Dove in the Window

by Earlene Fowler

  I looked at him a moment. “Unless you can find someone who might want both Kip and Shelby dead so that my ex-brother-in-law can get off the hook and back to Texas ... not much.”

  He looked back at me, his green eyes steady. “Not ever bein‘ one to mince words with you ... what if he’s the one?”

  “He’s not.”

  “You sound certain. At the risk of getting my head bit off, why is this so doggone important to you one way or the other?”

  I stared down at my scuffed boots. “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s one last thing I can do for Jack. Next to me, he loved Wade more than anyone in the world. Gabe called it la familia last night. It’s like that. One last thing for Jack, because his family meant everything to him.”

  Emory held out his arms, and I went to him, feeling warmed by the touch of someone whose blood carried the same genetic codes as mine. La familia. That of the blood and that of the heart. Both were important. Who could say which affected us more deeply?

  “Bad stuff going down, honey,” the receptionist at the sheriff’s office said when I walked in. She was a woman I’d met and talked to at length about our common interest in antique conversation print fabric at a sheriff and city police picnic last summer. Mary Agnes was a tough, no-nonsense lady who looked like Hollywood’s version of the perfect grandmother—all lace-collared dresses and a halo of pink-white hair. She’d driven a school bus for fifteen years until she decided to, as she put it, pursue a safer job path working for the sheriff’s department. She ran the busy office as efficiently as a seasoned drill sergeant, leaving in her wake a sometimes cowering, but always grateful, group of detectives and lab technicians. At Christmas she received more gifts and cards of gushing adoration than the sheriff himself. Those detectives knew which side of the bread to butter.

  I rested my elbows on the high wooden counter. “So, what’s the scoop?”

  “Your handsome husband’s gulping coffee in John’s office, your hungover ex-brother-in-law’s being grilled by the county’s finest, and I sent that smart-mouthed attorney friend of yours down to the break room to cool her heels and nasty tongue with a soft drink.” She peered at me over her half-moon tortoiseshell glasses. “You tell her to watch her mouth, or I’ll make sure she’ll regret it.”

  “I humbly apologize on her behalf, Miss Mary,” I said, borrowing the title dubbed by her students. “She’s from Alabama,” I added as a bone to appease her, feeling like a turncoat. Sorry, Amanda, I said silently, but we need Miss Mary on our side.

  “Figured as much,” she said with a flip of her wrist. Mary Agnes was a transplanted Bostonian—according to her, a Yankee-in-exile even after forty-two years. “You tell her I wouldn’t take attitude like that from the Pope himself, even if I was still Catholic.”

  “I’ll tell her. How long have they had Wade?”

  “About half hour or so. He went in voluntarily, you know. And they have to stop any time he asks for an attorney. He apparently hasn’t asked yet.” She stamped a stack of papers—bam, bam, bam—then looked up at me. “Nice-looking boy, but he’s about a half bubble off plumb, isn’t he?”

  “Sometimes, Miss Mary, I think more than a half.”

  In the break room, Amanda was pacing in front of the drink machine like a caged badger. A half empty paper cup of Seven-Up sat on the round table next to her. She was dressed in a navy pinstriped power suit with matching pumps. With her three-inch heels, she’d stand an inch taller than Gabe. I was impressed. I hoped the detectives would be ... when they finally saw her.

  “Benni!” She pulled an unlit cigarette out of her mouth. “You said you told your brother-in-law not to talk to anyone before I got here.”

  “I also told you he often doesn’t listen to me. I didn’t know you smoked.”

  She pulled the cigarette out of her mouth and looked at it irritably. “I haven’t for years. It was either this or a Twinkie.” She tossed it in the large green trash can and picked up her Seven-Up. “Where did they get toad-lady? She could have given Margaret Hamilton a run for her money for the Wicked Witch of the West role.”

  “She was real impressed with you, too,” I said, sitting down at one of the unwashed tables. A dusting of sugar dotted its brown surface. Amanda sat across from me. “What did you say to piss her off so quickly?”

  “Nothing, I swear! She just took an instant disliking to me.”

  I nodded and didn’t press it. Amanda’s demeanor, especially when she was caught unprepared, could get a bit snippy. And Miss Mary Agnes did not tolerate snippy. All those years driving school buses, I guessed.

  “Forget her,” Amanda said, reaching down for her black leather briefcase. “I’m going crazy out here imagining what stupid things your brother-in-law might be sayin‘ to make things harder for me than they already are.”

  “I’m sorry, Amanda. Can’t you just tell them to tell him you’re here so he’ll stop talking?”

  “It doesn’t work like that. Since he’s agreed to talk to them, they don’t even have to tell him I’m here.”

  “Are they going to arrest him?” I asked, mentally rehearsing what I would tell his mother back in Texas.

  “If they have probable cause they could,” she said, digging through her briefcase. “Depends. I don’t know what they have on him.”

  “As far as I know, it’s only that he got in a fight with Kip and was the last one seen with him.”

  Her wide mouth set in a grim line. “And that they’d fought before over a woman whose own death is highly suspicious and with whom they’d both had a romantic relationship.”

  “I wouldn’t call what Shelby and Wade had a relationship ...”

  Before we could talk any further, a short, balding man wearing a short-sleeved white shirt and striped blue-and-red tie came into the room. He looked straight at Amanda.

  “You Wade Harper’s lawyer?”

  “Yes, and I’d like to see my client now.”

  He held out his hand. “Be my guest. He stopped talking about ten minutes ago. Third door on the left.”

  Her face contracted in a frown. “When did he ask for me?”

  He sighed dramatically and ignored her question. “Third door on the left, counselor.”

  She brushed past him and called out to me over her shoulder. “Wait for us here. This shouldn’t take long.”

  The sheriff’s detective looked at me curiously, then turned to contemplate his candy choices. I walked out of the break room and down the hall to John’s office. Someone had taped a black-and-white glossy of Sheriff John, the children’s television host from the fifties, above John’s name.

  I knocked on his door and heard his deep voice call out, “Come on in.”

  Inside, Gabe sat across from him in a mahogany and black leather office chair, drinking a cup of coffee. Considering the circumstances, they both looked entirely too relaxed and cheerful.

  “Benni!” John said, standing up. “Come have a cup of coffee. Just got my shipment of Peet’s in from Berkeley. Best coffee in the universe.” He reached for a cup on the credenza behind him. “You take cream and sugar?”

  “Why did you start questioning Wade before his attorney could get here?” I demanded, not looking at my husband.

  Gabe said, “Benni ...”

  John turned back around and gestured at Gabe that it was okay. He handed me a mug of coffee. The heavy beige mugs had bucking broncos on them. “I’ll answer her question. We asked him if he wanted to talk to us about what happened last night, and he agreed. When he asked for his attorney, we stopped questioning him. Everything’s by the book. He wasn’t forced to do anything at any time.” His brown eyes studied me with a steady gaze.

  I held his gaze. “Why did he ask for a lawyer?”

  He glanced over at Gabe, who nodded at him. “Benni, all we did was ask him if he minded emptying his pockets. Then we confronted him with some physical evidence that had been collected at the Johnson homicide. The interview ended at that point.”

  “What
physical evidence?”

  “Some chewed gum. A very unusual brand ...”

  “Clove,” I said softly.

  He nodded. “He had a pack in his pocket. We’d sent the chewed gum down to the lab in Santa Barbara. They were beginning to start tests for DNA and trying to figure out the brand when one of their techs recognized the smell when it was cut open. It’s not been conclusively proven to be that brand, but it doesn’t look good.”

  “That’s pretty flimsy,” I said. “A lot of people were at the barbecue. He was always spitting gum out all over the place. Someone could have planted it. And he could have been up in that pasture before Shelby was killed and spit out some gum and ...”

  “Yes, it is a long shot,” he interrupted, “and rest assured, he’s only one of our suspects.”

  “Who else?” I demanded

  He smiled slightly. “I’m sorry, but that’s not information we’re releasing to the public yet.”

  “I’m not the public!”

  “Sorry.” He held up his hands in apology. “Considering your relationship with Wade Harper, I shouldn’t even be discussing the case with you. It’s an awkward situation for all of us.”

  “Benni ...” Gabe started again. Ignoring him, I whipped around and left John’s office. I was sitting outside on a bench under an oak tree when Gabe found me.

  He sat down beside me without saying a word. I kicked at the damp dirt with the heel of my boot, biting my lip until it felt bruised and swollen.

  Gabe laid his hand on my knee. “You know, you aren’t responsible for Wade Harper.”

  “What about what you said last night about la familia? Was that just all a bunch of sentimental bullshit?”

  He gripped my knee tightly. “No, it wasn’t bullshit, but maybe I was being a bit sentimental. That’s easy to do late at night. I just don’t want you feeling responsibility where you shouldn’t.”

  I stood up and dusted off the back of my jeans. “I can’t help it. Right now, I’m all he has and I’m not going to desert him. There’s a lot about Wade you don’t know. He might seem like a redneck jerk to you, but I know that if I called him anywhere, anytime and told him I needed him, he’d drop what he was doing and be there. How can I do less for him?”

  When he didn’t answer, I started walking back toward the sheriff’s office. Through the window, I could see Amanda’s head and then Wade’s. I saw them move toward the door. I turned and faced Gabe, who was still sitting on the bench. His black hair ruffled in the cool morning breeze.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll pay Amanda’s fees out of my own money. I’ll sell some of my cattle if necessary. It won’t come out of our joint account.”

  He jumped up and in a flash was standing in front of me, his hands gripping my upper arms. “Do you think I care about that, you crazy woman? I just can’t stand seeing it tear you up like this.”

  I trembled slightly under his hands. “I can’t let them pin this on Wade. I don’t think he killed either Shelby or Kip. I have to ...” My voice trailed off, but we both knew what I’d almost said, that I’d have to find out who did. “Gabe, I don’t know how to make you understand that the Wade you see isn’t the only one there. For so many years, when we all lived together at the Harper ranch, he always put everyone else first. He served himself last at every meal I ever remember us eating. When there wasn’t enough to go around, he ate less even though he worked the hardest. When somebody needed to borrow money, he was always there to lend it without interest or without a time limit to pay it back. Wade was barely twenty when their dad died and the whole responsibility of the ranch fell on his shoulders. To keep the ranch going and to support Jack and their mom, he hired himself out to other ranchers and then came home after ten- or twelve-hour days and worked the Harper ranch until midnight or one in the morning. Jack was still in high school, and Wade made sure he never missed one prom, one party, one school function. And though he complained, he never stopped Jack from going to college, and he could have. Jack would have done anything for Wade. Wade stopped being a young man the day John Harper died, but he still let Jack be one. Until Jack died and everything started falling apart and Wade started doing all those stupid things to save the ranch, he was a good man. I think he still is, somewhere underneath all that hurt. I can’t desert him, Gabe, I just can’t.”

  There was so much more to it than that, but the rest included Jack, which I couldn’t bear to verbalize to Gabe. Wade was the only one who understood and loved Jack as much as I had. Though I knew Wade and I were destined to drift further and further apart as Jack’s life slowly became a distant part of both our personal histories, I sensed that something in this situation was an important part of closure for both of us.

  My words didn’t seem to faze Gabe. His face grew dark with anger; his grip tightened. “Get out of it, Benni.”

  Behind me, I could hear Wade’s and Amanda’s voices as they came out of the front door of the sheriff’s office. “Please, let me go,” I said softly. “I need to take Wade out to the ranch.”

  He pulled me into a tight embrace. My head against his chest, I could feel the captured-animal beating of his heart.

  “Please,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. I looked up at his face, now focused on Wade’s. Wade glanced at him, then abruptly ducked his head.

  I stood on tiptoe and lightly kissed Gabe’s stiff jaw. “I’ll be home soon.” I felt his gaze on my back as I walked toward Wade and Amanda.

  When I reached them, I swallowed before speaking, trying to clear the salty taste in the back of my throat. “So, what happened?”

  “He’s not charged with anything,” Amanda said. “Yet. But I sure would have preferred him calling me before he so graciously told his whole life story to the police.”

  “I said I was sorry, Miz Landry,” he said, giving me a “who put a stick up her butt?” look.

  “Sorry doesn’t feed the bulldog, my dear boy,” she said. “Or keep the cops from going what appears to be the easiest route and pin this on you.” She turned to me. “He needs to keep a low profile. Is he staying with you?”

  I shook my head, still aware of Gabe’s gaze on us. “No, I’m taking him out to my dad’s ranch.”

  “Good idea. I don’t think they have anything but circumstantial evidence. For now, anyway. DNA testing takes time even if they decide to spend the money on it. Gum at the murder scene, even if they prove it’s his, is pretty flimsy evidence. And apparently they do have other suspects.”

  “That’s what the sheriff said, but he wouldn’t tell me who. Do you know?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll find out.”

  “It’s probably that hand of Ben’s. Bobby somethin‘. Mexican guy,” Wade said.

  “Sanchez,” I filled in. “Bobby Sanchez.”

  Amanda frowned at him, glanced over at Gabe, and took Wade’s arm. “Let’s walk toward our cars.” Once we got out of listening distance, she asked, “Why would you say that?”

  “Him and Kip were punching on each other last night, too.”

  “Before or after your fight with him?”

  “Before.”

  “Did Sanchez leave?”

  Wade shrugged. “It was crowded there. He could have. I didn’t really notice. It wasn’t one of my top priorities, so to speak.”

  We reached my truck, and Wade leaned against the passenger door.

  “So, what happens now?” he asked Amanda.

  She pointed a manicured finger at him. “What happens now is you stay on the ranch, keep your head down and your nose clean. At this point, you don’t want to do one more thing that will bring attention to yourself. I’ll get my investigator to poke around and see if she can dig up anything.”

  Wade glanced over at me, his face pulled tight with worry. “That sounds like it might take some money.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Amanda said.

  Wade straightened his spine, visibly inflating his chest. “I don’t take charity ...”

&nb
sp; Amanda rolled her eyes and started, “Look, my rednecked buddy, you don’t have a choice.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Wade,” I said. “Get in the truck.” I gestured at Amanda to follow me around to the driver’s side. She was a great lawyer, and I was lucky she’d agreed to help us, but I knew that Wade was definitely not her favorite kind of man and that she was doing this as a favor to me. Yet another person I’d somehow have to convince that Wade wasn’t as bad as he seemed. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Let me know if you find anything.”

  She nodded. “Girlfriend, I’m going on your instincts here because my own says he just as well could have done it as not. Hope you’re not just blowing sincere but hot air.”

  “I’m not,” I said, holding out my hand. “Thanks for coming down here so quickly and for taking Wade’s case. Don’t worry about the bill. You know I’m good for it.”

  “Oh, forget that,” she said, pushing my hand away and enveloping me in a Obsession-scented hug. “You’re the friend I’d sure as shucks want on my side if I was accused of a murder. I’ll talk to you tonight. You’re invited to the mayor’s soiree for the artists, aren’t you?”

  I grimaced. “Oh, geez, I’d completely forgotten about that. Some kind of food tasting or something, isn’t it?”

  “Caviar. Flavored caviar, yet. Quite the rage back east, I’m told.”

  I stuck my finger down my throat. “Sounds yummy.”

  She laughed. “This from a woman who eats baby bull’s balls.”

  “And that’s an exit line if I ever heard one. See you tonight.”

  On the drive to the ranch, Wade was quiet, staring out the window, his head hung low, like a whipped dog. Without his Stetson, he looked younger and more vulnerable, which made me feel sad for him. I made a note to call the Frio Saloon to see if they’d found his hat.

  When we pulled up in front of the ranch house, he jumped out of the truck before I turned off the ignition. I sat in the driver’s seat and watched him walk out to the barn, the one place he always felt comfortable. Dove came out onto the porch, wiping her hands on an embroidered tea towel. She met me at the top step.