Spider Web (27 page)

He arched one eyebrow. “You have to admit, it’s reaching. A female sniper? There can’t be too many of those.”

“But it’s
possible.
Don’t be a chauvinist.”

He turned his back to stir his soup, giving an annoyed grunt. “I’m cooking dinner for my working wife and will probably get up twice during the night to feed my baby girl and change her diaper. Your accusation is just flat-out mean.”

“Boo-hoo,” I said, laughing. “But, you’re right. I’m making . . .”

“Roux with store-bought margarine.”

“When isn’t margarine store-bought?”

“Forget my lame analogy. I’m trying to support you in this, but unless you come up with something more substantial, all’s I’m sayin’ is, I think you shouldn’t oughta bother your stressed-out husband with it.”

“And I’m tellin’ you that you are right, dear cousin. But I’m still going to keep my eyes open.”

“As well you should. As well we all should.”

When I got home a few minutes later, the blinking answering machine informed me that in the hour I’d been gone, two people had left messages.

“Honey bun,” Dove’s voice demanded. “I need a list of all the single women at the co-op who are over the age of fifty. Garnet and I are running out of possibilities, and that computer dating business is nothing but a scam. We are not getting the cream of the crop, in my opinion. Call me as soon as you hear this.” She’d called me at six forty-five p.m.

The second message was from Daddy.

“Benni, girl, get me a rope,” was all he said. The time was about a half hour after Dove’s. Men’s voices murmured in the background. Was he at the Farm Supply? A bar somewhere? The bus station? Maybe he was going on the run. Then shouldn’t he be asking for a suitcase, not a rope?

I put the flan in the refrigerator and considered the myriad things Daddy could have meant by his comment. Did he want a rope to hang himself, Dove, Garnet, the ladies they were forcing on him? The possibilities were endless.

Like Dove’s message, I decided ignoring it was the better part of valor. I had enough emotion on my own plate to contend with tonight. I puttered around the house, folding clean clothes and playing ball with Scout, waiting for Gabe.

At eight thirty, I became hungry and contemplated walking back to Emory’s for some of his soup but decided to make a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich instead. After my lonesome dinner, I settled down on the sofa to watch TV. What felt like minutes later, Scout’s happy bark woke me. The front door opened, and Gabe walked in. I glanced at the television. The eleven p.m. news had just started.

“Hey,” I said. “Anything new?”

“No,” he said, tossing his jacket on the chair. “I’m beat.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“How about some hot cocoa?”

“That sounds good.”

“Señora Aragon made you flan.”

That brought a tiny, half smile to his face. “I’ll have some tomorrow.”

While he took a shower, I changed my mind and made him warm almond milk. More soothing and conducive to a peaceful night’s sleep.

It was waiting for him when he came down wearing sweatpants and a white T-shirt, his black hair glossy from his shower.

“Almond milk,” I said, pointing to the mug next to his brown distressed leather recliner. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll be down here watching Leno. ‘Jaywalking’ is on right now.”

“Your favorite,” I said, hoping the comedy routine would relax him, make him forget things, if only for a few minutes.

By the time I came back downstairs, he was stretched out in the recliner, asleep. Scout lay on his side next to Gabe’s chair, snoring in tandem. I quietly turned off the television and covered Gabe with a quilt. Then I went around the house clicking off lights and locking up. After I finished, I found my travel alarm, set it for five a.m., then lay down on the sofa and pulled a wool blanket over me. Though it wasn’t our bedroom, at least tonight we’d be sleeping in the same room. That was good enough for me.

HIS MOAN WOKE ME LIKE A GUNSHOT. I BOLTED UP, TRYING TO FOCUS my eyes in the dim light. Scout stood next to the recliner, alert but silent.

“It’s okay,” I whispered to Scout, then went to Gabe. He thrashed in his sleep, his fists clenched tight.

“Gabe,” I said, keeping my voice a normal tone. He continued twisting and moaning, caught in that nightmare place. Angry Spanish words tumbled from his lips.

“Friday, wake up!” My voice raised an octave. Though it went against every instinct I possessed, I stayed out of his physical reach.

“No!” Gabe yelled suddenly. “Stop! No! There, there . . . no, no, no . . .”

Before I could stop him, Scout barked, then moved closer to Gabe.

“Scout, no.” I grabbed his collar and pulled him back. He strained against my hand, sixty pounds of dog ready to defend me if he thought I needed it.

“Gabe!” I yelled his name as loud as I could.

Gabe bolted up, his eyes wide and unseeing. In the dim morning light, he looked gaunt and old.

Scout’s bark turned to a low growl.

“No, Scout,” I kept my voice firm, calm. “It’s okay.” I placed my free hand on his neck and massaged it. I glanced around, looking for something soft to throw at Gabe, to jolt him from his dream.

“Gabe!” Scout tensed under my hand.

“I’m awake.” His voice was sharp, angry. He pulled the recliner upright, staring at me with bleary eyes, finally seeing me. He turned on the lamp. In the soft glow of the light I could see sweat glisten on his upper lip, drip down the side of his neck.

“Gabe, you were . . .”

“I know.” He stood up and left the room without another word. His footsteps on the stairs were slow, heavy. I heard him walk into the master bathroom and slam the door. Minutes later, the shower came on.

The mantel clock said four-thirty. Underneath my hand, Scout whined softly.

“Sorry, boy,” I said, letting loose of his collar. “I bet you have to go outside, don’t you?” I let him out into the backyard and started a pot of coffee. I’d planned to get up at five a.m. anyway. There was a festival committee meeting at six a.m. inside the historical museum, our designated command post. I needed to run by Stern’s Bakery and pick up the muffins I’d ordered. The muffins, coffee, energy drinks, sodas, fruit platters and energy bars I’d stock in the historical museum’s break room would hopefully sustain the committee through this long day.

After sticking some canned biscuits into the oven, I went upstairs and dressed for the day, glancing out our bedroom window. The sun was now a hint of pink on a cloudless horizon.
Thank you, Lord.
I dressed in dark blue Wranglers, an old long-sleeve T-shirt and an off-white fisherman’s knit sweater Aunt Garnet knit for me. Though it didn’t look like rain, according to the weather report last night, it would be a chilly day. The shower had stopped, and no sound came from the bathroom. I considered knocking but decided to give my husband the space he needed.

While reaching for my watch on my bedside table, I saw the envelope containing Lin Snider’s driver’s license. I pulled it out again and looked at the photocopied picture. I studied it closely, thinking again how it both looked like her and didn’t.

Before I left, I made a quick call to the Intensive Care waiting room phone to check on Miguel. Ramon answered with a groggy “Yeah?”

“Hi, Ramon, it’s Benni. Sorry if I woke you. Just want to know how Miguel is doing.”

“No worries,” Ramon said, giving a loud yawn. “Doc says he’s doing good. Mama’s crazy to get him home so she can nurse him back to health.”

“Anyone else there?”

“Nah, I told everyone to take off. They’re all old and looking kinda wretched.”

I chuckled. Ramon was still in his early twenties while some of his older siblings were in their mid- to late-thirties. “You are such a rock star.”

“Nah, just tougher than the rest of them. Oh, Sam came by last night. Said he’d be back today.”

Sam, Gabe’s son, had been down in Southern California helping his mom get settled in her new condo in Newport Beach. She and her second husband had recently divorced. Sam lived and worked at the Ramsey Ranch when he wasn’t attending Cal Poly where he was, at least for the moment, studying culinary arts.

“Dove said she called him about Miguel.” I guessed she’d also told him about the sniper attacks. Gabe and his son had come to a better place in their relationship where Gabe didn’t try to control him as much and easygoing Sam cut his by-the-book dad some slack. Personally, I thought Gabe should have called his son and told him what was going on, but that was Gabe. It never occurred to him to clue Sam in, which probably was part of their relationship problems. “Say hey to Miguel. Tell him I’ll drop by as soon as this Memory Festival is over.”

“You’re up way early.”

“The festival starts at nine a.m., but I have a meeting with my committee in . . .” I glanced at the bedside alarm clock. It was five thirty-five. “Yikes, twenty-five minutes. Are you in a booth today?”

“I’ll be helping record oral histories in the Everyone Has a Story booth at one p.m. I’m getting extra credit for it for my history class.” Ramon was a senior at Cal Poly . . . still. He’d changed his major four times in three years, much to his parents’ consternation. He was, according to Elvia, enjoying the social aspects of college way too much.

“Okay, see you at the festival.”

The bathroom door opened and Gabe came out, toweling his hair. Two places on his face were bleeding from his shave, unusual for him.

“Hey,” I said. “There are biscuits in the oven. They should be ready by now. Want me to make some gravy?”

He shook his head. “Biscuits are quick. I need to get back to the office.”

I wanted to suggest he try to get more sleep. The blue-gray circles under his eyes looked like old bruises. But right now, sleep was the enemy. “There’s a meeting at six a.m. at the historical museum. After that, I’ll be cruising the festival all day. I’ll have my cell phone on.”

He blinked twice, draping the blue towel around his neck. He looked at me a long moment, then said, “I’m sorr—”

Before he could finish, I was in front of him, my hand over his mouth. “No, don’t. There’s nothing to apologize for. I think . . .” It was on the tip of my tongue—
I think you should see someone.
As if he knew what I was about to say, his expression grew cold, halting my words.

“I’ll call you during the day,” I said, laying my head against his bare chest. It was warm and damp and his heartbeat steady. “Is there anything we should do? I mean, what should I tell my workers to do if the sniper tries again?”

His sigh was deep, filling his chest. “If you hear shots, find cover. Call 911. That’s about all I can say. We’ll have a lot of police there, not that it seems to matter to this person.”

I kissed his damp chest, then looked up at him. “Called the hospital and Ramon answered. Miguel’s doing good. Oh, and Sam’s back in town. He went by the hospital. Gotta run. I’m already late.”

“Maybe I should have called Sam. But I didn’t want him to worry.”

“He’s a big boy now.” I patted Gabe’s chest. “Be careful, Chief. I love you. Don’t forget the biscuits.”

“I won’t.
Te amo, querida
.”

I swung by Stern’s, picked up the muffins and was only five minutes late to the meeting in the basement of the historical museum. All fifteen committee members were there as well as Dove and Aunt Garnet.

“I’m so glad you two are here,” I said, hugging Dove, then Aunt Garnet. “If I make it through this day without having a stroke, it’ll be a miracle.”

“You’ll be fine,” Aunt Garnet said, handing me a mug of coffee.

“We’ll be patrolling the festival with our canes,” Dove said.

“Us too,” called out the Crosby twins, holding up their colorful canes. “That sniper better not get near the festival today, or he’ll have us to contend with.”

“Our whole class will be out there,” Dove said. “Thirty-six of us.”

“Thanks, I think.” Thirty-six seniors with cane fu skills they were dying to use were too much for me to contemplate this early.

I quickly went over my lists, reminding everyone where they were supposed to be and what they were supposed to be doing.

“I’ll be traveling between the booths all day. You all have my cell phone number, so call me if you need anything. The Cal Poly history department and many of the history students are also there to help you. They are all wearing purple T-shirts with Memory Festival Volunteer in big white letters on the back. Their job is to help with moving things, unpacking, getting water or food, whatever you need. Each of you has booths assigned for you to supervise, so tell your people about the volunteers. Utilize them. They are all getting extra credit for participating in this event.”

I checked my clipboard. “Okay, that’s it for now. Have fun, and to quote one of my favorite cop shows, ‘Let’s be careful out there.’ ”

As the rest of the committee started leaving to check on the booths under their jurisdiction, I perused the muffins, settling on a cherry-almond. I would give myself ten minutes to eat it and drink another cup of coffee before heading into the fray. The antique clock hanging over the snack table said seven fifteen. The festival started at nine a.m. I inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly, trying to calm my jittery stomach. Everything would be fine.