Seven Sisters (11 page)

“Don’t blame me. I didn’t make up the guest list. Though we recognize the fact that your father and my grandfather were first cousins by marriage and that your father also married my mother’s first cousin qualifies you as immediate family, I’m not sure they would. Believe me, you’ll be meeting the Brown dynasty at some point in the future since our families are now loosely, soon to be tightly, connected. I’m not sure how Giles’s death is going to affect the marriage plans of Sam and Bliss. It’s no surprise that no one got around to talking dates or anything.”

“What a nasty little bed of cottonmouths your stepson has stumbled into. So, who do you think did it?”

“Is that my cousin asking or a reporter?”

“Depends on the answer. Seriously, one of our reporters got a weird call about the Brown family shindig yesterday evening. Seems something was going down at the Brown estate that night, and this person wanted a reporter to be there to record it.”

“Something going down? That sounds like bad movie dialogue. Who called?”

“That famous fella Anonymous. Anyway, the reporter who took the call brushed it off as a prank, then could have kicked himself when he heard what happened.”

“Do you think Giles’s murder was planned? No, that couldn’t be it. Who would plan a murder, then call the press to come cover it?”

“Good question. Let me know if you find out the answer.”

“Seven Sisters is scheduled for a full slate of wine activities starting this weekend. I wonder how Giles’s death will affect that.”

“It’ll triple the amount of people who go,” Emory said. “I have only my column to write, which I was thinking might have something to do with the inconsideration of family members who have inside tracks to breaking stories that could help the careers of their loved ones—”

“I have no inside track,” I interrupted. “You’re as bad as that detective. Believe me, no one knows less about this situation than me, and I plan on keeping it that way. I have enough on my plate with Sam and Gabe circling each other like deranged coyotes, not to mention Mama Coyote herself slinking about.”

“Was she there? I thought you said she wasn’t coming up until next weekend.”

“Apparently she pulled some strings and got her pending cases continued so she could check on her son. For that I have a begrudging respect for her. At least she’s putting her son before her job.”

“Tell me,” Emory said, his voice settling into that intimate, confidential tone that said he was ready to hear some dirt. “What is the dragon lady like? Did you spill a drink on her Armani suit? Grind your boot heel on her Ferragamo pumps? Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell, you old gossip. She’s a very nice woman. We had a nice talk. She was very supportive of her son. She’s very—”

“Yeah, yeah, nice. Don’t forget who you’re talking to, sweetcakes. I know the Southern definition for nice. Any Southern lady worth her crystal egg plate would rather eat dark meat chicken salad made with storebought mayonnaise than be called
nice.
Were her insults very clever?”

“Not so very,” I said, allowing him that much. “A couple of gibes reminding me of her connection to, as she put it, her ‘two men.’ ”

“You’d better watch out, my gullible little pullet. If she’s just coming off a divorce, she might be feeling unsettled enough to want to renew old ties with something familiar, namely your handsome Latino husband.”

“Give me a break. They were divorced over nine years ago. Gabe said they wanted completely different things in life. She hated what he did for a living.”

“Which was?”

“He was working undercover narcotics then. She wanted someone more conventional, someone who wore a suit and went to work every day like a normal person. She liked parties and social stuff. She didn’t want to be married to someone who stumbled in at all hours all stressed out because of some drug bust, smelling like a sewer. She wanted someone—”

“Someone who is, say, the highly respected and socially prominent chief of police of a pleasant little town like San Celina?”

I froze, silent for a moment, his words articulating thoughts I’d been denying. “Okay, you’re right, he’s probably more now like the man she wanted then, but anything between them was over long before Gabe and I started our relationship. Don’t do this to me, Emory. I don’t need it right now. Things are finally running smooth between me and Gabe.”

Emory sighed over the phone. “Sweetcakes, I’m not trying to cause problems between you and the chief. I just don’t want anyone to rustle your husband when you’re not paying attention.”

“He’s not a prize bull, Emory. No one can steal him from me. He’s with me because he wants to be.” I said the words with conviction. I didn’t fool my cousin one second.

“Better buy yourself some new lingerie,” he advised. “And start cooking his favorite meals more often.”

I growled at him over the phone. “You are such a man!”

“Yes, I am,” he said calmly. “And if you’re smart, you’ll listen to me.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Benni—”

“I repeat, I’m—”

“Lunch?”

“Only if you promise this subject is closed.”

He was silent a moment.

“I mean it, Emory.”

“Okay, okay, closed for the day. But not forever. How about Thai on the Run?”

“You know I hate Thai food. McClintock’s.”

“You and your hamburgers. Noon.”

“And it’s your treat since you’re being such a jerk.”

“Since when do you ever pay for a meal when we dine together?”

After almost three hours of diligent paper-pushing and phone work trying to get our next exhibit arranged, I wandered into the main room of the co-op studios to watch the finishing touches being put on the wine quilt that would be auctioned off at the Zin and Zydeco gathering Saturday night. I half expected to see JJ today, but certainly understood why she probably wouldn’t come in. The co-op group was a pleasant one, but they loved gossip, and I was sure she didn’t want to face the curious looks and questions.

After a quick foray through the museum, which was showing a display of original wine label art created for Central Coast wineries, I went out the heavy Spanish front doors and headed across the parking lot to Gabe’s old 1950 Chevy truck parked under a graffiti-scarred oak that was probably older than the hacienda. I was unlocking the front door when a red Dodge Ram 1500 V8 Magnum truck pulled into the lot. Since I knew the vehicles of just about everyone who volunteered at the museum or belonged to the co-op, and Tuesday morning was rarely a time for casual visitors, I watched it curiously as it pulled next to my truck. There was something that was vaguely familiar about it, but the windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see who was driving until the door opened and a foot wearing a forest green lizard skin cowboy boot appeared. Detective Hudson’s brown head and the rest of him followed seconds afterward.

“Hey, glad I caught you,” he said, smiling widely. He wore a pale green tailored Arrow shirt and another neatly pressed pair of Wranglers.

I walked around and met him at the tailgate of my truck. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to update you. They’re sending the recovered bullet and the gun down to the crime lab right now. Well, actually I’m taking them there myself.”

I waited for a moment, not sure why he was telling me this.

“Bein’ used to a big city, it seems weird not having a crime lab right close. I have to go to some town down south . . . Golatta, I think it’s called. And I have to wait for it since the Browns are such famous and respected people in this town. I’m pretty sure there’s more to this than anyone realizes, but the sheriff wants it cleared up ASAP. And, he said, he’d prefer the killer not be a family member. I’m guessin’ they’re a big financial supporter of his, and he doesn’t want the till dried up. What do you think?”

“The town’s name is Goleta,” I said, not answering his question. “It’s a little north of Santa Barbara.”

“Santa Barbara. Isn’t that where that singer Michael Jackson has that weird ranch of his? With carnival rides and circus animals?”

“I don’t imagine the city fathers would prefer that to be
the
thing they are internationally known for, but, yes, his estate is in the general area. Actually it’s closer to Santa Ynez.” I glanced at my watch. I had exactly fifteen minutes to get to McClintock’s. “Was there something specific you needed to ask me, Detective Hudson?”

“You want to tell me about this argument you heard between Mr. Norton and that woman again?”

“I told you everything I heard last night.”

He looked at the ground, gave a good ole boy kick at the dirt, then looked back up and grinned at me. “Please, bear with me, ma’am, but I’d just like to hear it one more time. For my own clarification.”

“Okay,” I said with an exaggerated sigh, thinking how much alike cops are. It was the same thing Gabe would have done. “But there’s nothing different today than what I told you last night.”

He nodded as I talked, watching my body language in that way I’d grown used to since being married to a cop. He took out his
Beauty and the Beast
notebook, flipped through the pages, and wrote something down.

“Is that it?” I asked, jiggling my keys with impatience.

“For the time bein’. Just one more thing. Since you’re kind of on the fringe of this family and I’m takin’ it you’ll be seein’ more of them, I was wondering if you’d just kind of keep your ears open and let me know if you hear anything that doesn’t sit right with you. You know what I mean.” His friendly brown eyes smiled at me.

“You’re asking me to snoop around my stepson’s future in-laws.” This guy was starting to get on my nerves.

“Well . . .” He gave an apologetic but hopeful look. “You do it so well.”

I glared at him, completely annoyed now. “What?”

His country-gravy grin spread across his face again. “Your reputation precedes you. I’ve only been with the department about five months, but I wasn’t here but a few weeks when I heard the stories about you.”

I felt my face grow warm. “First piece of advice about San Celina: Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“Now I do apologize from the bottom of my heart. I never meant it as anything but a compliment. Why, I admire the tenacity and vivacity with which you solved your many homicide cases here in San Celina. You’re a legend, you know.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “The molasses is running a bit thick here, Detective Hudson.”

“Since we’re working together on this case, please call me Hud.”

I raised my eyebrows and scratched my neck. “Hud?”

“Yes, ma’am. Like the movie.”

“What movie?”

“What movie? How can you say that?
The
movie. One of the greatest movies ever filmed.
Hud.
With Paul Newman. It’s a
Western,
for cryin’ out loud. I can’t believe you never heard of it.”

“I thought Hud had something to do with low-cost housing.” I really had seen the movie. It was just fun teasing him. Besides, I hated that movie. It was depressing. Paul Newman plays a bad guy who is never brought to justice.

He gave me a disparaging look.

“Hud’s a dumb nickname. What’s your real name? And for the record, I never agreed to snoop for you.”

“My first name’s Ford. But I’ve always been called Hud.”

“Ford? Like the car?”

He nodded.

“Ford Hudson? Were your mom and dad nuts?”

“Now, that is something we could discuss at length sometime over a big ole cup of strong coffee. My mama is the finest lady to walk the Texas earth. My old man was unique, no doubt about that. And, yeah, they were both a tad nuts. It could have been worse. If I’d’ve been a girl, they were going to name me Cadillac.”

I grimaced. “Cadillac Hudson?”

“Yeah, good thing the little guy sperm won the race, huh?” He faked a sympathetic expression. “And I understand about the snooping. Chief Ortiz would most likely take away your allowance if he found out.”

I frowned at him. “Gabe and I don’t have that kind of relationship.”

“So, you don’t do whatever he says?”

“Of course not!”

“So, if you hear anything, you’ll call me?”

I wanted to strangle him. He’d managed to maneuver it so if I didn’t, it looked like I was under Gabe’s thumb. “I told you, I
always
cooperate with law enforcement. Why are you singling me out, Detective Hudson?”

“Hud. Like the movie.”

“Detective.”

“Well, me bein’ new here on the Central Coast and to the sheriff’s department and this bein’ my first homicide case, I figured I’d need someone in the know. You seemed like a friendly, intelligent face.” The expression on his face was so open and earnest I couldn’t help but relent a little. Men who were secure enough to admit they needed help held a certain type of power over women. Then again, the guy was a player, no doubt about it, and his aren’t-I-cute Tom Sawyer act probably fooled a lot of people . . . likely most of them women.

“No one would ever believe it if I told them you asked me to help you. Not to mention my husband would have your head.”

“You’re right on both counts, which is why I’ll deny to my dyin’ day this conversation ever took place.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re asking me to help you on this case by snooping around, which, if my husband found out, would give him the conniption fit of the century, and never get any credit for it if anything comes of it because you’ll deny you ever asked me to help you.”

He nodded. “That’s about it in a nutshell.”

“You want to tell me why you think I’d even consider it?”

He thought for a moment. “Personal satisfaction for a job well done?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Justice for a man killed in his prime?”

I just raised my eyebrows and didn’t answer.

“How about I’m guessin’ you won’t be able to help yourself, and you’re gonna get involved anyway, no matter what your hubby thinks?”

“Thanks, anyway, Hud-like-the-movie, but my detecting days are over.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His voice was so smug and disbelieving I wanted to smack him.

“I mean it.”

“In that case,” he said complacently, “do you know of a good place to eat lunch and kill some time in Goleta?”