Sandra turned back to her notes.
“By the way, did I mention I called BJ and got her to give us one of the cottages to stay in? I didn't mention Rufina's cottage though. Where is Rufina, anyway?”
“Upstairs in the library. She said she'd stay out of our way until we need her.” Rufina had turned out, so far, to be the ideal client. Kept to herself. Was quiet and undemonstrative in court. Sandra hoped she would remain that way.
“I was happy BJ agreed so readily. I wanted to make sure we didn't stay inside the house, too. I don't want Rex anywhere near Mel.”
Sandra's pulse sped up. “That bastard lays one finger on her, and I'll blow his ass from here to kingdom come. In fact, remind me to take my revolver. Just for our protection.”
“We could always borrow one of BJ's.”
“No. This way nobody will know we have one. I've been thinking, since we don't know who Rufina is afraid of—we should be cautious. When we tell BJ about the cottage switch, we need to be sure she realizes all the windows and doors must have the best locks.” The thought of someone lurking around the cottage made her stomach flip. “And Rex is not to know or anyone else who doesn't need to. And Mel is never to be alone on the ranch. I'm not worried about her in town, but I won't have her at risk from whoever is responsible for this mess.”
“We're of like mind about that.” Erma trod toward her office. “Anyone touches my granddaughter, the ME will have to search the ranch for their body part. Not only will I kill them, I'll distribute their body to the wolves, coyotes, or whatever wild animals inhabit the countryside.”
“We're a gruesome pair,” Sandra said and wondered whether Patricia could overhear them and what she might think of the conversation.
“Yeah, well, they'll find out how gruesome if they mess with us.” Erma went back to her office, the wood floor creaking under her weight, and plopped into her chair.
Sandra drew a line through the note that said, finalize place to stay. Below the last item on the list, she wrote, Clean and oil the .38.
She called her friend, Ray, to see if he would cover for her while she was in trial. When she was through with the call, she hollered, “Hey, Erma, don't forget to ask Iris to cover probate court for you while we're gone.”
“Already did it.”
“Hey, Patricia, can you make the plane reservations for Mel, Erma, and Rufina? I'll be driving up a few days early.”
Patricia appeared and leaned against the doorjamb. “Why are you hollering, ma'am?”
Sandra shrugged. “Don't feel like getting up.”
“Or using the intercom?”
“Or using the intercom. I'm starting to panic. If we could mark some of these things off my list, maybe I'd sleep better. I don't want to be too stressed out when I get there. I want to be at my best against Holt. I sure don't need any brain fog.”
“Yes, ma'am, I understand.”
“I see you're back in your ma'am mode. Sorry if I offended you.”
Patricia tucked her blouse into her skirt and straightened her waistband. She stopped at the doorway. “I've got the trial notebook set up waiting to fill in the sections as you get them ready. I even have a tab for Rex Schindler's emails, so you'll have them with you during trial in case something comes up. Why not give me your list, and I'll see what I can help you with?”
“Thanks, Patricia. You're a doll.” Sandra handed over the list.
Patricia scanned it. “I think I can manage most of these things, but I draw the line at cleaning and oiling your .38.” She flipped her hair as she departed.
Chapter Nineteen
“I hate that every chain family restaurant has become a sports bar. How are you supposed to hear with all the racket?” Sandra said when she and Mel escaped from the cold, windy weather. They arrived at the Chili's in League City a little after twelve-thirty Saturday afternoon. Strong odors of fried food enveloped them. Sandra winced from the noise of ubiquitous flat-screen televisions blurting sounds from various sporting events. Most of the tables were full of people talking over the TVs. “Just a sec,” she told Mel. “I'll see if he's here.” She walked past the hostess stand into the restaurant proper, searching for a big red-haired guy. When she didn't see him, she went back to Mel.
“Could we have a table as far away from a television as possible?” Sandra asked the hostess.
“I don't care where we sit,” Mel said. “I'd just like a hamburger.”
“Do you want fries with that?” Sandra chuckled at her own little joke.
The hostess led them across the room and started walking away when Mel stopped her. “Ma'am, can you put my hamburger order in? Hamburger and fries. And send that red-headed guy over here.” She pointed to the front of the restaurant and plopped on a chair, pulling her tunic top down over her leggings. She put her backpack on the chair next to her.
Sandra strained to see past her daughter. A huge thirty-something man stood in the doorway, rather, blocked the doorway. He must have been only a few steps behind them. Sandra hurried over. “You Douglas Christian?” She stood back so she could observe his face. He dwarfed her.
“Yup. You the lawyer?” He wore one of those farmer jackets with a wool collar and held out a hand as large as a catcher's mitt. His blue eyes had tiny green specks in them. He held a gimme cap in one hand.
Sandra looked at his hand and up at his face. “You're not going to hurt me if I shake your hand, are you?”
“No, ma'am.” He gripped her fingers for a couple of seconds with a calloused hand.
“Thanks for driving down to meet us. We're on a tight schedule. I sure didn't have time to drive to Dallas to meet you.” She beckoned for him to follow her.
“No problem. I had to be in North Houston this week anyway.”
“When they reached the table, she hung Mel's backpack on the back of Mel's chair. She sat next to her daughter, on the same side, figuring he'd need a lot of space opposite them. “We haven't ordered yet.”
“Except for my hamburger. I'll signal our waitress.” Mel waved her hand.
“Well, Douglas, all right if I call you Douglas?” Sandra shrugged out of her coat.
“Doug, ma'am.” He draped his jacket over the chair next to him and rested his forearms on the table. “What's this young lady's name?” He nodded at Mel and held out his hand.
Mel shook his hand, looking pleased at being acknowledged. “I'm Melinda Salinsky. Ms. Salinsky is my mother, but I'm her legal assistant.”
“More like an assistant to an assistant.” Sandra grinned and elbowed Mel lightly on the arm. “Mel works in our law office after school. But, we're not here to talk about my family, Doug. You want to order, and then we can discuss business?”
After the waitress took their order and left their drinks, Doug said, “I understand you want to talk to me about Rufina and Katy Jo?”
“Yes, we do.” Sandra sipped from her glass of water. The cold made her shiver.
Mel dug a legal pad out of her backpack and flipped to a page full of questions. “I wrote out a bunch of questions for you we want to go over.”
Sandra took the legal pad. “Thanks, Mel.” To Doug, Sandra said, “We have your complete name and addre
ss courtesy of BJ, but that's about it. So first, I guess, is some background. How long have you been acquainted with the Schindler family and that sort of thing.”? Sandra hoped he'd launch into a narrative, revealing something useful.
“Yes, ma'am, well, around Fredericksburg, everybody pretty much knows everybody else. At least they did when I was coming up. A lot more people live there now, like ten thousand or something. And more private schools. A few more churches.”
Sandra nodded and put a finger to her lips when Mel looked like she wanted to interrupt.
“Before my time, of course, some people didn't necessarily know others because their families didn't let them associate with each other. I'm not just talking about Mexicans, either.”
The waitress delivered Mel’s burger. The aroma of beef was almost overwhelming. “Be back with y'all's orders in a few.”
“If y'all don't mind, I'm going to go ahead and eat.” Mel squirted ketchup over the fries and on the inside of her hamburger and took a huge bite.
“Looks good,” Doug said.
“You want some fries?” Mel indicated the pile of fries on her plate.
He shook his head. “I can wait. So, a long time ago, the Catholics and the Protestants didn’t get along.”
“I saw they each have their own cemetery, one on one end of town and one on the other.”
“Yeah, but that wasn't really going on when I was little. As far as I know, they'd quit hating each other. So, we mostly all went to school together, at least high school.”
Mel had bit into her burger. She set it down and swallowed. “So you knew Katy Jo and Kathy Lynn in high school?” She glanced at Sandra and mouthed, it just popped out.
Doug grimaced when Mel said the twins' names. “Yeah, I did. And middle school. And elementary school.” He drew a deep breath, his eyes cast down at the table.
“So most of your life?” Sandra asked.
He nodded and took a sizable swallow from the cup of coffee the waitress had brought. His shoulders drooped, but a moment later he straightened up.
Sandra and Mel exchanged glances. Mel's face screwed up like she was afraid of what he might say.
“Ahem. Doug, you understand we're trying to help Rufina, don't you?”
“Yes, ma'am. Mrs. S—Mrs. Schindler—she explained it to me.”
“You think Rufina did it?” Sandra watched his face but saw no indication of anger or hatred in his eyes.
“No, ma'am. That little lady couldn't hurt those girls. She was like their other mother.”
“We don't think so either. I'm glad we're in agreement.” If he would say that on the witness stand, Rufina's bacon might be saved. “So y'all went to school together all the way up to graduation from high school. I guess you went to their house and vice versa?”
“Yes, ma'am. Kathy Lynn was my first girlfriend.”
“Wait a minute. I thought you were Katy Jo's uh—boyfriend?”
“Kathy Lynn was my girlfriend in first grade. I remember once when we were supposed to be napping on our mats, she scooted over and kissed me on the cheek.” A smile spread across his face, revealing deep lines. “She got in all kinds of trouble.”
“At the time of the uh—uh—event, though, the shooting, it was Katy Jo?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Sandra—call me Sandra.”
Yes, uh…Kathy Lynn and I were never really boyfriend and girlfriend. Except in first grade.”
Sandra nodded and glanced at Mel. Mel might be a teenager, but she was a lot closer in age to those goings-on than Sandra. Sandra could remember several boyfriends Mel once had—each lasting about a week. Now that she thought about it, Mel hadn't talked about any boys lately. That would be a subject for another time.
“So you're well-acquainted with the family. I take it y'all were in and out of each other's houses on and off for years.”
“Yep, but our families are ranchers, so it's not like we lived real close.” He peered over Sandra's shoulder.
The waitress arrived and distributed their plates. “Be back with refills for the coffee.”
“You played football, right?” Sandra asked as she put her napkin on her lap.
“Yes, ma—Sandra.”
Sandra glanced at the notepad. She'd come to the end of the preliminary questions. Now for some hard ones. “When did you and Katy Jo become a couple?”
Doug twisted his cap and cleared his throat. He glanced down and back up at Sandra and set his cap on the chair next to him. He pressed his lips together before taking a deep breath. “This last time, since college.”
“I take it by your answer you'd dated before.”
“We dated in ninth grade—if you could call it that back then—only for a couple of weeks. We went to a school dance together. Then in the summer before eleventh grade. That was longer but ended before school started. I did take her to the homecoming dance when we were seniors—when Kathy Lynn was crowned homecoming queen.” His jaw tightened.
“Very interesting.” She didn't know how that would relate to the murder, so she didn't follow it up, just noted Kathy Lynn was the homecoming queen and wondered whether that was in some way significant.
“So then y'all both went to Baylor and got together there?”
“Yes, ma'am, as sophomores. After my injury when I couldn't play football anymore, I thought she'd dump me, but she wasn't like that. If it had been Kathy Lynn, she might have at the time, but not Katy Jo.”
Mel chewed away, but her eyes cut over to Sandra's. Sandra was sure she and Mel were thinking the same thing. From what they'd heard from Erma, and now Doug, about the surviving twin, the wrong one got offed.
“Do you know of any reason why someone would want to kill Katy Jo?”
“No, ma'am. None. K—Katy Jo was—the—the sweetest girl,” he whispered.
Pity fluttered in Sandra's stomach. Poor guy. Being forced to talk about it had to be difficult. “But not Kathy Lynn?”
“No, ma'am. Not Rex, either. They both had a streak.” He stared deep into her eyes, only breaking off when he stuffed a slider into his mouth.
“A streak?”
He chewed and swallowed. “Guess you could say a wild streak. Or a—a streak of thinking they could do anything they wanted.” His deep stare struck her to the core. Was it hopefulness on her part, or was he trying to send her a message without coming right out and saying it? He probably didn't trust her, but surely BJ had given her the seal of approval.
Sandra drizzled dressing on her salad and took a bite. She waited until he'd wolfed down another mini burger before she spoke again.
“Are you willing to testify in Rufina's trial?”
“Yeah, well Mr. H, he already asked me to.” His eyebrows hiked up, and his forehead wrinkled.
Heartburn attacked Sandra. She bit her lip and glanced at Mel. Mel might not get what was going on. Sandra wished she didn't.
“When you say Mr. H, you're referring to—”
“The district attorney. He was my next-door neighbor when I was growing up before he moved to Kerrville.”
God, she hoped Holt wouldn't accuse her of witness tampering. It would be like him, the prick, even though she had the right to interview witnesses.
“So Doug,” Sandra gave him her sweetest smile, “why did the DA ask you to be a witness for the State?”
“Well, not exactly for the State.”
“If he calls you as a witness, you're his witness. He's the district attorney. Ergo, you're a witness for the State.”
He nodded and breathed heavily. “Well, ma'am—”
“Stop with the ma'am stuff, all right?”
He ducked his head. “I'm sorry if I offended you in any way.”
“Okay. Please no ma'aming me anymore, all right? Can you tell me what you're going to say?”
“Well, Miz Salinsky—”
“Sandra. Sandra is fine unless we're in the courtroom.”
“Well, yes, ma—Sandra. I'm trying to tell you what you want to h
ear. I'm going to talk about how I found the gun used to commit the murder.”
The burn in Sandra's chest burst into flames. That was not what she wanted to hear. “You found the gun?”
“Yes, ma—Sandra. I thought you knew.”
Chapter Twenty
“I almost fell out of my chair.” Sandra said into the setup on her dashboard. She and Mel had left the restaurant and were heading home, but they couldn't wait to tell Erma about Doug. Mel sat shotgun. “Mel, too. She almost dropped her hamburger. We were both speechless for about thirty seconds until Mel started slurping from her soda.” She winked at her daughter.
“Goddamn,” Erma said. “I can't believe nobody told us before now he was the one who found the murder weapon.”
“Sure glad I didn't find out during his testimony.” Sandra maneuvered into the center lane of southbound I-45.
Erma drew a loud, audible breath. “Where are y'all now?”
“Are you smoking? Did you inhale?”
“No, I'm not smoking again, but are you driving?” Erma asked. “Are you actually talking to me while driving my granddaughter down the highway?”
“Don't change the subject. I recognize that breath.”
“Change the subject? I asked you where you were, and you answered with a question. Who changed the subject? Besides, no matter how hard I try, I can't get any satisfaction from these fake cigarettes.”
Sandra laughed. “The ones with the little fan-like thing in them? Didn't you say they're stupid?”
“They are, but at least I can pretend. It feels similar in my hand and when I put it up to my mouth. There's no nicotine. So are you talking and driving and trying to kill my granddaughter?”
“I'm speaking at the dashboard.” Sandra glanced at her daughter who stared at the traffic in front of them, the muscle in her jaw flexing.
“Still and all, Patricia did some research. When you drive and talk on that thing, you suffer from what they call inattention blindness. You need to hang up and watch where you're going.”
Death of a Rancher's Daughter Page 17