“I know, Darin. But I can’t help but think this is important. Besides, I can weed out a big portion of them. It’s not a wine glass, or one of the small square ones, but a taller one. More like a water glass. That’s why you’re here. If we called 911, the cops wouldn’t understand.”
“Lisa, I am a cop. And I don’t understand. Regardless of her husband’s demeanor, it’s likely he’s completely innocent of any wrongdoing. For all we know, Tempest is fine right now. Besides, we have no probable cause to take these glasses into evidence.”
“Trust me on this, Darin. I hope I’m wrong, that Tempest fell because she had a seizure brought on by something other than what could have been in that glass, that she is fine right now. But she wasn’t acting right minutes before her performance, and she looked terrible when they put her in the ambulance. Her husband wasn’t acting right either. I can’t help but be suspicious. Besides, this is part of an AAF investigation.”
“Okay,” he said in resignation. “This is what we’ll do. If these guys or someone higher up agrees, I’ll sort through the glasses, take those back to headquarters that fit your description, check them in at the lab where we’ll hold them until we see where this goes. If we have to wait for a warrant, we can forget it. A judge would never sign one under these circumstances.”
“That’s all I ask.”
After a quick conversation with the bartenders and wait-staff, he turned to Lisa. “They don’t care what we take as long as the boss knows what’s going down.” He looked at Bailey. “I could use a little help,” he said, pulling on a pair of latex gloves and handing a pair to Bailey. Taking a rack of glasses, he set them on the bar and started separating them.
“Thanks, Darin. And thank you, Douglas. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“You’ll never be a bother, Lisa. You should know that by now.”
She turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” Douglas asked.
“I want to talk to a couple of people before I go to the hospital.”
“Then I’ll get over to the jail. My client probably thinks I’ve bailed on him.”
He leaned over, gave her a brotherly kiss on the forehead and left. Having him so near, inhaling his scent, made her want him all the more. But Douglas couldn’t see her as anyone other than his little sister.
One of these days, she promised with a sigh.
A roar came up from the crowd. Lisa’s gaze flew to the window. Coming onto the floor was George Strait in a white Cadillac convertible. He cut quite a figure in his black western duds, Clorox-white shirt and big black Stetson.
If this hadn’t happened, she could sit back and enjoy his performance. Lisa thanked Darin again and left. Before the cops got here, and she was sure they would, there were people she needed to talk to.
When she reached the floor, she realized the cops were already there. True, they made a visible statement during every performance. Not like now.
Wanting to stay out of their way, she went to find her buddies; the guys who had known her dad, and had taken her under their wing after he died. They had been good friends of her parents and were now her cowboy buds.
“Hey, Mike,” she yelled.
Mike Patterson turned and waved. She motioned for him to wait. Mike had been a bull rider most of his fifty-odd years and it showed. He was tough as nails on the outside, soft as a marshmallow inside. And he’d been her dad’s best friend. After the accident, Mike had promised to always be there for her. He’d kept his promise.
“Whatcha doin’, Cowgirl?”
All of the cowboys on the rodeo circuit had called her Cowgirl since she had showed up at her first rodeo at the age of six, decked from head to toe in pink western wear. At first they’d called her Little Cowgirl. Now that she was nearly as tall as they were, they left off the little.
“We need to talk.”
He leaned against the fence that held a number of horses and waited for her.
“Lookin’ good,” he said with admiration.
“Wish I had on my jeans,” she complained.
“What do you think of the accident?”
“Are you sure it was an accident?” she asked, watching him closely. Mike was as smart as they came, but didn’t advertise it. The look in his eyes told her he was as confused as she.“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
Mike nodded in agreement.
“Do you have any idea what happened?”
“Not a clue. Wish I did. She’s a pretty lady who put on one helluva performance. Plus, she’s real nice.”
“Yeah. Everybody likes Tempest.” Not necessarily her husband. Lisa left that unsaid. “Did you see her before her performance?”
He nodded. “She didn’t look good, way too pale, pasty even. I wanted to stop her, but by the time it registered something was wrong, she was on the arena floor.”
“I know. I had the same thought. What about Harold? Did you see him? Was he around the dressing area? Her horse? Anywhere close to her that you saw?”
“You investigating, Cowgirl?”
“Maybe.”
“Be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Not sure. Something bad happened here. Could be an accident. Could be something else.”
“Don’t frighten me, Mike. I’m there already. So are the girls in Tempest’s troupe. They’re scared out of their wits.”
“Maybe you should pass on this one. Let the cops do their job.”
“I owe it to her,” she said, without further explanation. “Where’s Owen? I called him to take her off the floor. Maybe he saw something the rest of us didn’t.”
Owen Thornton was the oldest of her buds, and the one she cared for the most. Close to sixty, Owen was still active in the rodeo. He’d quit bull riding, but hung in there for the younger ones who asked for his advice, then listened to what he said with what amounted to hero worship. He was always on the sidelines just in case he was needed. Like today.
“I saw him a few minutes ago. He was pretty shaken up.”
“I’ll bet. Which direction?”
Mike pointed north.
“Okay, I’m off. If you think of anything, let me know.”
Focused on her mission, she hurried through the melee of cowboys and cowgirls without speaking. The smell of popcorn mixed with burgers and fries. George Strait was still on, and the crowd was stomping and yelling approval.
They hadn’t announced Tempest’s condition yet. As was customary, the announcer would give a brief update as soon as they knew something.
Though Lisa wanted to get to the hospital and see Tempest for herself, asking questions now was more important. The best way to help Tempest was to uncover what had happened and why.
She spotted Owen at the Coors booth. “I didn’t think you drank until the show was over,” she chided.
He reached over, gave her a tight hug. “Exception.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”
“Not sure it would have helped.”
He took his beer, guided her to a less crowded spot away from the exuberant throng. “Ms. Wheatley looked bad. Never saw anyone having a seizure before. Her face was as white as George Strait’s shirt, her eyes glazed over.” He shook his head. “Her performance was usually right up there with the best. Until tonight.” He shrugged. “Don’t know what made her take a fall. She’s young and pretty.” He looked over at Lisa. “Like you. Shouldn’t have happened.”
“How serious do you think this is?” Lisa couldn’t keep the tremble out of her voice. She wanted him to tell her Tempest would be all right, that everything would be fine.
Instead, his brown eyes clouded. “I can’t say. I didn’t have time to do anything before the ambulance was there and the EMT’s took over. I hate to say it, Cowgirl, but she looked bad. Real bad.”
“I know.”
They stood there for a minute lost in their thoughts.
“Do you have any idea what made her fall?” Lisa asked.
>
Owen shrugged, took a last swallow of his Coors. “I checked her rigging afterward; nothing wrong with it. But earlier, when she went on the floor, she didn’t seem to be all there mentally. Like she was distracted or not feeling well.”
“Did you see anything today that looked suspicious? You know what I’m talking about. Was anyone where they shouldn’t be? Did you see Tempest take any pills? Even an aspirin?” When he didn’t answer, she pushed. “It could be important.”
“Don’t think so.”
“What does that mean? Did you or didn’t you?”
“C’mon, Cowgirl. Give an old man a break. As far as I could tell everything was fine. Nothing was out of the ordinary. It was the same as always. The cowboys, as well as the performers were jittery. It was the same hurry-scurry we always have before a show.”
Could someone have taken advantage of that pre-show rush to make sure Tempest couldn’t perform?
Other than Harold, Lisa didn’t know of anyone who might want to hurt Tempest. She was too well liked. “What about her husband? Did you see him with Tempest?”
“Wouldn’t be unusual if I did, but no. I didn’t.”
Which brought the question; why had Harold been so nervous before his wife’s performance? What did he know? Or did he do something to make his wife fall?
And how would the cops prove it if he had?
So far, her investigation, brief as it was, hadn’t turned up a thing.
Except maybe the glass. If it was necessary, forensics might come up with something.
She gave Owen another hug and wandered away, not knowing where to go from here, or what to do.
She was right when she’d told Mike she owed it to Tempest to find out what had happened. Their friendship had been brief, but there had been a connection. Beyond a budding friendship, Tempest was a client.
Lisa would do her best to uncover the facts.
The problem was, she didn’t know where else to dig.
The hospital. Tempest could be awake now. She'd laugh at Lisa’s over-active imagination.
Praying she was right, Lisa hurried to her car.
Chapter Three
But Lisa was wrong. Tempest had died before Lisa got to the hospital.
She couldn’t stop crying. Nor could she shake the guilt feelings that swept over her numerous times a day.
Her friend was gone. She should have stopped her from performing. Would she still be alive if she had? Questions filled her mind—questions she couldn’t answer. But Lisa was determined to find out.
Almost twenty-four hours after the accident, she was still in shock, and was having a hard time accepting her friend’s death. Even though she’d seen Tempest fall from her horse, had been at the hospital when Tempest’s body was taken away, it was still surreal. Seeing Harold sob and carry on like a loving husband made her stomach crawl. She didn’t believe the act. Instead, it magnified her suspicions.
After spending most of the morning talking to the cops on the case, Lisa gave in to the urge to talk to her best friend, which brought her to the office.
“I’ll make a pot of tea. It will help. “ TJ offered.
“Thanks, but I doubt it.”
“You should let the authorities handle the investigation,” TJ said. “Stay out of it. Besides, they aren’t sure it was murder. Even if it is, murder isn’t exactly our expertise.”
“It is murder and Harold did it. He’s smart enough to snow everyone,” Lisa insisted. “I called Darin to make sure the bar glasses would be checked out. But when I went in to see John Ryan, the officer in charge of Tempest’s case, I had the feeling Harold wasn’t considered a suspect. Even after I told them everything I knew; how AAF was investigating Harold at the request of his wife, how nervous he was before and during Tempest’s performance, how guilty he looked.” She whirled on her best friend. “They didn’t care.”
TJ tried to calm Lisa down. “Give the authorities a chance. They haven’t had time to check for fingerprints or for something in her glass that might have caused this. Nor have they had time to check on anything else.”
TJ went to get the tea.
Lisa wanted to scream. But you didn’t scream at someone you loved who was six months pregnant with her second child. Nor did you scream at someone who was more sister than friend. Plus, TJ was the sister of the man Lisa loved.
He’d called several times since the accident to check on her; once to tell her how sorry he was she’d lost a friend. This morning a florist had delivered a bouquet of early spring flowers with a card that read, ‘I’m sorry. If you need me, just call.”
She sighed. Douglas was caring and loving. Just not in the way she wanted.
Unable to do anything about the situation at the moment, she turned her mind to Tempest’s murder. Because, no matter what HPD told her, it was murder. Maybe there was something she could do to speed up the investigation. HPD had had time by now to run tests on the glasses. They’d had time to question Harold. She’d find out what they knew and see if she could help.
“Here,” TJ poured them both a cup of chamomile tea.
Lisa waved it away. “I know Harold did it.”
“There’s no proof.” TJ took Lisa’s hand. “If he’s guilty, the cops will find out.” She gave Lisa a little push. “Now, don’t you have a rodeo to attend?”
Despite how she felt, Lisa had reasons to be at the rodeo. First, she’d promised her Little Sister Patty, and second, she wanted to see if she could spot anything that would help in the investigation.
“Want to come with me? I have tickets.”
TJ patted her belly. “I’ll take a rain check. I expect to have a free evening in about six years.”
“You’ll be there for my event, won’t you?” Lisa had been barrel racing practically since she was a youngster. For the last five years, she’d been a regular at the rodeo competition.
The alarm in Lisa’s voice brought a grin to TJ’s face. “Okay. I was exaggerating. You know the family will be there Friday night, just like we’ve been for how many years now?”
"Five." Lisa smiled. Her adopted family was there for her just as they were for each other. “For a minute there I thought you were copping out.”
“As long as I can waddle, I’ll be there.”
“And Max will bring a pillow and wait on you hand and foot. Do you know how lucky you are?”
TJ pressed a hand to her protruding belly, got a dreamy look. “You bet I do.”
Lisa gave TJ a hug. “You deserve every bit of it. Now, I’m off. I promised Patty I’d pick her up for tonight’s performance,” She looked at her watch. “In thirty minutes.” I can’t be late. I don’t want to miss the Grand Entry.”
“Heaven forbid,” TJ teased.
Thirty minutes later, Lisa pulled up in front of Patty Wells’ house. Lisa didn’t have to wait. Patty, probably watching from a window, came running out immediately.
Lisa didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the thirteen-going-on-twenty-year old girl-child as she ran to the car. Brown hair bounced against her shoulders as dark brown eyes held a trace of irritation and anticipation. Was that eye shadow?
Normal. Patty tended to pretend she was older than she was. Could be typical since all girls went through it, or something similar, in their teens. Or it could be because Patty had more responsibilities than most girls her age and felt older than she was.
Patty’s scowl didn’t budge as she fell into the front seat and buckled her seatbelt. For Lisa, being Big Sister to Patty Wells was both a challenge and a joy.
“Bad day?” Lisa asked, knowing already that today was going to be one of the challenge days.
“The usual,” was Patty’s only response.
The usual meant her dad was on a rampage. He was either drunk or, if he was off his meds, in mania. Either way, Patty, her mom, and two brothers paid the price.
It wasn’t right. But it was the way things were at the Wells’ and Lisa had learned the hard way that nothing she said or d
id could change the circumstances of Patty’s home life. The only thing she could do was encourage Patty to get the education that would get her out and keep her out.
Lisa gave a quick glance at Patty’s scowling face. The Big Sister program had paired them the previous year, and Lisa had grown to love the young girl who had more problems than any thirteen-year-old should. Being the oldest child, Patty was responsible for cooking the meals and doing the laundry as their mother worked long shifts at the donut shop to help make ends meet.
Patty never complained about the work. In fact she never complained about her life. Just accepted it. Lisa was the one who urged her to keep her grades up, to call if she got stuck on a math or science assignment. It had taken a while for Patty to trust Lisa—to know that she was there for her, but now she called regularly. Last week, she’d moaned and complained because a boy asked her to a movie and her mom said she couldn’t go. But Lisa managed to make her understand where her mom was coming from. Their relationship was solid.
Lisa turned off the street crowded with shiny pickups and cars. The residents might not be able to afford better housing, but they could afford their rides even if it meant parking in the street.
“You look great tonight,” Lisa said. In jeans and boots, cowboy hat, and fringed pink shirt, Patty was as cute as they came.
That brought Patty’s first smile. “Thanks to you and Mr. Visa.”
“Shopping is fun. Besides,” she said, patting Patty’s knee. “You’re growing like a weed.” Even though they had more arguments than a mother-daughter team, it was a pleasure to see the light in Patty’s eyes whenever Lisa took her shopping, Patty wanted clothes much too tight and too old for her. The child already had the curves of a young woman, but her mind was that of the thirteen-year-old she was. Compromise boiled down to a battle of wills.
Left to her own choices, Patty would be wearing make-up, low-topped T-shirts and too-tight jeans. Part of Lisa’s job was to encourage her to dress like a little lady and still be in style.
Promise Her Page 3
