Seven Sisters (13 page)

“With a little arm twisting from you, I heard.”

She opened her eyes wide in mock innocence. “Why, honeybun, a person can’t make another person do something they don’t want to do. It was purely voluntary.”

“Right, kind of like the military draft. Anyway, if you’ll tell me where the information Mrs. Shandon left for me is, I’m outta here.”

“There’s an envelope with your name on it near the cash register.”

“Thanks.”

BY FRIDAY, GILES’S murder had been relegated to second-page news since there was nothing new to report. It was still on people’s minds and lips, though, according to Elvia. Her mystery reading group at the bookstore had spent more time talking about San Celina’s real-life mystery than their fictional English one. Gabe and I didn’t even discuss it since his department wasn’t handling it. We did, however, talk at length about Sam and Bliss, their impending marriage and parenthood.

“At least she’ll be covered by insurance,” Gabe said. “Lydia and I are relieved about that.” We’d sat down for a rare breakfast together. Usually he jogged with Scout and ate before I got out of bed since I rarely had to be at the folk art museum before nine o’clock, but the telephone had jarred me awake at six-thirty this morning while he was still out jogging. My grouchy hello had been answered by Lydia’s sensuous contralto voice.

“Benni? Did I wake you up?”

“Uh, no, I was . . . just... taking a sip of coffee.” I sat up in bed and ran a hand through my tangled curls, smoothing them down, as if she could see their wildness. “Gabe’s not here.”

Her laughter grated in my ear. “Out jogging for five miles before his two cups of coffee, bagel with grape jelly, glass of juice, and a quick glance at the front page and sports section.”

It irritated me slightly that she knew his morning routine that well. “I guess some things never change.”

“Actually, the jogging is new in the last few years, but everything else is the same. If nothing else, our Gabe is predictable in his unpredictable way.”

Our Gabe.
Yikes. Someone lock the knife drawer. “Want me to have him call you?” I said as sweetly as I could manage without any caffeine in my system. “It’s Lydia, right?”

“Right. Lydia Ortiz. Tell him I’ll be at home for the next hour, then at the office. He has both numbers.”

“Ortiz?” I said without thinking. “I thought you got remarried.”

The sexy laugh again. “His surname was Dembrowski. I figured Ortiz suited me better. Besides, it’s been my professional name since I was twenty-two. Gabe and I parted on amicable terms. I don’t have any animosity about his name.”

“Oh,” I said, the irony not lost on me. My husband’s ex-wife had his last name, not her second husband’s, and I, his current wife, still had the name of my late husband. “I’ll tell him you called.”

“Thanks, Benni. I’ll let you get back to sleep now. Sorry to wake you. Good-bye.”

“You didn’t wake . . .” But she’d hung up before I could finish my protest.

Gabe found me fifteen minutes later, standing in the kitchen wearing one of his old blue LAPD T-shirts and watching coffee drip into the pot.

He came over, lifted my hair, and nuzzled the back of my neck. “No woman has ever looked better in my T-shirts than you.” His warm tongue licked a cool, wet circle on my neck.

I turned and snapped, “And just how many women have you seen in your T-shirts?”

He jerked back, surprise widening his eyes. “Whoa, let’s start over. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen not”—he held up his hands—“that I
ever
look at other women to compare, because I don’t, but
if
I did, you would be the most beautiful, I’m absolutely sure.”

Glaring at him, I poured a cup of coffee. His dark face was glossy with sweat, his damp cotton shorts clinging in a way that was not unattractive. The sincerity in his blue-gray eyes was real, and his white, slightly crooked smile seduced me, as it first had in Liddie’s parking lot that cold November night a few years ago. I held out the mug of coffee to him. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you, Friday.”

He took the coffee, then kissed me on the cheek. “PMS, sweetheart?” he whispered. “Shall I fetch the Godiva chocolate?”

“Oh, man, you’re asking for it now,” I said, swatting at his stomach. “Bad cop, no doughnut.”

He laughed, and Scout, who had been watching our exchange with his one German shepherd ear straight up in worry, barked. I took a dog biscuit out of the jar on the counter and tossed it to him. “Good Scout. I wasn’t talking to you. You are the one male in this house who knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

“And why are we so cranky this morning?”

“We are
not cranky.
Do you want some toast?”

“No, I’ll have a bagel.” He opened the refrigerator door. “Are we out of grape jelly?”

I growled inwardly, then said in an even voice, “By the way, Lydia called while you were jogging. She said she’d like you to call her back. She’ll be at home for the next hour, then at the office.” I poured myself some coffee and pushed my way around him to get the milk, taking it over to the kitchen table.

“So that’s what’s wrong,” he said, his voice amused. He faced me, the jelly jar in his hand, his expression searching. “Was she rude to you?”

I sat down, propping my elbows on the table. The wooden chair was cold against my bare thighs. “No, Gabe, she was perfectly gracious. I just need a cup of coffee. Call her.”

When he came back from calling her, he sat down at the table across from me. I was well into my second cup of coffee and feeling a bit more genial toward the world, even one that held perfect first wives. “So, what did she want?” I asked.

“She’s coming back up here to spend the weekend. Says she wants to get to know Bliss better, that last weekend was not a good way to start an in-law relationship. She wants us all to go to dinner tonight.”

“I agree that it was a rough start to a relationship. Do you think Sam and Bliss will go?”

“I called Sam already, and he’s not working at the bookstore. I know it’s Bliss’s day off. He says he’s sure she’ll want to come. Lydia’ll be staying at the San Celina Inn, so we’re just going to eat there.”

“Their pot roast is great. It’s usually crowded on a Friday night though. You might want to make reservations.”

“So, are you free?”

“Me?”

He nodded. “Lydia specifically told me to tell you that you were included.”

“How thoughtful of her,” I said, thinking,
Bland face, Benni, bland face.
“But this doesn’t really have anything to do with me, so I’ll pass.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t have anything to do with you? You’re my wife. You’re Sam’s stepmother. Of course it has to do with you.” A tinge of irritation crept into his voice.

I went over and pushed my way onto his lap. “Let me attempt to be a mature human being about this. You go to dinner with your son and his fiancée and your gorgeous ex-wife and let me just trust you, okay? I’ll grab a sandwich and harass Elvia at the bookstore if she’s not on a date with Emory.”

He buried his face in my neck. “I’d rather have you come with us, but it’s up to you. Lydia may be gorgeous, but don’t forget she dumped me a long time ago.”

I laid my cheek on his damp, black hair, my heart troubled, thinking,
that’s my problem, Friday. I’d feel a heap better if
you’d
dumped her.

LATER AT THE museum, in the early afternoon when I’d finally caught up on all my paperwork, I decided to take Bliss up on her offer to watch her work the horses. Since I knew it was her day off, I called the ranch, hoping she was there.

“Come on down,” she said. “You’re welcome anytime. I’ll be exercising Churn Dash in about an hour,” she said. “We’ll be down at the training track.”

I went by the house, picked up Scout, and arrived at Seven Sisters stables a little before two-thirty. Scout, his nose quivering with new, tantalizing smells, reluctantly obeyed my command to heel as we walked behind the stables and down the short path to the training track. Bliss was jogging Churn Dash around the freshly graded black dirt. I waved to her, and when she waved back, he took the opportunity to crow-hop and dance around, generally behaving squirrelly. She scolded him verbally and gently brought him back under control with firm, experienced hands.

I climbed up on the metal rail and watched her start around the track at a lope. With the cool, early-afternoon ocean breeze sweeping over me, I felt myself relax and really enjoy the pure, incredible beauty of a young horse’s muscles at work. He fought her, aching to break into a run. You could see the pleasure in his neck and ears as she rode him around the half-mile track. I knew enough about horses to see this one had something special—that unpredictable, unknowable thing you couldn’t breed into an animal, the thing that made them go the extra mile, make the extra effort, the thing that made you suspect they’d keep going until they collapsed. That thing some people called heart.

After two times around the track she walked him for a while, cooling him down. Then she rode him over to my perch on the railing. She pulled off her jockey helmet and shook out her blond hair.

“Glad you could make it,” she said, reaching down and patting his neck. “What do you think?”

“He’s something special, no doubt about it.”

She nodded, her hair blowing wild around her head. “We sure think so. Like Grandma Cappy said, we haven’t had a stakes horse in a few years. We’re hoping Dash will change that.”

She climbed down and led him toward the gate, which I’d already opened. I followed her to the tie stall where she untacked him and slipped on a baby blue halter. She stopped briefly, touching her hand to her stomach, her face tightening for a moment.

I hesitated before saying, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she said. “Just a little sick spell.”

Knowing it was none of my business, I didn’t say anything about the safety of riding a racehorse so early in her pregnancy, but I couldn’t help wondering if it was a wise choice.

“Can I clean him up?” I asked, thinking she could at least rest while I did that. “I kinda miss doing that on a regular basis now that I’m a city girl.”

Her eyes were disbelieving, but she said, “Sure, if you want.”

We led Dash over to the wash racks, and she leaned up against an oak tree as I hosed him off.

“Why aren’t you coming to dinner tonight?” she asked, scratching behind Scout’s ears.

I ran the slow-flowing water over Churn Dash’s brown back. “I thought it might be easier for you to get to know Lydia without me there.”

She wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something bad. “Designer suits and those perfect nails. And she’s a defense lawyer. I can’t believe she and the chief produced Sam. Frankly, she scares me spitless.”

I laughed in recognition and camaraderie. “I know the feeling. I still feel that way about Gabe’s mother. But we get along okay. Of course, there are two thousand miles between us.”

“I’d feel a lot better if you were going.”

“Sorry, but I have a dinner date with Scout tonight.”

“I’m jealous.”

She watched me silently for a moment, then said, “Can I ask you something? Just between us?”

Thinking it was another mother-in-law question, I said, “Sure.”

“What do you think is more important, your family or your job?”

I answered without hesitation, “Why, your family, of course.” Then I instantly regretted my quick response. “Unless ...” I started, thinking
Unless your job is to uphold the law.
She looked like she might dissolve into tears at any moment. There was no doubt she knew or suspected something about Giles’s murder, and it was clearly upsetting her.

“Unless what?”

I turned off the hose and reached for the scraper hanging on one of the metal posts. “Bliss, I’m not sure I’m the person you should be asking about this. Maybe you should talk to Gabe.”

“No! No way!”

Her emotional response surprised me. “Bliss, I know it’s your family, but if you know something about Giles’s murder . . . ”

“Forget it,” she said, pushing herself away from the tree trunk. “It’s not your problem. Put Dash on the hot walker when you’re finished cleaning him up and let Luis know. I have to go take a shower and get ready for tonight. Thanks for your help.” Her tone was clipped and businesslike, but her expression belied her voice. Her gray eyes were full of fear.

“No problem.” I turned back to Dash, trying to hold back my anger and embarrassment, and started scraping water off his back and flanks. I was irritated at her giving me just enough information to get me involved and curious, but not enough to do anything about. When I was through, I led the horse over to the hot walker, clipped his halter to it, and turned it on. Luis was in the second barn shoveling clean shavings into a stall. After informing him of Dash’s whereabouts, I whistled for Scout and headed for my truck.

Glancing in my rearview mirror at the house on the hill, I had to agree with Gabe. Sam had picked himself one heck of a family to marry into. There were times I really liked Bliss and times I felt like smacking her upside the head. I smiled to myself. In general, I tended to feel that way about most cops, including my own husband.