Something Borrowed, Something Bleu (7 page)

_____

“So that’s all I know so far,” I said. After Barr updated me on the house renovation, I’d filled him in on my day.
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then he said, “Are you sure you want to pursue this thing?”
“The cheese making?”
“No,” he said. “Not the cheese making.”
Okay, so I was being deliberately obtuse. His question had taken me off guard, though. I sighed. “I want to know why Bobby Lee did it, really I do. It’s just … there’s something almost obscene about digging around in his life, trying to unearth his secrets.” If not obscene, then at least selfish.
But what Bobby Lee had done had been selfish, too.
“Do me a favor, okay? Don’t do this only for your mother,” Barr said.
“Of course not. Believe me, I’m doing it for myself. Did I ever tell you that I tried to find out what happened back then? I talked to his friends, searched his room from top to bottom, checked out the places he secretly stashed things—all trying to figure out why he’d done it.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I’ve always wondered, Barr. I wasn’t very good at finding things out then. But this time maybe I’ll be able to provide some closure—for myself and for my parents.” Even I could hear the bouncy note I’d injected into my voice. It sounded totally fake.
“I’m afraid you’ll find out things you don’t want to know,” Barr said.
“I understand that, and you might be right. But I still have to do this. No way I’m going to stop now. There’s a story behind what happened, and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t track down what it is.”
He was silent for a few moments. “Okay. I won’t try to stop you. In fact, I’m proud of you. If anyone can get at that story, you can. Be careful, though.”
A warm glow passed through me. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
“Are you going to be able to come out here? Meet my folks and all?” I wanted him there by my side.
“Day after tomorrow, darlin’. Wednesday. Everything’s set up with Robin and Sergeant Zahn.” Robin Lane was the other Cadyville Police detective. “But I can only stay for a few days before I’m due back. Besides, I want to keep an eye on the construction at the house.”
“Oh, Barr, that’s great! I mean, I wish it could be for longer, but I’ll take what I can get.” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice.
“I thought everything was going well.”
“It is. I still want you here. I need all the allies I can get. Besides, I happen to like you.”
“Ah. Well, back atcha. Good thing we’re getting married, eh? And it sure sounds like you’re making great inroads on the wedding plans.”
“Umm. Who have you been talking to?”
“My mother, of course.”
“Who’s been talking to my mother,” I said.
“Also, of course.”
“Barr?”
“Yeah …”
“Do you want to get married at your family’s ranch?”
“Ah,” he said.
“Ah, what?”
“Hannah.”
“Hannah,” I confirmed.
“Is she a deal breaker?” he asked.
I considered. “We’d talked about simply going to the courthouse in Washington and keeping things easy. Now it sounds like you’d really prefer to get married in Wyoming.”
A few moments passed before he said, “I’d like to, but I won’t insist.”
That gave me pause. It was one thing to blow off my mother or his mother, but not Barr. He was doing an awful lot for me, selling his house and moving in with Meghan and Erin and me. The least I could do was agree to have our wedding on the ranch where he’d grown up.
Ex-wife or no ex-wife.
I’d just have to buck up and do it. “Okay, then. It’s a deal. I can handle Miss Hannah, don’t you worry.”
“You sure? I’ll talk to my brother. And to Hannah, if you’d like.”
Yeah, because that had worked so well in the past. Ha.
“That’s okay,” I said. “It’ll be fine.”
We progressed on to silly sweet nothings for a while, then said goodnight.
On my way to bed, I stopped by my old bedroom again. This time I found Meghan in bed reading one of Dad’s cookbooks. Beside her, Erin snored softly. Her mouth was slightly open, and Kitty Wampus had moved up to curl inside her arm.
I smiled. “The altitude takes it out of you for the first few days you’re here.”
“So does hiking up a mountain,” Meghan said. “I’m about to nod off myself.” She took off her half-glasses. “Any idea why this child of mine is so grumpy all of a sudden?”
I shook my head. “Hormones?”
“I don’t think so. Her behavior is so out of the blue. She’s always been such a good kid.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I gave Meghan a hug. “She still is. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”
“I’ll see if I can get her to open up when we go up to Estes Park tomorrow. What will you do while we’re gone?”
“Remember? I’m going over to Tabby’s to learn more about milk cultures.”
She squinted at me. “And? Besides following up on this new obsession with all things dairy?”
“Naturally I’ll try to talk to Joe. See what he has to say.” I shook my head. “I still can’t get over that letter showing up after eighteen years.”
“Yeah. Pretty weird, huh.”
“Convenient, even.”
“Hmmm. For whom?”
“That’s a very good question.”
“Any ideas?”
“Not yet. I’ll see you in the morning. When are you leaving for Estes?”
“Right after breakfast.”
“It’s beautiful up there. You’re going to love it. Maybe you’ll even get to hear Flora’s ghost play the piano in the Stanley Hotel.”
Meghan grimaced at the mention of one of the many ghosts said to haunt the stately and historic hotel. “No wonder it inspired
The Shining
.”
“Oh, c’mon. It’s not like you’re going to stay the night,” I said. “That’s when they’re all supposed to come out and play.”
She yawned. “Erin wanted to, but I nixed that idea.”
“Spoil sport.”
“Of course. But I want to get back a little early. Kelly’s flying into Denver tomorrow afternoon. Your mother said he could stay here.” She tossed that out casually, but couldn’t keep the note of joy out of her voice.
“That’s great! And Barr just told me he’s flying in on Wednesday.” I gave her another hug. “You’d better get some rest. Sleep tight.” It would be a crowded house for a few days, but we’d manage.
I left her to her book and went down the hallway. After climbing into bed, I wheeled the dial on the clock radio to NPR and cracked open a book on meditation Dad had recommended. But I found myself distracted over and over again, my gaze drifting from the page to wander around the room.
Last night Anna Belle’s redecoration had been all I could see. Tired and feeling a little bamboozled, I’d tumbled into slumber with only fleeting thoughts of Bobby Lee.
Perhaps it was the earlier talk of ghosts and haunting. Perhaps I just wasn’t as tired tonight. Or maybe talking about him with his old girlfriend had brought my brother not only to the foreground of my mind, but right into the room with me.
“Bobby Lee?” I whispered.

The only response was
a mild breeze rustling the lilac bush outside my open window. Well, of course that was the only response. What was I, ten? Still, I found myself closing my eyes and listening carefully to the leaves muttering against each other. They began to tell stories, and I saw Bobby Lee walking down a dirt road. He was holding hands with a girl, and she was holding hands with another boy, and he …
The knock on the door sent me a foot into the air. Uninvited, my mother entered the room to find me wide-eyed, palm pressed to my chest where my heart was trying to hammer its way right through my ribs, thankyouverymuch.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing, my foot. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I swallowed. “Must have fallen asleep reading. You startled me.”
She held me in her gaze for a few more seconds, then seemed to accept my explanation. “I wanted to say good night before going to bed. I’ll take a look at those newspaper articles before I go to sleep.” She turned back to the door.
“Good night, Anna Belle,” I said.
She paused. Spoke without turning around. “And thank you. I wanted to say thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
Now she threw a look over her shoulder. “Yes. You have. You’ve decided to help me find out what happened.”
“I’m doing it for me, too, you know. And Dad.”
She hesitated. “I know. Good night.”
“’Night.”
But the door was already closing behind her.
I got up and shut the closet door before turning off the light. As a kid I’d never believed in monsters under the bed; the closet, though, that was a different thing. And being back in the house I’d grown up in always made me regress in new and creative ways. I could hardly wait to see what other aberrant behavior from my youth would surface in the next few days.
Bleah.
Instead of listening to the leaves tell more stories, I found myself drifting off while thinking of Barr. Marrying Barr. A life with Barr.
I slept like a baby.

_____

The smell of pancakes on the stove teased me awake. As I hurriedly threw on shorts and T-shirt, I envisioned my dad’s summer breakfast specialty: raspberry-studded buttermilk pancakes doused with thick maple syrup. Sure enough, when I hit the kitchen the first thing I saw was Erin tucking in to just that.
She looked up at me with cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk.
I laughed and sat down. “Pretty good stuff, huh Bug?”
Nodding emphatically, she reached for her fork again.
“Slow down.” Meghan’s tone was mild as she turned a page of the
Denver Post
. She had donned a white cotton skirt and blood-red tank for their day out. Her sandals matched the tank top.
“Morning,” I said to my parents, bustling around the stove together. As I watched, they bumped hips and smiled at each other. I blinked in surprise and then couldn’t help grinning.
“Good morning, dear.” Anna Belle set a cup of steaming coffee in front of me. Dad, wearing a fuchsia-and-orange Hawaiian shirt, followed right behind with a plate of pancakes.
Tearing my gaze from the jarring color combination, I leaned forward to take a big whiff. Tried not to moan. “Oh, man. I’ve missed these.”
“Good,” he said.
I looked up at him in surprise.
“You should always miss something. It’s good for you.”
“Some of your Buddhist philosophy?”
“Nah. Just a plain old Calvinism.”
Smiling, I unfolded my napkin and laid it across my lap. Dad had always couched his rules for living as “Calvinisms.” I hadn’t heard any new ones in a while, though.
Pancakes packed into my belly, Meghan and Erin sent on their merry way to spend the day in Estes Park, Anna Belle off to the University for a faculty meeting, and Dad in the basement twisting his way through a yoga workout, I settled down at my laptop. My Winding Road e-mail inbox overflowed with requests, orders, and questions. Two hours later I’d dealt with the majority of them, called Cyan to talk about what she should work on for the next couple of days, and enlisted her sister’s help with a particularly large wholesale order for lip balms and bath salts which had to be packed up and sent out by the end of the week.
It was comforting to know I could leave town for a few days and, between working remotely on the computer and having reliable helpers, Winding Road Bath Products would continue with business as usual. It was with a feeling of accomplishment that I poured another cup of coffee and went out to look at the kitchen garden. Anna Belle had landscaped and planted it for aesthetics as well as edibility, interspersing herbs and flowers with the vegetables to add texture and repel pests. Basil and calendula peeked out from beneath heavy heirloom tomato vines and purple pole beans climbed a trellis behind bright red, yellow, and orange peppers. Purple, yellow, and red potatoes were hilled within small retaining walls built of red flagstone. Dark red nasturtiums tumbled over the tops of the walls, spilling down among the feet of cucumber plants tied to a teepee of bamboo poles. A border of spiky onions and blue-and-white pansies marched around the whole garden and an eggplant here, a trio of leeks there, frilly kale snugged up to a big-leaved red cabbage—all added to the effect of an ornamental perennial bed.
Bobby Lee had always loved to work in the vegetable garden with Anna Belle.
I longed to dig my hands into the soil, to gather some of the harvest for dinner, or to simply sit on the ancient wooden chaise lounge and listen to the buzzing of the bees, but a glance at my watch made me drain my cup and move back toward the house. I only had time for a quick shower before driving out to the dairy for my next lesson.
All clean and shiny, my hair fluffed into some semblance of order, and slathered with sunscreen, I donned a gray skort and peach-colored T-shirt, slipped into my most comfortable pair of sandals, grabbed my tote bag, yelled goodbye to Dad in the basement and ran out the door. Anticipation itched under my skin as I started the Subaru and automatically flipped on the air conditioning. In less than half an hour I’d be showing Joe Bines the copy of Bobby Lee’s letter.
Maybe, just maybe, I’d learn the truth at last.

_____

But then Barr’s words of warning came back to me as I made the twenty-minute drive to the T&J Dairy. What the heck was I doing? Who knew why anyone committed suicide? Maybe we’d never know. And if I did uncover the reason Bobby Lee did what he did, would it change anything? What if I were churning the waters needlessly, muddying what little peace time had granted us all?
I tried to imagine turning around and going back home, dropping the whole thing. But I couldn’t.
I just couldn’t.
The Subaru pulled a plume of road dust behind it as I navigated the lengthy gravel drive leading into the dairy. A milk delivery truck with their logo—a stylized intertwining of Tabby and Joe’s first initials—dominated one corner of the small parking lot, next to the square outbuilding where Tabby had held class the day before. A battered red truck and the Jeep Tabby had driven the day before were parked on either side of it. No milk deliveries this morning, I guessed.
Good. I crossed my fingers and dared to hope Joe Bines would tell me what had happened then and there. I could go home, tell my parents, and we’d all get on with our lives.
Three small goats greeted me when I climbed out of the car, lined up in a row of pure cuteness. They trotted their adorable selves right up and let me scratch their heads and pet their soft, floppy ears. Of course, they were probably just begging for food. I knew that look—at home Brodie was a grand master.
For once I remembered the sun shade for the front windshield and abandoned the kids to find it in the backseat. I had just adjusted it the way I wanted and was backing out of the car again when something brushed against my behind.
Surprised, I whirled around. A much larger goat had joined the smaller ones. She … he? I bent down. Couldn’t tell. It didn’t have horns though. Girl, then. She blinked at me, then let out a loud bleat. I jerked back in surprise, then smiled.
“Are these your babies? Don’t worry, I’m harmless.” I turned my back to her and started walking up to the farm house.
The blow to my posterior sent me flying, arms outstretched. The tote bag sailed off my shoulder, and I landed face down in the dirt.
Well, it was mostly dirt. There was some other … matter mixed in. The kind of stuff farm animals tend to leave behind, which I could see quite clearly because it was inches away from my face.
Ewwww.
I pushed myself up and managed to get back on my feet. Brushing off my hands, I spun around. Rubbed my rear end and glared at Mama Goat. “What did you do
that
for?”
Her response was a placid gaze.
“Git,” I said and stomped my foot.
She took a step toward me.
I ran at her, flailing my arms. She turned tail and ran off, the three little ones trotting behind.
“Stupid goat,” I muttered, and began returning scattered items to my tote. The copy of the letter was streaked with dirt. I gave my mother a mental nod for taking back the original. I brushed off the muck as best I could and continued up the slight hill to the house.
Sure enough, Joe answered the door when I knocked. He wore Wranglers and a long-sleeved chambray shirt, even in the heat. He looked worn for a man three years younger than me. Ridden hard and put away wet, as they say. Lined, sun-damaged skin stretched across his prominent cheekbones and hooked nose. He surveyed my face for mere seconds before recognition dawned.
When he opened his mouth the same nasal tones I remembered assaulted my ears. “Well, if it isn’t little Sophie Mae Watson. Not as little as you used to be, though, are you? Look like you went a few rounds, too. Didja win?”
Excuse me? Was Joe actually commenting on the fact that I weighed exactly seven and a half pounds more than I had in high school? I mean, maybe I wasn’t quite as … coltish as then, but I wasn’t exactly a cow, either.
All of that must have flickered across my face—after all, I was terrible at maintaining any kind of a poker face—but Joe Bines just leered and showed off the dark tobacco stains on his teeth.
“I see some people haven’t changed a whit,” I said. “Is Tabby around?”
“Nope. She’s helping out at our girl’s school. She’ll be back in a few, though. Come on in.” He stepped back from the doorway, and I entered the house.
It was tidy and scrubbed and smelled like fresh bread. Rye bread with lots of caraway seeds, if I wasn’t mistaken. I followed Joe into the kitchen, and sure enough, two lovely loaves sat cooling on the center island.
I perched on a stool and brushed at the dark smudge across the front of my T-shirt. “What’s your daughter’s name?”
Joe leaned against the counter and continued to run his eyes up and down, finally stopping at my boobs. “Delight,” he said to them.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Her name. Delight.”
“Oh. That’s, um, pretty.”
“It was Tabby’s idea. I think it’s stupid.”
I hoped his daughter didn’t know that.
Suddenly, he looked me in the eye. “Why are you here?”
Wow. And people said I was abrupt. Well, when in Rome … “I’m trying to find out why Bobby Lee killed himself.”
He squinted at me. “Little late for that, don’t you think?”
Stifling the urge to turn around and leave, I said, “Did Tabby tell you about the letter he wrote? The suicide note?”
He stared at me. The moment stretched into thick discomfort. Finally Joe said, “He didn’t leave a note.”
“Turns out he did.” I slid my hand into my bag.
Joe began emphatically shaking his head. “No, that’s not possible.” He held up a palm. “What does it say? No, he wouldn’t do that.” It was like he was not only talking to himself but answering himself as well. To my ear, both sides of the conversation sounded pretty darn scared.
Obviously Tabby hadn’t told her husband about the note. My hand came back out of the bag, empty.
“My parents just found it,” I said, fudging the truth a teeny tiny bit. “It’s very revealing.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
Oooh. The jerk knew something, something big. I wasn’t about to tell him I didn’t know what the heck Bobby Lee had been talking about or that Tabby had professed ignorance.
Placing both elbows on the Formica, I leaned forward. “Maybe you’d like to explain? Tell me your side of things?” I wanted to prime him with one of the newspaper stories, but if I picked the wrong one he’d know I was bluffing. For that matter I didn’t know if any of them were relevant.
“I don’t care what the hell it says, your brother’s a liar.”
Hot anger crept under my scalp, and I felt my face redden. “Is that so.”
He shook his finger at me. “Don’t you go around spreading any lies, either, Sophie Mae. That would be very bad for your health.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you actually threatening me?”
His fingers curled into fists, and my heart bucked against my ribs. Fear crawled up my neck. Joe looked ready to explode.
“Okay,” I said in a desperate, conciliatory tone. “I believe you. And it was all a long time ago. None of that matters now.”
The sound of the front door opening filtered into the kitchen. It loosened his fists but did nothing for the tension in the air between us. When Tabby walked in her first words were, “What’s going on?”
We were both silent.
“Joe?” Her tone held accusation.
He glared at me for a few more moments, then turned on his heel and left the room. Tabby ran after him. I heard their voices, low but sharp in the front room. Less than a minute later the front door slammed.
Tabby came back into the kitchen, let out a whoosh of breath and put her hands on her hips. “What did you say to him?”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea he’d react like that. I asked him about Bobby Lee’s letter.”
Her nostrils flared. “I wish you’d stop going around showing
my
letter to everyone.”
“I’m not showing it to everyone.” In fact, I hadn’t revealed the contents to anyone. The postal supervisor had only seen the envelope.
“My mother called me last night. She wasn’t happy you dropped by and asked all those questions.”
Too bad, I thought. “I went to see if she could tell me more about why the letter was returned eighteen years after it was sent. I only showed her the envelope. And I didn’t show it to Joe, either. Still, he seemed to assume it said something incriminating about him.”
Concern flickered across Tabby’s face, then was gone. “I’ll set him straight later. Now, are you going to give it to me?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s not my decision. My mother has the original now, and you know she’ll never give it up. What I want to know—” I put steel into the words. “—is why Joe became so frightened.”
But she just shook her head, completely ignoring my insistent tone. “No idea.”
“Like hell.”
She shrugged. “Sorry.”
Right.
I tried a different tack. “I’m sorry I upset him so much.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Yeah. Me, too,” she breathed.
“Is he … does he get violent?”
A pause, then she shook her head. “Not with us. He’s gotten in a few bar fights over the years.”
“Charming.”
She frowned. “He’s my husband. The father of my daughter. And he’s a good dad, he really is.”
He’s a total ass, I thought but didn’t say. “You love him.” It was the only explanation I could think of for why they were still together. I may not understand it, but I could accept it.
So her sharp laugh startled me, especially juxtaposed against the sudden sadness on her face. “Love? Not really. He used to interest me. Bad boy syndrome, I guess. But I grew out of that.” She leaned on the counter and put her chin on her hand. “I was crazy in love with your brother. After he died, I swore to myself I’d never hurt like that again. But we have a bond, Joe and I, and we’ve built a life together. It’s a pretty good one. We get along okay, and I have the dairy. And then there’s Delight. She’s everything to me.”
This intensely personal turn of events felt uncomfortable. Still, I couldn’t help repeating, “But you’re not in love.”
She reached for the refrigerator door. “Sometimes being in love is overrated.”