by RP Dahlke
Caleb touched my arm. He'd ask the questions. "Nancy, did you see something happen between the two men?"
"No, and that's what scares me. I was right behind him talking to another couple. I didn't hear anything out of the ordinary, but I noticed Dewey talking to Mad Dog and … and that another man. Next thing I know, he's saying we had to leave. Then he had trouble breathing and … and then … he collapsed … and died."
I couldn't imagine a scenario where Mad Dog would bring someone dangerous to our party. He wasn't that jealous of Dewey. And how or when could anyone have had a chance to kill him?
"Could there possibly have been some kind of grudge between the two men?" Caleb asked.
She blinked back the tears. "A grudge? Yes, I guess you could call it that."
She was distraught from her husband's sudden and unexpected death. It had to be an accident. Maybe he choked on a hotdog or something."I think you'll feel differently about all of this in the morning. But in any case, Caleb and I will stay the night. He's armed and, as he likes to say, I'm dangerous."
She nodded and smiled weakly at my attempt to make light of her unfounded fears. "Forget I said anything. I can't sleep. Do either of you like to play cards?"
An hour after midnight, Nancy pulled out the sofa sleeper, pointed to the closet where we could find extra blankets and pillows, and shuffled off to bed.
Caleb insisted I crawl under the covers while he checked the safety on his firearm, then laid it, his badge, and his wallet on the end table, and went to check to make sure the doors and windows were secured. Only then did he lie down next to me, drawing me into his arms for a tight hug. "I didn't meet this Jack, did you?"
I yawned. "Briefly. When I took him and Mad Dog to Dewey I got the impression the meeting was some kind of set-up engineered to embarrass Dewey. The guy appeared friendly enough, and who recognizes anyone twenty years out of high school? But it was Dewey's reaction that really surprised me."
"In what way?"
"If anything I think he was shocked, unhappy and … and watchful. Yes, that's the word, watchful, as if he was expecting the other guy to haul off and hit him."
"We can't do anything about it tonight, sweetheart, but tomorrow I'm going to have that talk with Mad Dog about his friend, Jack."
"You don't think he died of a heart attack?"
"Can't say, but whenever someone dies at his age and it's not related to a long-standing illness, there's an autopsy. We'll see about those answers tomorrow."
"Then she may be right? That he was murdered?"
"Way too early to speculate," he said, kissing me on my forehead. "Now, get some rest."
<><><><>
Sometime during the night, the wind shifted, thrashing the trees and rattling branches against the house. I awoke, restless with worry for our business, thinking of rain and the extra work it might bring this time of year. I reached for Caleb, but he was already up, rechecking windows and doors, making sure the sounds were as advertised, and not an intruder.
He came back, replaced his gun on the side table next to his wallet and badge, and kissed my hair. "No rain forecasted. I already checked with your dad earlier. Go back to sleep."
Reassured that all was well with the world, I rolled over and did as I was told.
When I awoke, dawn was edging its way into the room. Caleb wasn't on the bed, nor in the hall bathroom, so I went to check on Nancy. She wasn't in her bedroom or bathroom, either. I looked out the front window. Caleb's truck was gone. After Nancy's nervous assertion that her husband had been murdered, had she and Caleb stepped out for coffee and donuts? Unlikely. I opened the door to the garage. Empty. Something was very wrong.
I stared at the foldout couch with its messy covers. The shade on the lamp was tilted at a jaunty angle, one edge pointing down to where Caleb's wallet lay on the table. His revolver and badge were gone, but why did he leave his wallet? If Caleb drove, he took his wallet, his badge, and his sidearm. Always. The last thing I remembered was Caleb kissing my hair and telling me to get some sleep, that he'd stay awake. So, where was he? Where was Nancy?
With dread building a tight band around my chest, I picked up my cell and called Caleb. When I didn't get an immediate answer, I scrolled through the phone numbers for the one person in the world I'd hoped to never have to speak to again—Modesto's chief homicide investigator, Detective Gayle Rodney. I was about to punch in the number when my cell chirped.
"Caleb! What's going on? Where are you?"
"I'm at the Modesto police station. Nancy Treat has been arrested."
"Arrested? How the hell did that happen? And when? Where did you go? Where—"
"Sweetheart, Lalla, stop with the questions and I promise, I'll explain everything when you get here."
I stubbornly continued with the questions, but he hung up anyway. Okay, got it, no time to chat.
I threw on last night's clothes, the ones that smelled like a campfire from our farewell barbeque, and turning the lock mechanism for the front door, stepped outside to stand on the porch.
What was I thinking? Caleb drove me here last night. How was I supposed to get to the city jail when I didn't have a car? I opened my cell and called him. When he didn't answer, I called my dad at the ranch. Too impatient to wait for the message machine, I called Aunt Mae, who, even at ninety, understood the necessity of a cell phone.
Without having to repeat everything, she got the address and finished with, "I'll be there in a jiffy."
I sat on the porch to wait, thinking how much I liked that about my Aunt Mae; she got it in five seconds, and could be counted on to be there for me.
Forty-five minutes later I was still sitting on Nancy's porch. I looked at my watch. My warm feelings for my great-aunt Mae frequently caused me to forget how old she was, or that she was of a generation of Texas women who took forever to go anywhere. Dad always said Aunt Mae would be late for her own funeral. So why did I think today would be any different? What was I thinking asking her to pick me up? Even if she had a driver's license, she probably shouldn't be driving.
I was about to call a cab when I saw her rented red Mustang slide up next to the curb. The good news was that Pearlie had come with her. The bad news was that Aunt Mae was driving.
I hurried to the passenger side. Pearlie got out and moved the front seat up so I could squeeze into the back. I hesitated, taking in Aunt Mae's determination to drive, eyes straight ahead, her hands eagerly twitching at the wheel.
I looked from Pearlie to Aunt Mae. "It'll be quicker if I drive."
Aunt Mae turned around, flipping her prescription sunglasses on to her forehead, and fixed me with a surprised look. "What? Oh, sorry, can't, sugah. No one but me or Pearlie are allowed to operate this here rental, says so in the contract. Pearlie's already called shotgun so get in the back and let's giddy-up. Time's a'wastin'."
I looked at Pearlie, the question of why she wasn't driving in the lift of my brows.
Pearlie grinned and flicked two fingers at the back seat. I curled my long body into a ball and sat with my knees jackknifed up to my chest. That got a giggle out of her. Should I tell her about the stakeout I did in Del Potts's little Mini Cooper, and my near miss at being arrested as his hooker? Maybe I'd save it for later, when I needed a favor and she needed to enjoy a good story at my expense.
"Granny still has her driver's license," she said, leaning an arm over the seat to look at me. "And if I'm in the front I can take care of any mishaps."
Mishaps? We were expecting mishaps? Caleb said to get there as fast as I could, we didn't need mishaps. I had no choice. If I wanted to get there anytime today, it was either my great-aunt Mae driving, or nothing.
Seeing we were all buckled up, Pearlie reminded her granny to use her blinker.
"I'm very capable of driving a car, missy," she said, and looking over her shoulder, pulled out on to the street. "We're on our way. So, Lalla, tell us everything that happened after you left. And don't leave out the juicy parts. You two go bac
k to his place, get naked, and then what happened?"
"Granny!" Pearlie sputtered. "Concentrate on your driving."
I nodded at the back of Pearlie's blonde head. At least one of my relatives had the good sense not to ask embarrassing questions.
Pearlie, obviously reassured that her granny's driving wouldn't be wrapping us around a telephone pole for the next few minutes, asked, "So, what Granny and I want to know is, is he any good in bed?"
Shoot that idea in the head. "Don't you want to know what happened to Nancy after her husband collapsed and died?"
Aunt Mae piped up. "That too. Heart attack? It happens all the time, especially to men who exert themselves unnecessarily. Your Great-Uncle Seth went that way. It was the devil to keep it out of the papers."
My dad had said something about Great-Uncle Seth dying under suspicious circumstances. "I don't think they know exactly how he died, Aunt Mae. Take the next right and we'll get on the freeway."
Pearlie once again swiveled around to give me the bad news. "Sorry, Granny doesn't do freeways anymore."
I gritted my teeth. "But it's the quickest way into town."
Pearlie grinned at me, clearly enjoying my predicament. "City streets or nothing, Cuz."
Though odds had been against a widow carrying on her husband's cattle ranch, Aunt Mae's grit and hard work had made it grow and succeed. Of course, Great-Uncle Seth's monkey business probably didn't help. Pearlie would ride shotgun, I would stay in the back seat, and Aunt Mae would get us to the Modesto police station—eventually.
I tried again. "If you'd only let Pearlie drive, Aunt Mae, we might get there sometime before this day is over."
I knew a derisive snort when I heard one.
<><><><>
The twenty-minute drive to a parking space across from the Modesto city jail took us forty-five minutes.
Aunt Mae and Pearlie insisted on coming with me, so progress was again slow.
I called Caleb's office, and this time he picked up. "Where you been? It's been over an hour."
"We're here now. Can you meet us in the lobby? I have Pearlie and Aunt Mae with me." I didn't have to tell him that the Modesto Police Department wasn't ready for the likes of these two women.
We sat down on a bench in the hall and waited for Caleb.
Pearlie scooted closer to me and said, "I would've thought Mad Dog a better catch for you than a county sheriff."
Was she fishing for some reason why she shouldn't be dating Mad Dog Schwartz? I thought about all the reasons: lazy, greedy, selfish, and though legally separated, there was a wife around somewhere. I had to wonder why she opted for separating instead of a divorce.
Caleb came out a door, picked a middle spot to stand, and shook hands with Aunt Mae and Cousin Pearlie, then leaned down to kiss my cheek.
I grabbed him and whispered, "What happened to your face?"
He touched the large square gauze on his cheek and a blush crept up his neck. "I'll get to that in a minute."
With Aunt Mae and Cousin Pearlie in wide-eyed and rapt attention, he started from the beginning and concluded with the early morning hours at Nancy's house.
"Nancy came out of her bedroom about four in the morning. In case she simply wanted a late-night snack, I pretended to be asleep. But when I heard her start her car, I knew she was running.
"I grabbed my truck keys, gun, and shield and ran for my truck. I cut her off at the intersection to the freeway. She was crying and begging me to let her go, that they were going to be after her," he said, touching the bandage on his cheek. "Then she grabbed my revolver and raked it across my face. I twisted the gun out of her hand and threw her into the truck. Because we were in the city limits, I had to wait for a Modesto police officer to take her off my hands. She's been booked for assault on an officer, and now the chief is holding her as a person of interest in her husband's death."
I jumped up. "What? Why? He died of a heart attack, didn't he?"
He said, "She's being held for the requisite forty-eight hours until we get to the bottom of this. You said it yourself, Lalla, his medical records said he was in perfect health. Then his wife struck an officer of the law and tried to run. It's probable cause. The homicide team will determine if there's enough evidence to charge her with her husband's murder."
"What possible reason could she have had?"
"Don't know yet, but homicide is going over her house for evidence."
"She needs a lawyer."
"She'll get one. But in the meantime, she's asking for you. Sorry, but your relatives will have to wait here."
I looked at my kinfolk. "Why don't you go back to the ranch? Caleb will bring me home when I'm finished."
"Not a chance, sugah," said Aunt Mae. "We want to hear what the girl has to say. Go on now, we've got all the time in the world, don't we, Pearlie?"
Pearlie nodded and smirked. "All the time in the world, sugah."
I followed Caleb to the elevator, where he held the door for me, stepped inside, and punched the button. "She told me she ran because she was sure they were going to come after her next, then she clobbered me with my own weapon. Either she's delusional or there's more to this story than she's willing to admit."
"Then why me instead of an attorney? She's entitled to an attorney, isn't she?"
He put a hand on the small of my back and guided me off the elevator. "Of course, but since we brought her in and booked her, she hasn't said a word to us other than to ask for you. We've got an interview room for the two of you, and we'll be listening."
"Oh, boy."
Chapter Six:
Nancy entered the interview room, still in jeans and a scoop neck T-shirt with the Cirque du Soleil logo, her normally bright blue eyes red and her skin puffy from crying.
She leaned into my hug, trembling against me as she cried. I let her cry it out, then pulled back and sat her in a chair next to the table. "Nancy, don't you want a lawyer?"
"Not yet. Thanks for coming."
"Of course I'd come, and I'll get you bail if it turns out you need it."
"I didn't mean to hurt Caleb, really I didn't. I just wanted to get away before—"
"Before what? You told Caleb someone was trying to get to you? Can't you explain—at least to me?"
She shook her head slowly, the ponytail shifting from side to side. "I'm not supposed to talk about it."
"Nancy, you'd better start talking to someone. The police have a search warrant and they're looking through your house, trying to find evidence that you killed your husband."
Her finely arched eyebrows came together once and then relaxed. "They aren't going to find anything that would implicate me. Why would I kill Dewey? He was my savior, my hero, and my only friend."
There was nothing in her expression that said she was the least bit worried about the police finding incriminating evidence.
"You have me, Nancy."
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand in both of hers. "That's the nicest thing anybody has said to me all day. But I can't. I was so hoping … Did I tell you that he really loved flying? Every day he got to fly was a good day. Who in their right mind would want to get up at three in the morning every day for a job? Sorry, I know you do, but I had a hard time with it."
"You did that? Got up with him every morning?"
"Sure. Made him a nice big breakfast too, though I could hardly stay awake to see him finish it. Nobody ever called me an early bird."
"Well, speaking from experience, I have to agree with you, the early rise is hard to take when it's hot all night and the A/C isn't working right. I am glad to hear he liked his job."
"He said you and Mad Dog were patient, helpful, and kind, and made sure that the ground crew all treated him with respect."
"It wasn't hard," I said, trying to imagine Mad Dog patient and helpful. "He really was a fast learner. I suppose you're now wishing you stayed in Sacramento."
"Oh, no. This is where he wanted to be."
"Nancy, I don't
doubt your innocence in all this, but why take off like you did? Surely you understand the police seeing your behavior as suspicious."
"I panicked. I thought if they got to Dewey, they were going to come back and finish me off too."
"Who? Who would want to kill you and your husband?"
"Sorry, Lalla, I shouldn't have said this much."
I'd been at the mercy of some crazy people in my time, but in spite of Nancy's clumsy attempt to run, she didn't appear nuts. Exasperating maybe, but not crazy.
"Look," I said, "I managed to get myself arrested last year for reckless driving so I know a thing or two about the system, but if you want my help you're going to have to talk, if not to me, then to somebody."
"Oh, I'm sure I'm going to be having that conversation before the day is over."
The door opened and Caleb came in and held it for another man; white dress shirt, tie, a badge, and a sidearm peeking out of his suit jacket. About mid-thirties, he was handsomely dark-haired, black-eyed, with a strong jaw and a five o'clock shadow.
"Lalla," Caleb said, "this is Jim Balthrop. He's a federal marshal and he's here to take Nancy."
I stood up. "What do you mean? Where's he taking her? Is she being charged?"
Caleb ignored my questions and took my arm, moving me off to one side. He was culling me out of the herd, and though I knew he meant to protect me, deep down, resentment bloomed before I could snuff it out.
"Then what's going on?" I asked, pushing my way around him until I had a clear view of Nancy and the new guy in the room.
Nancy stayed where she was, her butt planted firmly on her chair. "Hi, Jim. I'm not going. There's no point to it now, is there?"
"You know this guy, Nancy?" I asked.
The marshal glowered and fingered the weapon on his belt. For a minute, I thought he was going to take it out of the holster to persuade her with the busy end.
A thought leaped into my brain and I blurted, "Is—is she in some kind of witness protection program?"
Nancy smiled; the others frowned. The marshal's frown was especially dark and this time not so handsome.
"It doesn't concern you, miss. Let's go, Nancy."