“Yes, ma’am,” I said, wanting with all my life to believe her.
I was in bed reading when he came home around eleven.
“You heard?” he asked, his face shadowed with tired lines.
“Yes, I played Miguel’s message when I got home at around seven o’clock. Then I went down to the hospital and ran into him outside the emergency room. He told me what happened. I...” I stopped and took a deep breath. “I was walking down the hall when the doctor was telling you all about the baby. It didn’t seem appropriate for me to break in, so I decided to come home and wait for you.” I looked up into his tired face. “Oh, Gabe, I’m so sorry.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Sam’s over at the hotel with his mom. He wanted to sleep at the hospital, but Lydia talked him into going back with her. Her mother said they gave Bliss some drugs that made her groggy, so I’m not sure how much she’s comprehended. Her shoulder’s going to be okay, no major damage.”
“How’s Sam?”
“In shock, I think, but he’s handling it pretty well. I’m proud of him.”
“When this is all over, maybe you should tell him so.”
“I will.” His mouth opened in a wide yawn. “I’m exhausted.”
“Why don’t you sleep in tomorrow?”
“Can’t, too many appointments. I’ll be okay.”
“Then come to bed.”
He pulled his suit jacket off and tossed it on a chair. The rest of his clothes he left in a crumpled pile on the floor, telling me how tired he was.
When I turned out the light, he laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. I wanted to say something that would make him feel better, but knew there was nothing I could do but just be here. Under the covers I sought out his hand and held it tight. He cleared his throat in the darkness.
“I...” His voice faltered. “You know, I was just beginning to get used to being a grandfather. I never held Sam much when he was a baby. I was thinking that maybe I’d have been a better grandfather than I was a father.”
I leaned over and kissed his bare shoulder, then laid my cheek on it. “Sam loves you very much.”
“I know,” he said, pulling me into his arms, holding tight.
The next morning he skipped his ritual jogging and was subdued over breakfast. I didn’t force conversation, knowing one thing about this reticent Latino man I’d married; his grief was a private thing, difficult to share even with me.
“I think I’ll send Bliss some flowers. When you see Sam can you tell him why I left last night? Let him know I’m concerned,” I said, buttering an English muffin.
He nodded. “Sure, he’ll understand. I’ll drop by the hospital on my way to work, see how Bliss is doing. What are you doing today?”
“Same old stuff,” I said, wondering if I should tell him about the shooting at the cemetery yesterday. His face, craggy with fatigue from a restless night and the anticipation of a day filled with questions and reporters and dealing with Sam’s grief decided for me. He couldn’t take one more thing to worry about right now.
After dropping by the florist to order Bliss’s flowers, I went to the folk art museum more out of habit than any real need since I had caught up on all my paperwork yesterday and the exhibit was doing fine. After chatting with some potters over a cup of coffee, I went to my office and puttered around, sharpening pencils and cleaning out drawers. What I was trying to do was decide whether I should continue looking into Giles’s murder. With Bliss engaged to Sam, I felt awkward about trying to prove one of her family members was a killer. What with Bliss’s miscarriage and the sniper yesterday, I’d decided that me being involved was too risky . . . for my own life and for the relationships of the people I loved.
I was reduced to washing my small, wavy window when JJ walked in.
“Hey,” I said, getting down off my footstool and giving her a quick hug. “How’s Bliss?”
“They’re letting her come home tomorrow. The wound wasn’t very deep and . . .” She swallowed hard, her face contorting in grief.
“Sit down,” I said, leading her to a visitor chair. I sat next to her, turning my chair so we were facing each other. “Are you okay, JJ?”
She sniffed and rubbed the back of her long-sleeved chenille sweater under one eye. She was bare-faced today, and her hair was soft and pixielike around her head. “Yes . . . no... Oh, I don’t know. I’m glad Bliss is okay, but I’m sad about the baby. I just don’t know what to do or feel.”
“What you’re feeling is normal. Just be there for Bliss, that’s really all you can do. Let time soften things.”
A deep frown narrowed her forehead. “I’m mad, too.”
“At who?”
“My grandma. Do you know what she said at the hospital last night to me and my mother after everyone left? That it’s probably for the best. That Sam and Bliss were too young to have a baby. How could she say that? Say that Bliss’s baby dying is for the best?”
I shook my head, unable to give her an answer. It was a common, if insensitive remark I’m sure many people had said and thought in similar situations.
“How’s Bliss’s shoulder doing this morning?” I asked, trying to move the subject away from questions about her grandmother that I couldn’t answer.
“Much better. Susa’s with her right now. I just wanted to come find you.”
“Why?”
“To tell you I’m leaving San Celina. When Bliss is healed up, my mother and I are moving back up north. She called my father last night, and they had a long talk. They’re going to try to work things out. As for me, I just don’t like it here. Seven Sisters and all its problems is something I don’t need in my life.”
“We’ll miss you, JJ. I’ll really miss you.”
She leaned over and hugged me. “You’re one of the few things I will miss.” She reached down and petted Scout. “You, too, big boy.” Then she stood up and straightened her long cotton skirt. “As for all the stuff about the secrets in my family and who killed Giles, I just don’t care anymore. I really understand why my mom left when she was eighteen, why she didn’t want us raised around Seven Sisters. Frankly, I’m hoping Bliss and Sam come up north when they get married.”
“And I hope they don’t,” I said, smiling. “But I understand what you’re saying.”
Her visit helped me decide once and for all that stepping out of the investigation was the right thing. It was Detective Hudson’s job, not mine, and right now I was too concerned about my husband and his son to worry about which person in the Brown family was a killer.
I was unlocking my truck, having decided to drop by Elvia’s bookstore and catch up on the trials and tribulations of her love life, when Detective Hudson’s red pickup pulled up next to me. Scout barked in enthusiastic recognition. The detective stepped out, wearing the plain brown ropers today that he’d worn Saturday night when we’d danced. The sleeves of his blue Arrow shirt were rolled up, revealing a large leather-band Swiss Army watch.
“You should’ve worn those yesterday for our cemetery tour,” I said, glancing down at his feet.
“How’s Officer Girard?” he asked.
“They said she’d be going home tomorrow.” I looked at him curiously. “How’d you find out about her?”
“It was in the newspaper this morning, but I found out last night. When a cop goes down, believe me, it gets around even if it isn’t someone from your agency.”
“Did you hear she lost her baby?”
His eyes dropped to the ground. “That stinks. The gunshot?”
“No, the nurse told me that most likely there was something already wrong with the baby, that the gunshot didn’t cause the miscarriage. It was just one of those things.”
“My ex-wife lost one before Maisie was born. It’s hard on a woman.”
“That’s the first time you’ve mentioned your daughter’s name. Maisie. That’s pretty.”
He grinned shyly. “Don’t get me started, or I’ll force you to look at all my pict
ures. Then after that it’s the home videos and refrigerator art. You’ll never get free.”
For the first time since we met, I almost liked Detective Hudson. “So there’s at least one woman who has you under her thumb.”
He nodded, laughing. “Benni Harper, you hit it right on the head with that one. Not to change the subject, but what did your husband say about our little wilderness experience yesterday?”
“I didn’t tell him and I don’t want you to either. He doesn’t need any more worries right now. Actually I’m glad you dropped by, because it saves me a phone call. I’m off the case.”
“You’re chickening out on me when we’re getting so close? You can’t give up now.”
“I’m not giving up, I’m just doing what I should have done from the beginning—let you investigate it alone. I should have never let you talk me into getting involved. We could have been hurt or killed yesterday.”
He cracked his knuckles nonchalantly. “They were warning shots. If they’d wanted us dead, we would be.”
I threw up my hands in exasperation. “And that doesn’t bother you?”
“Not really.” He studied the backs of his hands, then checked his watch. Early morning sunlight glinted off the reddish-blond hair on his forearms. His calm expression told me he wasn’t kidding.
“You may have a death wish, Detective, but not me.”
“It doesn’t bother you that an innocent man was killed?”
“We could debate the appropriateness of the word innocent in his case, but, yes, of course, I care. But it’s not my job, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t believe you.”
“You’d better, because it’s the truth.”
“Okay, one last thing. Look at these and then tell me you still want to quit.” He reached into his truck and pulled out a large, manila envelope.
I opened the envelope, pulling out four pages. They were pink with a fancy blue border. Across the top read County of San Celina. In the left bottom corner was California’s state seal, in the right corner a same-sized circle saying County Recorder, San Celina County, State of California.
The babies’ death certificates.
I glanced over them, looking specifically at the cause of death. The first one to die was Daisy. Pneumonia. Dahlia was next. Her cause of death stated simply natural causes. Natural causes was also written on Beulah’s and Bethany’s certificates. Though they tugged at my heart, they didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know.
But . . .
What if someone had killed them? What if this person had gotten away with it all this time? I was reacting emotionally, I knew, and that was exactly what the detective was hoping for, that I also knew.
I handed him back the death certificates. “It says here they died of natural causes. Nothing else we can do unless the doctor is still alive.”
“Which he isn’t,” Detective Hudson said. “I already checked. And his records were destroyed a long time ago.”
“So that leaves us—no, make that you—exactly nowhere. I know I started you down this path, but even I can see when something’s a dead end.”
He slipped the certificates back into the envelope. “No, you were right. I wasn’t thinking creatively enough and I also think you’re right about Giles’s blackmail attempt being something that involves these kids. Or at least something in the past that the Brown family is trying to hide. Now we just have to think of a clever and sneaky way to find out about this family’s past.” He smiled at me with encouragement. “Your specialty, Mrs. Harper.”
I leaned back against my truck’s passenger door. Scout came over and nudged my head, and I reached up and rubbed his chest. Detective Hudson was deliberately manipulating me with his flattery, and I knew it. Yet I was still pulled toward this case. If indeed they’d been murdered, even after all these years, the babies deserved justice. And Giles, whether he was a person I would have liked or not, deserved it, too.
“What would you do now?” he asked, his voice cajoling. “I mean, if you were still working on this?”
I closed my eyes briefly, irritated because his plan was working. “Someone should talk to Rose Brown again.”
He scratched his cheek, trying to suppress the grin that lurked behind his feigned seriousnss. “My thoughts exactly.”
I pushed myself away from the truck. “Guess that would be you since I’m not involved anymore. See ya.”
“She’ll never talk to me,” he said, following me. “That’s even if I could get in to see her. I’ll bet you fifty-yard-line seats at a Cowboys game that those Brown sisters have already stepped up security around their mama.”
“You’re probably right, so most likely I couldn’t get in to see her either.” I opened my door and started to climb in.
“Your friends could, though.”
I slowly turned around. “My friends?”
“You teach a quilting class at Oak Terrace Retirement Home, two floors down from Mrs. Brown. There are eight ladies in your class. Four of them have known you since you were six years old. And they’ve been involved with one investigation with you already, a year ago February during what was referred to as a Senior Prom. Very clever wordplay, by the way.” He glanced down at his watch and smiled widely. “Today’s Tuesday, and I do believe you have a class with them. Three o’clock. How convenient for everyone.”
Surprised, I was speechless for a moment. First, because of his audacity. Second, because I’d completely forgotten that today was the third Tuesday of the month.
He smirked. “What’s wrong, did you forget about the class? Come by my office after your meeting, please, and tell me what you find out. Note that I did say please.” He tipped his Stetson hat.
I opened my mouth to snap back that I wasn’t about to involve those ladies in a murder investigation, then closed it again. He knew I’d never be able to resist asking them about Rose Brown now, and I knew he’d eventually track me down anyway, so I said, “Okay.”
He stepped back a foot, his hand gripping his chest dramatically, as if shot in the heart. “What? Benni Harper is being cooperative! Lord have mercy on us all, the end of the world is nigh upon us. A miracle has occurred.”
“Oh, go milk a bull,” I said childishly. I went back to my office to get the museum checkbook. A quilt made by the ladies had sold recently in our small gift shop, and I needed to pay them. When I returned to my truck, the detective was gone.
After a trip to the post office, I stopped by Blind Harry’s. Elvia wasn’t there, so I left her a note. Downstairs in the coffeehouse, while I was waiting for my mocha, I spotted Sam at a table. I took my cup and went over to him.
“Hey, bud,” I said, sitting down across from him. “How’s it going?”
He wrapped his hands around his thick white mug. “Okay, I guess.”
“Are you working today?”
He shook his head no. “I just dropped by to pick up my paycheck. I’m going over to see Bliss, but I needed to chill out for a while first.”
His voice was so low, the soft buzz of late-morning customers swallowed his last few words.
“How is she doing today? Is she up for visitors?”
He drew in a deep breath, as if getting ready to lift a heavy load. “She’s better. She’s at her sister’s house and doesn’t really feel like seeing anyone. I’ll tell her you said hi.” He looked over at me, his dark brown eyes glossy with pain.
I reached over and put my hand on top of his. “How are you?”
He shrugged and didn’t answer, already well trained in the stoic macho tradition of his Latino heritage. But a small portion of the vulnerable young boy he still was leaked out. “I can’t sleep that good,” he whispered.
I nodded and didn’t answer.
Using both hands, he brought his mug up to his lips. After a sip, he said, “Tell Dove and Ben I’ll be back out to the ranch tonight. I know I’m behind on my chores. Tell them I’ll catch up t
his week.”
“They understand, Sam. You take care now.”
He nodded again, and I left him staring into his black coffee.
To relieve the sadness that had crept around my heart, I put Patty Loveless on my portable cassette player as I headed out to the ranch. I was singing along, agreeing with her wearily cynical view of male/female relationships, when I pulled into the long driveway of the ranch.
I slammed my foot on the brakes when I saw the fire truck, the paramedic van, a Highway Patrol car, and a San Celina PD car.
“Oh, no,” I said out loud, my heart thumping in my chest, thinking Dove, Daddy, Isaac?
13
I JUMPED OUT of the truck and ran across the lawn to the house. It was empty. On the kitchen counter were casserole dishes covered with tinfoil and a half dozen pies and cakes. Voices came from behind the house, so I dashed out the back door and headed toward the barn. Outside the barn’s double doors, a paramedic and a Highway Patrol officer stood shooting the breeze.
“My gramma?” I said, breathing hard.
“You mean Dove?” the paramedic asked.
I nodded.
“In there.” He pointed to the barn. “But be careful, she’s...”
I pushed past them and ran through the barn doors, expecting to see Dove stretched out on a gurney, hooked up to IVs, fighting for her life.
She was fighting all right, but not for her life.
More like for her lights.
“To the left,” she yelled through my cheerleading megaphone. “Not that left, your other left. For cryin’ out loud, John, pay attention!” Big John, one of the members of the historical society, rolled his milky eyes at her and patiently moved the tall camera light to where she pointed. Behind her, Isaac sat on a director’s chair, fooling around with a large square camera, grinning to himself.
Daddy walked by, carrying a small lamb whose unremitting bleats sounded like a broken car alarm.
“What’s going on?” I asked him.
A resigned look on his face told me he’d been roped into this early and perhaps before he’d had his third cup of coffee. He stroked the head of the lamb, whose rhythmic cries didn’t skip a beat. “Better ask your gramma, pumpkin. I’m just the hired help.”
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