A Deadly Affair at Bobtail Ridge (5 page)

Ellen grins. “Gabe, if everybody who doesn't like my art expressed it this way, I'd have to fold up business.”

“Well, don't you worry,” he says. “I'm going to have a crew out here the minute the insurance people say I can get started, and I'll fix you up in no time.”

Gabe's words sound like he's the soul of charity, but I know his wife Sandy takes classes here. She brags that she has discovered a previously untapped talent. Gabe has been working hard to get back in Sandy's good graces ever since he strayed. If he wasted ten minutes repairing the damage to the gallery, she'd give him hell.

I poke into the glass a little bit, but there's nothing in the rubble that could have been used as a missile. “Have you been inside?” I ask Ellen.

“No. I guess I should. The door was still locked, so I assumed everything was fine inside.” She pulls out a key and heads for the door.

“Hold it,” I say. “I need to go in there first.”

Not only do I want to be sure the crime scene is secure, but also having had the recent run-in with the snake, I want to check things out. I can imagine somebody throwing a snake through the window and it lying in wait inside. But when I check the gallery and workshop area, Ellen's office, and the restroom, everything looks undisturbed—and there are no vipers in sight. I bring her inside to see if anything is missing.

Ellen's art is prominently displayed in the gallery, along with pieces from other Texas artists, mostly landscapes. None of it is to my taste, but I haven't said so. I used to like representational art—the Texas school of cactus, cows, and bluebonnets. But my wife Jeanne gradually won me over to modern art. I have a pretty fair collection that gives me great pleasure. Ellen doesn't carry that kind of art because most people don't have a taste for it. She's got a business to run, and there's no point in carrying things people won't buy.

“At least everything is okay in here,” she says. She looks like she's going to start crying again but turns to me with a fierce look instead. “I'm not going to cry! I won't give anyone the satisfaction.”

It's late afternoon when I get a call from Jenny. “I wanted to let you know that Dr. Patel called and he said Mamma died of a stroke, pure and simple. Apparently the autopsy set his mind at rest.”

“That's good to know. Where are you? You sound like you're calling from the bottom of a well.”

“I'm at Mamma's house in the garage. I'm looking through all the stuff out here wondering what I'm going to do with it.” I hear the scrape of a box being shoved.

“Do you have anybody there helping you to organize your mamma's stuff?”

“I don't really feel like being around anybody right now, although . . . I know you're busy, but do you have time to come over here later? You won't poke at me the way most people do.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can get away. And I'll bring food.”

“Oh, Lord, no! I could open a soup kitchen with all the dishes people have brought over. Between the church ladies and the schoolteachers, I don't have enough room in the refrigerator.”

“I hate to be picky, but is there anything edible in the mix?” I'm thinking of the endless tuna casseroles that seem to show up anytime someone dies. “I have some beef stew I could bring.”

“You save that. We can't let this stuff go to waste. There's bound to be something here you can eat. I know your eating habits aren't as elegant as you pretend they are.”

When I hang up I realize I've been worried, wondering how Jenny was going to go forward with her mother gone. Jenny talked to Vera every day and consulted her on every little thing. She sounded good just now, but I can't shake the memory of Vera telling me she thought Jenny was in danger. She was upset the last time I saw her, and even though she claimed to have been unaware of what she was saying, I can't help thinking she was hiding something. Maybe Jenny will be able to tell me more.

CHAPTER 7

I find Jenny out in the backyard at Vera's place. She looks pale and drawn. Her red hair is wrestled back into a band low on her neck. Hands on her hips, she's staring at her mamma's beds of zinnias, lantana, lavender, and black-eyed Susans. There's also a big Pride of Barbados and several rosebushes. “I don't know what to do with all these plants. I'm not a gardener, but Mamma would've had a fit if she knew I'd let all them go.”

“It will certainly help sell the place if the plants aren't all dead,” I say.

“That's not funny.” She shoots me an exasperated look.

“Can you hire somebody to take care of it?”

She squints. “I guess I'll have to. One more thing to add to the list.”

“Maybe get Nate Holloway from next door.”

She runs her hand across her forehead, smearing a streak of dirt. “That's a perfect idea.”

I brandish the bottle of red wine I brought. “Thought maybe you could use this.”

“I hope you brought one for yourself, too. I could polish that off in ten minutes.” She looks down at her clothes. One shoulder of her T-shirt is matted with cobwebs. “I ought to get cleaned up.”

“Why don't you take a shower and I'll organize some food.”

Jenny disappears while I attack the refrigerator. I pull out a roast chicken, bean salad, and potato salad, and set everything out on the little glass-top table on the patio outside the kitchen. I don't find wineglasses, so I grab water glasses.

“That looks downright civilized,” Jenny says, when she comes back looking and smelling fresher. “I think I scrubbed a pound of dirt off.”

She sighs when she sips the wine. “I wish Mamma could be here to enjoy this.”

“I didn't find any wineglasses, so I wondered if she was a teetotaler.”

Jenny laughs. “She didn't drink wine, but she liked a gin and tonic now and again. That's not something she'd want spread around her church friends, you understand.”

“You figure out the funeral arrangements yet?”

“Oh, Lord, I should have called you so you could let people know. My mind is a sieve. The funeral is going to be Thursday. Should have been tomorrow, but they already have two scheduled. It's like an epidemic.”

“You said you had an aunt and uncle in Lubbock. Are they coming out for the services?”

There's the barest moment of hesitation before Jenny shakes her head. “Mamma and Aunt Susie and her husband were friendly enough with each other, but I hardly knew them. They have two sons that I haven't seen in years. I'll call and let them know when the funeral is, but I don't expect they'll come all this way. I'll be okay.”

“Anybody you want me to call?”

She tells me she's already got a team of her mamma's friends but asks me to call a couple of our neighbors.

I tell Jenny about the vandalism at the art store and my suspicion that Ellen's husband was involved. By the way she keeps staring off into the backyard, I can tell she's struggling to focus on my chatter. When I finish the story, we fall quiet and drink our wine peaceably as the light goes soft and a little breeze cools the air.

“There's something I need to bring up with you,” I say. “There've been some things going on that I've kept from you because I know you've had a lot on your mind.”

She jerks upright and turns to look at me. “Is everything okay with my horses?”

“Yes, but that's because Truly Bennett and I have been handling things. Something happened that has me worried.” I tell her about the horses getting out and the snake getting in. “It was a timber rattler.”

She shudders and sinks back into her chair and puts her hands over her face. “Oh, my God. Where did a snake like that come from? I've never seen anything that big around here.”

“That's the point. They don't live much farther south than east Texas. I think somebody might have brought it in.”

“I don't know why . . .” And then she nods abruptly. “I'll look into it.”

“What does that mean? You have some idea who did it?”

“I'm not sure. I have to talk to some people.” Jenny can be hard to read and hardheaded.

“Jenny, if you have some idea of who did it, you have to tell me.”

She stops me with a look.

I've known Jenny long enough to understand that she is fiercely independent. Her personal life is off-limits. I have no idea who her good friends are, just that she spends a lot of time at work. I don't know if she has anybody special in her life—or ever had, for that matter. She has a personal line that isn't to be crossed. But I'm going to have to put a toe over that line.

“All right, I'll let that go for now. But there's another issue I need to bring up.”

The light is dim now, but I can still see the wariness that narrows her eyes when she turns her head in my direction. “What is it?”

“Something your mamma said to me at the hospital. Remember when I found you having words with your friend and you asked me to stay with her?”

She relaxes a little. “Of course I do. When I got back to her room, she was all riled up and the nurse kicked you out.” She laughs.

“Do you have any reason to believe you'd be in danger from anyone?”

Jenny draws in a sharp breath. For a few seconds it's like she's turned to stone. Finally she picks up her glass but doesn't bring it to her lips. “What did Mamma say exactly?”

“She said she thought you were in danger and wanted me to look out for you. With all this stuff going on with your horses, I wondered if there was a connection. That's why I want to know who you suspect of messing with your horses.”

“I doubt there's a connection. She didn't say who she was worried about?”

“No, and when she was feeling better, I asked her why she was worried about you. She said she must have been out of her head, but I had a feeling she was holding something back.”

Jenny lifts the glass and sips, but when she puts it down she runs her hands back and forth across the tops of her thighs. “I don't know what she was talking about. Is that it?”

“You're not making this easy.”

“There's no reason for you to be involved.”

“It was a pretty specific warning.”

“I don't think you need to take it seriously.”

“She seemed to.” The longer we've been talking, the more I feel tension radiating off Jenny. We've always gotten along well, and I'm at a loss how to deal with this sharper, angrier version. “Why haven't you ever told me you have a brother? Is there bad blood between you?”

She gives a sharp, bitter bark of laughter and when she speaks, her voice is unlike anything I've heard come from her. “Sometimes you dance around a subject a little too delicately for my taste, Samuel.” Abruptly she gets up from the table. “Let's go inside. I'm starting to get eaten up by mosquitoes.”

I get up, too. “That doesn't answer my question about your brother.”

“How's this for an answer—it's none of your business. I won't discuss my brother with anyone, not even you.”

On the way home, I mull over Jenny's harsh response and what she isn't telling me. Maybe I'm making too much of the incidents with the horses. The snake could have hitched a ride on someone's pickup, or may have been somebody's escaped snake. But the cut lock was no accident. I don't want to intrude on Jenny's privacy, but somehow I've got to find out who she thinks has a reason for the attacks, before they graduate to attacking her as well.

Back home, Truly Bennett's truck is parked outside of Jenny's place. He usually doesn't come until after dark, but I asked him to put the horses away this evening since I'd be with Jenny, and he must have decided there was no sense in going home afterward. I check in by phone with Zeke Dibble, who was on duty today, but he says it was a slow day. He had to settle a problem between a couple of boys down at the Two Dog bar in the late afternoon, but that was the only ripple in his day.

I'm settling down to watch the news on TV when I hear a cry from Jenny's place. It sounds like somebody yelling, “Help me!” At first I think it's probably Mrs. Summerville's TV next door. She's hard of hearing, and sometimes the TV gets loud. But it's too late for Mrs. Summerville and her daughter to be up. And besides, my cat Zelda, who's been keeping me company, is alert, staring in the direction the sound came from. I hold my breath, straining, and I hear it again.

I jump to my feet and head for the door, but then I stop myself. This is no time to rush in without protection. I get my heavy flashlight and slip my shoulder holster on, checking first to make sure the gun is loaded.

Instead of going out the front, I head into my back pasture. There's a gate between my place and Jenny's, and I can slip into Jenny's property that way. As I approach the stable, I hear the sound again, this time with a moan. I shine the light around the outside of the barn but don't see anything wrong.