Spider Web (24 page)

I took his hand and squeezed it, wishing there was something else I could do to help. “Good luck with your interview.”

“Thanks, I’m going to need it.”

CHAPTER 11

“
I
S THERE ANYTHING YOU NEED?” I ASKED ELVIA A FEW MINUTES later. She sat next to her mother on the waiting room’s scratchy sofa. While I was gone, the crowd of Aragon family and friends milling around in the Intensive Care waiting room had thinned considerably. “Where’s Sophie?”

“Emory took her home,” Elvia said. “Maria went with him.” Maria was her brother Jorge’s wife. “I have breast milk in the refrigerator. My nieces and nephews think it’s great they get to camp out at our house.” Elvia gave a tremulous smile.

I sat down on the other side of Señora Aragon, whose face was hollow-eyed from exhaustion. I touched the top of her cold hand. “Señora, you know that God and the San Celina PD are watching over Miguel. He’s safe here.”

“Gracias, mija,”
Señora Aragon said, her voice thick. It was probably the fiftieth time she had thanked me for being there when Miguel was shot. “I know my Miguel safe. I know
doctor
say he is fine. God is good.” She clutched her ruby-colored rosary to her chest. I put my arm around her fragile shoulders.

“He’s a tough boy,” I whispered to her. She smelled of talcum powder and the sweet cucumber soap she liked. “A strong man. He’s going to be up and teasing you again in no time.”

I could feel her tremble in my embrace.

Elvia walked me to the waiting room doorway. Gabe was at the end of the hall talking to some officers. I gestured to him that I’d join him in a minute.

“Will you be okay?” I asked Elvia. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but after the initial shock, in her typical type-A fashion, she’d taken charge of Miguel’s welfare.

“I’m fine. I’m worried about you, though. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I gave her a crooked smile. “I’ll fall apart when I can fit it into my schedule.”

She touched my cheek with her fingers. “You take care of yourself,
hermana.
Try to convince Gabe there is no way he could have prevented this. It hurts my heart to see him blaming himself.” Though I knew that Emory had kept his promise to me and not told her the details of Gabe’s emotional struggles, this woman knew me. And she understood Latino men, having been surrounded by them her whole life.

“I’ll do my best, but you know how he is.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Our drive home was silent. I rested my hand on Gabe’s thigh, wanting to say something comforting but not able to think of one single thing.

Scout sat inside the front door, his anxious expression like a mother too fretful to sleep while her teenage kids were out on a Saturday night. He accepted my neck rub and words of apology with his usual patient forbearance. His eyes seemed to say—why must you worry me like this?

“Do you want to shower first?” Gabe asked, his voice tired and hoarse.

“You go ahead. I’ll close up downstairs.”

He turned and went up the stairs; his back had been ramrod straight throughout our time in the waiting room, befitting his police chief role. Now I could see the slight slump in his shoulders, the defeat he felt. However, I knew my husband. By morning, his resolve would return, and no one except for me would ever know that he felt any doubt.

After my shower, I went into the guest room to kiss Gabe good night, Scout at my heels. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.

“Are you sure you want to sleep alone tonight?” I asked.

He didn’t move. “I can’t talk about that right now.”

I waited a moment to see if he’d say more. “Well, good night, Friday.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed and kissed his lips.

His hand slipped behind my neck and pulled me closer. I thought for a moment that I felt it tremble.

“Good night,
querida
,” he whispered.

When I walked down the hallway toward our bedroom, poor Scout stood halfway between the rooms, torn between where to sleep. Finally, with a sigh, he followed me and flopped down next to my side of the bed.

“You can go sleep with him,” I told him, reaching down to stroke his velvety head. “I won’t be insulted.”

But Scout stayed next to me. No doubt, he knew that even if he went to sleep with Gabe, he would be sent back with the admonition to “protect Benni.”

I picked up my cell phone and dialed Gabe.

“Chief Ortiz.” His voice was strong, in control.

“Don’t you look at the screen before you answer?”

“My eyes are closed.”

“I just wanted to say good night. And that I love you.”

“Me too. You know, you could have just yelled down the hallway.”

“That’s a little too Waltons, don’t you think? This is the modern version of good night, John-boy.”

“Dream sweet,
querida
.”

“You too, Friday.”

Though I thought I’d have a hard time falling asleep, I didn’t. If Gabe had bad dreams during the night, I didn’t hear them. I couldn’t help feeling guilty when he came into the room early the next morning and opened the closet door.

“What time is it?” I mumbled from beneath the down comforter. Rain beat on our roof in a regular, heavy rhythm most likely messing up any evidence that the police might have found in the woods by the creek. Had the sniper been smart enough to do this on a night right before rain was expected? The cold-blooded calculation of that possibility made me shiver even in my warm cocoon.

“Five thirty,” Gabe said. “Sorry to wake you up, but I need to get to the office by seven. I’m going by the hospital first, to see if Elvia or her mother need anything. The nurse on duty said Miguel had a quiet night, thank God.”

“That’s good,” I said, sitting up. “Where’s Scout?”

“Downstairs. He’s already gone outside and is waiting for breakfast.”

“I’ll get up . . .”

“Go back to sleep. I’ll feed him before I leave.”

The warm bed tempted me for a few seconds, but my better self won the battle, and I threw back the covers. “No, I have a million things to do to prepare for the Memory Festival tomorrow.” I swung my legs out and searched for my house slippers. A gust of wind and rain rattled the bedroom windows. “That is, if the festival is still on.”

His back was to me while he flipped through his shirts. “Will you cancel if it rains?”

“Depends on how hard it is raining. But I was wondering if it would be canceled because of the sniper.”

He turned around, a white shirt and his darkest gray suit in his hands. “No, same reason we didn’t cancel the farmers’ market. We have no idea when or where or even if this guy will strike again. You can’t cancel life.”

“Or she,” I said, wrapping my robe around me.

“Doubt it’s a woman.”

I shrugged, feeling cranky. “I’m just saying.”

“Nevertheless,” he said, opening his sock drawer. “As far as the police department is concerned, your festival is good to go.”

“Then all I have to worry about is rain.”

By six thirty we were both walking out to our respective vehicles. The rain had turned into a fine mist, and the normal neighborhood sounds were muted, as if a thick blanket covered the whole world.

“Don’t forget to eat breakfast,” I said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him good-bye. His lips were damp and salty, his mustache warm. “Two cups of coffee is not the breakfast of champions.”

“There’ll be food at the station,” Gabe said. “Maggie’s making sure we are all eating healthy. She’s amazing.”

“Yes, she is. And so are you. You’re going to catch this person soon.”

“Let’s hope so.”

I contemplated going by Liddie’s for breakfast, but I needed time alone to go over my schedule and the half-dozen separate lists concerning the festival. At Liddie’s I was sure to see people I knew. We would start talking about the sniper, what happened last night, Miguel’s condition, and then two or three hours would be gone. I did not have the time to spare today. I would probably be answering those questions ad nauseam tomorrow. A less public place for breakfast was needed.

So I decided to drive twelve miles north to Morro Bay. Though I knew a few people in town, I wasn’t as well known as I was in San Celina. My chances were better for a breakfast unencumbered by curious questions.

Fifteen minutes later I was driving down Main Street in Morro Bay. Since it was a Friday morning in March—not a premier time for tourists—I had no problem finding a place to park on the Embarcadero. I walked a block enjoying the cool, damp air, watching the fishermen work on their boats. There were still a few families who made their living by fishing, though, like cattle ranching, it was becoming a part of the bucolic past in this town that was built on commercial fishing. I decided to have breakfast in a new coffeehouse called Bertie’s Bad Beans. It reminded me of the coffeehouse Emory and I went to a few days ago. Was advertising bad coffee a popular trend in coffeehouse marketing these days? I went inside the pink clapboard building and was pleasantly surprised to find an extensive bakery selection. I ordered a large coffee and chose an almond croissant and a cherry turnover. Unlike Gabe, who reacts to stress by losing his appetite, I react by craving food, specifically sugar and carbs.

There were only two other people in the coffeehouse besides the young man who worked the counter. Neither of them knew me. I looked at my watch. It was almost seven thirty. I took a chance and, hoping they weren’t asleep, called Elvia and Emory’s house.

“Did I wake you?” I asked when Emory answered.

“We have a baby, sweetcakes,” he said with a sigh. “Remember? Miguel had a quiet night.”

“Yes, I know. Gabe called the hospital first thing this morning.”

“Elvia came home at six a.m. after she took her mama home. Papa Aragon took over the day watch along with Gilberto and Jose. Ramon is still there. He’s the only one who won’t throw out his back sleeping on the waiting room sofa.” Ramon was the youngest of the six Aragon sons. “Looks like Miguel is going to be fine.”

Hearing those words again, I felt my tight stomach start to relax. “Tell Elvia I’ll drop by the hospital sometime today. I imagine it’s quite an ordeal to get in to see him.”

“Security is tight, but you shouldn’t have any problems. They’ll clear you at the front desk.”

“Is Elvia available?”

“She’s taking a shower. Want her to call you?”

“No, tell her to get some sleep. I’ll call her later.”

“Stay safe.”

“It’s not me they’re after.”

Once I heard Miguel was doing well, I ate my croissant and went through tomorrow’s schedule, making a list of who I needed to contact today to verify details. The cherry turnover saw me through writing out tomorrow’s hour-by-hour schedule. I deliberately put any thoughts of the sniper out of my head, at least for the time being. Surely, he wouldn’t dare try again tomorrow?

After I finished both my work and my breakfast, I decided to drop my notebook off at my truck and take a walk through Morro Bay. The sun was just starting to peek out from behind the clouds, giving me hope that tomorrow might be rain-free. First chance I got, I’d check the forecast.

I walked down the almost deserted Embarcadero. The sound of the ocean, the gulls, the casual shouts of the fishermen were a soothing backdrop to my thoughts. Though my mind had been occupied for the last twelve hours by the attack on Miguel, it now wandered back to Lin Snider. I felt rather foolish about eavesdropping on her last night at the farmers’ market. She was beginning to be an obsession, probably an unwarranted one. Even if she did have a past with Gabe, right now, in the light of this sniper situation, it was small potatoes. By the time I reached the end of the Embarcadero and started up Bay Street toward downtown, I’d decided that once this festival was over, I was going to be mature and invite her into my office. I would flat-out ask her if she had ever known my husband. If there were something nefarious about her hanging around San Celina, I would bring it out in the open, and like mold exposed to bleach, it would fade away.

When I got to Main Street, I lingered in front of a new quilt shop that had replaced the one that closed when the owners, Tom and Tina Davis, moved to Washington State to be near their kids. The new shop—Cotton Ball Quilts—was owned by a mother and son quilting team—Judi and Rob Appell—who had taken the quilting world by storm. They’d been big supporters of the Memory Festival, donating a special quilt designed by Rob called Ocean Memories, featuring extinct and almost extinct ocean creatures. I admired the memory quilt display, glad to see the poster advertising the festival prominently placed. The quilt shop had a booth right in front of San Celina Creamery—our town’s favorite ice cream parlor.

I started back down the hill to the Embarcadero and my truck, when I happened to glance in the window of Kitty’s Café, a local breakfast haunt that always made the top ten lists of favorite San Celina County restaurants. There were the normal array of colorful ball caps and stained cowboy hats, ranchers and retirees being the only ones usually up and out this early for breakfast. Weather this soupy was a good excuse to go to town to chew the fat with other ag folk, an acceptable alternative to actual work.