by RP Dahlke
Everyone but Mad Dog was aware of Pearlie's muttered cursing. The front door slammed so hard the glasses on the dinner table shuddered.
My dad looked to Aunt Mae for some explanation of what just happened. He put down his fork and touched his face for errant pieces of food that might have offended his niece's delicate sensibilities. Apparently that wasn't it. "Did I forget to compliment her on her cooking?" When Aunt Mae didn't answer, he looked at me. "Should I go tell her now?" Then to Caleb, he said, "Best cook this side of the Rockies. Can't have her sore at me."
I waved him back in his seat. "Mad Dog, you're our guest tonight. We'll have this cleaned up in a few minutes. Go on out to the porch with Pearlie and enjoy the evening."
He blinked, looked from me to Nancy, and reddened. Finally, it sank in that he was the one who was responsible for Pearlie's bad mood. He pushed back his chair and stood. "If y'all will excuse me, I think have some 'pologizin' to do."
When he was gone, I said, "And he wonders why women aren't falling at his feet."
Nancy giggled and Aunt Mae snorted.
My dad shook his head in disgust. "You women all talk in some kind of code. I'm going to take Bruce for a walk. Work off the meal."
Aunt Mae called after him, "Anytime you're ready to admit that four-legged critter is ready to barbeque, just let me know!"
The kitchen door slammed and we girls had another good laugh.
Jim stood and offered to help clear the table. Nancy agreed to let him and the two of them started removing dishes to take to the kitchen.
Caleb said, "I guess I'd better head out, too."
"Wait," I said, "just for a bit, or we might interrupt something private."
Caleb thought about that and nodded. "Then I'll help with the dishes."
When cleanup was finished and the lovebirds hadn't returned, I told Caleb it was probably best if he left by the kitchen door. He kissed me and shook Jim's hand, sure that with Jim at our home the doors would be locked and the alarm set. And before he said goodnight, he reminded us that two sheriff's cars were on patrol all night.
Dad hung Bruce's leash on a hook on the same rack Juanita hung her purse when she was here. Which reminded me to ask, "You hear from Juanita lately?"
"Oh. Yeah. She called."
I swatted him with the dishtowel. "Why do I have to pull information out of you? What'd she say, Dad?"
He stuck his head in the fridge again and mumbled a quick incantation to the refrigerator god. "No pie left?"
"That's not what I asked. Now tell me. What did Juanita say? Is she going to get to see her grandkids or not?"
When his eyebrows danced, I shook my finger at him. "Are you trying to tell me she's not coming back?"
He rubbed his arms along his sleeves as if a chilling threat had passed too close. "She's going to petition the court for grandparent rights."
"The daughter-in-law wouldn't let her see her own grandkids? Well, then the court will help her change her mind."
"I thought so, too."
He read the expression on my face and said, "Awright, so I offered to help. I paid for the attorney and court costs. Told her it was a gift, not a loan. You happy now?"
What he should say was that she deserved it, putting up with him all these years. I threw my arms around him and hugged him tight. "That's the nicest thing you've ever done, and just right, too," I said, pulling back and swiping at my leaking tears. "Really. I'm very proud of you."
"God knows, I can't keep Pearlie forever," he sniffed. "Might as well have my housekeeper back, even if her cooking isn't as good as Pearlie's. Besides, Juanita's practically family, you know."
My dad, the romantic.
Aunt Mae had a big smile on her face too, but instead of adding to his mounting embarrassment, she gave her wig a scratch. "Time I took off this dang hair piece and went to bed."
Jim excused himself for the TV room and Nancy and I sat down with a cup of tea. She said, "I don't know what to make of your cousin, Lalla. I've been extra careful not to appear like I was flirting with Mad Dog."
"No one thought you were, least of all, Pearlie. She's just got her feathers in a fluff because she thinks he's her personal property." I wasn't about to tell her that Pearlie's campaign for Mad Dog would include some trash talk about the competition.
Nancy took a sip of her tea. "Well, he doesn't do a thing for me, and I still can't get past the idea that he may have brought Arthur's killer to your party."
"The jury is still out on that, but I'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt."
"And he's dating your cousin."
"Not that it gives him any points with this family, since wooing the Bains women seems to be a pattern with Mad Dog. I sure didn't want him."
She shook her head and smiled at the idea. "I think Caleb's a much better choice. You two seem to fit."
"Do you think you and Arthur were a fit?"
She faced the wall where on the other side Jim Balthrop was probably going over leads that would help him find Arthur's killer. "He never let me down. He protected me with his life, and really, there's no better kind of love than that, is there?"
I had to wonder if she was talking about her husband or Jim Balthrop.
"No, I guess not," I said. "That's what men do, or should do, for the women they love—be willing to protect us with their lives. I know Caleb sure keeps trying, but I tend not to mind his very good advice. What about the marshal? Correct me if I'm wrong, but he appears to have feelings for you."
"I don't know, Lalla. He's an attractive man and every time he walks in the door, my heart skips a beat. But that's just what my psychiatrist called transference. That I'm transferring my affections from one protector to another."
"You had a psychiatrist? Was that before or after you went into WitSec?"
"At the beginning. She let me talk it out. The anger, the frustrations that goes with leaving behind a life."
"Makes sense, but do you think it's real—what you're feeling for him?"
"I don't know what to think. I'm not exactly in any position to start a flirtation. Besides the crazy guy is risking his job with the federal marshal program, getting involved with my problems. If they find out, he could be in trouble, or worse, he could lose his job."
I was impressed with her calm reasoning. It was mature and unselfish for a twenty-eight-year-old. "You have us, Nancy—me, Caleb, and my dad. We're going to see you through this."
Outside, I heard Mad Dog leave and Pearlie came back into the kitchen, her eyes sparkling. "It was just a silly misunderstanding." A blush rose on Pearlie's chest and spread to her neck, a sure sign that her scheme to mash Nancy's reputation had backfired.
She flopped down into a chair across from Nancy. "I hope you don't mind, but I had to tell him just every little thing—about the police and all. He's such an ol' sweetie, he didn't realize how it would look to some of us."
Pearlie caught my smirk and fast-balled it back at me. "He was only trying to make the poor thing feel at home. But I told him that's what us women folk are for—isn't that right, Nancy?"
Nancy, only too eager to find some common ground with my difficult cousin, nodded.
"So," I asked, "you're still going out with Mad Dog?"
"Of course. That man is a dream on the dance floor."
Oh, boy. One night of the "Cotton-Eyed Joe" in a local honky-tonk and Pearlie had him in her sights for the altar.
I thought we ought to do a head count on the weapons we had in the house. "Pearlie, did you and Aunt Mae bring your guns with you?"
"Do bears poop in the woods?" She set her purse on the table, and from an outside zippered compartment, pulled out a handgun. "Had the bag custom made. You won't catch me fumbling around inside my purse for a weapon." She held up the pistol for us to admire. "Keltec P-3AT, .380 caliber. It's a nice semiautomatic. Six rounds is plenty. And it's bigger than a .32 and smaller than a .38. It's lightweight, and easy to handle for a woman's smaller hands. Try it," she said, shov
ing the grip into my hand.
I hefted the small gun. "Is it empty?"
"Don't be silly, of course it's not empty. Wait," she said, clearing the chamber and popping out the clip. "Now it's empty. And Granny is right—you need to get yourself some practice. She's got a Smith & Wesson Lady Smith you might like, but it's too bulky for me." Then remembering her manners, she added, "I guess it wouldn't hurt Nancy to learn how to shoot, too."
Nancy shied away from the gun, but then changed her mind. "Can I hold it?"
Pearlie handed her the gun by the grip and Nancy held it in the palm of her hands, as if it were a baby bird. Pearlie did one of her grandmother's indelicate snorts. "It's not going to bite you," she said, taking back the gun.
"You know," I said, "there's no reciprocal between Texas and California for a concealed weapons permit, so keep it zippered in that bag, but keep it handy. I don't want any more surprises tonight."
Pearlie winked and turned for the stairs. "Not with my Pearlie special loaded."
When she left, Nancy huffed out a laugh. "She's really something."
"My cousin and Aunt Mae are crack shots, but with no practice I'm kinda rusty. Will you take Pearlie's offer for target practice?"
"Oh, gosh, I'm such a weenie about guns. No, thanks. I think it's safer to leave the shooting to someone like your Texas relatives."
Ah yes, my Texas relatives. I wondered if the charming and generous Mad Dog knew my cousin was packing heat.
Chapter Twelve:
With Marshal Balthrop now sleeping downstairs on a couch, not to mention his new security system attached to TV cameras around our house, I'd slept just fine. I threw off the covers and glanced at Nancy, asleep on her cot. She was on her side facing the wall, her breathing even and steady. It looked like we'd both enjoyed a much deserved rest, uninterrupted by nighttime intruders.
What we needed was a diversion from Cousin Pearlie's sandpaper personality. And I knew just where we could get it. Roxanne was hosting our wedding reception. I could use that as the excuse to get Nancy out of the house for a few hours.
Of course, Jim would follow, and we'd have to run the gauntlet of curious patrons, most of whom used Roxanne's as Modesto's clearing house for gossip, but it would be worth it since Roxanne's skills as a therapist might give me a better take on Nancy.
Besides, Leon made the best pies in Stanislaus County and I was hungry.
I was eating too much again. Lately, I noticed a muffin blooming over the top of my jeans. If I kept this up, I wouldn't fit into that nice linen dress I had selected from the back of my closet for the wedding. If I admitted that my selected wedding dress wasn't going to fit, Pearlie would have me into that pink Chanel in nothing flat. Maybe I'd lay off the pie. Either that, or I was going to have to take over the job of walking Bruce, the goat.
I woke Nancy, and while she dressed, I called Roxanne to give her a heads-up we were coming. With Jim trailing out the door behind us, we escaped before either Aunt Mae or Cousin Pearlie could ask to tag along. I could always say they weren't downstairs in time.
<><><><><>
I opened the front door to Roxanne's and let Nancy precede me into the diner, leaving Jim to take a seat by the door.
Since the only customers were those with nothing better to do than sit around, gossip, and drink coffee, they turned en masse and shared appreciative nods. Of course we were an improvement over the usual clientele, since most of them sported overalls and a day-old beard. We, on the other hand, were one tall skinny-legged blonde, and a delicate brunette whose rosebud mouth, turned-up nose, and bruised, shadowed eyes fairly begged for the sympathetic clucking that would surely start the minute we sat down.
I kept us moving past tables and greetings to the far end of the counter. Seeing my spot was occupied by a local farmer, I waited while he moved his plate and coffee two seats over.
Nancy asked the obvious question. "You own this seat?"
"Well. Yes. I guess. After I discovered who killed the really nice old lady who used to occupy this stool everyone insisted I have it."
Nancy tugged on her ear, and for the first time today, smiled. "You mean nobody else wanted to sit at the dead lady's place."
"Oh. I really never looked at it that way." And to think Leon served me my favorite chocolate chip pie, and everyone applauded. Now I understood why—I'd lifted the curse on the dead woman's spot.
One of Roxanne's waitresses came by, laid two menus on the counter, and smiled at Nancy. "Hi, Lalla. Breakfast, or just coffee?"
"This is my friend Nancy." I left off her last name in case it showed up in the newspaper this morning. Though it would be nice if Jim were able to quash the news in our local paper, I doubted his leave of absence included that kind of power. I slid a copy over and unfolded it to the front page. Larry the loser, as Caleb called him, wasn't glamorous enough to warrant more than one line in yesterday's paper. Larry, Caleb said, was in jail awaiting arraignment on armed robbery, home invasion, and attempted kidnapping charges.
We ordered coffee and breakfast, then asked the waitress if she would alert Roxanne we were here.
Roxanne personally brought our breakfast plates. Two eggs each, hash browns, and sausage for both of us. I had to eat with her, she needed it. I'd worry later about how I was going to work off the fat and carbs. Roxanne topped off our coffee, put another mug on the counter, and then came around and shooed the farmer down another couple of stools so she could sit next to Nancy.
I thought he'd be annoyed, but he just moved and continued shoveling in the food. I ate my breakfast while Roxanne and Nancy chatted about dance and music and the sort of things for which I had neither interest nor inclination. By the time I wiped my mouth for the last time, Nancy was relaxed and smiling. I leaned around her and tapped my watch to show Roxanne that we needed to talk wedding dinner menu.
"I was getting to that," she said. "I called your Aunt Mae's ranch foreman, gave him the address here, and the beef has been shipped. Everyone has their invitation, and I sent out the invites to the farmers and chemical salesmen on your list. Are we missing anyone?"
"Well, Nancy is invited, of course. And she'll probably bring a friend, if that's all right." My gaze strayed to Jim sitting in a booth facing the door.
Roxanne tipped an eyebrow at me. "Are you sure you don't want to invite Detective Rodney?"
We both knew she was kidding. "And ruin my wedding day? Not a chance."
"Doesn't he work with Caleb?" Nancy asked.
"When it can't be helped. Different departments. The detective works for the Modesto city police, and Caleb is part of the county. And Rodney has been voted most likely to throw a monkey wrench into any party."
Nancy played with the tip of her ponytail. "You mean like arresting one of the guests for murder?"
And things were going so well. "It's doubtful you'll be charged at all, and certainly by the time of my wedding, this will all be over and done with."
"Then Caleb said I was free and clear?"
"Nothing has come back yet one way or the other," I said, thinking about that toxicology report Caleb said still wasn't in.
"I can see it now. I'm dancing the hokey-pokey and the cops arrive to drag me off to jail. Thanks, Lalla, but I think I should pass."
"The hokey-pokey and the chicken dance have been banned from this and any future weddings. Besides, it's not like it's my first go-round at this tie-the-knot thing. I won't be wearing a long white gown and veil. We'll do our vows in front of a justice of the peace right here at Roxanne's, and our overall-wearing, redneck friends will toast us with their Bud Lights."
"I never got to wear a gown, white or otherwise. Arthur and I were married with such short notice we said our vows in what we had on. I thought the least they would do was allow us an Elvis wedding since we were in Vegas. But instead we got a nervous judge, no cake, and our honeymoon was a tacky little motel in Sacramento. The next day Arthur started ag-pilot school. I hated that motel, and every day of the six months
we lived there."
Nancy took a napkin out of the metal dispenser on the counter and blew her nose. "I think I spent so much time looking for the day when we'd be out of the program and free again, I pushed it all under a rug. Now it seems like it was just a pathetic waste of time."
Roxanne patted Nancy's shoulder. "I tell you what, how about you and I work on making this one special for Lalla?"
I ducked my neck down into my shoulders turtle-like. I still couldn't avoid Roxanne's gloating. "It's going to be her third, you know."
Nancy's head swiveled to gawk at me. "Your third? You haven't been accused of killing any of them, have you?"
"No, but I did beat up my second husband's car."
"Way to go, Lalla," Nancy said, hopping off the stool. "I'm going to the loo, so go ahead and explain to Roxanne why I'm a widow."
Roxanne sucked in her round cheeks. "What was that?"
"She doesn't get to continue with a therapist if she's out of the program. She's afraid that the toxicology report is going to say that the oleander branch she used to roast her husband's hotdogs is the reason her husband died, and I just thought—"
"You just thought a five-minute checkup with a non-practicing psychologist would do it? That works for cars and oil changes, not traumatized young women."
"You think so? That she's traumatized?"
Roxanne threw up her hands. "I'm simply going on what you've told me so far. Analysis would take a lot longer and I'd have to be willing."
"Well, would you?"
"Sweetpea, I know you mean well, but that girl needs a licensed professional. The best I can offer her is a slice of Leon's pie and a hug."
"Oh. You're right, I suppose. She's been staying at our house and—"
"Why is that?"
The question would be redundant except that Roxanne didn't know Nancy was now a target of her godfather's crooked partners, and I couldn't tell her. Instead I said, "Because Detective Rodney said so, that's why. Besides, he's threatened her with the pokey, no pun intended."
"Sounds like hokey to me, pun intended."
"I deserved that, but we—my dad and I—feel we owe her. We hired her husband, and now we're all she's got."
