“Give me a break. They were divorced over nine years ago. Gabe said they wanted completely different things in life. She hated what he did for a living.”
“Which was?”
“He was working undercover narcotics then. She wanted someone more conventional, someone who wore a suit and went to work every day like a normal person. She liked parties and social stuff. She didn’t want to be married to someone who stumbled in at all hours all stressed out because of some drug bust, smelling like a sewer. She wanted someone—”
“Someone who is, say, the highly respected and socially prominent chief of police of a pleasant little town like San Celina?”
I froze, silent for a moment, his words articulating thoughts I’d been denying. “Okay, you’re right, he’s probably more now like the man she wanted then, but anything between them was over long before Gabe and I started our relationship. Don’t do this to me, Emory. I don’t need it right now. Things are finally running smooth between me and Gabe.”
Emory sighed over the phone. “Sweetcakes, I’m not trying to cause problems between you and the chief. I just don’t want anyone to rustle your husband when you’re not paying attention.”
“He’s not a prize bull, Emory. No one can steal him from me. He’s with me because he wants to be.” I said the words with conviction. I didn’t fool my cousin one second.
“Better buy yourself some new lingerie,” he advised. “And start cooking his favorite meals more often.”
I growled at him over the phone. “You are such a man!”
“Yes, I am,” he said calmly. “And if you’re smart, you’ll listen to me.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Benni—”
“I repeat, I’m—”
“Lunch?”
“Only if you promise this subject is closed.”
He was silent a moment.
“I mean it, Emory.”
“Okay, okay, closed for the day. But not forever. How about Thai on the Run?”
“You know I hate Thai food. McClintock’s.”
“You and your hamburgers. Noon.”
“And it’s your treat since you’re being such a jerk.”
“Since when do you ever pay for a meal when we dine together?”
After almost three hours of diligent paper-pushing and phone work trying to get our next exhibit arranged, I wandered into the main room of the co-op studios to watch the finishing touches being put on the wine quilt that would be auctioned off at the Zin and Zydeco gathering Saturday night. I half expected to see JJ today, but certainly understood why she probably wouldn’t come in. The co-op group was a pleasant one, but they loved gossip, and I was sure she didn’t want to face the curious looks and questions.
After a quick foray through the museum, which was showing a display of original wine label art created for Central Coast wineries, I went out the heavy Spanish front doors and headed across the parking lot to Gabe’s old 1950 Chevy truck parked under a graffiti-scarred oak that was probably older than the hacienda. I was unlocking the front door when a red Dodge Ram 1500 V8 Magnum truck pulled into the lot. Since I knew the vehicles of just about everyone who volunteered at the museum or belonged to the co-op, and Tuesday morning was rarely a time for casual visitors, I watched it curiously as it pulled next to my truck. There was something that was vaguely familiar about it, but the windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see who was driving until the door opened and a foot wearing a forest green lizard skin cowboy boot appeared. Detective Hudson’s brown head and the rest of him followed seconds afterward.
“Hey, glad I caught you,” he said, smiling widely. He wore a pale green tailored Arrow shirt and another neatly pressed pair of Wranglers.
I walked around and met him at the tailgate of my truck. “What’s up?”
“Just wanted to update you. They’re sending the recovered bullet and the gun down to the crime lab right now. Well, actually I’m taking them there myself.”
I waited for a moment, not sure why he was telling me this.
“Bein’ used to a big city, it seems weird not having a crime lab right close. I have to go to some town down south . . . Golatta, I think it’s called. And I have to wait for it since the Browns are such famous and respected people in this town. I’m pretty sure there’s more to this than anyone realizes, but the sheriff wants it cleared up ASAP. And, he said, he’d prefer the killer not be a family member. I’m guessin’ they’re a big financial supporter of his, and he doesn’t want the till dried up. What do you think?”
“The town’s name is Goleta,” I said, not answering his question. “It’s a little north of Santa Barbara.”
“Santa Barbara. Isn’t that where that singer Michael Jackson has that weird ranch of his? With carnival rides and circus animals?”
“I don’t imagine the city fathers would prefer that to be the thing they are internationally known for, but, yes, his estate is in the general area. Actually it’s closer to Santa Ynez.” I glanced at my watch. I had exactly fifteen minutes to get to McClintock’s. “Was there something specific you needed to ask me, Detective Hudson?”
“You want to tell me about this argument you heard between Mr. Norton and that woman again?”
“I told you everything I heard last night.”
He looked at the ground, gave a good ole boy kick at the dirt, then looked back up and grinned at me. “Please, bear with me, ma’am, but I’d just like to hear it one more time. For my own clarification.”
“Okay,” I said with an exaggerated sigh, thinking how much alike cops are. It was the same thing Gabe would have done. “But there’s nothing different today than what I told you last night.”
He nodded as I talked, watching my body language in that way I’d grown used to since being married to a cop. He took out his Beauty and the Beast notebook, flipped through the pages, and wrote something down.
“Is that it?” I asked, jiggling my keys with impatience.
“For the time bein’. Just one more thing. Since you’re kind of on the fringe of this family and I’m takin’ it you’ll be seein’ more of them, I was wondering if you’d just kind of keep your ears open and let me know if you hear anything that doesn’t sit right with you. You know what I mean.” His friendly brown eyes smiled at me.
“You’re asking me to snoop around my stepson’s future in-laws.” This guy was starting to get on my nerves.
“Well . . .” He gave an apologetic but hopeful look. “You do it so well.”
I glared at him, completely annoyed now. “What?”
His country-gravy grin spread across his face again. “Your reputation precedes you. I’ve only been with the department about five months, but I wasn’t here but a few weeks when I heard the stories about you.”
I felt my face grow warm. “First piece of advice about San Celina: Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“Now I do apologize from the bottom of my heart. I never meant it as anything but a compliment. Why, I admire the tenacity and vivacity with which you solved your many homicide cases here in San Celina. You’re a legend, you know.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “The molasses is running a bit thick here, Detective Hudson.”
“Since we’re working together on this case, please call me Hud.”
I raised my eyebrows and scratched my neck. “Hud?”
“Yes, ma’am. Like the movie.”
“What movie?”
“What movie? How can you say that? The movie. One of the greatest movies ever filmed. Hud. With Paul Newman. It’s a Western, for cryin’ out loud. I can’t believe you never heard of it.”
“I thought Hud had something to do with low-cost housing.” I really had seen the movie. It was just fun teasing him. Besides, I hated that movie. It was depressing. Paul Newman plays a bad guy who is never brought to justice.
He gave me a disparaging look.
“Hud’s a dumb nickname. What’s your real name? And for the record, I never agreed to s
noop for you.”
“My first name’s Ford. But I’ve always been called Hud.”
“Ford? Like the car?”
He nodded.
“Ford Hudson? Were your mom and dad nuts?”
“Now, that is something we could discuss at length sometime over a big ole cup of strong coffee. My mama is the finest lady to walk the Texas earth. My old man was unique, no doubt about that. And, yeah, they were both a tad nuts. It could have been worse. If I’d’ve been a girl, they were going to name me Cadillac.”
I grimaced. “Cadillac Hudson?”
“Yeah, good thing the little guy sperm won the race, huh?” He faked a sympathetic expression. “And I understand about the snooping. Chief Ortiz would most likely take away your allowance if he found out.”
I frowned at him. “Gabe and I don’t have that kind of relationship.”
“So, you don’t do whatever he says?”
“Of course not!”
“So, if you hear anything, you’ll call me?”
I wanted to strangle him. He’d managed to maneuver it so if I didn’t, it looked like I was under Gabe’s thumb. “I told you, I always cooperate with law enforcement. Why are you singling me out, Detective Hudson?”
“Hud. Like the movie.”
“Detective.”
“Well, me bein’ new here on the Central Coast and to the sheriff’s department and this bein’ my first homicide case, I figured I’d need someone in the know. You seemed like a friendly, intelligent face.” The expression on his face was so open and earnest I couldn’t help but relent a little. Men who were secure enough to admit they needed help held a certain type of power over women. Then again, the guy was a player, no doubt about it, and his aren’t-I-cute Tom Sawyer act probably fooled a lot of people . . . likely most of them women.
“No one would ever believe it if I told them you asked me to help you. Not to mention my husband would have your head.”
“You’re right on both counts, which is why I’ll deny to my dyin’ day this conversation ever took place.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re asking me to help you on this case by snooping around, which, if my husband found out, would give him the conniption fit of the century, and never get any credit for it if anything comes of it because you’ll deny you ever asked me to help you.”
He nodded. “That’s about it in a nutshell.”
“You want to tell me why you think I’d even consider it?”
He thought for a moment. “Personal satisfaction for a job well done?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Justice for a man killed in his prime?”
I just raised my eyebrows and didn’t answer.
“How about I’m guessin’ you won’t be able to help yourself, and you’re gonna get involved anyway, no matter what your hubby thinks?”
“Thanks, anyway, Hud-like-the-movie, but my detecting days are over.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice was so smug and disbelieving I wanted to smack him.
“I mean it.”
“In that case,” he said complacently, “do you know of a good place to eat lunch and kill some time in Goleta?”
8
“YOU’RE LATE,” EMORY complained. “I ordered for you already.”
“I was detained by the authorities,” I said and told him the whole story. By the time I finished, my hamburger and fries and his turkey sandwich had arrived.
“Hud?” Emory said. “You mean, like the Paul Newman movie?”
“Believe me, he’s no Paul Newman. And there was a book first. It’s ten times better than the movie. Horseman, Pass By. Larry McMurtry wrote it.”
“You don’t say?”
I rolled my eyes. “If you want to marry Elvia, you’d better bone up on your literature, my friend. Cliff’s Notes don’t count. Apparently, this cop’s given name is Ford Hudson.”
“Oh, lordy, and I thought being named after a school and a woman’s nail care product was bad.”
“I can think of worse nicknames for a Texan.”
“Like what?”
“Bubba, for one. Joe Bob. Tex.”
“You’ve got a point.” He reached over and snatched one of my steak fries. “Are you going to tell Gabe that this sheriff’s detective, this Hud”—he shook his head and laughed again—“is putting you on his payroll?”
“I never agreed to anything and since I don’t plan on doing anything, I don’t think it even warrants repeating to Gabe. Especially when he has so much to worry about with Sam and Bliss.”
Emory chewed thoughtfully. “Whatever you say.”
“Let’s forget about this problem that isn’t really ours and concentrate on the ones that are. Has Dove approached you about any money-making ideas for the senior citizen center?”
“She was askin’ about a walkathon, but I told her that the paper’s already sponsored three this year, and though a new stove, refrigerator, and Martha Stewart wallpaper might be important to them, it would have a hard time competing with muscular dystrophy, diabetes, and breast cancer. She made me ask anyway, and our editor-in-chief nixed it.”
“I told her I’d try to come up with an idea. The problem is there are so many fundraisers that it’s hard to think of one that hasn’t been done. Are you going to the Harvest Wine Festival this weekend?”
He pushed his lunch plate aside. “Yep, I’ve got a full week with the crush activities starting Friday. Seems like every winery in San Celina County has something going on, and my esteemed editor-in-chief wants as many of them covered as possible for a special insert. I’m suspecting the powers that be in the local government are pressuring him to play up the wine aspect of our fair county to better compete with big brother Napa up north.”
“That’s all we need, something to bring even more tourists into the county,” I grumbled.
He patted my hand. “The times they are a-changin’, sweetcakes. Cows are out, grapes are in.”
“I know, but I don’t have to pretend to be happy about it.”
We were on our way out when we ran into Bliss and Miguel, one of Elvia’s younger brothers and a four-year veteran of the San Celina PD. They were waiting at McClintock’s long wooden bar under the TAKE OUT sign. Seeing him in his dark blue uniform carrying a loaded gun and steel handcuffs never failed to amaze me since the memory of cuddling him in my thirteen-year-old lap and singing him to sleep when he was three was still so strong in my mind.
“Hey, Miguel, Bliss,” I said. “Who’s protecting the streets of San Celina while you two are goofing off?”
“How’s it going?” Miguel said, pulling out his wallet when the waitress walked up with two brown paper sacks. Bliss handed him a ten-dollar bill. She nodded at me without saying a word.
“Okay, I guess.” I turned to Bliss. “How are you?”
“Just fine,” she said, her voice tight. “Have you seen JJ today?”
I shook my head no.
“We had breakfast this morning in town, and she said she was going into the museum to talk to you. Something about giving you tickets to a reception she’s going to.”
“Oh, yeah, the barrel tasting and artist’s reception at the San Patricio Resort in Eola Beach. She was supposed to get me a couple of tickets.”
“I’m covering that for the paper,” Emory said. “Sunday afternoon, right? Seven Sisters and a bunch of other wineries are hosting a tasting from some vintages that will come out in a couple of years and showing some of the label art being produced by local artists.”
“JJ’s designing some new labels for the syrah and pinot noir vintages,” Bliss said. “One’s named after Churn Dash. She’s been watching me train him for months, taking pictures and making sketches.”
“Who’s Churn Dash?” Miguel said, counting out her change.
“A two-year-old quarter horse they’ll be running at the track soon,” I said. “He’s a real beauty.”
“I’m working him every evening and the weekends,” Bliss said.
She lifted her chin slightly and looked into my eyes, as if to say, “we’ve got nothing to hide.” “Whenever you’re free, come on out and watch.”
I smiled at her. “I’d love to. Is it all right to bring my dog with me?”
“As long as he doesn’t go crazy around horses.”
“No problem, he’s extremely well trained. I’ll surprise you one day and take you up on it.”
“Ready to split?” Miguel said.
She nodded, taking her paper sack from him. “See you at the ranch,” she said to me.
“Count on it,” I said.
Outside, Emory clapped me lightly on the back. “Very good, Detective Harper. Now you have free access. Hud will be right proud.”
“I’m not going out there to snoop,” I said, pulling on my leather barn jacket. “I’m just trying to establish a relationship with the girl who’s marrying my stepson. That’s all. And the horses do interest me.”
“Take a notebook,” Emory advised. “Believe me, at our age relying on our memory is death.” He laughed. “Whoops, bad choice of words.”
“Oh, go find a grocery store opening to cover,” I said.
“Now, now, as dear Aunt Garnet would say, let’s not let the nasty bird land in our apple tree. Where are you headed?”
“I’m dropping by the Historical Museum to pick up some research one of the ladies there has done for me on early California Chinese folk art and Hmong quilting. We’re thinking about having an Asian exhibit next spring.”
He kissed me on the cheek. “Be careful in your investigating, sweetcakes.”
“I’m not doing any investigating,” I called after him. His laughter was drowned out by two Ford Ranger pickups dragging down Lopez.
In front of the old brick Carnegie Library building, which Dove and her historical society friends had managed last spring by somewhat radical means to lease from the city for the next twenty years, I ran into JJ coming down the stone steps.
“Benni! What a lucky break for me. Now I don’t have to go out to the museum. I have your tickets right here.” She opened her small crocheted purse.
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