Audrey reached out a ring-encrusted hand and grabbed Laura’s wrist, hauling her into the cramped anteroom. A mullioned bay window with three window seats took up half the room. Each window was dressed with swagged gray velvet over lace, and cute little knickknacks were propped or hung everywhere—all of them dangling tiny price tags.
“What kind of wedding are you thinking of?” Audrey asked, her large mascaraed eyes sizing Laura up. “We have a very good special going on right now, only a hundred and twenty-nine ninety-nine, it includes photos, video cam, witnesses, limousine service, a rose for the bride, a boutonniere—”
“I’m not here for a wedding.” Laura displayed her badge wallet and introduced herself, wondering what it was about her that made Audrey offer her the cheapest package. She showed the woman the photographs of Dan and Kellee.
“I remember them. A really cute couple. Let me go get my wedding book.” She bustled out of the anteroom, rose scent trailing in her wake, and returned with a massive, white leatherette binder festooned with ribbons and bugle beads. She sat down, the book across her knees. “Ah. Here it is.” She turned the book around for Laura to see.
It was a description of the wedding service package Dan Yates and Kellee Taylor had chosen—Promises— for $199.99.
The most expensive package, for $499.99, was called “Forever.”
“It says here the Promises package includes photos and video. Do you have them?”
“The photos haven’t been developed yet, and our videographer is editing the tape. We contract all our photography out to one wedding photographer. The same with the video; that’s … let me think … I-Cam Video Productions. The photos should be done by Wednesday and sent to bride and groom—” Suddenly, she touched her wine-red lacquered nails to her wine-red lips, the realization dawning that something might not be well with the bride and groom. “They’re all right, aren’t they? Nothing’s happened to them?” Her eyes widened. “The shooting at that campground! That was in Williams, wasn’t it? My girlfriend lives there, and I thought of her when I heard about it—”
“Ma’am, may I have the number for the photographer?”
“It was them, wasn’t it?” Her expression both stricken and avid. “She was such a beautiful bride. Both those girls were just gorgeous.”
“Shana Yates?”
“I think that was her name. The sister. She could have worn something other than jeans, that’s for sure. So it is true? The young couple in the campground—I saw it on the news this morning.”
Laura didn’t see the point in denying it. By now, Dan and Kellee’s names would have been released to the press. “The sister was a witness to the wedding?”
“Her and her boyfriend.” Disapproval in her tone when she said “boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?”
“I assumed he was her boyfriend, but he could have just been the best man.”
“What gave you the impression he was her boyfriend?”
“Just the way she acted around him. There’s a word … proprietary.”
“Like she owned him?”
Audrey nodded. “Pretty girl like that, you’d think she could have anybody. This guy was no catch.”
“Could you describe him?”
“He was older than her. I’d guess at least mid-thirties. Hard years, too. He just seemed low-class.”
“Why is that?”
“His clothes. There’s no smoking in the chapel, so he kept everybody waiting while he finished his cigarette outside. I mean, why bother being a witness at all?”
“He sounds self-centered.”
Her eyes lit up. “That’s it, you put your finger on it. It was all about him.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Just a minute. We always have the witnesses sign for the license and the book.”
She came back with a small slip of paper, a name scribbled on it. A name Laura didn’t recognize: Robert Burdette.
Chapter Ten
“What’s that?” June Burdette demanded as her son pushed the dolly holding the oversized box up her walkway, doing his best to avoid one of her hundred garden gnomes and whirligigs.
“You’ll see.”
“It’s not another washing machine, is it? That last one you bought was junk. I hope you didn’t go and spend even more money on a replacement. I’m used to it now.”
“It’s not a washing machine.” Bobby Burdette tipped the dolly expertly up the two steps of her front stoop—his years of driving for a moving company were good for something. “Hold the door for me, will you?”
His mother took her sweet time. He noticed she was wearing a new housecoat, which looked just like her old ones, except the colors weren’t faded.
With a big sigh, she held the screen door open. “Hurry up, the doctor says I shouldn’t hold my arm in the same position a long time; my rotator cuff’s gone. It’s just bone on bone. Watch the recliner!” She let the door swing shut behind them and followed him in. The room, as usual, was as gloomy as a cave.
“I don’t know why you have to keep buying me things. I don’t want any more clutter.”
“Wait until you see this.”
“I’ll wait in the kitchen. I’m watching Days of our Lives.”
Ten minutes later, he went into the kitchen. She was sitting at the Formica table, hunched over the thirteen-inch TV he’d had in his room when he was a kid.
“Come and take a look.”
She heaved herself to her feet. “What is it this time?”
“It’s a surprise, Ma.”
Her mouth squinched up in distaste. “You don’t have money to throw away. If you ever did earn a decent living, you’d spend it all in a weekend.”
He could feel his blood pressure rising, took a deep breath. “It’s a present. For your birthday.”
“My birthday’s a month away.”
She was getting old and ornery; he had to make allowances. “It was on sale now,” he said patiently.
June Burdette got up and followed her son into her living room. The 40-inch, wide-screen TV looked out of place in a room that had not changed since the 1950s: Early American furniture and throw rugs on brown linoleum. The old set had actually had red yarn tied in bows on the rabbit ears. Rabbit ears!
“What’s that?”
“It’s a TV. A Samsung—what they call an LCD screen TV. It’s got a wide screen so you can watch your basketball games.”
“I like my Magnavox. Where is it?”
“I put it out front.”
“Well, bring it back in. I don’t want this thing. It’s ugly.”
Ugly? Her house was ugly. Her housecoats were ugly. Her bald spot was ugly. The way she looked out of her eyes was ugly—she never saw anything good.
“Did you hear me?” she was saying. “Bring it back! I don’t want your stupid big-screen TV. Take it back where you got it.”
“If that’s the way you want it.” Clenching his teeth to keep from saying more, Bobby stalked outside and picked up the old Magnavox. He wanted to hurl it out into the yard, take off the heads of some of those fucking garden gnomes. He wanted to throw it on the ground and stomp the living shit out of it.
Instead, he brought it back inside and placed it on the floor.
“Don’t hurt it. That TV set has lasted twenty years. Unlike you, I can’t afford to go around spending money like it’s going out of style.”
“I bought it for you.”
“Well, I don’t want it”
He turned it on.
She stared at the set. “It sure is clear. I thought these big things were hazy.”
“It’s a Samsung—as good as it gets.”
“Well, if that isn’t a good picture. Almost as good as the Magnavox. Hmph.” She touched it with the toe of her slip-on moccasin. “Well, it’s here now. You might as well leave it here. No point you taking it back now. Where’s it from, one of those big box stores? That’s the only place you could afford to buy something like this. You know what th
ey’ll do, don’t you? They’ll charge you a re-boxing fee. That’s the problem with those places—they sell you something cheap and hope that when you get it home you won’t be satisfied. Then they get extra money for nothing.” She picked up the remote, still sheathed in plastic, her little bird eyes bright as she traced over the buttons. “If you take it back it’ll just be throwing good money after bad.”
“Then you want it?”
“It’s here now. I don’t want you to have to make another trip.”
Every time, every single time, she did this to him. He’d come over, think that maybe just this once she’d be appreciative, she’d give a little instead of take take take, and every single fucking time, he was disappointed.
“I’m just saving you another trip. Seems like you’re always making two trips: one to buy and one to repent. Why can’t you just once think before you act?”
“I can think all right.”
She snorted. “You never had an original thought in your life. I’ve always had to look out for you. Why you can’t be more like Steven—”
“Steve’s a damn junkie, Ma.”
“Don’t use that kind of language with me. He got through high school, didn’t he? What have you ever done?”
He wanted to tell her what he was about to do, but kept his mouth shut. “You want me to take the TV set back or not?”
“You can leave it here.”
“You could thank me.”
She looked away.
He wanted to ask her why she had to be so mean to him, why she never once cut him any slack. Why she treated him like he was a dog turd she’d picked up on one of her moccasins. “What’s so hard about saying thank you?”
“I thanked you.”
“You did not.”
“I did.”
Sometimes he wanted to wring her chicken neck.
“Your problem is,” she said, “you don’t listen. You don’t listen and you don’t follow anything through. A normal person would ask me what I wanted for my birthday. Like Steven—”
“I don’t see you getting anything from him.”
“He’ll come through. He always does.”
Suddenly he flashed on his Bible class at the First Pentecostal Church his mother used to take him to—how the teacher told them they could pick any Bible story they wanted and draw a picture. He had chosen Cain and Abel. And just like Cain, the gifts he had to offer her were never good enough.
He didn’t know why he bothered.
“Another thing—you said you were going to take care of that tree out there for me. One of these days, it’s going to fall on the house.”
“I said I will and I will. As soon as I get some time.”
She folded her arms. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. You’re always saying you’re going to do something, then find some excuse not to.”
“I’ve got to go.” He started for the door.
“What about the Magnavox?”
“What about it?”
“You going to throw it out? You know how my back is, I can’t do it.”
He wanted to tell her she could shove the fucking Magnavox, but he didn’t.
He took it with him and threw it in a dumpster on his way back home.
Chapter Eleven
It was going on three o’clock in the afternoon when Laura got back to Williams. She bypassed the motel and turned onto the street where Shana Yates lived.
When she arrived at the Yates’s house this time, no children were in evidence. Out front, the two-horse trailer was hitched to the beat-up old truck and Shana Yates was in the process of loading Mighty Mouse. Shana draped the lead rope over the little horse’s back, and he dutifully walked right in. Shana ducked into the horse trailer, ostensibly to tie him up, then opened the side window. Immediately, Mighty Mouse’s nose poked out, nostrils fluttering as he pulled in the scents, a green straw of alfalfa already sticking out of his mouth.
Shana looked good in jeans and a green long-sleeved blouse. When she saw Laura, uncertainty flitted across her face, as if she had encountered someone who was out of place. “Hi,” she said, the smile not reaching her eyes.
“Hi, Shana. Can we talk?”
Shana gestured to the trailer. “I’m kind of busy.”
“Going to a rodeo?”
“Rodeo?”
Laura glanced at the cleared land across the street. “You’re a barrel racer, aren’t you?”
“Well, actually, I don’t ride anymore.”
“Oh?”
There was an awkward silence. Then Shana said, “Well, I’ve got to go.”
“Can I come along?”
“Uh. I might be gone for a while.”
“I’ve got time. There are a few more things I need to get cleared up.” She added. “Finding out who did this to Dan.”
Shana looked torn. She obviously didn’t want to talk to Laura, but she loved her brother. The love of her brother won. “Okay.”
Laura got into the passenger side of the truck, which looked as if it had been hit by a bomb. Papers, fast-food wrappers, magazines, a halter that had seen better days, an old cowboy hat, water bottles, candy bars—all sharing space with her feet.
“Where are we going?” Laura asked as they pulled slowly out onto the street.
Shana paused, her face drawn. Then she said, “I’m selling Mighty Mouse.”
That stunned her. “Is there some special reason you’re selling him now?”
Shana’s shoulders rose and fell. “It’s just time. I’m a mom now.”
“How’re Adam and Justin?”
“Good. They’re with Ronnie.”
“Who’s Ronnie?”
“Their dad.” She glanced at Laura. “I know what you’re gonna ask next. We’re divorced.”
“But you still see each other?”
“Why would you think that? I hate his ass.”
“I thought your ex might be the guy you were with in Vegas.”
Shana colored. “I wouldn’t go anywhere with him.” She glanced in her rearview mirror as she shifted down for the turn onto Cataract Road. At last she said, “So I knew about Dan and Kellee. What’s the big deal?”
“Nothing, except maybe your parents would have liked to know.”
“That was up to Dan, wasn’t it? You can leave me out of it.”
“But you’re in it. You knowingly lied to me. Do you think I’m just playing around here? This is a murder investigation, and we’re talking about your brother’s death.”
Shana slapped the steering wheel. “Okay. Fine.”
“How long did you know about Dan and Kellee’s wedding plans?”
“A couple of weeks.”
“You have any idea why they kept it secret?”
“I might as well come clean, huh? Isn’t that what they say on TV? Dan and Kellee got married because she was getting sick again.”
At that moment the truck jounced into a pothole. Laura felt her heart sink, too. “You mean the brain tumor?”
Shana wiped at her eyes, sniffed, trying to keep the tears at bay. “You know about that, too? You are a good detective.”
Laura could understand the sarcasm. It was a coping mechanism—she’d used it herself. Had to, the only female detective in four squads at DPS. Shana reminded her of a kitten, hair standing up on end to make her seem bigger.
“Kellee’s brain tumor was coming back, so she and Dan decided to get married?”
“Well, what would you do?”
Laura tried to picture the situation, put Tom into the middle of it. A few days ago she would have been more levelheaded. Now she thought that getting married was exactly what she’d do in a case like that. “I’m sorry,” Laura said. “It’s such—”
“A waste? Oh, yeah. It’s that, for sure!”
Bitter.
Laura realized what a rollercoaster Shana had been on in the space of forty-eight hours. First a wedding, now a funeral. Laura realized it wasn’t so strange that Shana was selling her horse. When
faced with a death in the family, people often did something drastic, hoping that by taking action—any action—they could somehow change the dynamics of their broken lives. Laura, herself, had done something similar. She had married Billy Linton a few weeks after her mother and father were killed.
She thought of the parallels between her own life and that of the Yates family. When faced with Kellee’s bad news, Kellee and Dan had decided to get married. Laura wondered if, had Dan and Kellee lived, it would have worked out better than her own hasty marriage had.
Laura recognized the route they were taking. The road they were on passed the north entrance to Cataract Lake before coming to a T-stop at Country Club Road. They turned right, which would lead them past the section of campground where Dan and Kellee were found. Laura noticed that Shana kept her eyes forward, concentrating on the road. Not even a flick of the eyes as the Kaibab National Forest sign marking Cataract Lake flashed by.
Her knuckles white, though, holding the steering wheel in a death grip.
“Shana, do you have to sell your horse now?” Laura asked.
“I want to.”
“How long have you had him?”
“Seven years.”
“How many ribbons have you won on him?”
“I dunno, close to thirty? I almost won a horse trailer once, missed by a fifth of a second.”
“Sounds like he’s been a friend to you.”
Shana looked at her. “How do you know?”
“I had a horse once. She was a friend to me.”
“What happened?”
“The woman who owned her wanted her back.”
“I thought you said you owned her. How could—”
“To tell you the truth, it’s still a sore spot with me. I do know I missed her. She was in many ways my best friend.”
Shana kept staring straight ahead, but her shoulders started heaving. She kept swiping at her nose, but this time the tears came and she couldn’t stop them. “Oh, God, I can’t see!”
She pulled over to the side of the road in a cloud of dust. Laura glanced back and was reassured by the shape in the horse trailer’s front window.
Shana laid her head down on the steering wheel. “He’s gone. I can’t believe he’s gone!”
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