Give First Place to Murder (17 page)

"See you Saturday." The door closed behind him.

I stood there, as wrung out as an old dishrag. Why hadn't he stayed? God knew, in my melting Jell-O mood, we’d have been upstairs in another ten minutes. Hadn't he wanted to? If he hadn't, he'd given an Oscar winning performance. So what stopped him? My rules, that’s what. I’d drawn the line, Dan had agreed not to step over it, and I knew it was up to me to erase that line. Until I did…. Damn. Double damn.

I fastened the dead bolt and switched off the porch light. Susannah would come in the back, so I left the kitchen light on and the screen unfastened, and stood in the dark hallway, fretting, fuming, and still tingling.

Jake jumped up on the bookcase, drawing my attention to the VCR. Dan had forgotten his movie. Just like a man, leaving me to return it. I punched the rewind on the remote a little harder than necessary and stood staring at the tape whirring backwards, trying not to realize one of the reasons I was irritated with him was because he was making me feel things I was--admit it, Ellen McKenzie---things I was afraid to feel, things that had nothing to do with the bedroom.

I put the tape by my purse so I wouldn't forget it in the morning, paused, looked around the room for I didn't know what, sighed, and went upstairs to my always reliable escape. Books. I didn't want to deal with my own world any more tonight night. I’d read myself to sleep. I could count on being sound asleep by eleven. Only I couldn’t get Dan off my mind. Or murder. Dan must have felt there was some kind of real danger or he wouldn’t have given Susannah those phone numbers. Maybe that was why we were going to Santa Barbara, maybe he was worried something more was going to happen. My hesitation about spending the night hadn’t bothered him much, I thought sourly, and he hadn’t pushed the issue tonight. Which, I told myself sternly, was exactly the way I wanted it. Yeah, right. Around one, I finally turned off the light.

Irma arrived at exactly five thirty. Susannah was up and ready. I was up. Doors banged, the shower steamed, the blow drier blew, and I could no longer pretend that I slept. Especially as my door opened softly and a whispering voice asked, "Mom, can I borrow your green sweatshirt?"

She was going for three days, it was the middle of summer, and she had already packed six tee shirts and four sweatshirts. What on earth did she want with mine?

"Sure. Take it.” I started to turn over when the smell of coffee got me. "What's that?"

I pushed the covers down a little to see Susannah standing by the bed with my favorite mug in her hand, steam lightly rising and drifting my way.

"I thought you might like to come down and say good-bye."

She hadn't wanted me to say good-bye when she left for college, but that hadn't been preceded by a murder. I yawned, pushed back the covers and reached for my robe. Might as well get into practice. Sunday would be here before I knew it.

Irma came before I had more than two sips swallowed or two sentences spoken. There was a burst of activity as Susannah lugged her stuff out to the car, then briefly panicked when she couldn’t find her list of horses to be shown that day. It was under her coffee mug. Irma handed me phone numbers where they could be reached, finally the car door slammed and they were gone.

There was no point in going back to bed, so I contented myself with reading the morning paper. My shower was leisurely and I even had time to start a load of laundry. Mine.

I arrived at the office a half-hour early.

I had just hung up the phone and was making notes on my conversation, when Pat walked in and plopped herself down in the chair beside my desk. "You busy?"

My desk was littered with papers and files and I had a stack of messages still waiting to be answered. "Not a bit. What's up?"

"Carl had an emergency surgery and I'm useless at that kind of thing, so I put the phones on answering service, closed the office for thirty minutes and came to kidnap you."

"OK." I laughed. "I'm more than ready for a break. Yum Yum?"

"Where else?"

The restaurant was quiet for once. The only customers were Saturday shoppers taking a coffee break between breakfast and lunch. Ruthie wasn't to be seen, which was amazing. A plump young girl with long blond hair in a braid down her back poured our coffee.

"Donuts?" she asked. "Or maybe a Danish? We've got really good Danish."

"Just coffee," Pat told her. The girl looked disappointed.

"Bet you Ruthie runs twenty pounds off her in a month." Pat lifted her mug as she watched the girl amble off..

"If she lasts that long. OK. What's up?"

"What do you mean?" She was all innocence as she sipped. Only, I knew better.

"You don't shut your office for nothing. Out with it."

She laughed a little uncertainly. "Well, it’s a couple of things. One’s interesting, but really just mild gossip. I'm not sure about the other."

"Gossip first?"

"Only if you promise not to squeal on me to Mary. You know how she feels about gossip."

"She's the only person I ever heard of who knows everything that goes on in town, but never gossips. Go on."

"OK. I was getting my hair cut,” she patted her short, soft waves, “and Debbie, my hair dresser, also does a woman who’s a cousin to Bryce Ellis's mother and doesn't mind parting with a little family history. It seems Bryce was a late in life child, an unexpected one. He has four older sisters and a father who died when he was little, leaving the family very well fixed. The mother always wanted a son, and with the father gone, doted on Bryce. He was sent to private schools and kicked out of every one, the last couple for drinking and doing drugs. According to Debbie there’s something more, but the cousin stopped short of telling her what it is."

She stopped and looked at me expectantly.

"You think Bryce might be selling drugs?” This opened up possibilities I hadn’t thought of.

"Makes sense, especially with what’s been going on. Doesn't it?"

"I guess it might. If he has a really bad habit, selling seems to be a next step. That could tie him more tightly to Rusty. But where do the horses come in?"

"Evidently they’re an ego thing.” Pat made a face. I wasn’t sure if it was Bryce’s interest in horses, or Bryce himself she disapproved of. “The cousin said Bryce had failed at everything else he'd tried, but he really is good at showing horses."

"And being charming,” I said, a little rueful. “ Do you think Bryce has the guts to kill someone?"

"Probably not." Pat was looking around, holding her empty cup in her hand. "Where is that girl? Oh, there she is." She smiled at the girl who filled our cups before she wandered off again. "No, I don't think he would.” She took another sip and thought about it. “Especially not the way Rusty was killed.. Too messy for him.”

"But maybe not for Stephanie." I pictured her as I’d seen her the night of the fair. The muscles in her arms had shown clearly under her short sleeved tee shirt. "Aunt Mary's right. She is strong."

"I'll say."

I had to laugh at the expression on Pat’s face. "I meant strong minded. But that too. She could easily have hefted that pitchfork. The only place she doesn't seem to be strong is where Bryce is concerned.” I took a sip of coffee and thought about that. “We know she made him promise not to take any more drugs,” I said slowly, feeling my way. “If she thought Rusty was tempting him to break that promise, or worse, setting Bryce up to help sell drugs, I don't suppose a little thing like murder would stop her.”

"You may be right.” Pat paused before starting off on another track. “There's something else, Ellen." Her expression changed, and I didn’t like it. She hadn’t been comfortable telling me about Bryce, but now she looked worried.

"About Bryce?"

"No. About Chovalo.” She paused before she went on, as though choosing her words carefully. “One of Carl's beloved sheep dogs came in this morning for a routine visit. Shots and stuff. I got to talking to the owner. He lives out by Irma and was at the fair. You know the horse show ended Sunday. Monday a lot of people went back to tear down before the rodeo people came in. Well, Chovalo was out there."

"So?"

"Irma's barn was already torn down. It was one of the few, according to this man. Chovalo was going from barn to barn, not talking to owners but to the help, the grooms, whatever you call them. All the Spanish speaking ones."

"I'm lost. What are you suggesting? That he was doing something wrong?"

"I don't know, but it’s strange.” Pat didn’t look happy telling all this, but she plowed on. “His job at the fairgrounds was finished. Dan keeps talking about people being recruited to make this awful meth stuff, and how the horse shows are somehow connected. What Chovalo was doing sounded a lot like recruitment to me. What do you think?"

I thought I didn't like what I was hearing. Another idea was beginning to form, and I was getting scared again.

"How does that connect with Bryce? Chovalo and Bryce hate each other, so they can hardly be working together.”.

"They work together in Irma's barn," Pat pointed out.

"True," I admitted. "You think they really might be…"

"Ellen, I don't know." Pat, my dear friend Pat looked at me with miserable eyes. "But something isn't right. And whatever it is, it's dangerous. I'm scared, Ellen, for Susannah."

She wasn't the only one.

I found myself staring at her, coffee cup half way to my slightly open mouth, thinking awful thoughts. Pat, the eternal optimist, who saw good in everything and evil nowhere, was worried. Once more, she was scared, and that somehow was the most terrifying of all.

"Look Ellen, I don't want to butt in, especially after the high handed way Dan and Carl tried to manage things, but we all care about you and Susannah.” She took a deep breath and let the rest of her words out with a rush. “Can you get her to quit working with Bryce? That job with Carl is still open."

Loyalty be damned. Susannah might not know it, but her days as Bryce's girl Friday were ending on Sunday. I wasn't sure how I was going to pull it off, but somehow I had to.

Pat glanced at her watch. "I've got to go. Carl should be finished setting that cat's leg about now and I'd better open the office again.” She pushed back her chair, then paused. “What are you going to do?”

"No idea. But I’ll think of something. And Pat, thanks.”

"Yeah. Right.” She dropped a dollar on the table. “Good luck.” She left.

I went more slowly. The day suddenly seemed a little too hot, the trees a little too dusty, the flowers a little wilted, even the breeze felt tired. Damn. Life was filled with decisions, problems, perils, and I wasn't sure how equipped I felt to deal with them. Independence, pride that I was learning to do my new job well, was one thing. Coping with murder was another.

Had Chovalo known Rusty before the horse show? Was Rusty some kind of contact gone bad? Because there had to be one. A contact. The vague idea I'd had while talking to Pat returned, only now it had bright and shiny edges. The Pirate. What better cover could there be? He was hired as an entertainer, his job was to wander the fair, he talked to hundreds of people every day. Both times I had seen him, he was either in the horse barns or close to them. The Pirate had something to do with this, I was sure. Why, oh why, hadn’t Becky called?

She had. I called her back immediately.

“
Ellen, it’s the strangest thing. That pirate, he wasn’t hired by the fair.”

“
What?” I gasped. “How can that be? He was there, I saw him.”

“
You and a bunch of other people. But we have nothing on him, no paper work of any kind, and we never cut him a paycheck. If you hadn’t asked about him, we’d never have known.”

“
How could you not have known? Doesn’t someone check these people in? Give them passes or something?”

“
Of course.” She sounded stiff and rather defensive. “We can’t figure out how he got in, either, or why he was there. Anyway, we’re continuing to check. If I find out any more, I’ll let you know.”

I hung up the phone and stared at my cluttered desk. But the papers waiting for my attention, the messages needing a return phone call, didn’t register. Only Becky’s news did. What did it mean? Only one thing I could think of. That pirate was closely connected to whatever was going on. This didn’t prove he killed Rusty, but it sure put him first place in the suspect category. And it dropped Chovalo to the bottom. Or did it? Next question, what should I do about this? Nothing, was my answer. At least, not right now. Dan was so sure the pirate wasn’t involved and Becky’s bizarre tale probably wasn’t enough to change his mind. I’d wait for more information from her, and in the meantime, try to find out more about Chovalo. And, I reminded myself, this little tidbit didn’t absolve sweet Stephanie. I sighed, sat down, and started to answer my messages.

Saturday night was balmy and beautiful. I had on my most flattering long skirt, a new silk sweater straight from the pages of the Nordstrom catalog, and some killer perfume. I was slightly irritated at myself for taking so much trouble, after all, Dan and I were just friends. Sure, said my inner voice. He’d half moved in until you panicked. But of course that wasn’t true. I just needed to slow things down so I could think. You panicked, my inner voice said again. Shut up, I told it savagely. I didn’t either. I had to admit, though, I’d missed him. Jake didn’t cuddle nearly as well and he wasn’t nearly as ;much fun to talk to. I sighed. Trying to figure out just what I wanted out of this relationship was getting harder all the time. I’m not thinking about it anymore, I vowed, I’m only going to think about that blasted horse show and this afternoon’s phone call from Susannah. The show was wonderful, she’d said. They had won several of their classes, Bryce wasn’t being completely awful, Chovalo was a saint, Irma was a nervous wreck waiting for Sunday, the horse had never looked better, and she was having a great time. It was what she didn’t say that made me happy. She didn’t once mention murder.