Camden was making coffee as Michaela walked in from the barn.
"Want some?" she asked. Her naturally curly hair was frizzed out from sleeping on it, and she wore a pair of men's black silk boxers, which Michalea assumed belonged to Kevin, and a T-shirt that read MASTER OF MY DOMAIN.
Only Camden. "No," Michaela replied curtly. "I'm going over to see my folks and then Cynthia."
"Oh. You want me to come?"
Michaela shook her head. "I'm fine."
"Okay. Well if you need me, call. I think, I'm gonna stay around today. So I'm here for you." She paused. "You know, hon, I was talking to Kevin last night."
"Were you?"
"Yes, and we thought it might be good for you to come out with us tonight. We'll have some Mexican food, maybe a few drinks. Why don't you ask Ethan to come along?" Camden raised her brows. "If I didn't know better, I'd say the two of you could wind up together... but what do I know? Look at my last three marriages."
"Exactly." Michaela was about to say something even more smart-assy and bring up the fact that her new boyfriend looked like a pretty good suspect in her uncle's murder, especially since he'd tried to purchase Lou's land not too long ago and had received a big fat no from Lou. But something stopped her. "Maybe I will go out with you tonight."
"Good," Camden replied, wide-eyed. "That's... great. I'm telling you that getting out will be good medicine. It will. You'll see."
Michaela said goodbye and headed to her truck. Tonight wasn't going to be about good medicine, but rather about fishing for answers. Maybe she'd get into that brain of Kevin Tanner's and find some hint that he might have been behind Uncle Lou's murder, or— and this was a thought she hated entertaining, but after last night had no choice— to see if she could also figure out whether or not Camden had somehow been involved.
ANOTHER CAR STOOD PARKED NEXT TO HER mom's Trail Blazer. It took her a minute to recognize it, but she quickly realized that it belonged to Detective Davis. Something made her uneasy about him being there. Though likely routine, she just didn't like the idea of her parents being questioned by the police. Stepping out of her own vehicle she could smell her mom's famous cinnamon rolls. Janie Bancroft enjoyed cooking and always made major meals for her family, but in times of stress she went into overdrive. Michaela was sure to find a kitchen filled with baked goods and casseroles. For all she knew, her mom had been up all night cooking.
She came into the kitchen through the back door. Her mother and Davis were seated at the table, each with a cinnamon roll and a glass of milk.
"Hi, honey. Good to see you. Get a roll and come sit with us. I understand you've met Detective Davis already," her mom said. She fiddled with the cross around her neck, a habit she had when she was nervous. "I insisted that Detective Davis have a cinnamon bun. I fixed a little bit of food, I guess." Her face appeared strained, as if she hadn't slept, and her eyes were bloodshot. She had been cooking. There were brownies, the rolls, cookies, and when Michaela opened the refrigerator door to get a glass of milk she found it filled with a fruit salad, two covered casseroles that, if she guessed correctly, were a taco casserole and a lasagna. Oh boy, Mom was taking this really hard. She'd expected that to happen with her dad, but her mom was always the grounded one.
"Mom, who's going to eat all of this?"
Her mother shrugged. "I'm sure Cynthia could use some, and after the funeral there will be plenty for all who come. People loved Lou, so I suspect there will be quite a large number of folks. I think we should have the reception here. I think it'd be too much right now for Cynthia to deal with. I told her that yesterday that we would take care of the arrangements for a reception, but I'm not certain she heard me. Poor girl. She's beside herself, as expected. So having people here after the funeral, I think would be a nice idea, and as you pointed out, we'll have plenty of food."
"It's a lovely gesture, Mama." Mom was acting nervous, but it wasn't every day that a detective sat in your kitchen, trying to solve the murder of a loved one. Michaela looked at Davis, who smiled. "Good morning, Detective." It irked her to see him sitting in her mom's kitchen all warm and fuzzy like, kind of like a flipping cover of Good Housekeeping. Then again, she knew her mom, Janie Bancroft, was one woman who didn't take no for an answer. More than likely she'd practically shoved the roll down the poor man's throat.
He nodded. "Ms. Bancroft. How are you?"
"That's to be determined."
Davis stood. "Mrs. Bancroft, I should be going. Thank you for answering my questions. I may have more as the investigation progresses and as I said, I do need to speak with your husband again." He handed her his card. "Please have him call me."
"Certainly," Janie Bancroft replied.
Michaela noticed that her hands were trembling as she took the card from Davis.
"Thank you for the rolls and milk. It was completely unnecessary, but certainly delicious, and very kind of you."
"Oh, gosh," her mom said, a pink hue coloring her cheeks. "My pleasure, Detective."
"Thank you. And, I cannot express how sorry I am for your loss." He turned to Michaela. "You, too."
She nodded. "I'll walk out with you, if that's okay?"
"Sure."
Michaela led him out the front door. "What did you need to talk to my parents about?"
"Some routine questions, similar to what I asked you." He reached into his jeans pocket for his keys to his charcoal Ford sedan. "When they were over at your uncle's place yesterday, we didn't get enough time to go over a few things."
"Right. And, my dad, you have to come back and talk to him some more?"
"Yes. He's not home right now."
"He comes and goes. Sometimes my mom and I can't keep track of him. Did you find anything out? About the pitchfork with the fingerprints, I mean?"
Maybe his green eyes, and his smile, and the gentle way when he talked with people had something to do with the way her stomach kept fluttering. He was an awfully good-looking man. As that thought came to mind, she immediately chastised herself for even thinking it. Here her uncle had just been murdered and she was noticing how handsome the detective working on his case was. Right now, she hated herself for that and decided the one and only reason she felt this way around him was that he was a police officer and that in itself can make a person nervous, cause a twitter in the gut.
"Not yet. It may take a day or two. Sometimes longer, depending on the lab. As soon as I know something, I'll call you."
"Thanks."
He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I promise I'm going to do what I can to see to it you and your family get some closure. I'll be in touch."
Michaela watched as he drove away. God, she hoped he was right. She rubbed her shoulder where Davis had touched her, and for a few seconds found herself lost in thought. Why had he done that? It wasn't like an intimate type of touch but one of comfort really, and honestly, she couldn't help feeling comforted by him in the brief second that he'd placed his hand on her. Dammit. She could not, could not have ridiculous fantasies about nice, good-looking detectives! She went back inside the house.
Sitting across from her mom, she picked at her roll. They were silent for long moments. Michaela finally reached across the table and took her mom's hand. "Are you really okay?"
"I think I'm better than your dad. He's a wreck. And, of course he won't talk about it with me. But that's the way he is. He gets quiet and goes within himself. He's been doing that more and more, even before this happened. Keeping to himself, leaving the place after he's done with chores and being away for a few hours at a time. Some things, like that fence he was mending the other morning when he got hurt, I've been on him to get done for weeks now, but he takes off and doesn't let me know where he's at. And you know I can't get him to carry a cell phone. When I ask him where he's been, he says that he was in town or running errands or visiting Lou or some of his cronies. I don't know, though. I'm worried, and I'm praying that he isn't gambling again."
"Oh, no, Mom. You don't rea
lly think that, do you?"
"I don't know, but if he is, Lou's death could send him into a spiral, and we don't have anything to pay back any more debt. All we have is this place, and we can't take a second on it. We did that last time this happened and now we simply can't go that route. With us only collecting Social Security and not being too smart about how we saved for retirement— I guess because we always figured we'd have this roof over our heads— we can't do that. If your father is back at it again, I don't know what we're going to do."
"But, it's been years since he's had a problem."
"It's an addiction. You know that."
"Where is Dad now? I'll go and talk to him."
"I don't know. I asked him to go to the store to get me some things and he said that he had a few errands to run before that. I didn't question him much. He's far too upset right now for me to go snooping, and for all I know he's being truthful. He has slowed down, and he does like to visit with some of the men he used to ride with. So, I may be pointing a finger where I shouldn't be."
"I'd still like to talk to him."
Her mom nodded. She stood and cleared the plates from the table, the scent of her strawberry lotion wafting through the air. "That Detective Davis is a nice man."
"I hope he finds out who killed Uncle Lou, and soon. What was he asking you?"
Her mom faced her, brushing off the front of her rose-colored knit sweater. "About Lou, and who he might have had any troubles with. He asked quite a bit about Bradley, too."
"Brad? What did you tell him?"
She pursed her lips. "I told him that... the boy is an ass."
Michaela couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, Mom." Her mother never swore, unless pushed hard and very angry. Brad seemed to have that knack with everyone in her family, though.
"It's true. And then he asked quite a bit about your marriage."
"What about it?" The muscles in her neck tightened.
"He asked if I thought that Kirsten was the only one I knew he'd been unfaithful with, and how you felt about Brad and what Lou had done when he had him followed."
"Really?" She didn't exactly care for Davis's line of questioning with her mom. She thought she'd told him everything he'd needed to know about Brad last night. Why had he grilled her mother? Of course, her mom was naïve and trusting, so she would have opened up to Davis.
"I got the feeling that he'll be having a talk with Bradley sometime soon."
"I'm sure he will. Well, I think I'm going to head over to see how Cynthia is doing. I'll call and see if Dad is home when I'm finished there. I want you to get some rest, Mama. No more cooking or baking. Got it?"
She smiled. "Can I knit?"
"Yes. But that's it." She kissed her on the cheek.
On the way to her uncle's ranch, she couldn't help thinking about her dad and what Mom was thinking. Was he gambling again? He'd always played cards, bet on races or sporting events when she was a kid— no big deal. Then, when Michaela was in high school, one of the local reservations had built a casino nearby and he started frequenting the place. It got out of control, from that point, as he began to miss work. At first she thought her mother suspected that there was another woman. Michaela had tried to steer clear from all of it. After all, she was a teenager, spreading her wings and doing things with friends, studying and just figuring out her own life. And, she definitely did not want to think about or know if her dad was having an affair. She remembered when her parents did tell her about his addiction. She almost thought it funny. Like, how could anyone become addicted to playing cards? But she soon learned it was no laughing matter when her mother grew tightfisted with money for her to go to the movies or to pay for horse show entries. Her sophomore year had been rough, as the year prior she'd started to make a name in the horse world with her barrel racing. Then, suddenly, it was yanked out from under her as the Bancrofts had to find ways to pay off her father's debts.
Along with trying to make ends meet, Ben started going to Gamblers Anonymous, which seemed to work. Eventually life settled back to normal in the Bancroft household.
Then, the bug bit Ben again when he'd been invited by some of his pals from the American Quarter Horse Association to the races at Los Alamitos. He hadn't told his wife about it. It was only months later when he was knee-deep in trouble again, and they couldn't afford Michaela's tuition, that he'd copped to his problem. Michaela had to take out a student loan and get two jobs to get through school. This time, Janie insisted he get help. They refinanced the ranch, took out all the equity, sent him to some high-priced rehabilitation center in Washington. He came home, went to meetings, and as far as Michaela knew hadn't been involved with his vice since then— over a dozen years ago.
She'd have to talk to her dad because she didn't want this weighing on her mother, or herself, for that matter.
The other thing twisting itself in her mind as she drove over to her uncle's ranch was Davis, and his line of questioning with her mom. He was obviously looking into her theory of Brad seeking revenge, and considering Brad a suspect. But she wondered if there was more to it.
It was a disturbing thought, but it still crossed her mind: Davis likely considered her a suspect, too. After all, she'd been the one to find her uncle's body. Her earlier feelings of warmth toward Davis dissipated some, realizing he was probably not being the nice guy to her because he was simply a nice guy. She was pretty sure it was a tactic to extract information from her, and it had worked.
TWELVE
PULLING INTO UNCLE LOU'S PLACE FELT DIFFERENT. It would never be the same again. It was as if his death darkened every corner of the ranch, for this morning nothing looked as green as it always did, or as bright. Even the smells were somehow different when she climbed out of her truck.
Usually there would be plenty of activity going on right about now, with Uncle Lou either in the arena working a horse or fixing something around the ranch. Horses being groomed, at least one in the wash rack after a morning workout, as well as a couple of horses going through their paces on the hot-walker. Not this morning, Her uncle's presence was definitely gone. The sadness filtered back into Michaela's heart and gripped it in a vise. Would she ever again laugh over a joke she and her uncle had shared? Or would this ache remain? How did people overcome death? Sure, it happened every day. People went on with their lives. They had no choice. But how? Now it was her turn to figure out how the process worked. The first thing she realized that morning was that there truly was no way to be prepared.
She tapped on the front door then let herself into the house. She went into the kitchen where she saw Dwayne Yamaguchi standing over Cynthia, who sat at the table looking as lost as Michaela felt. Dwayne's hand rested on her shoulder. He squeezed it as he swung around and spotted Michaela.
"Good morning," he said. He had dark Asian good looks with a blend of his native Hawaii thrown in. There was a scar underneath his right eye from what Michaela had heard was a barroom fight in which Dwayne hadn't fared well. He also sported a tattoo of a Polynesian dancer on his left shoulder. Dwayne was known to have been a bit of a womanizer and partier back in the day. But a bit of age and the horses he worked with seemed to have grounded him, as he spent most of his time working with them instead of drinking and carousing.
Michaela couldn't help wonder if the slight pain she noticed at times in Dwayne's eyes had something to do with the hula dancer on his arm.
"Hi," Michaela said, and walked over to Cynthia.
Dwayne moved away and went into the kitchen. "I'll get you a cup of coffee." He walked around the counter to get the carafe and pour their drinks.
Michaela sat down at the table and took Cynthia's hand. "How are you?"
Cynthia glanced up with her large brown eyes. "I don't know. I feel numb, like this isn't real."
"I know. I really do." They sat in silence for a moment.
Dwayne brought the coffee over to them. "I've gotta go out to the barn and check on a few things. Sam is out looking over one of the yearlings
. Say he may want to buy one, ship it back to Hawaii for working the cows. Thinks he's ready to go on home now. Lou's death shook him up. When you're ready to head out, Michaela, why don't you come find me?"
"Sure." He obviously wanted to talk to her but she wasn't sure why. She turned back to Cyn
"You know, if you don't want to stay here, you can come and stay with me. Or, if you want, I can come over here. I hate the idea of your being alone."
Cynthia nodded. "Thank you, but I belong here and the police have been by. An officer stood guard last night, and then Dwayne came back. I think I'll be fine."
"Sure, okay, but when Dwayne heads back out to Vegas, I can come over."
"Dwayne says that Bean can stay here and take care of the animals."
"Is he responsible enough?" Michaela couldn't help asking. Bean was good with the animals, but could he do the entire job? He was such a naïve man. She recalled with anger how Brad had taken advantage of Bean when he'd worked for Lou. He'd "befriended" Bean, out of what Michaela had come to believe was for self-centered reasons. She figured that he used Bean to cover for him when he left the ranch to rendezvous with Kirsten, and that he also had him do much of the work Brad was supposed to do around the ranch. She found Bean in tears one afternoon when she'd stopped by to bring Brad lunch, and Bean told her that Brad had gone to the feed store for some supplies. She should've known then. When she asked why the tears, Bean had explained to her that he didn't think he could get all the chores done, because Brad had given him some new ones and he couldn't remember all of them. Boy, had she ever wound up with a jerk!
"I think he is. I know he has some problems, but he's conscientious and he loves the animals. He may not always show up for work on time, but you and I both know it's not going to kill the horses if they get fed an hour later than normal. Bean is loyal. Besides, there's no one else to do it right now, until Dwayne gets back. I'm not up to it, and you have your own place to take care of. I'll be fine."
The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 Page 7
