Dove in the Window

by Earlene Fowler

  “Bad night?” I asked, sitting down across from him.

  His eyelids drooped slightly, his voice a hoarse whisper. “It hits me at the oddest times. I’ve been through this before. You’d think I’d have remembered what it was like.”

  I nodded in understanding.

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the wooden table. “So, what are you up to today?”

  “My orders from the CEO are to lie low. Gabe’s feeling a bit tense about the bathroom incident Thursday night. He thinks we’re being just a little too successful about—excuse the pun—flushing out Shelby’s killer. He’s afraid that next time the person will actually try to hurt one of us.”

  He rubbed his thumb over the edge of his mug, a thoughtful look in his dark eyes. “He’s more concerned about you than me, I’m sure. But he’s right. I feel incredibly guilty about getting you so involved. You’re physically an easier target than me, and this person is obviously a coward.”

  “You did not get me involved. I got myself involved. And you have no reason to feel guilty. I would be doing this whether you were here or not. And you called it right when you said this person is a coward. So far all they’ve done is play silly little tricks. Believe me, I’ve experienced worse.”

  He gave a sheepish smile and picked up a muffin, slowly breaking off a piece. “There’s something else that impels me to ask you to do what Gabe requests. I received a lecture from your grandmother last night after the fingers of gossip reached out to the ranch with news of your little incident Thursday night.”

  “And you still have ears?” I asked, laughing.

  He touched one ear and smiled. “They’re singed, but still functioning. She’s nervous because this person has picked you to harass.”

  I laid my hand on his. “Don’t worry. I promised Gabe I’d be careful today and I will keep that promise. But I have a real feeling that this is all going to come to a head soon. If it’s any of the people we suspect, they aren’t professional killers, and I think their guilty conscience will compel them to show themselves sooner or later.”

  He shook his head doubtfully. “I’ve been on this earth a lot longer than you have and I don’t share your belief that justice eventually triumphs. Some people just plain don’t feel guilty. I’m going to echo your husband now and urge you to be very careful.”

  “I said I would. Do I need to sign it in blood?” I asked, trying not to sound exasperated.

  “No, just your word is sufficient. Dove told me about the last few escapades you’d been involved with, and, to quote her, ‘Lord knows she’s got a head as hard as a coconut, but even she can’t take another head injury.’ ”

  I laughed and stood up, picking up my coffee and muffin. “I’ll wear a helmet, okay? I promise, promise, promise that I’ll be careful. Now, are you coming with me to watch the parade? I’ve got a very safe bird’s-eye view from Elvia’s office window.”

  He shook his head no. “I’ll watch it from ground level. Better pictures from there. Then I’ve got an appointment out at the Wheeler ranch today. They’re letting me tag along and snap a few pictures.”

  “Letting you?” I teased. “You have to know they are probably thrilled out of their minds to be included in your book. Are you going to the fiesta? It’s in the field near the rodeo grounds.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. Dove and I will see you there.”

  “I’ll look for you. A little inside tip. Try Lupe’s tamales. They are like manna from heaven.”

  “I’ll make sure to sample one.”

  I headed upstairs to Elvia’s office, where there were already ten or eleven people laughing and eating off the fruit and croissant platter on her credenza. Elvia, as usual, was on the phone, probably tracking down a lost shipment of books.

  Emory, who was gone before I was up this morning, was drinking a cup of espresso over by the window. I walked over and tickled his side. “Hey, cuz, you must’ve rose with the chickens this morning.”

  He smiled down at me. “I’m trying to give you and the señor as much privacy as I can. Besides, I had a lot of things to do to get ready for tonight.” He glanced surreptitiously at a sour-faced Elvia. Obviously the person on the other end of the line was not telling her what she wanted to hear.

  “She’s actually going through with it,” I said. “I don’t believe it.”

  He set his tiny espresso cup down on a nearby table. “Ought to smack you for that, sweetcakes. You were selling me goods you never expected to deliver.”

  I smiled innocently at him. “Just using a technique taught to me by the master manipulator himself. Let’s not forget the time twenty-five-some-odd years ago when you promised the two older Shanley boys a new carburetor for their pickup. They showed up at our ranch two hours after you were on your way back to Arkansas.”

  “That was different. They were going to beat the crap out of me. I was desperate.” He grinned at me. “Worked, though.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” I warned. “Rumor has it that they heard you’re back in town and they’re hunting you down for payment.”

  “Not to worry, Albenia Louise. I have a platinum American Express card. A few beers, a couple of steaks, and they’ll be right as rain.”

  “And a new carburetor if they’re still miffed?”

  “Whatever it takes to save my precious hide.”

  “Like I said, I learned from the best.”

  “Also, I haven’t forgotten that you’re paying for this.”

  “A hundred bucks, that was our deal. Bill me.”

  “Don’t think I won’t.”

  We crowded to the window when the strains of San Celina’s high school marching band started playing the always popular “76 Trombones.” Like all small town parades, the San Celina Heritage Days parade was extremely long on enthusiasm and a bit short on professionalism. Most of the floats consisted of trucks decorated with a mixture of home-grown roses and mums and handmade tissue paper flowers with a few spangly, semiprofessional-looking floats left over and refashioned from San Celina’s Mardi Gras parade. There were a lot of costumed people on horseback and every high school marching band in the county as well as accompanying drill teams. When I saw my dad and my uncle Arnie ride by dressed in 1880s western clothes, I hung out the open window and called to them. Daddy turned and waved at me, throwing me a big smile. At the same time, I caught a glimpse of Roland Bennett across the street, watching the parade from the offices above his gallery. The hateful look he gave me froze the words I was getting ready to shout at them. I moved away from the window, more unnerved than I wanted to admit.

  When the parade was over, I drifted over to the combination espresso/coffee machine, where a scowling Elvia was holding a small black espresso cup.

  “Did you cuss those people out good?” I asked, deciding against the espresso and settling for a plain cup of coffee.

  “This is the second time Random House has shipped my order to some horror bookstore in Massachusetts called Black Harry’s. They won’t do it again.”

  “I’d hope not. Are you ready for your date tonight?” I was taking my life in my hands by asking, but as usual my curiosity got the better of me.

  “He sent flowers and candy to Mama,” she said, her voice dripping scorn. “She’s already buying bride’s magazines.”

  I sipped my coffee. “You could do worse.” Now I was really asking for it.

  Her scowl deepened. “One date, amiga, and I use that word friend loosely. Then I’ll drop him off at the train station myself.”

  I looked at her over my coffee cup. “Don’t forget the best part of marrying Emory. You and I would be related. About ten times removed, but cousins nevertheless.”

  “That’s supposed to be an incentive?”

  I grinned and wiggled my fingers good-bye. “Have fun.”

  At the museum I was kept busy helping with tours and answering questions. There wasn’t one minute I was alone, which I patiently informed Gabe each of the five times he called.

/>   “Would you quit worrying?” I said the last time he called at about four-thirty. “I’ll be closing up in a half hour, and D-Daddy and a bunch of other people are here and will remain here while I close up. I’ll see you in front of Lupe’s cart at six o‘clock.”

  “Better make it six-thirty,” he said. “I’m having a quick briefing with my field sergeants at five-thirty, and it may run longer than I anticipate.”

  “Okay. By the way, I didn’t get away to the cow plop contest. Did you see it?”

  “Number fourteen won, though it was debatable for a moment with a slight overlap problem. The judge actually had to measure length and width.”

  “Just my luck. Oh, well. See you at the fiesta.”

  I was locking up, with D-Daddy fiddling with something on his little Toyota pickup, when Olivia and Bobby drove up. Surprised that they were back together, I watched Bobby step down from the high cab and walk toward me. Involuntarily I stiffened when he reached the hacienda’s long porch. It was dark already, and the lone, yellowish porch light hardened his angry face.

  “I’ve got something to say to you,” he said.

  I looked over at D-Daddy. Frowning, he reached into his tool chest and picked up his Sears Craftsman hammer. I held up my hand, assuring him things were under control.

  “What’s that, Bobby?” I asked.

  “You’ve been asking questions about me and Olivia.”

  I didn’t answer, but couldn’t help wondering what they’d heard. And from whom.

  His voice shook slightly. “That stupid little rich girl did nothing but cause trouble since she came. Maybe we’re all better off without her, so why can’t you just let things be?”

  I gave him a steady look. “Because, Bobby, someone murdered her, and that’s wrong.”

  He touched his Stetson nervously. “There’s no proof it’s murder. She could’ve just fell. That’s what everyone’s saying.”

  “And what about Kip? He just fell with his head in the creek?”

  He let out a string of Spanish curse words that were very familiar to me, having grown up around Elvia’s brothers and being married to Gabe.

  “Watch your mouth, Bobby,” I said when I recognized the Spanish word for whore. “I don’t take that kind of abuse in English or Spanish.”

  He glared at me. “You’re just harassing us ‘cause we’re Mexican. You’re assuming if there’s violence involved, it must be us hotheaded Mexicanos. You’re just like that pendejo brother-in-law of yours.”

  “And you are full of crap, Bobby Sanchez. First, Wade isn’t my brother-in-law, and second, in case you missed it, I am married to a man who’s half Mexican. And, believe me, I know better than anyone that violence comes in all races, creeds, and colors so you can take that attitude and—”

  D-Daddy interrupted my tirade. “You okay, ange?” He caressed the heavy hammer in his calloused hands. Bobby frowned at him. Through all of this, Olivia stared blank-faced at me through the truck window.

  “I’m fine, D-Daddy,” I said. “Bobby was just leaving. Right?”

  He spit on the ground and whipped around, saying something inaudible to Olivia when he climbed in the passenger side of the truck. They peeled out of the parking lot, kicking up gravel and dirt.

  “You been snooping again, eh, ange?” D-Daddy said, shaking his head.

  “No ... yes ... well, sort of. You know the cops suspect Wade. I’m just trying to get him back home to his wife and kids and make sure whoever did this to Shelby pays.” I didn’t want to go into how I felt partially responsible for her death.

  “The mister, he’s not likin‘ it, no, sir, I bet.”

  “You’d win that bet for sure, D-Daddy. Thanks for your help.”

  He stuck his hammer in his leather tool belt. “Don’t need no gun, me. Craftsman upside the head do just fine.”

  I laughed and patted his arm. “Thank goodness it didn’t come to that.”

  The rodeo grounds were only a mile or so up the road from the folk art museum. By the time I arrived, the dirt and gravel parking lot was so crowded with people that I didn’t worry for one moment about being alone. Miguel, one of Elvia’s brothers, and a young blond female officer I knew slightly, Bliss Girard, were stationed at the opening of the parking lot.

  I rolled down my window, nodded at Bliss, and asked Miguel, “Where’s the action, Officer?”

  “Lupe’s run out of tamales once already, so you’d better hotfoot it over there if you want any,” he said, resting his forearms on the window edge and leaning into the cab. “El Patrón is around somewhere.”

  “I’ll find him. Have fun.”

  “I will as soon as my shift ends at ...” He checked his large black watch. “Eight o‘clock.”

  I stood outside the rodeo ring, studying the list of evening events—the trick riding show, the pig races, dancing by native Chumash Indians, and then a concert by a local band, The San Celina Range Riders. I wandered over to the carnival grounds where the smell of cotton candy; hot dogs; fried tacos; and barbecued tri-tip, a San Celina staple, seduced my tastebuds. The flashing lights of the concession booths, the cajoling shout of the carnival barkers urging me to win a faded stuffed animal with “one thin dime,” and the exhilarating screams from the people riding the neon-lit Tilt-a-Whirl and Haunted House rides brought back fond memories of when I was one of those teenagers grasping the worn metal bars, Jack next to me, laughing in my ear.

  But the memories didn’t ache the way they would have six months ago. I glanced at my watch—five—thirty. In an hour I’d meet my husband at the tamale stand and sweet talk him into riding the giant Ferris Wheel with me where we could kiss when our bucket reached the top.

  I was eating a corn dog and watching a couple of teenage boys try to win stuffed tigers for their girlfriends when Isaac and Dove walked up. She had her arm looped through his, something I was almost getting used to.

  “How’re they doing?” Isaac asked, watching the boys toss the ping-pong balls into the fishing bowls.

  I laughed. “So far all they’ve won is five goldfish.”

  “Which will be dead by next week,” Dove said wryly. “I know. I’ve officiated at many a goldfish funeral myself.”

  I grinned. “Hey, it was the only carnival game I could win. What’re you two up to?”

  “Just taking in the sights,” Isaac said. “Anything new on the investigative front?” His face was anxious in the flashing carnival lights.

  I hesitated, then decided not to tell him about the incident between me and Bobby or about Roland’s look. Telling them would serve no purpose, and I didn’t want to ruin their evening. “I think we’re at the point where we just have to wait for someone to show their hand. Gabe says sometimes it’s like that.”

  “Then let’s just have some fun,” Dove said, glancing up at Isaac’s troubled face, then giving me a subtle look that said change the subject. “C‘mon, honeybun. We’ll make Isaac win us one of them useless stuffed animals. I want that polar bear there. Kinda reminds me of someone I know.” She smiled at Isaac and pointed to the prizes at one of the basketball toss games. “how good are you at shooting hoops?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Horrible. Let’s try something else.” He held out his other arm to me, and I slipped mine through it. “Better yet, How about I buy you a churro and a lemonade instead?”

  We strolled over to the churro stand and while we were waiting in line, I glanced over to a Heritage Days history display set up on some portable walls. “Get me a churro, but no lemonade,” I told Isaac. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I walked over to a poster tacked up on one of the portable walls. The joint efforts of the Cal Poly history and art departments had produced an eight-foot-by-eight-foot poster using india ink and bright acrylic paint. It showed the mission plaza during the mid-1800s with burros and Franciscan fathers and Chumash Indians and Spanish women grinding corn for tortillas and hundreds of other people doing things common in San Celina County’s varied
, multicultural history. To add some fun to the project and to encourage people to really study their work, a large banner was tacked across the top of the paper mural—¿Donde esta Waldo?—where’s Waldo?

  I laughed and searched for the skinny cartoon man in his striped shirt, spit-curled hair, and funny hat. I was still searching when Isaac and Dove walked over with my churro.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the long, doughnut-like Mexican pastry from him. I licked the brown sugar that fell on my hand. “Isn’t this great?” I nodded over at the mural. “I haven’t found him yet. These things drive me crazy because he’s always right there in front of my face, and I never see him even though I look over the spot a million times.”

  Then it hit me. Something so obvious that I could have kicked myself for not thinking of it before. The best way to hide anything. In plain sight.

  I grasped Isaac’s arm. “I know where the negatives are.”

  17

  HE THREW HIS churro on the ground. “Where?”

  “Back at the museum. At least I think they might be.” I tossed my churro in a nearby trash can. “I’m going to go see.”

  “Not alone, you’re not,” Dove said.

  I glanced at my watch. “Shoot. I told Gabe I’d meet him at Lupe’s tamale cart at six-thirty, but I have to go see if I’m right.” I turned to Dove. “Look, Isaac can go with me to the museum to see if what I think is right. Would you go meet Gabe and tell him I’m going to be a few minutes late? I don’t want him to worry.”

  “And what am I supposed to tell him about where you’re at?”

  “Just tell him I had to go get something at the museum and that Isaac went with me. That shouldn’t worry him.”