Seven Sisters (28 page)

“We’ll miss you, JJ. I’ll really miss you.”

She leaned over and hugged me. “You’re one of the few things I will miss.” She reached down and petted Scout. “You, too, big boy.” Then she stood up and straightened her long cotton skirt. “As for all the stuff about the secrets in my family and who killed Giles, I just don’t care anymore. I really understand why my mom left when she was eighteen, why she didn’t want us raised around Seven Sisters. Frankly, I’m hoping Bliss and Sam come up north when they get married.”

“And I hope they don’t,” I said, smiling. “But I understand what you’re saying.”

Her visit helped me decide once and for all that stepping out of the investigation was the right thing. It was Detective Hudson’s job, not mine, and right now I was too concerned about my husband and his son to worry about which person in the Brown family was a killer.

I was unlocking my truck, having decided to drop by Elvia’s bookstore and catch up on the trials and tribulations of her love life, when Detective Hudson’s red pickup pulled up next to me. Scout barked in enthusiastic recognition. The detective stepped out, wearing the plain brown ropers today that he’d worn Saturday night when we’d danced. The sleeves of his blue Arrow shirt were rolled up, revealing a large leather-band Swiss Army watch.

“You should’ve worn those yesterday for our cemetery tour,” I said, glancing down at his feet.

“How’s Officer Girard?” he asked.

“They said she’d be going home tomorrow.” I looked at him curiously. “How’d you find out about her?”

“It was in the newspaper this morning, but I found out last night. When a cop goes down, believe me, it gets around even if it isn’t someone from your agency.”

“Did you hear she lost her baby?”

His eyes dropped to the ground. “That stinks. The gunshot?”

“No, the nurse told me that most likely there was something already wrong with the baby, that the gunshot didn’t cause the miscarriage. It was just one of those things.”

“My ex-wife lost one before Maisie was born. It’s hard on a woman.”

“That’s the first time you’ve mentioned your daughter’s name. Maisie. That’s pretty.”

He grinned shyly. “Don’t get me started, or I’ll force you to look at all my pictures. Then after that it’s the home videos and refrigerator art. You’ll never get free.”

For the first time since we met, I almost liked Detective Hudson. “So there’s at least one woman who has you under her thumb.”

He nodded, laughing. “Benni Harper, you hit it right on the head with that one. Not to change the subject, but what did your husband say about our little wilderness experience yesterday?”

“I didn’t tell him and I don’t want you to either. He doesn’t need any more worries right now. Actually I’m glad you dropped by, because it saves me a phone call. I’m off the case.”

“You’re chickening out on me when we’re getting so close? You can’t give up now.”

“I’m not giving up, I’m just doing what I should have done from the beginning—let you investigate it alone. I should have never let you talk me into getting involved. We could have been hurt or killed yesterday.”

He cracked his knuckles nonchalantly. “They were warning shots. If they’d wanted us dead, we would be.”

I threw up my hands in exasperation. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Not really.” He studied the backs of his hands, then checked his watch. Early morning sunlight glinted off the reddish-blond hair on his forearms. His calm expression told me he wasn’t kidding.

“You may have a death wish, Detective, but not me.”

“It doesn’t bother you that an innocent man was killed?”

“We could debate the appropriateness of the word innocent in his case, but, yes, of course, I care. But it’s not my job, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t believe you.”

“You’d better, because it’s the truth.”

“Okay, one last thing. Look at these and then tell me you still want to quit.” He reached into his truck and pulled out a large, manila envelope.

I opened the envelope, pulling out four pages. They were pink with a fancy blue border. Across the top read
County of San Celina
. In the left bottom corner was California’s state seal, in the right corner a same-sized circle saying County Recorder, San Celina County, State of California.

The babies’ death certificates.

I glanced over them, looking specifically at the cause of death. The first one to die was Daisy. Pneumonia. Dahlia was next. Her cause of death stated simply natural causes. Natural causes was also written on Beulah’s and Bethany’s certificates. Though they tugged at my heart, they didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know.

But . . .

What if someone
had
killed them? What if this person had gotten away with it all this time? I was reacting emotionally, I knew, and that was exactly what the detective was hoping for, that I also knew.

I handed him back the death certificates. “It says here they died of natural causes. Nothing else we can do unless the doctor is still alive.”

“Which he isn’t,” Detective Hudson said. “I already checked. And his records were destroyed a long time ago.”

“So that leaves us—no, make that
you
—exactly nowhere. I know I started you down this path, but even I can see when something’s a dead end.”

He slipped the certificates back into the envelope. “No, you were right. I wasn’t thinking creatively enough and I also think you’re right about Giles’s blackmail attempt being something that involves these kids. Or at least something in the past that the Brown family is trying to hide. Now we just have to think of a clever and sneaky way to find out about this family’s past.” He smiled at me with encouragement. “Your specialty, Mrs. Harper.”

I leaned back against my truck’s passenger door. Scout came over and nudged my head, and I reached up and rubbed his chest. Detective Hudson was deliberately manipulating me with his flattery, and I knew it. Yet I was still pulled toward this case. If indeed they’d been murdered, even after all these years, the babies deserved justice. And Giles, whether he was a person I would have liked or not, deserved it, too.

“What would you do now?” he asked, his voice cajoling. “I mean,
if
you were still working on this?”

I closed my eyes briefly, irritated because his plan was working. “Someone should talk to Rose Brown again.”

He scratched his cheek, trying to suppress the grin that lurked behind his feigned seriousnss. “My thoughts exactly.”

I pushed myself away from the truck. “Guess that would be you since I’m not involved anymore. See ya.”

“She’ll never talk to me,” he said, following me. “That’s even if I could get in to see her. I’ll bet you fifty-yard-line seats at a Cowboys game that those Brown sisters have already stepped up security around their mama.”

“You’re probably right, so most likely I couldn’t get in to see her either.” I opened my door and started to climb in.

“Your friends could, though.”

I slowly turned around. “My friends?”

“You teach a quilting class at Oak Terrace Retirement Home, two floors down from Mrs. Brown. There are eight ladies in your class. Four of them have known you since you were six years old. And they’ve been involved with one investigation with you already, a year ago February during what was referred to as a Senior Prom. Very clever wordplay, by the way.” He glanced down at his watch and smiled widely. “Today’s Tuesday, and I do believe you have a class with them. Three o’clock. How convenient for everyone.”

Surprised, I was speechless for a moment. First, because of his audacity. Second, because I’d completely forgotten that today was the third Tuesday of the month.

He smirked. “What’s wrong, did you forget about the class? Come by my office after your meeting, please, and tell me what you find out. Note that I did say
please
.” He tipped his Stetson hat.

I opened my mouth to snap back that I wasn’t about to involve those ladies in a murder investigation, then closed it again. He knew I’d never be able to resist asking them about Rose Brown now, and I knew he’d eventually track me down anyway, so I said, “Okay.”

He stepped back a foot, his hand gripping his chest dramatically, as if shot in the heart. “What? Benni Harper is being cooperative! Lord have mercy on us all, the end of the world is nigh upon us. A miracle has occurred.”

“Oh, go milk a bull,” I said childishly. I went back to my office to get the museum checkbook. A quilt made by the ladies had sold recently in our small gift shop, and I needed to pay them. When I returned to my truck, the detective was gone.

After a trip to the post office, I stopped by Blind Harry’s. Elvia wasn’t there, so I left her a note. Downstairs in the coffeehouse, while I was waiting for my mocha, I spotted Sam at a table. I took my cup and went over to him.

“Hey, bud,” I said, sitting down across from him. “How’s it going?”

He wrapped his hands around his thick white mug. “Okay, I guess.”

“Are you working today?”

He shook his head no. “I just dropped by to pick up my paycheck. I’m going over to see Bliss, but I needed to chill out for a while first.”

His voice was so low, the soft buzz of late-morning customers swallowed his last few words.

“How is she doing today? Is she up for visitors?”

He drew in a deep breath, as if getting ready to lift a heavy load. “She’s better. She’s at her sister’s house and doesn’t really feel like seeing anyone. I’ll tell her you said hi.” He looked over at me, his dark brown eyes glossy with pain.

I reached over and put my hand on top of his. “How are you?”

He shrugged and didn’t answer, already well trained in the stoic macho tradition of his Latino heritage. But a small portion of the vulnerable young boy he still was leaked out. “I can’t sleep that good,” he whispered.

I nodded and didn’t answer.

Using both hands, he brought his mug up to his lips. After a sip, he said, “Tell Dove and Ben I’ll be back out to the ranch tonight. I know I’m behind on my chores. Tell them I’ll catch up this week.”

“They understand, Sam. You take care now.”

He nodded again, and I left him staring into his black coffee.

To relieve the sadness that had crept around my heart, I put Patty Loveless on my portable cassette player as I headed out to the ranch. I was singing along, agreeing with her wearily cynical view of male/female relationships, when I pulled into the long driveway of the ranch.

I slammed my foot on the brakes when I saw the fire truck, the paramedic van, a Highway Patrol car, and a San Celina PD car.

“Oh, no,” I said out loud, my heart thumping in my chest, thinking Dove, Daddy, Isaac?

13

I JUMPED OUT of the truck and ran across the lawn to the house. It was empty. On the kitchen counter were casserole dishes covered with tinfoil and a half dozen pies and cakes. Voices came from behind the house, so I dashed out the back door and headed toward the barn. Outside the barn’s double doors, a paramedic and a Highway Patrol officer stood shooting the breeze.

“My gramma?” I said, breathing hard.

“You mean Dove?” the paramedic asked.

I nodded.

“In there.” He pointed to the barn. “But be careful, she’s...”

I pushed past them and ran through the barn doors, expecting to see Dove stretched out on a gurney, hooked up to IVs, fighting for her life.

She was fighting all right, but not for her life.

More like for her lights.

“To the left,” she yelled through my cheerleading megaphone. “Not that left, your other left. For cryin’ out loud, John, pay attention!” Big John, one of the members of the historical society, rolled his milky eyes at her and patiently moved the tall camera light to where she pointed. Behind her, Isaac sat on a director’s chair, fooling around with a large square camera, grinning to himself.

Daddy walked by, carrying a small lamb whose unremitting bleats sounded like a broken car alarm.

“What’s going on?” I asked him.

A resigned look on his face told me he’d been roped into this early and perhaps before he’d had his third cup of coffee. He stroked the head of the lamb, whose rhythmic cries didn’t skip a beat. “Better ask your gramma, pumpkin. I’m just the hired help.”

Behind him, in the middle of the barn, two women I knew from the San Celina Cattlewomen’s Association were combing and brushing a white-faced calf who squirmed and called for its mama. Next to the calf, another two women, Edna McClun and Maria Ramirez, members of the Historical Society, were brushing and fiddling with the hair of another hunk of beef. A much bigger one.

And they were giggling like two schoolgirls.

A half naked Miguel, wearing only a pair of faded jeans and his gun belt, stood patiently still, his face slightly flushed, while the much shorter older women, standing on wooden milk stools, touched up his hair and dabbed bits of makeup on his smooth, brown, muscle-defined chest.

“Five minutes,” Dove called through the microphone.

“We’ve got February and March waiting in the wings. We ain’t got all day.”

I walked over to Isaac. “Okay,” I said, laughing. “What’s going on here?”

He looked up at the sound of my voice, his cracked-adobe face happy to see me. “It was your gramma’s idea. I think she’s calling it ‘Hunks and Babes.’ ”

“What?”

He pointed at the bawling calf. “She said there’s two things women go crazy over—handsome men and baby animals. She got the idea that a calendar showing both would sell like hotcakes. I think she’s onto something.”

“Not to mention the fact that the famous Isaac Lyons taking the photographs just might help sell a few.”

He winked at me. “You know I’d do anything for Dove.”

I put my arm around his massive shoulders and hugged him. “And that’s one of the reasons you’ve captured my heart, you old grizzly.”

The calf let out another plaintive cry.

“We’re going to have to get this show on the road!” Dove yelled. “That baby’s getting tired.”

I went over to Miguel, who was still getting primped and powder-pouffed by the two ladies. “Miguel, baby,” I said, giving him the thumbs-up sign. “Love your new career move. Let’s do lunch. Have my people call your people.”