“Hi, Elmo, how are you doing?” I asked.
“Not good, Benni, not good at all. When is this going to end?”
I patted his arm sympathetically. He’d lost his beret somewhere, and his hair was standing up in stiff little peaks. “Are the women still driving you crazy?”
“I’m ready to throw in the towel, young lady. You’d better inform your gramma of that right quick.”
“I’m on my way up to talk to her now. It can’t be much longer.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Elmo said. “If the sound can make it past all their cackling.”
Upstairs, the women were much less despairing than Elmo. In fact, the mood in the air was one of triumph and jubilation.
“Honeybun!” Dove said, turning away from the window, holding her fist up in a power-to-the-people gesture. “Think we got ’em on the run?”
I laughed, feeling warmed by her familiar face and voice. She was my gramma. Nothing, not DNA or letters from a strange man or anything else on this earth, could change that. “I’d say you got them beat, Dove. Boxstore Billy doesn’t stand a flying fig of a chance.”
All the women turned back to the windows, but Dove walked over to me. “Gabe sent you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m supposed to ask you if you have any idea when this is going to end. He needs to make plans.”
“Poor boy, I feel so bad doing this to him, but it couldn’t be helped. I’ll make a nice blackberry cobbler for him when this is over. But as to when this will end, he’d best be asking Mr. Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt-in-His-Mouth Mayor.”
I drew her farther away from the rest of the ladies, including the mayor’s mother. “Seriously, Gabe’s getting a little worried. What if the mayor doesn’t give in? Elmo’s looking a little peaked down there. Do you have a contingency plan?”
“Honeybun, are you asking me to quit? Why, you know better than that. Ramseys aren’t quitters. It’s not in our blood.”
Her words froze my heart for a moment at the word blood. “I know.”
Her sharp, knowing eyes caught something in my expression. “What’s wrong, child? Is this affecting Gabe’s health? I’ll quit in a moment to protect my kin.”
“No, he’s fine.”
“Then what is it?”
I turned my head, unable to look in her eyes. “Everything’s fine, Dove. Really.”
I could feel her eyes scrutinizing me, but she didn’t say any more.
“We do have a contingency plan,” she finally said. “Tell Gabe that this’ll all be over by Wednesday no matter what, but tell him not to tell the mayor or the newspapers. I want his word.”
“I’ll tell him.”
She pulled me to her, and I rested my head for a moment on her soft shoulder, just like when I was a kid. Except that now I had to bend down slightly to do it. Right then I decided that no matter what I found out, I’d never tell Dove or Daddy. Ever. As far as I was concerned, they were my family and always would be.
“Things will be fine,” she murmured, patting me on the back. “Now, you know they will.”
“I know, Gramma. You’re always right.”
“And don’t you forget it, honeybun.”
Outside, I gave a quick statement to the few reporters lingering around, revealing nothing significant, then headed for the command post.
“Well?” Gabe asked.
“Walk me to my truck,” I said.
On the way there, I told him about her assurance that it would be over by Wednesday.
“Did she say what they were going to do?”
“No, but I’m sure it won’t be illegal.”
He laughed, a bit ironically. “I’m glad you’re so confident.”
Dusk turned the air a lavender-gray, and in the neighborhood where I’d parked, lights were starting to blink on. When we reached my truck, I unlocked it, then abruptly turned, slipped my arms underneath his jacket, and hugged him.
“Querida,” he said, burying his face in my hair. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“I can’t yet,” I said into his chest. “I will soon. But not yet. Not until I have it all figured out.”
His chest inflated in a sigh, and I almost gave in and poured out the whole story. But I didn’t. He had enough to contend with at this moment with Dove and her band of merry lawbreakers. Though he thought knowing what was going on would be easier on him, I knew it would just be one more problem for him to worry about.
“There is one thing, though,” I said, pulling out of his arms. I told him what Gloria had told me about potassium chloride and the suspicion I had about Mr. Chandler’s death.
“It’s a long shot,” he said, shaking his head. “Without something more substantial to go on, we can’t exhume the body for an autopsy. I’m not even sure if they can detect that drug anyway.”
“But don’t you think it might be a possibility?”
“ ‘Might be’ are the key words. At this point, it doesn’t matter.”
“Are you saying it doesn’t matter that a man might have been murdered?”
“No, I’m saying until there is more evidence, it’s not an issue.” He gave me a stern look. “And it’s not up to you to find any evidence. Frankly, I think living alone surrounded by that man’s things has turned your brain a little crazy.”
“Thank you for showing so much confidence in my ability to assess a situation,” I said stiffly, opening the truck’s door.
He pushed it closed with his hand, holding it there so I couldn’t open it. “Sweetheart, this has nothing to do with me not having confidence in you. It has to do with you seeing crimes where there aren’t any.”
“You admit that Tess and her sons had a reason to kill Mr. Chandler.”
“They might have, but to be honest, this sounds too clever for the likes of those two lowlifes. Besides, do you really believe that this Tess would kill Jacob Chandler?”
Remembering how upset she’d been at the funeral, I had to concede he was probably right. Still, it was a good theory, one I wasn’t willing to give up yet.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
He let go of the door and ran his hand down his face. “Man, I’ll be glad when this is over and you’re back home.”
I stood on tiptoe and kissed him hard on the lips. “Nobody wishes that more than me, Sergeant Friday.”
Back in Morro Bay, Scout was so overjoyed to see me, he ran around in circles like a puppy, jumping up on me and ignoring my laughing command of “down.” Rich asked me how my trip went, and I answered simply, “Fine.”
“Okay, never let it be said I can’t take a hint,” he said, trying not to look hurt.
“I’m sorry, Rich, I just can’t talk about it yet. All I can tell you is I’m a little closer to figuring this thing out. When I do, you’ll be among the first to know the whole story.”
He handed me a large Tupperware container of chicken and rice and a smaller one containing guacamole. “I knew you’d be tired and hungry so just heat this in the oven and get some sleep.”
“Thanks, Rich. For dinner and for watching Scout.”
“My pleasure, Señora Harper.”
After feeding Scout and eating Rich’s chicken and rice, I spent some time petting and talking to my canine sidekick to make up for my long day away from him. Then I decided to settle down on the sofa and reread Mr. Chandler’s wood carving lessons. There had to be something in them I was missing. But what? After reading them three more times, the stress of the day as well as the weight and warmth of Scout’s body on my feet lulled me into a deep sleep. The next thing I knew, it was morning.
I called Elvia and heard the details about her and Emory’s date and then updated her on my situation, leaving out the part about Jacob Chandler’s possible identity.
“You know how I hate agreeing with Gabe on anything,” she said. “But I’ll be glad when this is over and you’re home safe.”
“You and me both,” I said.
“I’ll have to agree with the gorgeous chauvinist on this one, cowgirl. Your murder theory is a bit far-fetched.”
“I know. It’s just that everything seems to have come to a complete halt. I don’t know where to go from here.”
“You only have five days left. Hang in there.”
“I’m trying. But I miss Gabe like crazy. Especially at night.”
“I’ll just bet you do. Well, not much to report on this end. Your friend Beau Franklin called me and tried to pull his scam on me. I told him exactly what I told you to tell him—no proof, no money.”
“And how did he react?”
“He hung up on me. I’m considering suing for damage to my inner ear.”
“Maybe I should go talk to him again.”
“Maybe you should just hang loose and let the time run out on this thing. That fire spooked me. It could just as well have been your house as the garage. If there is homicide involved in this, let your hubby deal with it.”
“My hubby thinks I’m slowly going as crazy as he thinks Jacob Chandler was.”
“Just be careful,” she said, her voice more serious than I’d ever heard it. “When I was a prosecutor I saw a lot of people do some pretty raunchy things for less money than you’re getting. Your life is worth a lot more to all of us who love you than that ole house and bank account.”
“Why, Amanda Aurora Lucille Landry, you’re getting sentimental on me. I’m deeply touched.”
“No comment. Just heed my words, babydoll.”
“Duly heeded. And don’t worry, there’s absolutely nowhere for me to go at this point. I’m just sitting here waiting for something to happen.”
“That alone is enough to give me shivers. Toodles.”
Two minutes after I hung up the phone, the doorbell rang. Scout bounded over to the door, barking, his tail wagging furiously. I opened it expecting to see Rich and instead found Emory.
“I’ve come to escort you to breakfast,” he said. “Your treat.”
“Best offer I’ve had all morning,” I said. “I’ll get my jacket.”
As we walked past the blackened garage, his face tightened with worry. “I don’t like this, sweetcakes. Not one little bit.”
“Where do you want to go?” I asked, not feeling like assuring one more person one more time of my safety.
He took my arm and slipped it through his. “Anything new on Mr. Chandler? How did your trip down south go?”
“How did you hear about that?”
He patted my hand. “Sources. Answer my question.”
“Not until you answer mine. Where do you want to go for breakfast?”
“How about this Cafe Palais you’ve been raving about?”
“Okay, but I hope it’s Neely’s day off. She’s none too happy with me right now.”
“Oh, boy, then I hope we get seated at her station.”
I pulled my arm out of his and punched his shoulder. “What’s wrong, cuz, slow news day?” There was a small crowd of people waiting in front of the cafe, so I put our name on the list, and we sat down on one of the blue benches in front.
“No, it’s just that—”
“Well, look who’s out and about,” a voice interrupted him. “Our own local heiress.” We turned to look up at Duane and Cole.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Emory said evenly, not getting up.
Duane snorted. “Yeah, right.” He turned to me. “Look, we didn’t have nothing to do with your runaway dog and we didn’t have nothing to do with that fire, so tell that husband of yours to call off his cop buddies and quit harassing us.”
“I don’t have any control over what my husband does,” I said coldly.
He stepped closer to me, and Emory calmly stood up and moved between me and Duane.
“That’s enough,” he said.
“Move aside, asshole, I’ve got something to say to—”
Before he could finish, in one swift movement, Emory grabbed Duane’s arm, whipped it behind him, and hustled him to the side of the building away from the crowd. By the time Cole and I made it around the building, Emory had Duane’s face pushed up against the mottled white stucco.
“Let him go,” Cole said, starting toward him.
Emory shoved Duane’s arm up higher; his other hand pressed at some spot on Duane’s neck that caused him to squeal.
“Call off your brother,” Emory said in Duane’s ear, grinding his face deeper into the rough wall, “or I might just have to break your cheekbone on this here wall and I reckon that might sting a bit.”
“B-b-back off, man. Back off, Cole,” Duane managed to get out, his face contorted in pain.
Cole scowled but took a step backwards.
“Now, you listen to me,” Emory said, his voice low and pleasant, as if he were talking to the mailman or a friendly stranger, “ ’cause I only want to say this once. I don’t want you comin’ near my cousin again. I don’t want you within two hundred feet of her. I don’t want you to even look at her if she walks right by you. I don’t want you callin’ her, harassin’ her, sendin’ her anything in the mail, or comin’ on her property. I don’t even want you thinkin’ you can think about her. Am I makin’ myself clear?”
“She’s the one—”
He grounded Duane’s face deeper into the stucco. Duane yelped.
“Now I’m startin’ not to feel so hospitable toward you, Mr. Briggstone. As the great John Shelton Reed once said, ‘Southerners will be polite until they are angry enough to kill you.’ But I was raised until I was eleven by a Southern belle of the highest quality, so I’ll be givin’ you one more chance and I’ll repeat my very reasonable request ...”
“Okay, okay,” Duane croaked before Emory could say another word. “We’ll leave her alone.”
Emory let go of Duane’s arm and stepped back, casually pulling down the sleeves of his tailored jacket. Duane, his cheek raw and bleeding from the stucco, gave his brother a furious look.
“Why didn’t you do something, jackass?” he asked.
Cole shrugged and with his knuckles rubbed his own cheek as if contemplating how its smoothness would have taken that stucco wall.
Duane turned back to Emory, his wind-cracked lips turned into a sneer. “Better watch it, buddy. Next time I won’t let you catch me off guard.”
“As delightful as it has all been, I suggest that this little dance is something neither of us would care to repeat.”
Duane pointed a shaky finger at Emory, cocky again now that there was some distance between them. “Look, asshole, if her police chief husband and his little cop buddies haven’t stopped us, what makes you think you can?”
Emory’s face remained genial. “Well, now, I’m surprised, Mr. Briggstone. That’s an almost intelligent question, one to which there are no less than three answers. One, unlike the highly esteemed and capable Chief Ortiz, I do not have a career or public opinion to consider. Two, I have a filthy-rich daddy who dotes on me and is quite adept at buying off judges to insure the freedom of his only son and heir, and three . . .” He smiled slowly at them. “As my sweet little cousin could tell you, I’m as crazy as a loon and have absolutely no scruples to boot. Take away my meds, and I might just do any crazy ole thing. Do you really think the cops in this county would investigate very thoroughly if your mama reported your two sorry carcasses missing?” He raised his eyebrows and smiled wider, and if I wasn’t sure I knew my cousin like the back of my own hand, I’d swear the light in his green eyes had taken on a rather insane glow.
Duane hesitated, started to say something, then stopped when his brother grabbed his arm. “C’mon, this guy’s nuts. Let’s split.”
Duane glanced over at me, scowled, then followed Cole out to their truck parked on the street.
I nodded my he
ad. “Very impressive, cuz. You almost had me going there for a moment.”
He grinned at me. “How do you know what I was sayin’ wasn’t true?”
“For one thing, I know your college minor was drama. I am impressed by the brute strength, though. Quite an impressive display of machismo.”
He shifted his shoulders around, settling them deeper in his cashmere jacket. “Now, what good were all those kung fu and karate lessons my daddy spent so much money on unless one doesn’t utilize them occasionally in the name of familial loyalty?”
“Cousin Emory, you are one unique specimen of testosterone, and I do believe they are calling our name.”
Unfortunately . . . or fortunately, depending on whether you were asking me or Emory, we were seated at Neely’s table. Even though she probably hadn’t heard about the latest scuffle between me and the Briggstones, she was not happy to see us. Emory went out of his way to be engaging, but she served us politely and quietly, giving me anxious side glances, not melting one degree at Emory’s witty comments and cajoling smile.
Emory’s frown at her retreating back held a small pout.
“Sorry, Romeo,” I said, digging into my ham and cheese omelette. “Guess there are a few women left in this world capable of withstanding your charm. Eat your French toast.”
Over breakfast, I told him all the details of what I’d learned from Gloria Carrell and the confused words of her aunt.
“Sounds like this Jacob fellow was on the run,” Emory said.
“That’s sure what it sounds like. But from what? My first thought is it was something illegal especially since he stole this Jacob Chandler’s identity. And what happened to the real Jacob Chandler? How was he connected to my mother? This Gwen sounds like she had some sort of relationship with him, too, but whatever it was, it’s lost somewhere in her mind.” I stopped eating for a moment, staring at the melted cheese and ham on my plate. “It was so sad. Our memories are not only our connection to the people we love, but to . . . everything. If you lose them . . .” I didn’t know what to say, how to explain what I was feeling. Memories were what this whole situation was about. In a way, Jacob Chandler had stolen my memories of my mother and replaced them with this mystery woman.
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