“Hey,” he said. “This is nice.”
“I’ve got nicer.”
She pressed her mouth over his. His left arm came around her waist and he pulled her close. He was still damp. Now so was she. She slid her arms around his neck; he was holding out his wineglass so he wouldn’t spill it.
She took it from him and turned around, leading the way out of the bathroom. She heard him moving around behind her; he was wrapping his towel around his waist—mindful of the kids—and following her into their bedroom.
She went in; he shut the door behind himself. She saw the other load of laundry on the bed—she’d forgotten about it, and her mood downshifted, just a little. They had so much to do around here—
—We might lose our home—
—But she resolutely pushed those thoughts away as she set both glasses down on the nightstand, gathered up the laundry, and set it on top of the bureau. A sock fell onto the carpet. She ignored it. Something clinked beneath the pile—oh, God, was it a coffee cup?—and she ignored that, too. They hadn’t been alone like this in so long that she was awkward at it. She licked her lips and turned to him, posing a little. She should have taken a shower, too; she felt frumpy in her work clothes. Did he remember to cover the casserole dish with plastic wrap when he put it in the refrigerator? Because sometimes he forgot.
“Rhetta,” he said, coming to her. He took off her glasses, laced his fingers through hers, and walked her toward the bed. Exhaling, he sat down, easing her down beside himself, and picked up their wine. He handed hers to her; they clinked, and drank.
“Why don’t you get out of those clothes?” he asked.
He was sitting on the bed in his wet towel. He would get the bedspread damp and it might start to mildew with all this rain—
Shut up, shut up, shut up, she told her brain. She took a hefty swallow of wine, draining her glass. Was that her second or third? She was getting a little tipsy.
“Rhetta, you smell so good,” Ronnie said, in his husky, sexy voice. He leaned over, pushing her gently onto her elbow, and kissed her. Slowly she stretched out, aware of the chill in the room, worrying about what had clinked under the pile … but determined to enjoy this. It had been forever since they’d had sex …
“Rhetta, you feel so good,” he added, climbing slowly on top of her.
Bills and coffee cups and wet towels faded away and it was just Ronnie and Rhetta, the way it had been a long time ago.
And the way it was now.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Later, Rhetta pulled the sheets and blankets around herself, smiling at the possessive weight of Ronnie’s arm slung over her. She thought she heard a noise—could be the kids—but it was coming from outside. Or so she thought, or possibly dreamed. Maybe it was Grace, which would mean that her friend needed her.
She sighed, but she was so bone-tired she couldn’t force herself to move. And happy. She and Ronnie still had it. They’d been so distant, and angry, but maybe this meant they were turning a corner, and that all would be well.
I forgot to turn the porch light off, she thought. She usually turned it off but if Grace was out there, she’d need a light. Okay … it wasn’t worth worrying about …
She dozed again, drifting.
And awoke again, dimly aware that she had to go to the bathroom. All the wine had turned her bones to rubber; she could no more get up than paint the Sistine Chapel. Ronnie had turned over, turned away, and she wanted to roll over, spooning him, but she was just too tired.
There was another noise. A clink.
Hope no one got out of the barn. I shut the door, right?
And she slept on.
* * *
Did we light a candle? Rhetta thought. Because I smell …
She bolted upright and stared out the window. Filtered by the porch light, fog was rolling across the glass. No, not fog … smoke.
“Ronnie!” she cried. “Ronnie! There’s a fire!”
“What?”
She pointed. “A fire!”
They both leaped out of bed. Rhetta threw on her robe and turned on the light—shouldn’t do that, she thought—and flew into Mae’s room. She raced to her daughter’s white twin bed.
“Get up, we have to get out!” she yelled, shaking her. “Mae! Fire!”
“Rhetta, it’s not the house!” Ronnie yelled. “It’s the barn!”
“Mom?” Mae cried, blinking. She grabbed Rhetta’s hand. “What’s going on?”
“Rhetta, call nine-one-one!” Ronnie shouted.
“Oh, God, oh, my God,” Rhetta said, holding on to Mae’s hand. “Let’s get your brother. Todd, Todd! Ronnie, call them!”
Todd was stumbling out of his room in sweats and a T-shirt. “Mom, there’s smoke,” he said, coughing.
She became aware of the smoke in their house. Holding on to her children, she led them into the kitchen. The door was open, and smoke was pouring over the threshold.
She slammed the door and grabbed the landline. She called 911; she knew that since she was on a landline, her address should be showing up on the dispatcher’s monitor, but just in case, she gave her name, address, and phone number. Her voice shook, but she forced herself to be rational.
“It’s our barn,” she said. “Our barn is on fire.”
“We’ll send a truck, ma’am. Please stay on the line.”
But she couldn’t do that, not with the horses, the cows, and the pigs in the barn. And the chickens.
“Speckles,” Mae cried, and Rhetta’s composure broke.
“Stay on the line,” Rhetta ordered Mae. “Talk to the dispatcher. I have to help your father.”
“Mommy, no,” Mae protested, her big brown eyes huge. They were watering. Todd was coughing.
“I’m giving you to my daughter. I have a cell phone,” she told the dispatcher. She whirled around. There it was by the microwave. “My daughter will give you my number. You can call my cell phone.”
“Ma’am—”
Rhetta thrust the landline phone at Mae and raced out the door. She grabbed up her boots and ran.
“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” she whispered. The barn was ablaze. Tongues of orange and red licked up the sides, and heavy smoke rolled away like dust devils. Cows were lowing. She heard the horses whinnying.
She didn’t see Ronnie.
Racing along, holding her boots, she slid through the mud and stepped down hard on something smooth that gave way beneath her foot. She ignored it, running as fast as she could, while the smoke grew thicker and she doubled over, coughing.
“Speckles!” she heard Mae screaming.
“Stay back, stay back!” Rhetta cried, turning around to see her two children huddled on the kitchen stoop.
“Mommy, get Speckles,” Mae begged. “Mommy, please!”
“I’ll try, I’ll try,” Rhetta said, but her mind was on Ronnie. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate him, she thought. Please don’t take him from me.
She ran toward the flaming barn.
* * *
“Oh, my God,” Grace said as she caught up to Leo’s fire truck and slammed out of Connie. Ladders were already up; hoses were running. Firefighters stood on either side of the powerful spray, guiding it over the exterior of the Rodriguezes’ barn. Grace didn’t see Ronnie, or Rhetta.
Her older brother Leo appeared. He was on the younger side of middle age, lean, trim, wearing his protective gear, with more gear in his arms.
“Thanks for calling me,” she said, grabbing it from him and beginning to climb into it.
“You stay out of the way,” he told her. “Wear your respirator.”
Grace caught up her hair and threw on her mask and her helmet. She made sure she had air. That her radio worked.
Then she headed for the barn. A cherry picker had raised three firefighters to the open window, loaded with burning hay. Below, the barn doors were wide open and she could see Rhetta, wearing a bathrobe, trying to lead out Rainbow, one of the horses, by his halter. The panicked creature w
as rearing and Rhetta was struggling to keep hold. Fire raged all around them in some grotesque tableau. Grace didn’t see Ronnie.
Then suddenly cows, sheep, and the goat poured through the doorway; the advancing firefighters avoided the stampede of panicking animals. Grace waved her arms at the creatures to keep them from heading for the road. Instinctively they turned, senses attuned to danger from any quarter.
She wished she had a hose or a bucket, anything; she made sure her gloves were on and hurried inside, to Rhetta. Reaching up for Rainbow’s halter, she grabbed a handful of mane instead and looked at her friend. Rhetta’s face was red and she was coughing. Grace clutched the halter and turned, dragging the horse toward the door, like a sailor raising the anchor on an old sailing ship. She hazarded a glance upward and saw that the ceiling, thank God, was not on fire. Just the exterior walls, so far; and they were smoking a lot more than they were burning. The rain had soaked the wood, slowing combustion.
She and Rhetta worked together to force Rainbow through the door, where the fire was the worst because of the abundance of oxygen. The horse reared and whinnied. Grace stood her ground, hanging on the horse’s neck; Rhetta did the same; somehow they got Rainbow through the opening and out into the fresher air. Grace wanted to get him into the riding ring but it was too much to deal with. Besides, Rhetta was doubled over and her feet were a mess. Christ, she was barefoot.
Releasing the horse, Grace draped herself over Rhetta as best she could, just as she had the old lady in the lot during the firefight, and hustled her toward the house. Rhetta was pushing at her; Grace nearly punched her, to make her job easier. Then Mae and Todd ran at Rhetta, throwing their arms around her.
“Stay,” Grace said, “with your children.”
“Oh, my God, I couldn’t see Ronnie,” Rhetta said. She was crying. “Oh, Grace—”
“Stay here,” Grace insisted.
Then she ran back to the battle. Chickens, a cow, another cow, another horse; she got them out. But she couldn’t find Ronnie. Horrible thoughts started running through her head; images she didn’t want there—where the hell was Rhetta’s husband?
She ran to the fire truck and requisitioned a flashlight, saw her brother and gave him a wave.
He came up to her. He took off his mask. “We’re containing it. Start rounding up the animals.”
“I can’t find Ronnie,” she said. They shared a grim look, and then she said, “Let me go back inside the barn to look for him.”
“I’ll come with you,” he told her. “Get on your radio.”
They put their helmets on and made sure they could speak to each other. Then together the Hanadarkos dashed inside, and split up by mutual unspoken agreement, Grace taking the right and Leo, the left. The tremendous chaos was receding. Leo’s guys had beaten this one back.
Oh, God, Grace thought, please.
She tried the feed shed; there was a new latch on the door and it was closed tight. Her heart seized when she thought she heard a pounding inside. She pulled on it, couldn’t budge it; she looked around for something to hit it with and used the bottom of the flashlight, ramming it down hard. The latch cracked off its hinges, and she threw open the door.
Nothing.
She moved on, past a smoldering hay bale. She found one of Rhetta’s boots and picked it up. Didn’t see the other one.
Didn’t see her husband.
He could have gotten trapped. Maybe he inhaled too much smoke.
Shut up.
She moved on, and forced herself to stop thinking, worrying. To concentrate. To focus.
“Got him,” Leo announced in her ear. Grace spared a moment to feel her relief, then looked to the left. Leo was standing beside Mama Buttercup’s pen, waving his arms.
Grace ran across the barn toward his location. Then she saw Ronnie inside Mama Buttercup’s pen, his arms around the cow. The terror-stricken animal was lowing wildly.
Ronnie’s face was scarlet and he was covered in sweat. Dehydrated, for sure. Grace and Leo slung his arms over their shoulders and began to walk him out. But there was such a tremendous difference in height between Grace and Leo that Ronnie was staggering from side to side.
“Move it, mighty mite,” Leo ordered his sister. Then he slung Ronnie over his back firefighter-style. Grace contented herself with leading Buttercup out of the barn. Where was Speckles?
“Daddy!” Mae cried, and the Rodriguezes raced toward them. Leo grabbed a mask and oxygen bottle, indicating to Ronnie that he should take some breaths. Then Leo dumped a water bottle over Ronnie’s head and handed him another bottle.
“Drink it down,” he ordered.
Ronnie breathed deeply as Todd, Mae, and Rhetta held on to him. Around them, Leo’s guys worked on rounding up their animals. Everyone knew the Rodriguezes. They were family.
“Find Speckles!” Mae cried. “He’s my calf!”
Leo shook his head at Rhetta. “Next time, stop for clothes. And boots.”
“Ronnie was in there,” she said, holding on to her husband.
“We’d better help with the animals,” Ronnie said. Rhetta frowned. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”
“Us, too?” Todd and Mae chorused.
“No, not you two.” Rhetta looked at Grace. “You’d better call it in. And … can you clear the house first?”
Arson. That was what Rhetta was thinking. There was no reason to second-guess her. Rhetta knew her stuff.
Grace turned to the kids.
“You two stay out here. I’m going to make sure it’s safe to go back in the house.”
“Is our house on fire?” Todd asked anxiously. Mae began to cry.
“I don’t think so. But let me check,” Grace said.
Easing the kids farther away, Grace opened the kitchen door and pulled out her gun. She worked her way through each room, armed, ready, throwing open closet doors, looking under beds. Then she went out back and searched the vegetable garden. When she was finally satisfied that there were no intruders, she called for an arson team and for backup.
Cops heard the dispatch call; within minutes, the Rodriguez barn was surrounded. Ham, Butch, and Bobby; officers were helping to round up the frightened animals, and everyone from Leo on down to Todd were giving statements. Ronnie and Rhetta were seen by a paramedic. Both refused to go to the ER.
Amber sunlight washed the charred barn walls. It was mostly cosmetic, and easy to repair. All animals were accounted for.
Except for Speckles.
Mae was inconsolable, weeping against Rhetta’s chest, fingers digging into Rhetta’s shoulders.
“We’ll find her,” Rhetta promised, stroking Mae’s hair. “Don’t worry, baby.” She pointed to the rest of the squad as they corralled the horses. “Our friends will help us.”
Todd patted his sister. “Speckles is very little,” he said. “She can’t go very far.”
“I don’t think Speckles went anywhere,” Grace muttered to Leo. “I think she was taken by the same people who started this fire. The Sons of Oklahoma.”
“That’s that wacko cult out in the country,” Leo said. Grace inclined her head. “What do they have against the Rodriguezes?”
Grace explained.
“Shit.” Leo scratched his chin. “No good deed goes unpunished.” He looked at her. “Weren’t you involved in that little police action the other night? And now this, tonight? You’re jinxed, Grace.”
“Am not.”
“Man, what did you do in a past life, kill Gandhi?”
“Thanks, Leo.” She smiled at him. “Appreciate the empathy.”
He mugged punching her. “Yeah, and there’s a little rain cloud over your head, following you around. I sure as hell am not going fishing with you at Lake Texoma anytime soon. The fish will probably all be dead.”
She rolled her eyes. Then she left him to go visit with the detectives who were processing the crime scene. The arson specialists were there, too.
Dressed in jeans, boots, and a green sweater, Rhetta w
alked up. She was wearing a pair of gloves and carrying a brown paper evidence bag, and she looked grim.
“I think you can sit this one out, Ms. Rodriguez.” It was the criminalist from the Catlett house. Grace remembered that his name was Hodge.
Rhetta held out the bag. “You’ll need this. Unfortunately I stepped on it with my bare foot but …”
Grace took a peek inside. It was an empty rubbing alcohol bottle.
“Jeannie told me they have tons of it,” Rhetta said to Grace. “I wondered why.”
“That’s a good accelerant,” Hodge mused. “And you found it where?”
“Here’s two more empty bottles,” another cop said. “They were behind the barn.”
“Don’t touch them,” Rhetta ordered. “Please, I want to help. I need to help.”
Grace knew the best thing she could do was keep out of the way. She accepted a bottle of water from Leo as he folded up the gear he’d lent her and finished packing up his truck.
“Looks like arson to me,” he said.
“See you on the witness stand.” She crossed her fingers.
“Stay out of trouble.”
Then he was gone.
“I found a footprint,” Rhetta announced, pointing at the muddy ground on the western side of the barn.
“No,” Captain Perry said.
“No?” Grace echoed, incredulous.
It was nine a.m.—business hours—and Grace and Ham had just asked her to let them get a warrant. They had a copy of the footprint; they had fourteen empty bottles of rubbing alcohol.
“No one will give you a warrant.” Captain Perry scratched her forehead, then dropped her hand to her side. “Upstairs wants to continue the polite fiction that everything is OK in OKC. Chief’s afraid that if you go onto that property without solid proof, we’ll have another Waco on our hands. Ruby Ridge. And, you will recall, that’s where the seeds were planted for the bombing of the Murrah Building.”
“But he just sent armed police officers into a civilian neighborhood,” Grace argued. “What about that?”
“That was to protect officers in danger from lawless gangbangers. Maybe you don’t see the difference, Grace, but the media does.”
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