State Fair (29 page)

“I love you as much as I always have,” he said, startling me.

He laughed at my expression, cupped my face in his hands and kissed my lips. “I’m not a mind reader, but your face has about a million tells. Don’t ever bet your cattle on a poker hand.”

“No chance, Friday. Believe it or not, I’m actually not doing much to provoke this person. I think it might be Aunt Garnet who caused this, though I’d never tell her that in a million years.”

“Aunt Garnet?” He dropped his hands to my upper arms, rubbing them up and down as if I were chilled.

He frowned when I told him what she said to Milt and Juliette Piebald today at the Cattlemen’s Lunch.

“You might want to casually ask your aunt to spend more time looking at the fair exhibits and less time antagonizing potential homicide suspects.”

“Yeah, right. Maybe
you
want to tell her that.”

He stood up, pulling me up with him. “Right now, I say we lock up and go to bed.”

I breathed deeply, relieved to be home. “That’s the best suggestion I’ve heard all day.”

We made love that night. There was nothing wild or desperate or unusual about it. We were just two people who’d come to know each other well, both physically and, it was appearing, emotionally. The fair had stirred up so many old memories for me, memories of my childhood, my adolescence, my years married to Jack. As I felt Gabe’s familiar body under my hands, his weight on me, the deep gingery scent of him surrounding me, a part of me detached and drifted back to the past, remembering another man’s scent, another man’s weight. Jack had been my first lover, my first
love.

Two men in one lifetime. Two men who’d loved me. That seemed so unfair. My mind flashed to Cal. He’d had grown up with such a small amount of love. Then he finally found someone who cared about him, maybe even loved him, and then he was killed. Not fair. Jack died way too young. Certainly not fair. But without Jack dying, I’d not be here in this moment. Love at the fair. Death at the fair. Fair. Unfair. All the meanings of fair sizzled through my brain, like sparks of electricity.

“Come back.” Gabe’s deep voice broke into my thoughts.

I opened my eyes. His blue eyes stared down at me. They seemed to glow in the semidark.

“Come back to me,” he whispered. “Now. Come back to
me.
”

So I did. I concentrated on his scent and feel and taste. Fair or not, all anyone really owned was each single moment.

Later, while my husband murmured in his sleep and my dog snored in his fancy monogrammed dog bed in the corner of the room, I lay wide awake thinking again how unfair it was—Gabe so relaxed, Scout snoozing away and me as full of energy as if I’d drunk a six-pack of Coke.

Who killed Calvin Jones? Trying to lull myself to sleep, I listed the suspects in my head—Milt, Juliette, Dodge, Lloyd, the skinheads in Atascadero, Justin.

Justin? Where did
that
come from? He was a cop, he wouldn’t have killed Cal. Would he? I shivered under the sheets, the air-conditioning suddenly making me clammy and cold. I resisted the picture of Justin committing such an act, the antithesis of what he’d sworn to do, uphold the law, protect the innocent.

Maybe that’s what he thought he’d been doing, protecting Jazz. Protecting her from a man that no one thought was good for her. Protecting her from a man with the potential to hurt her.

I pulled the thin quilt over me and fit myself around Gabe’s body. It would break his heart if Justin was Cal’s killer. I tried to force my mind into blankness, searching for sleep, but it would be a long time before I found it.

“I
WISH I WEREN’T GOING TO SACRAMENTO TODAY,” GABE SAID the next morning. He had a management seminar that the city had already paid for. His flight left at 8 a.m. and he wouldn’t be home until tomorrow afternoon.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, pouring corn flakes into a ceramic bowl. “Whoever bumped my truck last night was just being annoying more than anything. If they’d really wanted to hurt me, that road from the Frio Saloon would have been the perfect place. They
could’ve
easily run me into a ditch.” I wished now I hadn’t told him. But in the past we’d fought about hiding things from each other, so the new rule in our marriage, which I was trying to faithfully follow, was complete transparency.

He scowled across the table. “Exactly.”

“Exactly,” I repeated. “But they didn’t. Which means it was probably kids screwing around. The Frio Saloon was packed. That truck was probably just some drunk Cal Poly students acting out.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“I promise I’ll be careful.”

“I’ll have extra patrols cruise by the house while I’m gone,” he said, draining his coffee cup. Scout let loose a loud, squeaky yawn and thumped his tail on the linoleum floor.

“Whatever you say.” Since I wouldn’t be sitting inside the house all day it wouldn’t protect me much, but if it made him feel better, let him do it.

“What are your plans today?” he asked, pushing back his half-finished oatmeal.

“My paperwork at the museum is caught up, thank goodness, so I’ll see if Dove needs me to chauffeur Aunt Garnet around. The situation between them had better come to a head soon or someone—probably me—is going to burst a blood vessel.”

Mentioning Dove and Aunt Garnet made Gabe smile. “Those two really do love each other to death.”

“
To death
being the key words in that sentence.”

After he left for the airport, I called the ranch.

Aunt Garnet answered. “Dove’s gone to the fair already. She’s a judge for the pickle-eating contest.”

“Better her than me.” I tried not to imagine what might be the end result of that competition. “Hope they have the fire hoses ready. How are you feeling today?”

“Much more rested. What’s on our agenda?”

“Until the doll-making session tonight at Flory Jackson’s, I don’t have a thing planned. What do you want to do?”

“Pastor Mac came by last night and said they were having a sewing day at the church. They’re making and stuffing personal hygiene bags for the homeless shelter.” Personal hygiene bags were made by stitching together twelve-inch-square denim fabric with a top that closed with pull cords. We stuffed them with toothpaste, deodorant, toothbrush, dental floss, soap, washcloth, nutrition bars and bottled water. “I thought I’d do that this morning. It will give me a chance to get to know the other ladies in the church better. And maybe see what programs I’d like to . . .” She paused a moment. “I’d just like to help out is all.”

I pretended to ignore her slip of the tongue. “How about I pick you up when you’re through and we can have lunch?”

“They’re providing lunch. Why not come at two p.m. and we can hang out until we go to Mrs. Jackson’s house.”

Hearing the words
hang out
come from Aunt Garnet’s lips made me smile. She was getting downright hip. “Two p.m. it is.”

“You have a wonderful day, niece.”

“You, too, Aunt Garnet.”

Since Hud never called me back, I decided to hunt him down. I guessed he’d be at the fairgrounds so the first place I tried was the administration office. Three people were working and four others lingered in the reception area. The older woman behind the counter now recognized me.

“Levi’s got someone in his office and others waiting,” she told me.

“Actually, I’m here to see Ford Hudson. With the sheriff’s department.”

She pointed with her thumb. “Go on back. No one wants to see him.”

From behind Levi’s door a male voice rumbled. The owner of the voice didn’t sound happy. It sounded like someone was giving Levi the business. I sent peaceful vibes through the door, hoping this crisis and the others waiting were small ones.

I knocked on the half-open door to Hud’s temporary office. “Hey, Clouseau! You decent?”

“Have rarely been accused of that,” he answered.

He sat behind his desk with a
San Celina Tribune
spread out in front of him. It was opened to the sports page. A large mug of coffee and a white box labeled Chewy’s Donuts shared the desk top.

“Fried food at the fair not good enough for you?” I commented, peering down into the box before sitting down.

He took a sip from his mug. “Got here too early this morning. Nothing was open.”

“Not even the Kiwanis booth?”

He shook his head.

“That
is
early. Any reason why?”

“None I want to tell you.”

“So,” I said, “why did you ignore my message yesterday?”

He looked back down at the paper. “I was going to get to it.”

“Quit being so pissy. You know, it really was something important. You heard about what someone did to Levi’s back door?”

“Yes, Levi called me. We’ve checked it out. Took some photos. Not much to go on.”

“I was trying to call to tell you about it.”

“So, I found out eventually. That it?”

He was really starting to annoy me. “Something happened to me last night. Gabe is convinced it has to do with Cal’s murder.”

“So, talk.”

I told him about the white truck bumping me and just in the spirit of full disclosure, what Aunt Garnet said to the Piebalds at the Cattleman’s Lunch yesterday.

“She’s a nervy one,” he said, his voice admiring. “Between her and Dove you didn’t stand a chance at being shy and retiring.”

“I don’t really think the Piebalds killed Cal, do you? Though, heaven knows, seeing Milt Piebald in an orange jumpsuit would give more than one person in this town some satisfaction. And now that we’re on the subject, just exactly who do you suspect?” I looked through the box of doughnuts and chose one that looked like a jelly. I took a bite. Jackpot. The raspberry filling was almost as good as Dove’s homemade jam.

“Thanks for the information, now run along and have a good time at the fair. I hear the husband-calling contest is looking for participants. Use that screechy voice of yours for good, not evil.”

“You are a cad.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

I took another bite, then put my partially-eaten doughnut down right on top of his newspaper. Raspberry jam leaked down onto the face of a goofy-looking baseball player.

“Hey!” Hud said.

“I deserve to know what’s going on since my life was in danger. Kind of.”

He picked up my donut with a napkin and tossed it in the trash. “I’ve been given strict orders to keep you out of this. In fact, I was told by someone in very high authority to subtly, artfully, and very cleverly discourage you from being involved.”

“Who told you that? Your boss? How does she even know . . . ?”

He grinned at me.

I realized then who he meant. “
Gabe
called you?”

He held out his hands. “Sorry, my little crab apple. I wanted to keep his identity from you, but shoot, I figure
our
relationship has always been based on complete truth. Not like, apparently, your marriage.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s not funny.”

He looked down at his jam-stained paper. “Seriously, he’s probably right this time, Benni. I hate admitting this, but we don’t have a clue about who killed Calvin Jones. You or your aunt stirring up the waters might help us, but Gabe’s right, it could be putting both of you in danger.”

I bit my bottom lip, tasting the sweet remnants of the raspberry jam. “I don’t want Aunt Garnet to get hurt.”

He folded up the paper and pushed it aside. “Let’s go for a walk. I want you to tell me every detail you remember about the incident last night. Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky. Even if it turns out to be just college kids, they need to be talked to about using trucks as lethal weapons.”

I followed him down the hallway. Levi’s office door was still closed, but no voices could be heard. Outside, the bright sun instantly caused me to squint. I kept forgetting my hat in my truck.

“Here,” Hud said, pulling his sheriff’s department cap off and putting on my head. “Don’t want to wreck that pretty redhead’s complexion.” He smiled down at me. “Tell me what you remember.”

As we walked through the crowd I mentally tried to relive the few terrifying moments. My description of the truck wasn’t especially helpful. “It was white. Like about a million ranchers’ trucks in this county. The back license plate was blocked out, with something white.”

“Paint? Paper?”

“I don’t know. It happened so fast. You know how that is. I remember thinking that I needed to remember everything. But it’s crazy.
That’s
what I remember, wanting to remember.” I was frustrated with myself. I should have been better at this, yet I couldn’t give enough of a description to eliminate anyone who owned a white full-size pickup truck.

We walked past a row of Footsie Wootsies, those twenty-five-cent foot massaging machines that I hadn’t been able to resist since I was five years old.