Give First Place to Murder (14 page)

No surprise there, but what did it have to do with Chovalo?

"Do you know Chovalo?"

"No. He and his wife go to St. Boniface, the Catholic Church. But Irma and Bud have been singing not only his praises but his whole family's, for years. Gutierrez, that's their name. Chovalo and Maria Rosa, I think that's right, never had children so they helped raise their nieces and nephews. They've spent a small fortune helping all those kids through school."

Sort of like another Aunt I knew, I thought, but said nothing as she continued.

"Bud used to tell Sam he’d never have been able to get his hauling business going if it wasn't for Chovalo. He could do anything, fix an engine, load a horse no one else could touch. Bud said he was one of the finest men he’d ever met, and one of the most honest. He and Irma built a house on the back of their property for Chovalo and Maria Rosa. Seems to me I heard Bud and Chovalo had some kind of long-term financial arrangement, too. Bud sure didn't want to lose him. Said so all the time."

She got thoughtful, eyed her glass, then mine. "More tea?"

"I'll get it."

"Good. While you’re up, give that pot a stir, make sure it's not cooking too fast, and skim the top."

You should never volunteer for anything.

"I wonder--."

"You wonder what?" I carefully skimmed the jam and checked the syrup to see if it was clear yet, surprised I remembered what to do after all these years.

"Well, I wonder how Chovalo liked having Wes and Linda move in."

"What do you mean, move in?" I gingerly put my finger on the hot juice on the spoon. I blew on it before putting my finger in my mouth. Perfect. “I think this is ready.”

“
Let me see.” I held out a spoonful of jam. “No, not quite.”

I shrugged and put the spoon back down. It looked ready to me. “Go on. Why would Chovalo not want Wes and Linda around?”

"Irma and I were talking after church a couple of months after Bud died. She’d just hired this Wes and Linda Fowler. Said that it had been hard to do, but she thought they were going to work out just fine. Linda’s a whiz on the computer and Irma doesn’t know one thing about them. Wes knew a lot about those huge van things, and they both spoke Spanish. Which I guess is a real plus, lots of the, what do you call the people who take care of the horses...?"

"Grooms."

"Yes. Well, I guess most of them speak Spanish, and some of the drivers do also. Anyway, Irma said the business had changed so much she didn't understand it any more. She thought it was time to let younger people take over."

"Which would let Chovalo out?"

"She didn't say that, but it seems like it might have."

"Did you know Irma’s thinking of selling the transport business? "

"Why would she want to do that?" She turned toward me, oblivious that her tea swayed dangerously close to the top of her glass.

How about that? I finally had a fact Aunt Mary didn't have first.

"I don't know. I think it's making money and I doubt the horse breeding is. From what Irma says it's going to cost a fortune to show Last Challenge, the stallion she's so hot on. I’d think she’d want to keep the one part that's paying the bills."

Aunt Mary set down her empty glass. She’s been listening intently to what I was saying, but suddenly she started to sniff the air. "Oh oh. Better check that jam." She heaved herself to her feet and headed for the stove where she ladled out a spoonful of jam and examined it. Turning off the flame, she moved the pot over before saying, "Go on. Surely Irma wouldn't sell the hauling business and then put all the money into a horse. Would she? Who is it wants to buy?"

"Somebody she's known for a long time.”

"Is this person going to buy the land also? If she sells, what happens to Wes and Linda?"

"I guess they’d go to work for the new owner. I don't know about the land. It’s one of the things I’m supposed to talk to her about, but every time we get started, something happens. I don't know a thing about businesses." I didn't know much about land either, but it was easier to figure out.

"So what's Irma going to do?"

"I don't know. I think she should talk to Bo."

Bo Chutsky, my broker, had been in town for close to a million years. He knew every business, every ranch and every house around, and had probably sold each of them at least once.

"That's a good idea. Not that you're not capable, Ellen. It's just that Bo has, well, been doing this kind of thing longer."

I laughed. We both knew I wasn't capable, at least not yet, but bless her for not saying so.

"Why don't you help me fill these jars?"

I got to my feet, took both empty tea glasses over to the sink and picked up the big ladle.

"There must be other suspects besides Chovalo." Aunt Mary abandoned Irma's business transactions and returned to the thing worrying both of us. Susannah's safety. She put empty jars in front of me as fast as I filled them.

"I suggested Dan take a better look at Stephanie Knudsen. She could easily have been at the barn during the crucial half hour and she's strong enough."

"Oh dear." Aunt Mary's hand shook a little, spilling some of the jam over the side of the jar she held. She absently wiped it off with her finger. "What a horrible thought. Poor Fiona. But you’re right. Stephanie has the temperament to do something awful. Why do either Chovalo or Stephanie have to be mixed up in this? Maybe it was somebody we never heard of, somebody Rusty was involved with who has nothing to do with Irma, Chovalo, Bryce or anybody."

"Like the pirate?"

"Why yes. Your pirate." She laughed ruefully. "Wouldn't that be convenient. But Ellen, you can't pick on him because he's available. Why do you keep coming back to him?"

I stopped ladling for a minute. I had to think this out. "Maybe because he was so--there. And because he was supposed to be entertaining at the fair, not the horse show. But both times I saw him, it was around the horse barns, and the first time no one else was around. Doesn't that seem strange?"

"I don't know." She sighed. "I'm afraid we’re looking for something, anything that doesn't lead to Chovalo, Irma, or Susannah."

“
Maybe.” I picked up the ladle, filled a couple more jars and put it back down. “You know, the more I think about that pirate, the more I think he’s involved. I’ll bet Dan thinks so too. He gets real nervous when I try and bring him up. I wonder how I can find out more about him.”

She watched me ladle the last of the jam into a jar, lick the ladle like I used to when I was ten, and start to wash out the pot.

“
Becky Monahan.”

“
Who?” I turned away from the sink to stare at her. “Who’s Becky Monahan?”

“
Rebecca Silverman. Remember her? She was in your graduating class.”

Of course I remembered her. She’d been class president, a cheerleader, home coming queen and a straight A student. Every mother’s dream and every teen-age wallflower’s nightmare. “What about her?”

“
Becky married Paul Monahan.” She acted as if that explained everything.

“
I’d heard that.” I leaned against the sink. “Amazing. Paul was always so shy and quiet, Becky so energetic. But why bring them up now?”

“
Paul outgrew his shyness. He’s our state senator.” She paused to let me take in that unexpected piece of news and continued, “and Becky’s on the fair board.”

She looked at me triumphantly but I still didn’t get it.

“
Good for her, but…“

“
For heaven’s sake, Ellen. You want to know about the pirate, don’t you? What better place to start than at the top? Call Becky and ask her to find out about him.”

I felt my mouth gap open. She’d done it again. “Becky Silverman. Monahan. Well, well. I’ll call her in the morning.” I almost laughed. If Susannah wouldn’t quit and Dan wouldn’t supply me with information to help me protect her, I’d do it myself. With Aunt Mary’s help, of course.

"So, what’re you going to do about Dan?" She broke into my burgeoning plan of investigation and neatly brought the conversation full circle.

"Guess I'll let him apologize, and then we'll see."

"Are you going to apologize to Susannah?"

"Ah." I hid my face while I mopped up the jam I’d spilled on the sink. "Why would I want to do that?"

"You probably don't.” She paused, evidently waiting for me say something.

I have never been very fond of logic when it ends up making me look at something I would just as soon avoid. This was no exception. I could feel the corners of my mouth tighten down.

"People do not always act smart when they get scared, and being scared for someone else is the worst." Aunt Mary spoke carefully, not looking at me, but still letting me know that there were two sides to all this, both Dan’s and mine and mine and Susannah’s. "Dan's already lost one family. Things like that you never get over. Tends to make you overreact. I know what you went through with Brian, and I understand how you feel now. Independence is a wonderful thing, but so is loving someone and having him love you. Remember, we pay a price for everything. Trick is, make sure you’re getting what you paid for."

"Are you saying I shouldn't be mad at Dan?" I started to bristle, all set to defend my position.

"I've said all I'm going to say. You're a grown woman. It's up to you."

Neither Dan nor Susannah was mentioned again. I walked home richer by two jars of strawberry jam, and with some thoughts that weren't nearly as sweet.

Damn, I thought as I went into the kitchen, letting the screen door slam behind me. The man was impossible. He walks back into my life, acting all easy and funny, making me like him, making me feel---Damn and double damn. Things had been just great for a while. We went to lunch--a lot. He came to dinner a couple of nights a week, and stayed. No pressure, no commitment, and no trying to boss me around. But could he be happy with that? Oh no. He had to leave his shaving kit in my bathroom, he had to start talking about “plans”, he had to get all protective. He had to scare the shit out of me. Oops. Where did that come from? Did the thought of having Dan around on a permanent basis, having anyone around on a permanent basis, really scare me? Of course not. Yes it did. Oh, to hell with it. I was going to think about something else.

The house seemed quiet, way too quiet, and I found myself wandering around the kitchen, putting away the jam, looking into a cupboard, drumming my fingers on the drain board. I needed something to distract me. It was too dark to garden. There was nothing on TV but re-runs of things I hadn't wanted to watch the first time. I hadn't had dinner but I had no interest in any more kitchen projects. Finally, I made a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich, poured a glass of milk and headed for the front porch.

I had no more plopped down in my rocking chair than Jake jumped into my lap. He rubbed against me, purring loudly, then took a mouthful of my sandwich.

“
Thief,” I told him. He rolled the peanut butter around in his mouth, then dug it out with his paw and dropped it on the porch. He sniffed once more at the sandwich, shook himself and, after turning around several times with his claws out, settled down in my lap.

“
Thanks for nothing.” I ate the half Jake had rejected and sipped my milk. Now what? I wasn’t about to let Police Chief Dunham into my thoughts. That just made me mad. I’d think about Susannah instead. Susannah, who might be somehow mixed up in a murder. That thought made me shudder. She obviously wasn't going to quit going to the barn. I had no idea if she was in any kind of real danger, what it might be, and what I should do about it. I couldn't, I wouldn’t, ask the great Police Chief for help. He'd already offered, no, told me, his solution. I was going to have to figure this out on my own. Which, of course, I was quite capable of doing.

I put my glass down on the porch, sat up straighter and started rocking, rather fast. Jake woke up, growled something under his breath, set his claws into my legs to balance himself and jumped down. “Jikes,” I yelled. He ignored me, jumped into the other rocker and resumed his nap.

Sure would be nice being a cat, I thought. Nothing to worry about, just eat and sleep. But I wasn’t a cat and I had plenty to worry about. For openers, how did I protect my daughter? The only way I could think of was to find out who had stuck the pitchfork through Rusty. Now, how was I going to do that?

I’d start by finding out about the pirate, I thought as I rocked. If he was involved somehow in transporting drugs, then he could have killed Rusty. He was there at the right time. But why would he? I didn’t know, but Becky, bless her little heart, was going to help me find out.

Next, Chovalo. He had been with Irma and her husband Bud for some twenty years. Then Wes and Linda Fowler had come to take over what sounded like Bud’s job and a large part of Chovalo’s. One he must have loved and taken pride in doing. He ran the horse breeding half of Irma's businesses, but was that what he’d expected? It was the horse hauling part that made the money, and if the prospective buyer had not included a job for Chovalo, could the breeding farm still pay his salary?

The only thing I knew about horses was the little I had gleaned from Susannah, but one stallion and a handful of mares didn’t seem like a big money making enterprise. Irma must be about sixty, Chovalo looked about the same. Not an age when you are eager to start over. It sounded like lots of his and Maria Rosa's savings had been spent on helping put those nephews and nieces through school. Had he decided cooperating with these drug people might be a hedge against possible later bankruptcy? How did I go about finding out? I could hardly ask Irma. There had to be a way. Only, I couldn’t think of one.