Something Borrowed, Something Bleu (11 page)

I scrambled through my
memory, searching for the answer to Schumaker’s question. Then I had it.
“I don’t remember,” I lied. And, of course, the instant the words came out of my mouth the inspector’s sharp eye saw right through me.
He held my gaze. “Your parents would know. Maybe I should ask them.”
I sighed. “He drove a Honda Prelude. It was an awful, banana yellow.” Bobby Lee had loved it. He’d saved for years, and then made a screaming deal on the sporty little car. He’d even liked the ugly color.
Now I watched as disappointment flickered behind Schumaker’s eyes. Ha!
“I don’t suppose your parents owned a pickup.”
Ah—now I remembered. The guy on the bike had been conscious long enough to say he’d been hit by a dark-colored pickup. “Nope,” I practically crowed. “We’ve never had a pickup. I have, of course, but not when I lived here, and not any more. It got smooshed and went to truck heaven a few months back. Now I drive a snazzy old Land Rover.”
He stared at me, and I struggled to guide my thoughts back into line. “Sorry,” I said. “Bobby Lee didn’t have a pickup. He didn’t hit that bicyclist.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up ruefully. “Well,” he said. “It was a long shot anyway.”
I glared. “Funny, I think it’s good news that my brother didn’t kill someone and then run away.”
“Sorry.” He ducked his head and dragged out that dang handkerchief again. “Sometimes I get a little carried away with my job.”
“Yeah. Well.” It wasn’t like I hadn’t run roughshod over a few people in the past, in order to get to the truth. “It’s okay. Are we done here?”
He nodded. “I’ll let you know if we have any more questions.”
Naturally.

_____

Traveling east, I followed the retreating shimmer of late summer heat that rose from the highway. The dirt road that wound down to the T&J Dairy seemed quiet after all the comings and goings from the day before. In the parking lot, I turned off the ignition and sat, unmoving, as heat filled the car.
So much death. Violent death. Were there simply those of us who attracted it into our lives? Some people only encountered death by disease or age or their own demise. To others violence was a job: emergency room doctors and nurses, policemen, paramedics. How on earth did I keep getting into these situations?
A thread of sweat trickled down my back.
I popped the door open and got out, unsure of what I’d find in the house on the hill. No doubt the mold-ripened cheese class was canceled. I checked the lotion bar and cuticle scrubber I’d brought as a weird kind of condolence offering to make sure they hadn’t melted in the heat. But Tabby seemed like a practical woman; certainly she’d appreciate a useful gift.
Okay, I had to admit, all Inspector Schumaker’s talk about Tabby having motive to kill Joe had piqued my curiosity just the teensiest, tiniest bit. However, even I knew this wasn’t the time to quiz a grieving widow about the past.
Celeste came to the door, heavy disapproval weighing her features the moment she saw me.
“Tabby’s not here,” she said by way of greeting.
“I see. Do you know when she’ll be back?”
A young girl came up behind Celeste, her straight brown hair pulled back into a rough ponytail. Her nose was all puffy, and a streak of mascara ran from one red-rimmed eye down to her jaw line. “Mama’s making cheese. She’s out by the mold house.”
Celeste put her arm around the girl and guided her back inside. “Delight, honey, you don’t have to talk to anyone.”
The door shut in my face.
Gosh, I’d only wanted to express my sympathies. Tabby’s mom acted like I’d killed Joe myself.
My nose found the mold house. It was behind the barn, a small, metal trailer with the door open a few inches. That was enough to release the pungent, complex odor of cheese mold.
“You’re a little early for class, aren’t you Sophie Mae?”
I spun around to find Tabby right behind me, holding a large wheel of cheese. She stepped past me, opening the door all the way. The blast of stink made my eyes water, and I coughed.
An easy laugh echoed from within the mold house, then Tabby reappeared looking amused. “It’s a little much at first.” She handed me a small round. “Here.”
The outside of the round was hard and mottled white and charcoal-blue. The cheese had slumped in the middle, and it was surprisingly heavy. “What is it?”
“It’s one of my varieties. I call it ‘Poudre Bleu,’ after the Cache la Poudre River that runs by here. It’s great with walnuts, maybe a nice Sangiovese.”
“Um, thanks.” I was utterly flummoxed. Here I was, all ready to offer sympathy to a tragic figure after my encounter with the mourning generations on either side of her, and instead I find this woman smoothly coiffed and at ease, working away as if nothing had happened.
If I hadn’t been the one to provide her alibi, I’d have suspected that she’d killed Joe, too.
At the very least she didn’t miss him much. Though from what I’d seen, I couldn’t exactly blame her. I mean, I wouldn’t have wished the guy dead, but I could sure understand wishing him
gone
.
“Here. I brought you these.” I held out the small bag. “The flat one in the shape of a leaf is a lotion bar. Good for really dry hands. The little container with the screw cap is cuticle smoother.”
She took the bag and thanked me, motioning for me to follow her to the milking barn. A cow in the pasture lowed, long and deep, and another answered it in kind. I stood in the doorway as she went in and talked to a handsome Latino guy and a petite blonde woman who were sluicing down equipment with foamy liquid. I couldn’t hear, but Tabby gestured and spoke for a while, and they nodded in understanding.
When she returned, I asked, “Your employees?”
“Eduardo and Gretchen. Couldn’t run the place without them.
“Where were they yesterday? Did the sheriff interview them?”
“Eduardo had to drive down to Denver to get a part for one of the milking machines, and Gretchen had the day off. I try to manage it so I always have some help around, but I do a lot of the work here myself.”
I guessed Joe didn’t count as help. But it had been convenient for the murderer, I thought, that Eduardo wasn’t at the dairy yesterday. Of course, there was enough to do in an operation like this that he might not have seen anything anyway.
“How often do you milk?”
“Twice a day, without fail.” She seemed pretty cheerful about it.
“Are you going to keep the dairy?”
Her head jerked back in surprise. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I? It was my idea in the first place. I can hire a delivery driver now that Joe isn’t out spending our profits on booze and poker and bail.”
Wow.
“You seem to be doing all right,” I said.
Her eyes cut sideways to mine, containing more sadness than I’d given her credit for. “I’m heartbroken for my daughter. Delight is just devastated, and I want to make it better for her, but I can’t.” The blue eyes welled. “But the animals still need to be cared for, and there’s still a business to run. I don’t have a choice.”
“I see,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “And you’re still teaching the cheese class?”
She shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t planning on it, but if you want me to I will. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“I came by to see how you’re doing. I assumed you’d cancel the class.” I didn’t think I could take learning how to make more cheese after what I’d witnessed yesterday.
“Okay.” She seemed distracted. Well, who wouldn’t be?
“I signed my statement at the sheriff’s department this morning,” I said.
Her head was tipped back, her gaze directed at the sky. I looked up and saw a red-tailed hawk circling overhead.
“Inspector Schumaker and I ended up talking about Rancho Sueńo.”
The hawk screamed.
When I looked back at Tabby, her shoulders were hunched, and her lips had thinned into a grim line. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?” she whispered.
Taken aback by the sudden change in her demeanor, I stammered, “Uh, it just came up, you know. Nothing to do with Joe. I’d heard Bobby Lee was involved with the Dunners, that’s all.”
Iron replaced the whisper. “He hated it out there. He only went because of me.”
“Until he stopped going, right? Is that why you and Joe—” I stopped. Plunged on. “Did you and Joe get together after Bobby Lee was gone because of a shared interest in religion?”
Tabby let out a harsh, abrupt laugh at that. “Can you imagine Joe on the God-Squad? Please.”
She had a point.
“So why did you go?”
Her smile held no humor. “Ray Dunner had good weed.”
“
What
?”

“Son of a preacher
man. You know the type.”
“Is that why Bobby Lee went out there?”
“Nah. He was too straight-laced.” Suddenly, she looked very afraid. “Please stop this, Sophie Mae. Please. No good can come of it.”
Maybe no good for her. The way Tabby was acting made me question Inspector Schumaker’s assertion that Bobby Lee’s death had nothing to do with Rancho Sueńo. Somebody had to get to the bottom of what happened, once and for all.
“Gwen Miller died,” I said. “Do you remember that?”
Her eyes shot to the left, and she cleared her throat.
“Tabby?”
The fingers on her left hand fluttered up to her lips, but she still wouldn’t look at me. Her gold wedding ring glinted even in the shade. “Of course I remember. It was terrible.” The slightest tremor shook her voice.
“Were you there?”
Her chin swung back and forth in a negative.
“Tabby.”
“What?” Her voice went up two octaves as the words tumbled out. “What do you want from me? It was a horrible thing that happened. And then Bobby Lee died. And now my husband has been murdered, and you just keep at it and keep at it. I can’t help you, and even if I could, I don’t want to!”
I cringed with dismay. Hadn’t I told myself I wouldn’t quiz a grieving widow? God, I was worse than Inspector Schumaker by a long shot.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
She sniffed.
“I’ll leave now.”
“That might be best.”
“Thanks again for the cheese.” I began walking to my car.
“Sophie Mae?”
I stopped.
“I’m sorry, too.” She strode purposefully back into the mold house and shut the door behind her.
Completely stymied, I continued down to the Subaru. I still felt like dirt. Tabby had been through so much. But I was also certain she was lying about something—if not everything. Is that what she had meant by, “I’m sorry”?
God, that woman was confusing.
I pulled onto the asphalt and considered my options. A glance at my watch reminded me that Barr would be landing in Denver any minute. This time of day it would probably be an hour and a half before he got to my parents’ house.
Plenty of time to hunt for a few more clues in the library’s microfilm.

_____

A group of teenagers who were working on a homework project together destroyed the usual hushed calm in the library, despite regular attempts by the staff to quiet them down. However, I was soon oblivious, thoroughly engrossed in the news stories from the weeks after Bobby Lee’s death.
First I discovered a follow-up to the hit-and-run accident. Spring Creek Police and the victim’s family pled for witnesses or anyone with information on the driver of the pickup to come forward. It didn’t look like anyone had stepped up, and, given Schumaker’s questions about Bobby Lee’s vehicle that morning, the case was still open after all these years.
Then I found two stories about Ogden Dunner and Rancho Sueńo. Neither was about Gwen Miller’s death. I made a couple of notes, then moved on. The fourth article took a lot longer to track down, and it was only a small blurb about Dunner saying he wouldn’t be taking in any more stray teens at Rancho Sueńo.
A glance at my watch made me swear under my breath. I’d skimmed all the articles on the hard-to-read screen and now tapped my foot as I waited for the pokey old printer to disgorge the pages. One of the high school girls at a nearby table pointed at me and giggled to her friend. Belatedly I realized I was drumming my fingers on a bookcase at the same time my foot tapped away. It must have looked like I suffered from multiple tics.
If I didn’t hurry, Barr would arrive at the house before me. He’d have to face my parents—face Anna Belle—for the first time all by himself. Ack! Couldn’t that thing print any faster?
I broke the speed limit all the way home, praying for lots of highway construction on Interstate 25. Anything to slow my dear fiancé’s progress.
No such luck. A rental car sat in the driveway. I was too late to save him.
Barreling through the front door, I ran straight into Barr. He caught me, wrapped his long arms around me, and held me in silence for a long moment before tipping my head back and laying a big ol’ I’ve-missed-the-heck-out-of-you smacker on me.
“Hi,” he said and smiled.
“Hi,” I said and smiled back.
“You’re late,” my mother said, but she was smiling, too, looking down on the great room from the kitchen counter. Everyone else, even Erin, was crowded behind her as if they were going to miss something vitally important.
Reddening, I flapped my hands at them all. “Show’s over.” And then to Barr, “I take it you’ve met my parents.”
In the kitchen, no one had moved.
“We’ll be right in,” he called over his shoulder, and somehow that magically dispersed the whole group.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
“No problem,” he said with a grin. “We were just talking flower arrangements.”
I put my hand over my eyes. “Nooo …”
“How are you?” he asked. “You look great.”
“I’m better now that you’re here.”
“Me, too.” Another kiss. “Have you found out anything new?” Ah, my sweetie: my detective.
“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll tell you later.”
He nodded his understanding. I wasn’t ready to regale my parents with the information I’d gleaned that day until I could make a little more sense out of it myself. Arm around my shoulder, he guided me toward the kitchen where Anna Belle hovered over the stacks of bridal magazines, checklists, photos of wedding gowns, and invitation samples spread out all over the table.
I groaned. “What happened to simple?”
“Barr
likes
the gerbera daisies,” she said.
“That’s great!” I forced out, all bright and cheery.
He laughed and said, “I brought Scotch. Would you like one?”
I nodded so hard my neck popped.