by Jeff Abbott
He did meet my eyes. “No, I don’t mind. I was out with a girl. Chelsea Hart. Didn’t get home until after midnight.” He smiled, and added, “Even with a later curfew for spring break, I missed it. Mom was mad.”
“I see. Well, listen, I got to go. Tell your mother I’ll stop by soon.”
Relief moved across his face like a shadow. “Okay, Jordy. You take care.”
I walked away from my cousin, and away from my friend’s house, feeling as if even the people I knew and trusted weren’t being up front with me. Eula Mae hadn’t mentioned her little late night excursion to see Beta last week. Hally behaved as if he’d done worse than miss curfew. Knowing he was on that list shook him up. And I wondered why Hally, rather than his library-board mother, had made Beta’s mysterious catalog.
“EXCUSE ME, BUT A DINNER WITH RUTH Wills?” Sister demanded. The bathroom door didn’t do a lot to mute her. “You can’t go out on some date. Who’s gonna stay here with Mama?”
“Mark can stay. He’s old enough to take care of her.” I made a face at the door. The shaving cream made me look rabid. I already felt it.
“I think an adult should be here. God have mercy, you just found a body this morning and the police think you might’ve killed her. Decent folks’d stay home.”
“Then I guess I’m indecent.” I ignored her reply and finished shaving. “I’ll call Dorcas Witherspoon and see if she can come over.” I splashed water on my face and turned to the shower.
“Maybe I can just call Candace,” Sister offered. I couldn’t immediately tell if she was teasing but I had my suspicions. “I’m sure she’d be delighted to baby-sit Mama while you’ve got a hot date. Bet she wouldn’t mind at all.”
“Give it a rest.” I turned the taps and drowned out her babble. I stepped into the shower and let the water sluice over me. I had found when I returned to Mirabeau that the bathroom was a simple haven from Mama, Sister, and Mark. No wonder many middle-aged men spend so much time there.
Worry nagged at me more than Sister did. In a small town, gossip runs rife. Beta’s charges against Ruth had certainly been effectively muffled. And it seemed doubly interesting that Beta, who was never stingy with accusations, never mentioned her feud with Ruth at the library board meetings. The hospital, Ruth, or someone else had managed to keep Beta from hellfire-’n’-brimstoning against Ruth as Mirabeau’s resident poisoner. That bothered me no end.
Sister had returned downstairs when I snuck from the steamy bathroom down the hall to my old bedroom. There’s nothing quite like growing up in a house, leaving it for years, then coming back and living in your own room again. I’d expected to hate the arrangement, but with the stress of Mama’s disease it comforted me. It’s like putting on a very old and comfortable pair of jeans and finding they’ve stretched a little to match your longer legs. The bed I’d slept in as a teenager—the one I’d lost my virginity in one thunderous spring afternoon when Mama, Daddy, and Sister had gone to visit friends in Bastrop—was still there. My legs still stuck out a tad over the edge during sleep. I’d taken down the dusty academic awards and the track trophies from Mirabeau High and replaced them with art that’d hung in my condo in Boston. The Mark Rothko prints and the Ansel Adams photographs looked out of place with the antique furniture, but I didn’t care. I needed some link to my middle life, the one I’d sandwiched between childhood and unexpected adulthood in Mirabeau. I slipped a CD into my portable stereo I’d put on my old study desk and got dressed while Miles Davis made his trumpet sing a sketch of Spain. I picked khakis, brown loafers, and a nicely tailored chambray shirt. Rosita’s wasn’t fancy by Boston standards, but I wanted to look presentable for Ruth. I thought about a tie, decided I’d look like a doofus wearing a tie if I wasn’t going to church, and tossed it back on the bed.
I didn’t get away scot-free. The phone rang and I scooped it up.
“Get your business wrapped up with Ruth Wills?” Candace asked archly.
“No, Candace.” I didn’t feel like fibbing. Maybe Sister really had called her? “Just about to, though.”
“So where are you meeting her?” She must’ve smelled my cologne through the receiver. Some women can do that.
There was no getting past this, and I got a little hot. Candace was my friend and co-worker, but nothing more. No matter how cute and caring she could be, she could also be damned aggravating. I didn’t owe her an explanation.
“Look, Candace, she asked me out to dinner. She wants to discuss Beta. And I’ve found out some other information that makes me want to talk to Ruth even more.”
“Well, I want to discuss Beta, too.”
“Candace—” I began but didn’t finish. Didn’t have a prayer.
“I’ll tell you this, but if my mother finds out I’m in deep mud. Beta banked at Mother’s bank here in town. And she deposited $35,000 cash into her savings account a week ago.”
“Good Lord! Where—”
“—did she get that kind of money?” Candace finished my sentence with a vexatious amount of smugness. “Damn good question.”
“God, Candace, how’d you find that out? That’s supposed to be confidential.”
“Mother better not find out. I got one of the tellers to help me. She told me the police were already looking into Beta’s accounts.”
“Well, that’s interesting, Candace. I assume that Miz Harcher didn’t generally deposit that kind of money in her account.”
Candace snorted. “Nope. Hardly ever had a balance over five thousand, and most of that from the trust her daddy left her. She wasn’t poor, but she wasn’t wealthy either.”
I recalled the conversations I’d had today, and how that money might fit in. I glanced at my watch; I was going to be late getting over to Bavary.
“I got to go, Candace. I’ll phone you later tonight.”
That placated her. “Okay. Don’t have any fun with that witch.”
I hung up and my male pride roared at me. Why on earth did I promise to call Candace after seeing Ruth? I didn’t owe Candace an up-to-the-minute activity report.
As I descended the stairs, Sister lectured a sullen Mark about taking care of Mama. Mark turned hostile eyes on me. “I had plans tonight, you know. You ain’t the only one with a social life.”
“Sorry, Mark. I’ll make it up to you.” Maybe if I bought him a Playboy, he’d warm up to me. Only problem was if Sister found out, she’d warm up even faster. As in nuclear meltdown.
“Well, just make sure you come home tonight,” Mark said.
“Don’t worry, I’m not out to score.”
“I don’t mean that, Uncle Jordy. Just don’t get arrested.”
Rosita’s screamed with color. The walls were a riotous lime green (to accompany the riotous behavior the margaritas could cause), adorned with oversized and vibrant paintings of red parrots, rainbow-beaked toucans, and black sombreros. Tinny Latino music chirped from mounted speakers. There was a patio that faced a side street in Bavary, but it overflowed with customers who were slurping down drinks, stuffing nachos in their faces, and all talking simultaneously. I wanted quiet for my tête-à-tête with Ruth.
I went in and was heartened that most patrons were taking advantage of the nice, clear night outdoors. The dining room wasn’t too crowded. A beautiful young woman with ebony eyes and luxurious black hair approached me with a smile.
“I’m meeting someone—” I began but she didn’t let me finish.
“You Mr. Poteet?”
“Yes.”
“This way, please.”
I followed her to a dim corner booth, where Ruth Wills sat as comfortable as a cat curled up on a pillow. Her brown hair swept up in a flattering way, and her eyes were dark in the pale light. She looked a little more urbane than the typical customer, in a black mock turtleneck and tailored gray slacks. A simple diamond pendant hung about her neck. I tried not to stare at the diamond, since it reposed on her shapely breasts. I didn’t want her to mistake why I was here. Her physical attractiveness ha
dn’t lured me here, I reminded myself—I wanted answers. But suddenly I found myself swallowing when a simple hello would have done nicely.
“Jordy,” she said, offering me her hand. I took it, wondering for a moment if kissing it was out of the question. Her customary attire was a baggy sweatshirt and jeans; she looked lovely that way, but now she was positively gorgeous. And had she changed her voice? She spoke as smoothly as the curve of her hip.
“Ruth. Nice to see you.” You could tell I was making my small talk extra-suave and elegant. I coughed for refuge and sat.
“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a pitcher of margaritas,” she murmured. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“That’s fine.” I tried to get seated comfortably without making the vinyl squeak.
“I wanted us to get together socially. I’m sorry that I waited until such sad circumstances.” She placed a hand near her pendant, as though taking a pledge. “Granted that Miss Harcher was not the most beloved person in town, but as a nurse I find it hard to wish anyone ill.”
This girl couldn’t have poisoned a rabid rat, I thought, then pulled on the mental reins. Keep actions related to mind, I told myself. I’m a weak man in some regards and Ruth sapped my strength.
“Let’s not talk about that right now.” I made my voice purr as best I could. “How about an appetizer?”
We made it through the meal without mentioning any bodies I’d recently discovered. The conversation stayed safely within limits: the hopes for next season’s Mirabeau Bees high-school football team, Ruth’s life in the coastal city of Corpus Christi before she’d come to Mirabeau, my life in Boston amidst all those Yankees. It was a nice dinner: quesadillas stuffed with jalapenos and cheese, chicken flautas for her, beef enchiladas smothered in cheese and chili con carne for me, Spanish rice and refried beans for both, and margaritas served in blue-rimmed glasses that could have doubled as goldfish bowls. I finished one, feeling tip top, and hardly noticed when Ruth poured me another. Beta didn’t rear up from the grave until we were filling our powdered, sugary sopapillas with honey.
“It must have been”—Ruth finished loading the hollow pastry with honey—“horrendous, finding her body. Terrible shock for you and poor, dear Candace.”
“More for me, I guess. Candace was a rock.”
“Yes, I would think so,” Ruth bit into the bottom of her sopapilla, pulled it away from her mouth, and let the honey drip onto her tongue. And yes, I watched. It was downright fascinating. She swallowed the honey, then sipped at her margarita. “Candace seems to be quite strong where you’re concerned.”
I felt a need to explain. “Candace is my friend and my assistant. We have a professional relationship.”
“Really? I think if you were a library book she’d have you checked out constantly.”
I smiled thinly. “Let’s not talk about Candace.”
She gave a quick cut of her hand over her glass. “Fine. It’s a dull subject anyway.”
I didn’t let that pass. “You brought her up. Why do you care if she’s interested in me?” I normally wasn’t so forward, but I didn’t like her picking on Candace. And the margarita felt like liquid bravery.
“What makes you think I care?” she asked.
“You invited me to dinner, Ruth. Not the other way around.” I shrugged. “I figured that Beta Harcher was the proposed topic.”
She laid her fork down, as though in surrender. Her eyes, dark with smoke, met mine and for the first time I felt a little afraid of her. She’d poured the margarita for me and now I wondered if it didn’t have the slightest lethally chemical taste.
“Touché. And I’m sorry I picked on your”—her mind searched for an appropriate term for Candace—“little friend.”
“So what about Beta?” I asked.
“Who killed her?”
“I don’t know. Who do you think did it?”
Ruth leaned forward. “Not you. I’m not saying that out of any sort of fear toward you.”
“Gee, thanks. That’ll keep me from cutting your throat later.”
Unexpectedly, she broke into raucous laughter. Other tables glanced our way, saw the empty pitcher, and lost interest. I couldn’t keep from smiling at her despite feeling that the joke just wasn’t funny.
She poked my arm with short painted fingernails. “I like you, Jordy. You’re on the edge.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“I mean it, Jordy. You’re so different from most people in Mirabeau. God, the entire town’s a bore.”
I stiffened, the margarita glass halfway to my lips. “You don’t like Mirabeau?”
She made a dismissive noise. “I suppose there are worst places. But don’t you find it unbearable after the big city?”
I finished the sip of margarita I’d started. Did I hate it here? Perhaps I had when I’d first come home; the shock of Mama’s illness, the tension between Sister and me, and the stress of taking over at the library hadn’t made Mirabeau seem congenial. But when I thought about it, Mirabeau was still home. You can take the boy out of the country, but not the country out of the boy. Coming home had been a rediscovery of sorts; that people waved and spoke to you on the street, even if they didn’t know you (and they weren’t begging or raving), that neighbors all knew each other, that you could sleep with a window open on a lovely spring night without fear. So what if we didn’t have a sushi bar? I’d just as soon use raw fish for bait down on the Colorado.
I smiled thinly. “No, I like it here.”
She flicked her tongue across her smile. “Maybe I am in trouble. Didn’t mean to bash sweet ol’ Mirabeau.”
“Let’s get back to Beta. I didn’t mean to debate Mirabeau’s merits.”
She lowered her eyes, staring at her empty glass. “Beta. Y’know, I’ve seen plenty of people die in my line of work. You avoid sympathy because you just can’t spend the energy. I’ve cried more over an unknown child that died in the emergency room than I ever will over Beta Harcher.” She shrugged, a slow uncoiling movement.
“You didn’t have a cordial past with her,” I said.
She sipped at her margarita, rolling the crushed ice and salt in her mouth, and studied me over the glass. “No, I didn’t. We didn’t agree about the library.”
“And even less about the hospital.”
Ruth’s nerves didn’t move, much less jump. She smiled. “So you know about that little stink she made.”
“I have a distinct feeling that if she’d been poisoned last night, you’d be spending quality time with Junebug Moncrief right now.”
“That whole incident was utterly ridiculous. Crazy woman that she was, I almost felt sorry for her. Until she died.”
“One item confuses me no end,” I said. “Why she didn’t raise this issue at some point in the censorship fight at the library? With you on my side and her against us, she would have vented full steam. She sure in hell didn’t spare me, Eula Mae, or Matt Blalock.”
I wasn’t certain that breath was still escaping from her lips. Her dark eyes traveled my face, as though looking for a crack. I blinked. I waited. Finally she shrugged as if the question were unimportant.
“It didn’t happen. I never, ever tried to poison her or harm her in any way. She made it up because she hated my guts.”
“How did the hospital keep her from making—uh— unfounded accusations?”
She straightened. “They know me there, and they knew her story was bullshit. The hospital told her they’d sue her for slander, libel, whatever if she claimed that I tried to hurt her. They meant it and she saw that. So she shut up.”
“I should have tried that approach with her at the library. Got me an attorney.” Considering that the only attorney I knew was my uncle Bid, that was a wholly unappetizing prospect.
Ruth laughed again. “We could have kept a whole firm litigating against her.”
“So why did she make that charge against you, Ruth, if it was foundless? I’m curious as to her motive.”
“W
hat possessed that woman—no pun intended—anyhow, Jordy? You know how judgmental and demanding she was. She’d get into her head that you were a sinner and that she was going to get you good—before God had a chance.” Ruth’s eyes held mine for a long moment. “Crazy people don’t need motives.”
“So she just made up that story about you trying to kill her? For no good reason?”
“That’s right. Like I said, she was nuts.”
“Odd. I always thought she knew exactly what she was doing.”
“If she did it, it was because she didn’t like me. Maybe she was planning her censorship campaign then and knowing I’d side against her, she decided to smear me off the board. Look, Jordy,”—her voice imparted frustration—“she redefined pathetic, okay?”
“I won’t argue with you on that point.”
“You might want to save your arguments for the police.” Ruth frowned. “You said you didn’t know who killed her. The police and that bumpkin D.A. asked me about you and Miss Harcher. Like how bad did it get between the two of you at the board meetings. They wanted to know if you threatened her at the meetings. Someone told Billy Ray that you said you could’ve killed Beta.”
I kept from groaning. Who had been standing there after Ruth hustled Beta out? Eula Mae, Tamma, and almost six other library regulars. I wished I’d bitten off my intemperate tongue.
“Billy Ray asked me to confirm that when I told him I saw the fight between you and Beta, but I told him I hadn’t heard you say any such thing.”
“Thanks. Billy Ray’s hot on my trail.”
Ruth shook her head. “I already told you I don’t think you did it. Whoever killed that woman had to hate her from the get-go. It couldn’t have been a crime of passion; no one loved her.”
“Passion can mean hate, too. And Matt sure seems to have hated her.”
Ruth Wills drew back from the table, resting against the booth. She shook her head. “No. I don’t believe Matt could murder anyone.”
It was an unexpected defense. “You should have seen him today. He hated her guts. I didn’t like her; neither did you or Eula Mae. I think she irritated Bob Don and the Hufnagels more than they’d admit. But Matt despised her.”
