Irish Chain (34 page)

“No kidding. And they say we’re the illogical ones.”

“Speaking of men, have you placed a name to that voice yet?”

“No,” I said, sighing. “I’m beginning to wonder if I only imagined that I recognized it. I’ve been in such an emotional tizzy these last few days, I’m not sure I can trust any of my senses.”

“Well, you can’t deny that it had to do with the murders. That ‘no more questions’ business is just too coincidental, don’t you think?”

“You’re right. But...”

She looked at me, her mouth a straight line. “I know that ‘but.’ You’re not going to stop, are you?”

I leaned my head against the window. “I don’t know. Right now, all I want is a plate of Dove’s chicken pot pie and to lie on the sofa and watch Oprah.”

Beef stew was what Dove had actually made for lunch. Elvia declined an invitation with the excuse the bookstore was a mess and she had to get back to it.

“Need a ride to town tomorrow?” she asked as I walked her down the long driveway to her car.

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’ll catch a ride into town with Daddy. He always has breakfast in town on Monday mornings. I’ve got to be at the museum early because that reporter from L.A. is supposed to be there by eight o’clock.”

When I walked into the kitchen, Dove had an ironstone soup bowl of stew dished up for me.

“I can’t eat all that,” I said, my churning stomach already protesting the gravy-covered chunks of beef, potatoes and carrots.

“You need to get your strength back. I wish you would stay longer than one night. I’m worried about that man who tried to hurt you.”

“Gee, and I thought you’d be worried about me,” I said, sitting down and laying the checkered napkin across my lap.

“This is not something to joke about. Whatever it is you’re doing to cause this man to attack you, I want you to stop it right now.”

“Dove Ramsey telling me to back down,” I said, sticking a juicy piece of beef in my mouth. “Somebody pinch me. I think I’m dreaming.”

“Don’t smart-mouth me, young lady. You’re not too big to switch, you know.” She turned around and started fiddling with the miniature television sitting on the counter. “Now, Ahmad’s show is going to be on in ten minutes and I want you finished with your lunch and out of my hair before it starts.”

I made a face at her back and continued eating. I was almost finished when Daddy walked into the kitchen. His faded blue eyes lit up when he saw what I was eating.

“Real food? There’s some real, honest-to-Pete, American food being served in this kitchen?”

“None left,” Dove said, dumping the rest of the stew down the garbage disposal and turning it on. The loud grinding drowned out Daddy’s fiery comments.

Dove flipped off the disposal and turned around, a shameless smile on her face. “What was that, son?”

“Nothing,” he growled and turned to me. “You’ve got company outside. Tell your gramma I’ll be going to town for dinner. Until then, I’ll be out in the barn waiting for my hay to come in.”

“What’s got his dander up?” Dove asked. I shook my head and didn’t answer. I had enough problems of my own without getting in the middle of their little domestic spat.

Clay sat on the front porch swing holding a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of mixed flowers. “Heard you were sick,” he said, handing me the flowers.

“Thanks,” I said, bringing them to my face. “But actually, I was mugged.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t have cards for that, so I figured flowers would have to do.”

“How’d you hear?”

“Here and there. You know this town. Are you feeling good enough to show me around? I haven’t been here in a long time. Looks like you’ve made some changes.”

“We have.”

I set the flowers on the porch railing and led him out back toward the barn. After showing him all the improvements Daddy had made in the last seventeen years, we ended up on a bench underneath an old oak tree on a small rise overlooking our driveway. We’d picked up a couple of barn kittens along the way, a calico and a gray with white mittens, and were teasing them with long strands of hay while talking about Daddy’s latest attempt to upgrade our stock with imported bull semen from Canada and my interview with the L.A.
Times
reporter the next morning.

“So, you’re going back to town tomorrow,” he said. “Do you think that’s smart?”

“What does everyone expect me to do, stay out here for the rest of my life? I only came out here today to make Dove feel better. I’m perfectly safe in my house. I lock all the doors and windows. I have a gun and I know how to use it.”

He pushed his hat back slightly. “I don’t know, Benni. Seems to me you’re asking for—”

The roar of an engine coming up the driveway drowned out the rest of his sentence. Gabe, dressed in a dark suit and his customary snow-white shirt, pulled up close to the house and climbed out of his Corvette.

“Well, look who’s here, Wyatt Earp,” Clay said, sticking a piece of straw in his mouth. I didn’t answer. This was not a good sign. Gabe told me he was going to call, not come out.

We watched him slip off his dark aviator glasses and toss them on the seat. Not noticing us, he walked up to the ranch house and knocked on the door, then stepped inside when Dove answered.

After a few minutes, they came out of the house and stared up toward Clay and me from the front porch.

“I’d better go see what he wants,” I said. “Why don’t you go down to the barn and talk to my dad?” I picked up the calico kitten and held it against my chest. Its claws pierced the thin cotton of my turtleneck and pricked me.

“I’ll tell you what he wants,” Clay said. “For you to stay away from me. To quote a favorite singer of mine, let’s give them something to talk about.” He leaned over, grabbed me by the waist and gave me a swift, hard kiss. In between us, the kitten mewed in protest.

I pulled away, trying not to smile. “You are such a troublemaker, Clay. You always were.”

He laughed and scooped up the gray kitten. “Just trying to keep things lively. Think I’ll go down to the barn and talk to your dad. By the way, I do believe you have company.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said, handing him the other kitten.

We walked down to the porch, Dove’s and Gabe’s eyes following us the whole way.

“Miz Ramsey,” Clay said. “Nice to see you again.” He paused. “Hey, Chief.” His voice gave a twist to Gabe’s title that made it sound like an insult.

“O’Hara,” Gabe said, nodding slightly. I searched his sober olive face for the man who told me the story of a flying blue turtle, the man who curled around me last night, his warm breath against my neck. This morning he was all business, a man who had questions and would demand answers.

“I’ll talk to you later, Benni.” Clay held up a kitten in salute and gave me a broad wink. “Don’t let that old gomer bull there intimidate you too much.” He strode off toward the barn.

Dove shook her head at his comment and shot me the same resigned but disapproving look she used to give me when, as a teenager, I missed curfew or insisted on spending my money or time on something she deemed foolish and wasteful. I sent back the same mind-your-own-business frown I gave her back then. An uncomfortable silence commenced until a crow, black as tar and big as a possum, let out a loud
scraw
before lifting off the white rail fence lining the driveway. Dove
hmphed
under her breath.

“I’ve got cooking to do,” she said, slamming the screen door behind her.

I turned to Gabe and said in a calm and reasonable voice, “That wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Looked like he kissed you.”

“Well, I guess it was what it looked like, it just wasn’t...” What in the world was I doing? I didn’t have to explain anything to him. The man who didn’t even know how to spell the word love. “So, what’s up?” I asked, my voice deliberately friendly and casual.

“I came by to see if you were okay. Obviously, you are.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, I pointed at the porch swing. “Want to sit down?”

“No, I can’t stay long.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked out over my head. “What did he mean by that?”

“What?”

“Gomer bull. I take it that’s some sort of inside lingo in the cattle business. What does it mean?”

“Oh.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “You don’t really want to know.”

“If I’m being laughed at, I prefer to know why.”

“Okay, you asked. A gomer bull is sort of a... warm-up act.”

“Elaborate.”

“Well, cows are mostly impregnated these days by artificial insemination. But sometimes cows come into heat at night when no one can see them. So there’s these bulls that you buy for a couple of hundred dollars called ‘gomer bulls’ and their only job is to ... well... be active. Except that we either give them a vasectomy or put a penile block on them so the inferior sperm won’t, you know... take. Then we put a thing called a ‘chin ball marker’ on their heads. It’s filled with STP motor oil and different color dyes, so we know which bulls are doing their job. Then we let them loose with the cows cause... well... the bulls know by odor which cows are in heat and they—”

“I get the drift,” Gabe said, his voice cool.

“He was just teasing you,” I said.

After a few minutes of silence he said, “Tell me everything you recall about last night, even if it doesn’t seem relevant.”

I repeated everything I could remember. He didn’t write any of it down, but I knew it would be filed away in his memory, ready to be extracted exactly when he needed it. He thought for a moment. “The voice,” he said. “Have you placed it yet?”

“No, and now I’m not even sure I was hearing right. It all happened so fast and I was so scared.” An involuntary tremble shimmied through me. I crossed my arms and leaned against the porch railing. Admitting I was afraid made it seem real again, just as I was beginning to relegate it to the mythical-past segment of my memory. “Not many clues for you to follow, I’m afraid.”

“Clues,” he repeated absently. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and fiddled with the keychain, a piece of greenish turquoise set in silver, handmade for him by a Navajo friend he’d met in Vietnam. The stone was worn smooth from Gabe’s nervous stroking. “Clues are only signs, Benni. In themselves, they’re worth nothing. They can just as easily point to lies as to the truth. Like fingers pointing at fingers pointing at fingers.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I know Mac isn’t telling me the whole story. I suspect he’s trying to protect his grandmother. I’ve put it off as long as I can. Unless you can shed some light on this ...” He let his voice trail off.

I looked at the ground and didn’t answer. If Mac hadn’t told Gabe that Oralee was involved, I couldn’t be the one to do it.

“I’m going to have to question her,” he said softly.

“Good luck,” I said under my breath.

“Well, apparently I’m going to need it. I have to get to work. When are you coming back to town?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Just be careful. Don’t go anywhere by yourself after dark, or really any time. Make sure the locks on your windows and doors are secure. I think I should come over and—”

I interrupted his safety list. “Would you cut me some slack here? I’m not a complete idiot, Gabe. I can cross the street without getting hit by a car.”

“Fine,” he said abruptly. “I’ll have someone call you if we come up with anything.”

“Fine,” I repeated, watching him walk toward his car, his head held high. Suddenly, I remembered something.

“Wait,” I called and ran down the steps after him. “I forgot to ask you something.”

He opened the car door, then turned to look at me, his eyes slit against the early afternoon sun hanging yellow and warm overhead. “What is it?”

“How’s Aaron?”

“Fine. They changed his medication. I drove Rachel and him home this morning. That’s why I wasn’t there when you woke up.”

“I’m glad he’s better.”

“Me too.”

I had started back toward the house when gravel crackled behind me and I felt his fingers tighten on my shoulder. I slowly turned around to face him, apprehensive when I saw the determined look on his face.

“This is crazy,” he said.

“I agree.”

“I don’t know exactly what you’ve got going with O’Hara, but I think you’re way over your head.”

I pulled away from his hand. “That’s not really your place to decide, now is it?”

“You saw his criminal record. He’s a hothead and unpredictable.”

I laughed, thinking those same adjectives could just as well describe Gabe. “Maybe there’s just something about that type of guy that appeals to me.”

His jaw pulled tight and a ribbon of uncertainty fluttered across my chest bone. He scrutinized me for a moment, then leaned over and grabbed my chin, jerking it up sharply. He kissed me hard, his tongue sweet, insistent and angry. I kissed back, but pulled away when he wouldn’t stop.

“What was that, Friday?” I asked, trying to subtly gulp air. “Marking your territory?”

White ridges scarred both sides of his mouth. I took a shaky step backwards, certain I’d gone too far this time.

“Benni Harper,” he said, his voice quiet and level, his eyes hard as two blue stones, “I’m warning you. You’re dancing way too close to the base of the fire.”

Five minutes later, I was still standing there watching the dust from his tires settle back down in the driveway. I chewed a thumbnail and considered his words. There was no doubt I wasn’t the most experienced woman when it came to the opposite sex, but it certainly didn’t take a genius to figure out he wasn’t talking about the investigation. Or about Clay O’Hara.

18

THE COMFORTING SMELLS of fresh coffee, country sausage and baking bread woke me early the next day. I grunted at Dove’s “Good morning” and headed straight for the coffeepot. She floured her hands and started kneading the huge lump of dough on the counter, all the while getting on my case about what happened at the parade.

“I don’t want you going back to town.” She smacked the white lump with a practiced hand. “There’s absolutely no reason to until Gabe catches that crazy person.” She always bakes when she’s upset. A part of me contemplated extending my visit just to enjoy the fruits of her stress.