Steps to the Altar (31 page)

The couple was seated and I moved forward. “I’m meeting someone . . .” I started to tell the ponytailed waitress.

“Yeah, Mr. Weston. He’s already got a table. Over there.” She pointed across the wide adobe-colored room. A gray-haired man wearing a pale blue sports shirt stood up and gave a quick wave.

“Thanks,” I said and headed toward him, weaving through the already crowded room. The tables were simple Formica-topped restaurant tables and the chairs armless, padded highbacks with teal-colored cushions.

“Benni Harper?” The man pulled out my chair. He was about five-six with a straight-backed, military-style bearing. His blue shirt was without a wrinkle and his thin gray hair short and tidy. He smiled widely, revealing a perfect set of dentures that seemed a little too large for his mouth. Blue-gray eyes that reminded me of Gabe’s gave me a brief once-over in a gesture that was in every cop’s permanent repertoire.

“Yes. Mr. Weston?”

He gave a small chuckle and helped me scoot in my chair. “Humor me, young woman, and call me Bob.” He sat down across from me. “This is a big deal for me, you know. Don’t get many phone calls from the ladies anymore. Spent the last two hours primping.”

“Now I find that real hard to believe,” I said, instantly charmed by his honesty. I just hoped he’d be as forthcoming with his knowledge of the Sullivan murder.

We ordered our steaks and shot the breeze a little while, discussing the history of these buildings, how he liked living in a town as small as Jolon, how I liked being a cop’s wife.

“My dear Beth,” he said, his lined face going soft in memory. “God rest her soul, she had the patience of a saint. Takes that to be married to a career police officer. I don’t know how she put up with me all those years.” His eyes grew teary over his salad.

I touched the top of his rough hand. “I’m sure it was worth it to her. She must have loved you very much.”

He gave a brusque nod, embarrassed by his emotional lapse. “She always claimed to.”

Halfway through our steaks, I managed to steer the conversation to the actual reason I was meeting him. He talked about the Sullivan murder with a reluctance that I suspected had to do with the frustration of remembering an unsolved case.

“I never thought she did it,” he said, chewing his steak carefully.

“Why’s that?” I tried not to sound too eager. I wanted his honest opinion, not just someone who would tell me what I wanted to hear.

He paused for a moment and sipped his iced tea. “Now, that’s a good question. I don’t really know why. I suppose if you held a gun to my head, pardon my analogy, and made me explain myself, I’d have to say it just wasn’t in her.”

Playing the devil’s advocate, I said, “She was pretty darn smart. You must have read some of her newspaper articles. Maple Sullivan was more than capable of planning a murder.”

“Now, I didn’t say she wasn’t
smart
enough. I mean she wasn’t hard enough. I saw the crime scene. That took someone who had a cold heart and a strong stomach. He was shot in the temple. Bullet went right through the cheekbone and blew his left eye plumb out. The person who did that calmly walked away and left him there. I don’t believe she had it in her to do that.”

“On what basis?” I asked, setting my fork down. The medium-rare steak in front of me suddenly lost its appeal. “Had you ever met her?”

“Nope,” he admitted. “But she was a woman, after all.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from blurting out a protesting squawk. Waiting until the urge passed, I said, “A woman is perfectly capable of being that calm and calculating. And of murdering someone.”

He grinned at me. “You one of them women’s libbers?”

I studied my fork, then looked him straight in the eyes. “If being a women’s libber means I believe women are just as capable as men of cold, calculating behavior, then I guess I am.”

He chuckled, speared a large piece of dripping meat, and shoved it between his lips. “Now don’t go getting your knickers in a bundle. I’m not sure I agree with you. Women certainly can be mean and cruel, but in my long years of watching the human race, I’d say men got ’em beat ten to one.”

“Maybe,” I hedged. “But you still haven’t given me a concrete reason why you think she didn’t kill her husband.”

“You know, I got the distinct impression when we first spoke that you didn’t think she did it.”

“I don’t, but I want to be fair. It’s important to find out the truth even if it proves what I don’t personally want to be true.”

He nodded, chewing thoughtfully. He placed his knife on the plate and tented his fingers, thinking before he answered. “You’d have made a fine detective, young woman.”

I smiled at him. “Thank you. Now, tell me why you don’t think she did it. Give me some concrete reasons why
you
don’t think she killed her husband.”

He held up his right index finger. “One, when women kill, they tend to use poison, not guns. Especially during the era we’re talking about. Might be different now, but back then, with all the research I did, women poisoned when they wanted to kill.” He held up a second finger. “Two, she was afraid of guns. I mean, she had one of them phobias. There’s a name for it, can’t recall at the moment. The old brain isn’t as quick as it used to be. But she wouldn’t even allow them in the house. I contacted her parents back in Kentucky to confirm it and it wasn’t just something she told people to set the whole thing up. She really was scared to death of firearms of any kind, had been since she was a little girl. They told me that before they even knew Garvey Sullivan had been shot.” He held up a third finger. “Three, she didn’t stand to inherit much. Not until she gave birth to their first child. Signed a document stating that if the marriage didn’t work out and there were no heirs born, she’d get a flat ten thousand dollars and all the personal items he’d given her. One of the first prenuptial agreements, I gathered. His father talked him into it, and apparently, she went along. She wouldn’t have gained much by killing him.”

“Ten thousand dollars was a lot of money in the forties,” I pointed out.

“Not compared to what she’d gotten if she’d stayed.”

“Yes, but it could be the start of a new life.”

“Say, one with another man? Yes, I thought of that and that’s exactly what I think happened. I said I didn’t think she killed her husband. I didn’t say I thought she didn’t know something about who did. I think Mitch Warner and Garvey Sullivan got into an argument about her affections. Mitch perhaps asking Garvey to let her go. Garvey refuses. A gun appears and someone is killed. In this case, Garvey. Mitch and Maple flee and another domestic murder is left unsolved. They might have been rich, but I’ve seen that same scenario played out hundreds of times in my career. Mark my words, this was two fellas fighting over a girl, a story as old as Adam.”

“So, how come the papers made it sound like the police thought Maple did it? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He snorted with derision. “Of course the newspapers would make it look like she did it. That bird cage liner was partially owned by the Warners. All my opinions and conclusions were tossed aside.”

“Of course,” I said, sighing. “What was I thinking?” I pushed my plate of half-eaten steak aside and rested my elbows on the table. “Let me tell you something I found out and see what you think.” I told him about the rose delivered monthly to Garvey Sullivan’s grave.

He shook his head, his mouth turning down as he listened. “Now that’s a curiosity. How long’s that been going on? Deliveries must have started after the case had been relegated to the inactive file or I would have tried to trace it. If someone had reported it, that is.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “That’s what I’m going to try and find out tomorrow. Tell me, what did happen to the case files on this?”

He dabbed his mouth with his teal-colored napkin. “Don’t really know. I imagine somewhere along the line someone just threw everything out. Town the size of San Celina’s not going to have the manpower to have one of them old case units. There were a lot of unsolved cases that got pushed aside once the war was over. A lot of people did things during that time they didn’t want known, and if they had the power to cover them up, destroy evidence of their crooked dealings, they did. Everyone wanted to start fresh in the fifties, leave the sadness of the war behind.” His blue-gray eyes bore into mine. “You’ll let me know what you find out? It would be nice if this case could be put to rest before I join Beth, you know?”

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll call you if I find out anything new.”

He walked me out to my truck and shook my hand warmly before opening my door. “It’s been a pleasure, Mrs. Harper. Tell that husband of yours that he’d best keep you. You’re a good’un.”

I gave a half smile at the irony of his statement, considering the situation between me and Gabe, and thanked him again for taking the time to see me.

“You take care, Bob.”

“Will do. Drive careful now,” he replied. “Lock your doors.”

On the drive back, I went over in my mind what new information I’d gleaned from Bob Weston. The most significant was Maple’s fear of guns, which had never been mentioned anywhere. That was a piece of information that would have probably been in the case file had it still existed.

At home, Scout was overjoyed to see me and we had a nice long walk downtown even though it was past ten o’clock. The streetlights glowed a soft gold on the sidewalks, and twice I stopped and chatted with other downtown residents out for a stroll. I would have enjoyed living this close to the center of town. I couldn’t help wondering where I would be living six months from now.

The next day I was waiting outside Mission Floral at 10 A.M. when they opened.

“Wow,” said the young college-age girl unlocking the door. “You must need some flowers bad.” She grinned at me with a mouthful of silver-colored braces.

“Actually, I have a question about a possible customer of yours.”

She walked behind the counter and punched some numbers in the cash register. “You’ll have to ask my mom about that. She owns this place. I just work here part-time when I’m not in school.”

“When’s your mother due in?”

“Around noon.”

I sighed. “Okay, I’ll be back.”

I decided to kill some time down at Blind Harry’s, find out what was going on with Elvia and Emory. It was hard to believe it was only five days until their wedding. It didn’t surprise me that she wasn’t there, but out taking care of another of the millions of details a four-hundred-guest wedding required.

“Would you care to leave her a message?” Mrs. Langcroft, one of her assistant managers, asked. She was a retired children’s librarian who couldn’t resist the lure of working with books.

“No, thanks. I’ll call her on her cell phone if I don’t run into her somewhere.”

I was on my way downstairs to buy a café mocha and a newspaper when I spotted Sam restocking books in the mystery section.

“Hey, stepson,” I said, going over to him. “How’s it going?” I gave him a smile and a light punch in the arm.

He looked at me as if I’d just swallowed a live spider. “How can you be so cheerful?” His astonished facial expression turned hopeful. “Did you and Dad make up? Is that woman gone?”

I must admit I was speechless for a moment. Though I’d certainly had plenty of marital tiffs with Jack, and since we lived on his family’s ranch, which bordered the Ramsey ranch, thereby guaranteeing more than our fair share of comments and opinions by both sets of families, I’d never had to discuss a spousal argument with a child, step or otherwise.

“Uh, no,” I stuttered. “We’re still . . . working on it.”

He swore colorfully, calling Del names out loud that I only called her in my mind.

“
Shh,
Sam,” I said, pointing to our proximity to the always crowded children’s section. “Don’t worry about this. Your dad and I will work it out.”

“Yeah, right,” he said bitterly. “Just like he and my mom did. What an asshole he is. He talks about
me
keeping it in my pants,
me
being responsible. What about him?”

For the second time in thirty seconds, I was without words. I stared at his angry face, trying to choose my words wisely. Whatever happened between me and Gabe, I truly didn’t want his fragile relationship with Sam to be destroyed.

“Sam, your dad’s in a really . . . tough place right now.”

“More like a really stupid place.”

I held up my hand for him to stop. “Sam, whatever he does or doesn’t do with me, the truth remains that he loves you and wants the best for you. This . . . thing with Del caught both him and me by surprise. I . . . I’m sorry for whatever problems this woman caused with you and your mom, but try to see your dad’s whole life, the whole of who he is and not just the mistakes he’s made. He’s been a good father to you in so many ways. Sam, he loves you more than he loves his own life. I promise you that.”

He shoved a handful of books into an empty space. “How can you defend him when he’s being such an asshole? I don’t understand that. Why don’t you want to just kill him?”

I looked up at Sam’s agonized face. “Truth?”

He nodded emphatically.

I took a deep breath. “Okay, truth is, I do want to kill your father. There are moments when I regret ever having met him. And frankly, if there were a way I could hold Del Hernandez’s head under water until she was blowing bubbles, I would.”

“So why don’t you? Why don’t you just go kick her ass? Tell her to get lost.” He clenched his fists.

I thought about that for a moment. Why didn’t I just go and confront her? Tell her exactly what I thought about her and her actions.

“Because I have too much pride, Sam. I’ll never let her see how much she’s hurt me. I refuse to give her that power. It’s one thing to let your father see it, but I’ll be darned if I’ll let her have that satisfaction.
That’s
why. And the reality is I have to let this thing play out the way it’s meant to be. I can’t make your father want to be with me, any more than you can make someone be with you when they don’t want to be. I love your father, but I’m only fifty percent of this marriage.”