Kansas Troubles (30 page)

“I’ll heal.” I poured myself a cup of coffee. “Who was that?”

“Becky. She wanted to know how you were feeling and if we wanted to come over for blueberry pancakes.”

I sat at the kitchen table. “What did you tell her?”

“That we were going out to eat. She said to come over whenever you want, but that she’d be leaving for the church at eleven o’clock for the quilt show.” He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat across from me. “We need to talk about what happened last night, Benni.”

I looked at him and smiled. “I was half asleep, but if I remember correctly, it was pretty wonderful.”

He smiled back. “It was, but that’s not what I’m referring to.”

I sighed. “I know.”

“I’ve been up since dawn thinking, and though I hate it, we’re going to have to work together on this.”

“You hate having to work with me? Thanks a lot.”

He reached over and took my hand, his thumb stroking the top of it. “What I hate is you being in danger.”

“So, what do we do?”

“First, have you told me absolutely everything you know? We can’t work together if you’re holding back any information.”

I said without hesitation, “Yes.”

He contemplated me for a minute, then nodded, apparently satisfied. For some reason, in this small exchange I felt like a great milestone had been reached in our relationship.

“Okay,” he said, releasing my hand. “The first rule is, don’t tell anyone anything.”

“Even Dewey?”

He sipped his coffee, looking over the rim of his mug with troubled eyes. “Even Dewey.”

“Do you suspect him?”

“I don’t suspect him—we just can’t trust anyone at this point.”

“It’s because of Cordie June, isn’t it? Gabe, I don’t think she did it.”

“And why is that?”

I took a moment to answer. Why did I think she’d been telling the truth last night? Because she was the most obvious one? Or because I related to her being an outsider with Gabe’s friends? I touched my scraped face gingerly. The skin had already formed a thin scab. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

“That’s the first thing a good cop learns.”

“What’s that?”

“Most of the time, feelings can’t be trusted.”

“But sometimes they can.”

He picked up our empty coffee cups and took them over to the sink. “Trust me, Benni, feelings very rarely catch a criminal. More often than not, it’s just slow, tedious footwork. Putting the tiny pieces together until you complete the puzzle. And lots of times, the puzzle is never finished.”

“Do you think that’s going to happen this time?”

He leaned back against the sink and didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes tapered at the corners and became hard. The dark shadow of his unshaven face gave him a ruthless look that had its beginning I suspect in the time he spent in Vietnam and later in the drug-infested streets of East L.A. I teased him about it once, telling him that he looked like one of those sociopathic Mafia hitmen you see in the movies. The hurt in his eyes when he smiled at my comment caused me never to say it again.

“I don’t care,” he said grimly. “All I care about is getting you home safe. My instincts tell me to make an airline reservation for today.”

“We can’t leave.” I went over and slipped my arms around his waist, hugging him hard. “How would we explain it to your mom? Besides, Becky and Angel have our wedding reception planned for next Saturday, and Dove and Daddy and Arnie are on their way.” I rested the uninjured side of my face on his solid chest. His warm morning smell made me want to forget all this talk of murder and suspects and secrets and drag him back upstairs to bed. “At least, Daddy and Arnie are. Heaven only knows where Dove is.”

“That reminds me,” Gabe said. “Dove called while you were asleep.”

I jerked out of his arms. “Why didn’t you wake me up? What did she say? Where is she? Is she all right?”

“She said she’d hang up if I went for you. She promised she’d be here in time for the reception, and is apparently having a ball with Brother Dwaine. They had two conversions and a baptism last night and they’re delivering a load of donated cheese to an AIDS food bank in Muskogee.”

I growled in frustration. “I could just strangle her. She knew she’d really get an earful if I talked to her.”

He looked at me mildly. “I imagine that’s why she didn’t want to.”

“What about Daddy and Arnie?”

“Haven’t heard a word.” He pulled me back to him, rubbing his bristly chin on my hair. “Let’s get dressed and have some breakfast. We’ve got plans to make.”

Feeling almost normal after a hot shower, I pulled on my loosest jeans and one of Gabe’s T-shirts, letting the long sleeves hang down to my elbows to hide the worst of my bruises. To make sure we didn’t run into anyone we knew, we drove over to a restaurant on the outskirts of Haysville, a town west of Derby. Sally’s Cafe was a flat-roofed concrete-colored building with a narrow, gravel parking lot.

“My dad and I used to eat here every Saturday morning,” Gabe said. “He used to call it the Goat Roper Inn even though back then it was called Bernie’s.”

“Why did he call it that?” I asked, opening the stained front door. My question was answered when I peered around the crowded cafe. It was obviously a hangout for local farmers. Gabe and I were the only ones not wearing dirty overalls, Western shirts, and hats advertising Kansas Pipeline Safety. Across the room we could hear some farmer saying to another, “Now, this ain’t no bullshit, he said he was an artist and he wanted to buy the bones. For a good price, too.”

Gabe grinned at me over the black plastic menu. “Dad would have loved that,” he said.

As we ate our breakfast, his voice moved into its no-argument chief-of-police tone. “Don’t tell anyone about the truck running you down. That’s a piece of information we need to keep to ourselves for the time being. I’m going over to the station and hang around, talk to Dewey and the deputy in charge of the investigation. Maybe somebody will say something.”

“Then what?” I doused my buttered French toast with more maple syrup, or what appeared to be a reasonable facsimile.

“Then I’ll work my way through the list—Lawrence, Rob, Janet, Belinda.”

“I wonder who has a truck,” I mused.

“Dewey, Rob, and Lawrence all own trucks. But last night Dewey was passing his keys around to everyone because he had a cooler of Sam Adams in the cab, so it really could have been anyone. Are you sure you can’t remember the make or the color?”

“No. I told you, it was really dark. The headlights blinded me when it first passed, and then it hit me from behind. I fell before I could see anything.” I thought for a moment. “You didn’t have Cordie June on your list.” I wanted to be fair, even though my instincts said she didn’t do it.

“I don’t know how I can manage a conversation with her without it looking suspicious. The rest of those people are my friends.” He stuck a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. “But I’m not quite as certain of her innocence as you are. Dewey probably kept a pretty close eye on her whereabouts last night. I’ll just have to figure out a way to ask him about it.”

“What about Megan? And don’t forget Tyler’s husband, John. They’re possibilities.”

“Slight. I can’t imagine Megan killing anyone. Especially over Rob.”

“That’s where
your
feelings are getting in the way, Friday. Just because you knew her as a little girl doesn’t mean she didn’t grow up to be capable of murder.”

His swift frown told me I’d hit a nerve. “I know that.”

“So, what do I do?”

His answer was immediate, with no hesitation. “Nothing.”

“What!” I slammed my fork down on my plate. “You said we were working together on this. How is that possible if you’re out questioning everyone and I’m doing nothing?”

“Don’t you have a quilt show to help Becky with?” He gave me his most winning smile.

“That is such a chauvinistic remark that if we weren’t in public I’d smack you upside the head.”

His smile faded. “You were almost killed,” he said. “I want you to keep a low profile.”

“I was not. A truck knocked me into a ditch. If the person had wanted to kill me, they would have just run me down.”

His expression darkened. “My point exactly.”

“Gabe . . .”

“This is not up for discussion, sweetheart. I’m the one making the decisions here.”

“Says who!”

“Says me by virtue of being the detective in charge.”

“And who, pray tell, appointed you boss?”

“I’m boss because I have more experience. And I’m older. And I’m bigger.” He sipped his coffee and smirked at me.

“Well, I’m . . . I’m . . .” I stammered, trying to come up with a retort. “I’m fresher.”

“Truer words never spoken.”

I bunched up my paper napkin and threw it at him. “I mean I’m not as jaded. I’m capable of looking at things in a
fresh
way.”

“Are you implying I’m too set in my ways?” His voice held an edge of impatience.

“If the stiff neck fits . . .” I shrugged and finished my orange juice. Our waitress came back, cleared away the empty plates, and refilled our coffee cups. We sparred with our eyes until she walked away.

Gabe gave in first. “Benni, things are even more dangerous now, because this person has started to panic. Whoever attacked you knows I’ll most likely be looking more closely into things now, and that puts you at an even greater risk.”

“You’re always trying to wrap me up in cotton. I’m the one this person is after. I need to have some control over my situation.”

He considered my words, his face struggling with a kinetic mixture of frustration, anger, and fear. “Okay,” he said. “Let me see what I come up with today, and we’ll discuss it again tonight. How’s that?”

I eyed him suspiciously. I wouldn’t put it past him to keep dallying with me until we got back to San Celina. Not that home didn’t sound awfully good right now. The thing was, I felt a strange commitment to Tyler and Hannah, a compulsion to see this through to the end. To the officers working on the murder, Tyler was just another statistic, another case to clear off the books. They’d never met her, heard her sing, touched the quilts she’d made. Did they even notice the pain in Hannah’s eyes when she talked about her sister? And, I had to admit, I wanted to see if Gabe and I could really work together on something important for once. It was a big step for him to even consider me in the role of partner. Maybe this time a little compromise would elicit more trust than arguing.

“Okay, just until tonight,” I agreed reluctantly. “The quilt show lasts until nine o’clock. Pick me up then.”

“Great.” He pushed his bowl of oatmeal back. “Just lay low today until I can get a feel for what everyone was doing when you were attacked.”

“I’ll probably see Janet at the quilt show and maybe Belinda, too. I’m not sure if Belinda’s involved with the guild, but since I’ll be there I could maybe casually mention . . .”

“No. Keep the conversation away from Tyler’s murder.”

“What if they bring it up?”

“Benni, I mean it. If we’re going to work together, you’re going to have to do what I say. Is that possible?”

“Yes,” I said irritably. I held three fingers up. “I solemnly swear to my extremely
senior
partner that I will not make a move unless I check with him first. Is there a loyalty oath you want me to sign?”

“No need for you to be sarcastic.”

“No need for you to be arrogant or chauvinistic either, but you are.”

He picked up the check and handed it to me. “Well, consider this my first act of becoming liberated, then. I’ll wait for you in the car. Don’t forget the tip. Make it twenty percent. She was a good waitress. Did her job without any backtalk. Such a rare quality in people these days.”

“Smartass,” I muttered, digging through my purse for my wallet.

Kathryn and Daphne were back home when Gabe and I returned. Gabe was greeted by a hug; I was greeted by a growl. From Daphne, not Kathryn.

“Benni, are you all right?” Kathryn asked, her keen eyes zeroing in on my scraped face. “Becky said you fell.”

“Yeah, clumsy me. How’s Becky doing with the quilt show?”

Kathryn gave me a doubtful look, but didn’t press the subject. “As you can imagine, she’s been in a tizzy this morning. The setup committee chairman called her at seven o’clock. Apparently some vendors are unhappy with their space assignments and are demanding something be done.”

“I can sympathize with Becky,” I said, thinking of my own wrangling with the artists in the co-op. Whenever we had a joint booth at a festival or a chunk of money was donated to the co-op, there was a fight about whose crafts were displayed where and which group of artists received the contribution. “Maybe I’ll go over there and give her some moral support.”

“Good idea,” Gabe said. “Let me drop you off.”

“What are you going to do today, Gabe?” his mother asked.

“Just hang out, visit some of the gang.” His face had the affable innocence of a toddler’s. Kathryn glanced at her son, then at me. She knew something was up, but tightened her lips and didn’t say any more.

“Your mother’s suspicious,” I said on the ride over to Becky’s house.

“The less she knows, the better,” he said. “I have enough problems worrying about your safety.”

I started to crack a smart remark, but stopped when I noticed the real apprehension tightening the muscles around his eyes. Someone he loved was being threatened, most likely by someone else he cared about. What a vacation this had turned out to be.

Stan was outside watering the flower beds when Gabe and I drove up. A bemused expression wrinkled his square face.

“I’m not crazy about leaving you alone today,” Gabe said, his face tight with worry.

“I’m not going to be alone,” I pointed out, “but if you’re really nervous, I could come with you. I’ll watch people while you question them, observe their body language.”