Whispers
in the Wind
A SUNNY DAVIS MYSTERY NOVEL
VERONICA GIOLLI
Pace Press
Fresno, California
Whispers in the Wind
Copyright © 2019 by Veronica Giolli. All rights reserved.
Cover illustration courtesy of Leeland McMasters
Published by Pace Press
An imprint of Linden Publishing
2006 South Mary Street, Fresno, California 93721
(559) 233-6633 / (800) 345-4447
PacePress.com
Pace Press and Colophon are trademarks of
Linden Publishing, Inc.
ISBN 978-1-61035-329-8
135798642
Printed in the United States of America
on acid-free paper.
This is a work of fiction. The names, places, characters, and incidents in this book are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file.
In loving memory of
Norene La Rae Wilson
You were a true best friend and a beautiful person.
Your encouragement kept me going in the early years.
Yes, I did use your name as you asked.
Rest in Peace, dear friend.
There is no death, only a change of worlds.
CONTENTS
WHISPERS IN THE WIND
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WHISPERS IN THE WIND
SUNDAY, MARCH 1985
The wind is coming. I feel the cold air.
My hair is caught up, whirling round and round.
The wind is taking me.
My body’s light as air. What’s happening?
I choked on my own blood.
Did I hear a gunshot? I smell gun oil—hot metal.
I’m rising. Stop.
What’s pulling me?
Where are my boys? Where am I?
Am I dead?
Help! Someone help me!
Sunny! What’s happening to me?
I want my boys. Where are my boys?
You know I would never leave them.
And Gina’s spirit rose with the wind.
CHAPTER ONE
MONDAY, MARCH 1985
Sunny reached out to touch the pillar of fog as it formed into the familiar shape of her best friend, Gina. It was cold as it curled around her hand before the vision dissipated into the wind. The phone on her nightstand startled her awake. She stared in fear at the receiver before picking it up. Gina’s husband, Jesse, delivered a brief brutal message. “Gina killed herself.”
Stunned, Sunny Davis leaned back against the pillows as the dial tone hummed in her ear; she bit her fist to keep from crying. “My God, Gina. No! Why?” Tears stung her face. Her heart felt on fire. “How could Gina kill herself?”
She threw off the covers and paced blindly in her bedroom, the phone hot in her hand. She threw the receiver on her bed and looked for something else to throw. Stumbling to the dresser, she grabbed her hairbrush and bounced it off the wall.
Gina killed herself. Jesse’s words tumbled over and over in her head.
The clock on her nightstand, the only light in the room, glowed, reading 3:14 a.m. Her hand shaking, she lit the small ceramic lamp on the dresser.
For a few seconds she leaned into the dresser. Then, remembering, a wave of guilt assailed her. “Oh no! Was it because of me … because of our conversation? No, Gina, no. What have I done?”
The weight of her realization made Sunny buckle. Not knowing what else to do she rubbed her palm against her chest. She picked the brush up from the floor, flicked the bristles with her thumb, and put it back. The front door slammed. Wiping her eyes, she hurried from the bedroom to look down the stairwell. Her husband fell against the door.
“Drunk!” she uttered. “Screw him.” She couldn’t deal with it now. Moving back to the bed she waited for him to come up the stairs. I can’t think straight. Gina’s dead and he should have been here with me. I don’t know what to do. It’s all too much. She clasped her hands and watched the door.
Listening to Barry stumble up the stairs, banging into the walls, her anger rose. He swore and staggered into the room, then flipped on the wall switch. His black hair hung low on his forehead. Part of his shirttail hung out over the top of his slacks with blotched stains down the front. The stale smell of booze and smoke hung on him like the morning fog. He squinted and gazed around for a moment. “Uh-oh,” he said. “I know that look.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, blankets around her legs, and glared at him. “Something horrible has happened, and of course, you weren’t here.”
Her face felt hot as she pushed the blankets aside and stood. She stretched her small barefoot frame taller so her forehead was level with his chin. Her long black hair hung in front of her shoulders, some of it over her left eye. She yanked it out of the way and braced for a fight.
“I’m sick of this crap, Barry. I needed you tonight. I thought I was going to lose my mind.” Her legs ready to give way, she sat back on the bed.
Barry swayed and fell onto it too, then sat up and tried to pull her close. He draped his heavy arm over her shoulders. “What’re you … talking about? A bunch of guys from work went out and the time got away from me. Is that why you’re crying?”
Shoving his arm aside she stiffened. “Jesse called.” She took in a breath. “Gi … na killed herself.” Sunny collapsed on the bed, weeping.
His head jerked backward. “What? When? What … happened?”
She sat up and fidgeted with the blanket. “Late yesterday.” Her shoulders drooped. “She shot herself. The BIA and the Reno Tribal Police were at their house most of the night.”
“That’s rough, Sunny. Oh man, that’s terrible. I’m sorry. Her poor kids.”
“I told him we’d be there as soon as we can,” she gasped, fighting back sobs.
“Okay. Sure. That sounds good.” He
sighed.
“Even my special pot roast dinner was ruined.” Why am I thinking about a dinner now?
“Damn … I’m sorry.”
“The call scared me. It was late. My stomach knotted. I’m always afraid it’s about you. I felt weird all day yesterday, like something was going to happen, you know, how I do sometimes. I thought it was you, but it wasn’t. It was Gina. The two people I love most.”
He was nodding off. “Nah, not me, babe,” he slurred.
“I hate it when you’re out drinking.” She pinched her lips. “By the way, the bars close at two.” The clock’s red numbers glared accusingly. 3:45. “So, where were you?”
“Ed and I got something to eat and I took him home.” He raked his thinning hair out of his eyes. “Since when do I have to punch a time clock?”
“That’s how you want to act? That’s what you want to say to me right now?”
“What can I say?”
He untied his shoes, climbed out of his stained white shirt and beige pants, and reached for her trembling hands.
She yanked them away. “Don’t start with a long line of excuses again.” Her eyes burned into his. “I warned you; if you don’t stop drinking I’m leaving. Yet you’re still out boozing. I won’t live with an alcoholic husband like my mother did.”
“I’m not … an alcoholic. I just like to drink. There’s a difference.”
“No. No, there’s not.”
Sunny picked at the blanket. “Your drinking, on top of Gina’s …” She shook her head and chewed on a piece of her hair. “It’s too much for me right now. I love you, but I can’t live like this anymore.”
Barry raised his hands in the air, palm side up. “I’m sorry, babe. How was I supposed to know about Gina? Let me get a couple hours’ sleep and I’ll be ready to go to Reno with you.”
He sat on the edge of the bed as his head swung back and forth. “Why the BIA? Aren’t the tribal police good enough?”
“Have you forgotten?” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Gina lives on the reservation. Federal land makes it a federal crime. The Bureau of Indian Affairs is called whenever there’s a death. What kind of Indian are you?”
He gave her a side-eyed glimpse and stretched. “Yeah, I forgot.” He yawned and lay down.
“It doesn’t seem real.” She reached for a tissue on the nightstand. “Gina was my best friend.”
“It’ll be all right, babe,” he mumbled and just like that dropped off to sleep.
Sunny looked at him, cringed, and whispered, “No, it won’t. It’ll never be right again.”
Unable to go back to sleep, she watched the Bay Area fog roll through, obscuring the city’s skyline, and then disappear.
She pulled at a tendril of hair. She never guessed it could be this horrible. Guilt overwhelmed her. How could she tell Barry or Rita about their last conversation? What if they blamed her?
Her gaze rested on the framed wedding pictures on the dresser. In one, Gina smiled back in a pink matron-of-honor gown. Waist-length hair hung down her back like a shawl. The sides of her hair were twisted and tied with a headband of pink baby roses. Her tan face glowed. It was hard to imagine Gina as anything but a sister … a living sister. Thinking about her wedding day—her and Barry’s—Sunny chewed on the ends of her hair as her eyes settled on the happy faces of Gina’s three boys. A moan escaped her lips. “Oh my Lord, what will happen to them now? They were her world. She adored them … and they adored her.”
Her vision blurred again as she went into the bathroom, slipped out of her nightgown, and stepped into the shower.
I have to find out what happened. She hit the shower wall with her knuckles and cried out, “Why, Gina, why?” Even the scent of the lavender soap couldn’t relax her.
As she sank to the shower floor she clasped her arms around her chest and pressed her head against her knees until the water ran cold.
Finished, she toweled off her trembling body, moved to the bedroom, and put on her underwear, then opened the window and took in a deep breath. The damp air chilled her as she stared at the Bay Bridge spanning the San Francisco Bay.
The sweet, sad sound of a foghorn intruded on her thoughts. The click of metal rods attached to electric buses hit the wires as they drove along her street. She loved the music of her San Francisco neighborhood. It calmed her, like the moaning whistle of a faraway train.
Looking out her window she thought about the day before. Her intuition had made her restless. She’d felt that something was going to happen, but certainly not this.
Dressed in blue jeans, she added a crimson sweater and jean jacket. Her jeans were tight, right out of the dryer, and hard to button. She was as thin as tissue paper. Looking in the mirror, she said, “Oh, Gina, what have you done? My eyes are red and swollen. I’m forty-two and I look a hundred and two.”
I have to pull myself together. Grabbing her long wet hair, she twisted and pinned it into a knot on top of her head. Dashing around the room she threw clothes, shoes, and toiletries in a suitcase.
Behind her, Barry stirred and stumbled out of bed, then tugged his robe on. “I’m going downstairs to take two aspirins and start the coffee. You okay?”
She refused to answer right away. How can I be? She cleared her throat. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
It always amazed her how he could come home falling-down drunk, get a couple hours’ sleep, and wake up sober, ready to go.
Sunny headed down the hall to call her daughter in Reno. Because Gina was closer in age, she and Rita had been like sisters, sharing secrets and laughing over everything. Rita would be devastated if she heard about Gina from someone else.
She dreaded making the call but knew she couldn’t wait until they got to Reno. Her hands felt heavy. They shook as she started to dial.
Midway she stopped. “I can’t do it. Not like this.” Her head down, she turned to Barry. “How do I tell her Gina killed herself, when I don’t believe it? I feel like I’m having a breakdown.”
“I know this is hard. It shouldn’t take us long to get there. Four hours, maybe less.”
Her stomach turned over. It had been too much for her. She didn’t know what she would do if their argument on the phone was the reason.
The strong aroma of coffee and cigarette smoke greeted her as she came into the kitchen. She picked up her mug and joined Barry at the round maple table where he sat smoking his first cigarette of the day. He’d opened the window halfway to let his smoke disappear. The breeze sent the curtains swaying. Silence filled the room.
Sunny looked around at her teapots atop the cabinets, the copper molds hung on the wall. How Gina had loved this old Victorian house. She’d walk around admiring the wood moldings on the doors and windows, especially the spindle staircase winding to the top floor. Barry had bought the house for Sunny when they got married.
Gina once said, “I love the mauve guest room. It’s my favorite. I could sit for hours on the window seat and read or watch the squirrels playing in the park.” Sunny’s eyes glistened and she smiled remembering Gina saying, “My room has the best view.”
Sunny’s thoughts came back to the present. She pushed herself up and went to contact her supervisor, Carol. She explained the circumstances, voicing her shock and disbelief.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. If anyone can find out why this happened, it’s you. Use those instincts of yours. You’ve always had more intuition than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Sniffling, Sunny thanked her and hung up.
Now dressed in Levi’s, a long-sleeved red plaid shirt, and his favorite eagle bolo tie, Barry was ready to leave. He struggled to put on his blue down parka. She hated that jacket. It made him look like the Michelin Man.
He fidgeted with the zipper. “I’m ready. I left a message at work.”
“You don’t have to come with me. Stay home. I can do this myself. I don’t want to worry if you’re drunk, or whatever. I don’t have the patience to babysit you, especially now.”<
br />
He scratched his head. “I’m sorry about last night. I know Gina’s suicide is a shock. I promise, we’ll talk about the two of us later.”
Sunny hated screening her thoughts from Barry. She just wanted him to cut down on the drinking. She decided not to tell him about her last conversation with Gina. Not yet.
He picked up his keys from the coffee table. “I’m going with you. You’re in no shape to drive. Sunny … I’m sorry about the pot roast.”
“I know, I know.”
“I’ve packed the car. I even grabbed your sketchpad and pens.”
“Thanks, I completely forgot.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
Sunny lowered her eyes. “I don’t know how.” God, Gina, what am I going to do without you in my life?
Barry maneuvered the car out of the garage and backed cautiously onto the street. Sunny said, “Wait. Go back. I have to get something.” She jumped out and ran into the house, up to their room, and threw open the closet door. There, off to one side, hung the dress Gina had always loved: a red wool knit her mom had made by hand. Sunny pulled it off the hanger, folded it, and raced back to the car.
“What’d you forget?” asked Barry, shifting into reverse.
“This dress.” Sunny held it up for him to see.
“Why do you need it?”
“I’m wearing it for the funeral.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Sunny shot him a what-the-hell-how-dare-you-question-me look.
“I mean,” he went on, “it’s not appropriate.”
“Oh, so now you’re Chief of the Funeral Fashion Police? You get to tell people what they can or cannot wear to a funeral?”
“C’mon, honey. I just meant you might be more comfortable in something that’s not so … uh … bright.”
“Look, Gina loved this dress,” Sunny stated. “She even told me I had to leave it to her in my will. So, to my way of thinking, this is the most appropriate thing I could wear to her funeral. Just as we were leaving it dawned on me that since Gina loved it so, I should wear it for her. I know she’ll be looking on from above and when she sees me walk in, she’ll be smiling.”
Barry shrugged. “Whatever.”
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