by Lakota Grace
Driving back, I pondered on how life twisted us in strange directions. A year ago, Darbie didn’t expect to be where she was. For that matter, neither did Cal Nettle, now lying on that cold slab at the morgue. Howard Nettle might want to keep an eye out. It appeared Darbie Granger liked unavailable men.
Someone hated Cal Nettle fiercely enough to kill him or loved him enough to do it. Ruby Mae Nettle and Darbie Granger were both contenders for the honor. I couldn’t wait to hear Ruby Mae’s take on the Darbie affair.
I stopped in Clarkdale to call Shepherd. “Finished talking to Darbie Granger. Going out to the Nettle place to see Ruby Mae. Want to ride along?”
Beaten Biscuits
6
SHEPHERD'S TONE WAS brusque. “Busy here. You handle the interview with Ruby Mae. But get back to the office in time to fill me in before day's end. Abner may want me to brief the press.”
Busy doing what? Finishing another crossword puzzle? It didn't take long for Shepherd to settle into my space. Who did he think he was, presuming a first-name, best-buddy relationship with the sheriff, Abner Jones, planning his “expert” press conference?
It was near noon, so I stopped at Su Casa, the best Mexican restaurant in Clarkdale to have some chili rellenos and a glass of sun-brewed ice tea before heading out to the Nettles’ home place. The manager said hi. We were on a first name basis after the shooting case a few months ago. When I finished, I called Ruby Mae and let her know I was on my way.
The SUV bounced and squeaked through the eroded clay ruts on the road to the Nettle place. The afternoon sun paled behind high cirrus clouds. I opened my window and caught the screech of a scrub jay, and then closed it when the dust cloud enveloped me. I'd have to hit a car wash on the way back if Shepherd wanted to make his press debut with a shiny vehicle on display.
I pulled the car in a circle at the house, gave the horn a short tap. The canine welcoming committee didn't show, so I cautiously entered the yard. The door to the house opened and Ruby Mae came out on the porch. “You're fine. Ethan shut the dogs up in the back kennel. Careful of that porch railing, meaning to fix that.”
I walked up the steps and shook her hand. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Nettle, but a few questions still.”
“Call me Ruby Mae, everybody else does, girl. Come in and set a spell.” She touched my shoulder.
Ruby Mae appeared more in control of her emotions this afternoon. Her frame was big-boned but flat, front and back. Today, she dressed in a green-and-white checkered shirt tucked into worn blue jeans. She blinked against the sun as we shook hands, her eyes that startling green.
Why had Cal strayed? I’d heard the death of a child will do that to parents sometimes. They start blaming each other for the loss they’re feeling inside. For Calhoun Nettle, death had put an end to painful grief that drink and a new woman failed to do. In fact, I imagined he wasn’t feeling anything right now.
That meant, though, that Ruby Mae now had two losses to contend with, both son and husband.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, again,” she said in her soft, hill-country twang. “I know your granddaddy.”
That told me two things: First, HT would grill me about this meeting, and second, if Ruby Mae Nettle and I counted cousins back a ways, we were probably kin. She might open up more to me than to others, but she'd also expect me to keep family secrets, and I couldn't do that. I wasn't her friend. I was the Family Liaison Officer thanks to Shepherd. I straddled a very splintery fence.
“Let's sit in the kitchen. Coffee's done perking.” She pulled an old metal-banded glass percolator from the range and poured coffee into two mugs, one labeled “property of Smokey's Motel” and the other from a Tip's Market. My mother used to do that, too. Always came home from a trip with a suitcase full of hotel towels. It’s stealing, mama, I told her. She didn’t see it that way. Maybe Ruby Mae didn’t either.
“Cream, sugar?” she asked.
I shook my head.
We sat at a small wooden table in a corner of the country kitchen. Ruby Mae had already set the table in anticipation of my visit. Puff-plastic placemats held two decorative plates, one chipped at the edge. She brought another plate to the table and settled comfortably. “Here's beaten biscuits, left over from breakfast. And some of my strawberry jam, not as good as last season, a little runny,” she apologized. “Eat, and then we'll talk business.”
I knew about country-style beaten biscuits, that buttery-flour combination beaten with a wooden spoon into an ambrosia of delight. The jam was even better, capturing the essence of a warm summer day. When we had eaten, I touched my finger to one last crumb and lifted it to my lips.
Ruby Mae freshened our coffee and leaned her elbows on the table, hospitality satisfied. “Now, what can I tell you?”
“First, I’m sorry for your husband's passing. That must have been a terrible shock to you.”
“Those first minutes last night took me terrible. Janny, my angel, bless her for being there. I thought some on it this morning. I shoulda known you wouldn't be bringing good news before the cock crowed. Maybe I just didn't want to hear you say it.”
“Ruby Mae, I need to ask you some questions.”
“Ask away.” Those green eyes drilled into mine, and I encountered the whip-steel mind behind them. Ruby Mae was nobody's pushover. Cal met his match here, and yet he had left for Darbie Granger.
“How was your relationship with your husband?”
“We married at nineteen, been together ever since. But folks grow apart, that's natural.”
“Grow apart?” I asked.
“We didn't sleep together if that's what you're suggestin'. Shook the house with his snoring. I told him one day, 'you want me to fix you breakfast, I need my rest.' So he moved his stuff to the trailer, bachelored with Ethan.” She sighed. “Ate all his meals here, though. Sometimes I think he liked the cooking better'n me. Three times a day, year after year, I fixed his food just the way he liked it.”
Both pride and regret echoed in her voice.
“Did you ever disagree, fight over things?”
“In all those years, selling this homestead was our only battle. I wanted to move to town, get a little place so I could watch Aurora until Janny got off work, afternoons. But Cal wouldn’t hear of it. I told him, you keep stalling, those developers will build that golf course somewhere else. You’ll still be here at ninety, tripping over roots and patching this leaky roof. Me, I wanted to move to that Del Webb development.” She looked at me. “You know they got a swimming pool big as a pond? And bingo, some nights.”
“But Cal wanted to stay here?” I prompted.
“Stubborn as a one-eyed mule. He said they'd have to drag him out of here, feet first. Well, now he’s got his wish. But maybe I'll get the last laugh.”
“How so?”
“Them real estate folks already telephoned to pay their respects. Janny must have told them he was gone. They asked if I still wanted to sell.”
“And do you?”
“I might. That money could fix little Aurora's hand, get a proper stone marker for Lucas’s grave. Maybe help Janny go back to school.” Her tone was thoughtful. She gestured toward my mug. “More coffee?”
I put my hand over the cup and shook my head. “Ruby Mae, Ethan said last night that he fought with his father.”
“Oh, that. Just a little tussling between two bull elk. Nobody got hurt, much.”
“Cal had a temper?”
“When he was drinking, something fierce. He'd pick a fight with Ethan, and they'd holler and yell like the Lord pulled the final curtain. Good thing we don't have neighbors close, what would they think.”
“Fight over what?” I asked.
“Them coonhounds that Ethan is breeding, mostly. When Cal got to drinking, he might have misused them dogs some, I don't know. But those two men of mine always made up. Their feuding didn't last through the cool light of dawn.”
“What about your other son, Howard?”
S
he tensed. “What about Howard?”
Apparently, there were limits to confiding in almost-kin.
“Ruby Mae, Janny told me a little but I need more to understand what happened. Howard hasn’t been here since the whiskey still exploded?”
She eased back in her chair and her eyes moistened. “Happened about four years ago, seems like yesterday. Cal was running moonshine, pushed too hard to make one last run. He’d heard Cyrus Marsh was about to shut him down.”
Cyrus Marsh used to be the only law in Mingus. I’d replaced him when he died of a heart attack, none too soon for some of our townspeople, it seemed. Cyrus was of the old school, made his own set of laws. “What went wrong?” I asked.
Her eyes blurred with tears. “The pressure must have gone too high on the distiller, blew that thing to smithereens. Tipped a propane tank into the bonfire, and the whole place lit up. Maybe it was God's will. Lucas burned something terrible. He lasted a day in the hospital, nothing they could do. I never left his side the whole time. They drug me off his body when he passed.” She rubbed knuckles of one hand with the other hand, soothing herself.
“And Aurora?”
“That poor baby girl. She never shoulda been out there.”
“The explosion, whose fault?”
Her mouth straightened in a tight line. “Never you mind. Has nothing to do with this.” She crossed her arms and sat silent.
“Remembering painful times can be hard, Ruby Mae,” I said. “When did you see Cal last?”
She relaxed, ready to return to the present. “That would be Monday, about five days ago now. He'd said he was going to town to take care of some business.”
“What business?” I asked.
“That slut.” She spit out the words. “What sort of a name is that, anyhow? Darbie, Barbie, whatever. Like one of them funny-looking dolls.”
“What was Miss Granger's relationship with Cal?”
“She had no right to come between a husband and his lawful wife. That Jezebel, I'll kill her!” Her fist banged on the table and the plate of biscuits crashed to the worn linoleum floor.
Ruby Mae jerked to her feet and pulled a corn broom and black dustpan from a closet. She swept the plate shards and ruined biscuits into the dustpan with abrupt motions and dumped them into the trash muttering to herself.
Then she slammed into her chair and huffed a shivery breath. “Cal loved me, swore on our family Bible he was going to break it off with her. That’s why he went to town. I promised him that would be the end of it, that I'd stay on, not make trouble if he did. That woman claims anything else, she's a liar. She’s not going to get one red cent from the land sale after I'd worked and scrimped and saved. Not one red cent.
“That's all I intend to say on the subject.” She rose to her feet, the conversation ended. “Bid your granddaddy good day for me,” she said. “He's always been a good friend of ours.”
Meaning right now I wasn't. I shook her hand, walked out the door and down the stairs. No fun interrogating family, even kin twice removed.
I checked my watch. It was getting late. I weighed my options: was it better to arrive late or show up with the SUV in this condition? Clarkdale had a quick car wash, and I ran the SUV through to sluice off the dust. Even so, it was dark when I pulled into the parking lot for the sheriff’s station.
Ben had gone home and Shepherd was perched impatiently on the edge of his office chair. “About time. Where you been?”
“Cleaning up the SUV. Want to debrief now?”
“Can't. Late. Got responsibilities.” He grabbed his coat. “Need a ride?” he asked as an afterthought.
“I'll walk home. Some things to wrap up here.” And then, I deliberately blocked his exit and held out my hand. “Sorry. My temper got riled this morning. No sleep makes me crotchety.”
“Get used to it. That’s police work,” he said bluntly. But then he offered his own hand, and we shook. “We'll work on it. But understand: I'm still the SIO on this case.”
Senior Investigative Officer. Fair enough. It didn’t change things much between us, but at least we had a neutral zone defined. He left the office, and I breathed easier.
Ben had left a message on my desk from Dr. Westcott. The counselor again. Maybe my shortness of temper would start to ease the further I got from the killing of that man. To be honest, it still haunted me at night, all that blood.
I set the message aside to season and completed the notes on the meeting with Ruby Mae. Shepherd wouldn't know I was doing them after the fact if I didn't tell him. It was seven o’clock when I again remembered the counselor. I picked up the telephone to leave a message. Surely she'd be gone by now.
“Denise Westcott here.”
Caught. “This is Peg Quincy. Sorry I missed my appointment. It's been busy up here.”
“Yes, I heard. But keeping appointments or at least calling to cancel is important in your recovery.”
Recovery from what? I was fine, no problem with me. I broke into her lecture. “When can I come see you?”
“What times do you have free tomorrow?”
“Just got in, don't know my schedule yet.” That sounded lame, even to me.
“Ring when you find out. I'll work you in,” she said in that cultured British voice and hung up.
I did resolve to call her, first thing. But the next morning matters took an unexpected turn.
Chapter 7
I WALKED TO THE STATION, breathing fog clouds into the air. Sun dogs formed in the sky, meaning our weather would be changing soon. The comforting aroma of fresh coffee, Ben's Blue Mountain special blend, greeted me as I opened the station door.
“Made you a pot,” Shepherd announced from his office. “Grab a cup and let's talk.”
The coffee a peace offering? Shepherd’s mood was hard to predict, switching from judgmental supervisor to best buddy in an instant. Not sure which I preferred, but with a night of sleep, I was in a better mood, too. I poured a cup and buried my nose in the fragrant steam. Then I walked into Shepherd's office and sat down.
Whatever had been bothering him last night seemed to have passed. “Where's Ben?” I asked.
“Entrance exams down at Yavapai College.”
Our office assistant, Ben Yazzie, already had one degree, but they had a new enology program that intrigued him. He said the knowledge of grapes would help his Navajo Shaman training. I didn’t follow his line of reasoning, but was glad to see him moving ahead. He deserved better than clerking for a small-town sheriff’s office.
“What’d you find out yesterday?” Shepherd asked.
I described my visits to Ruby Mae and the very pregnant Darbie Granger. “Darbie seems to think Cal was leaving his wife for her, but Ruby Mae said just the opposite.”
“Not surprising. Women believe what they want to hear.”
And men, too, I wanted to add. Two minutes into a conversation with Shepherd and I was already biting my tongue. “Darbie lives in a trailer on a dead end road with only an old border collie for company. Deserted out there.”
“Convenient for Cal, that way.”
I couldn't argue with that.
“What's Darbie's relationship with the other Nettles?” he asked.
I considered a moment. “She's good friends with Janny, attracted to Howard, blood enemies with Ruby Mae.”
“Not surprising. Ruby Mae is a strong-willed character. Did Darbie talk about Lucas? I heard some tale about them being involved before the boy was killed.”
Lucas, too? Ms. Darbie got around. I shook my head.
“Any chance Darbie could have killed Cal?”
“A distant possible,” I said. “She mentioned conflicts with her own dad, and Cal was old enough to be a father figure to her. A rejection there would be unsettling.”
I took another sip of coffee. Moved the rock on Shepherd’s desk. He left it there. Definitely in truce-making mode. “But Cal would be too heavy for Darbie to lift, dead weight. If he died at her place, she’d need help to mo
ve the body to Tavasci Marsh.”
“That's a fact. Did you ask her if she killed him?”
“Uh, no.” I hated to admit that blatant oversight.
“She probably wouldn't have told you anyway. It takes a skilled interrogator to gain a confession.”
Which I obviously wasn't, in his opinion.
“Okay, we'll keep her on the list,” he said. “What about Ruby Mae?”
“She makes good biscuits.”
He smiled. “That she does. I ate a few when I investigated Lucas’s death. Cop bait, she calls them. Wouldn't be surprised if she's used that maneuver once or twice with the ATF guys. A sharp one, our Ruby Mae.”
Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms. Ah, the moonshine still. “You think part of her reaction when we made the death notification could have been a performance for our benefit?” I asked. “She'd calmed down when I talked to her. If we’re going with family connections, I think she's a better bet for the murder than Darbie.”
“Why?” His gaze sharpened.
I ticked off the reasons. “She wanted to move to help her kids, and Cal stood in the way. Not to mention that affair with Darbie. Pretty hard to ignore when the woman's so pregnant.”
“Ruby Mae's a tough lady. She's weathered worse than a husband with a wandering eye.”
“But if he were actually going to divorce her this time?” I asked.
“Good point.”
“Or maybe the reason goes back further than Darbie. Losing a son is a terrible tragedy. If she found out Cal was to blame for that….”
Shepherd nodded. “Tough on the whole family. But four years later?”
I shared the details about my meeting with Howard that first day. “If he's back in the picture, maybe he said something?”
“A long shot, but we'll keep Ruby Mae on the list, too.” He took a sip of his green tea.
Never could understand how folks drink that stuff. Donkey piss.
Shepherd looked at me as if reading my mind. “They ever get that whiskey still up and running again? That was Otis Stroud’s baby. He was responsible for keeping that old machinery operating. Man's a wizard with anything mechanical. You meet him when you were out there visiting with Ruby Mae?”
