Bad Penny (10 page)

Luis tried to imagine how this tiny woman would be able to handle a man of Tutuola’s size.

“How did you manage that?” he asked.

She smiled, and for the first time Luis got a glimpse of the pretty young woman she’d once been.

“I put a curse on him. He was a superstitious man. It frightened him. He gave me much money to take the curse away. I took his money, but I did not remove the curse. I am glad he is dead.”

Luis sighed. So…Tutuola already had the money when he came here. “Did you see his money?”

“No. He went out to his car and came back with a handful. He threw it at me. I took it.” Then she glared at Luis. “He gave it to me. It was mine to do with as I wished.”

“Of course. I’m just trying to find out who else might have known about the money…maybe someone who followed him and killed him for it.”

Paloma immediately thought of the American woman who’d been in her house, and the look of horror on her face when she realized that Paloma knew Tutuola—and that he was alive. She remembered the woman calling him the devil and almost fainting.

Paloma had seen the scar on the woman’s neck. She understood that kind of fear. If the American woman had taken the money, it didn’t matter to her. Solomon deserved to die.

“I saw no one,” she said. Luis nodded, then stood up.

“Thank you for taking time to speak with me. It has been very helpful.”

Paloma nodded, then got up, too, and opened the door, anxious for the detective to leave. But Luis paused on the threshold.

“Oh…one last thing.”

“Que?”

“When Tutuola was here, did he say where he’d been or how he came by the money?”

“No. All he wanted was food and sex. He took both without asking. I am

glad he is dead.”

Now Luis was the one who was ashamed—ashamed that any member of his sex would do such a thing.

“I am sorry you were mistreated,” he said softly. “Thank you for your time.”

“De nada,” Paloma said.

Luis was on the doorstep and about to walk away when he stopped and turned around.

“I wish you a long and happy life, Paloma Garcia.”

Paloma’s eyes filled with tears, but she only nodded and closed the door.

Luis sighed. The world was harsh to women alone. He thought of Conchita and how many times he had left her in the same condition, then tried to assuage his own guilt by reminding himself that she was never without her comforts.

Still, as he walked back to his uncle’s house, his heart was heavy. Tomorrow he would continue to head east. It remained to be seen what would happen next.

Six

Cat’s bruises were fading faster than her memories of being swallowed up by the storm. She was grateful to still be here on the McKay ranch, instead of back in Dallas. Wilson had taught her that being with family

was a great aid to healing, both in body and spirit. Now she was so entrenched in this world and very thankful she didn’t have to return to the back alleys of Dallas to run down perps who’d skipped out on their court dates.

When she thought about it, which was often, it seemed as if Marsha’s murder had been the detonator that had blown up her carefully balanced world. Before, she’d been a loner—never sharing anything of herself with anyone but Marsha and, occasionally, her old boss, Art. Before, she wouldn’t trust and she wouldn’t love, and she couldn’t bring herself to do what was needed to change any of it. She’d been lost in a sparse and lonely routine.

But then Marsha had been murdered, and despite every intention she had of keeping Wilson out of her life, he wouldn’t go away and he wouldn’t give up. Now, she could only thank God for Wilson’s perseverance. She couldn’t imagine her life without him.

This morning, after breakfast and after everyone else had gone about their business, she had retreated to their bedroom and was now curled up on the bed with her lap full of yarn and a partially crocheted afghan. It was a skill that Dorothy had taught her on her first visit to the ranch, and one she now found soothing. It gave her great satisfaction to know that she could create beauty and warmth out of nothing more than loops and knots in a single strand of yarn.

The afghan, like Cat, was a work in progress.

Her stomach rumbled as she worked, and she paused for a moment to reach for the glass of iced cola she had on the table. Every now and then she still felt queasy, but a sip of something carbonated seemed to help, and the queasiness always went away.

Wilson was in the living room on speakerphone, talking with his secretary, LaQueen, and John Tiger, the friend he’d hired before he’d been shot. Cat knew that if it hadn’t been for the two of them, Wilson’s bail bond business would have gone belly-up.

From where she was sitting, she could just make out the low rumble of his voice. Although she couldn’t hear what he was saying, it didn’t matter. He was nearby, which was enough.

As she continued to crochet, a bird flew by the window near the bed. Cat caught the movement from the corner of her eye and paused long enough to look out. The sun was shining. The day was clear. Spring was here, but it would be a month or so before the smothering heat of summer followed.

She sighed, then leaned against the headboard of the bed, giving her eyes a rest before returning to the handwork in her lap. It probably wouldn’t take her more than a couple of weeks to finish this, and then she could—

Suddenly Cat sat straight up in bed. Her heart began to pound, and her stomach turned.

“Oh. My. God.”

She tossed the afghan to the side and crawled out of bed as she scrambled to reach the desk on the other side of the room. The daily calendar had been sadly neglected and was several days behind the correct date. But it wasn’t the exact day she needed. It was the passage of time.

She stared at the small monthly calendar at the top of the page, then closed her eyes and made herself focus. The last time she remembered having her period was right before she’d gone to Chihuahua and gotten the life nearly beaten out of her.

She’d thought about it soon after, but had attributed being late to the trauma of the beating. And just when she’d been getting well, Wilson had been shot. After that, nothing had mattered but keeping him alive.

She sat down at the desk and began counting the days. By the time she was through, she was shaking.

Never in her life had she been late, but according to the calendar, she was two days shy of being two months overdue.

She thought of how many times lately she’d felt queasy at breakfast, and how many times she’d crawled into bed for an afternoon nap. Neither of those behaviors was normal for her.

But she’d never been pregnant before.

She got up from the chair and headed for the bathroom, then turned to stand before the full-length mirror. She still looked the same. A shade too thin, long hair in need of a cut. She touched her breasts, then shivered when they felt tender to the touch.

Her heart was hammering against her ribcage as she turned sideways and pulled up her shirt. Her belly was still flat—but at two months it would be. She dropped her shirt, then sat down on the lid of the toilet seat and started to shake.

Could this be true?

Was she having Wilson’s child?

Even though they used protection, it was certainly possible. Nothing was foolproof.

Suddenly, she had to know. Thankful that her own car was back in operation, she headed out the door on the run.

Wilson was still on the phone when Cat went flying through the room. He waved a hello, but she didn’t even look his way.

Curious, he quickly ended his conversation and ran to catch up.

She was already on her way out the back door with her wallet and car keys in her hand.

“Hey! Where’s the fire?” he asked, as he caught up with her on the porch. Cat felt like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar. “Uh…I’m just going to make a quick trip into town. I’ll be right back.” “Wait. I’ll go with you,” Wilson said.

“No, it’s okay. I won’t be long.”

Wilson frowned. “What’s going on?” he asked.

She hesitated. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but this wasn’t exactly how she would have planned on telling the man she loved that he was about to become a father. Besides, she didn’t know that for sure.

“Nothing. I just need to pick up some stuff at the pharmacy.” “Why can’t I go with you?”

Now she felt cornered. “Maybe I just want to shop on my own.”

Wilson knew something was up, but he’d come too close to losing her too many times to let her stubbornness stand in the way of needing help.

“I’ll stay in the car,” he said.

“Fine. But I’m driving.”

“Do you know where the nearest pharmacy is?” She glared. “No.”

“Then wouldn’t it be better if I drove while you sulked?” Cat handed him the keys and got into her newly repaired SUV. He was still

on the porch by the time she’d buckled up. The look she gave him was enough to get him moving.

He got behind the wheel, then started the engine. “If you dawdle, I’m going to be pissed,” she muttered.

He grinned. “That’s all right. My favorite kittens in the litter were always the ones that were all hissy-pissy.”

Cat tried to be mad, but it was the grin on his face, and that little gold loop in his ear glittering in the sunlight just like the gleam in his eyes, that told her she wasn’t going to win this round.

She threw up her hands and leaned back. “I’m ready when you are,” she muttered.

Just for the sake of aggravation, Wilson stayed five miles under the speed limit all the way into Austin.

“Will this one do?” he asked, as he pointed to a large chain pharmacy at the end of the block.

“Yes. It’ll be fine,” Cat said.

Wilson nodded, then pulled into a parking space.

Cat’s hand was on the handle when she paused, then turned to Wilson.

“I won’t be long.”

He sighed. “I’ll wait in the car like I promised.”

She knew she was behaving just like she had before, keeping secrets, not willing to share the personal side of her life with him, even after they’d been sleeping together. Regretting her earlier snub, she put a hand on his arm.

“Thank you. I’m not shutting you out. I just need you to trust me for a bit.” Then she leaned over and kissed him square on the lips, lingering just long enough to start an ache in his belly. “Be right back,” she said, and was out the door and into the pharmacy before his blood pressure settled.

A muscle jerked at the side of his jaw; then he made himself relax and dropped his hands into his lap. So what if she was making him crazy? He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Inside, Cat was scanning the aisles, looking for feminine hygiene products and guessing that pregnancy test kits would be nearby.

They weren’t.

She wasted so much time looking that she began to fear Wilson would get tired of waiting and come inside, and that wasn’t how she wanted him to find out, either. Finally she gave up and went to the pharmacy counter to ask for help.

A helpful clerk stepped out from behind the counter and led her to a

nearby display. The neat metal tag on her smock had the name Vicki Ostrowski on it.

Cat tried to imagine going through life with that last name, wondering how many times Vicki Ostrowski had to spell it over the phone to be understood.

“What kind do you prefer?” Vicki asked.

Cat’s pulse accelerated. The last thing she needed was pressure.

“Kind? There are kinds? I don’t know. All I need to know is if I’m pregnant.”

The tension in her voice was telling. Vicki took pity on her and chose one for her.

“This one is the simplest. Follow the instructions, and if a cross shows up on the tester, then you are. If there’s a minus sign, then you’re not. How’s that for easy?”

“A lot easier than it was to get this way,” Cat muttered, and took the box Vicki gave her.

Vicki stifled a grin as Cat headed to the checkout counter. A couple of minutes later, she was on her way to the car with her sack in hand.

Wilson saw her come out and wisely refused to comment on the bag she was carrying as she got inside and buckled up. He couldn’t imagine her suddenly going all shy on him about buying feminine products, but he

wasn’t going to be an ass a second time and insist she tell him what she’d bought when he’d already insisted on coming with her. Just because the bruises were fading and Cat was moving normally, that didn’t mean she felt all right. If he’d been blown six ways to Sunday by a tornado, he might be acting a little strange, too.

“Need to do any more shopping, baby?”

It was the tenderness in his voice that was Cat’s undoing. She shook her head and then, to her horror, started to cry.

Wilson was stunned. It took more than kind words to make Catherine Dupree cry. He couldn’t imagine what was wrong, but now he was scared.

“Honey…baby…I’m sorry. I’m sorry I pushed you into letting me come with you.”