Steps to the Altar (6 page)

When it hit seven-thirty and we’d been there two hours, I leaned over to Gabe and whispered, “I’m going on home. I’ve got a million things to do.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said, kissing me on the forehead. “I’ll be along shortly.”

I nodded at the three detectives sitting at our table drinking Chinese beer and said to Del, “Nice meeting you. Have a good trip.” It had been mentioned during the evening that she was driving up the coast to Seattle, where her two brothers lived.

“Likewise,” she said, standing up.

At home I fed Scout, giving him an extra portion for being so patient. After my shower and one last quick call to check on Elvia and her emotional state, which was in a calm holding pattern tonight, I crawled into bed and waited for Gabe. I dozed over the novel I was rereading—Wallace Stegner’s
Angle of Repose.
Its complicated two-layer story line never failed to amaze me, the interweaving of the past and the present as the man in the story researched the secret in his grandmother’s past while dealing with his own marriage problems and mortality, trying to discover his own angle of repose.

My bedside phone rang.

“On horseback,” Dove said. “Up on Sweetheart Hill.” The hill behind our ranch had a two-hundred-year-old oak tree with a knot hole in the shape of a heart. At one point, when Jack and I were engaged, we’d discussed getting married up there where all of the Ramsey and Harper ranch land could be seen. It was a good hour-and-a-half horseback ride from the ranch house, though, and not an easy one, so the logistics convinced us to abandon the idea.

“How will your friends get up there?” I asked, laying my book across my knees. Then I cursed myself. Dang, there goes my plan to stay noncommittal. Still, Sweetheart Hill? It was a stretch considering the age of most of her guests.

She contemplated that for a moment. “Helicopters?”

“Two at a time? With how many friends you have, we’d be transporting them for ten hours.”

“Well, fine, what do
you
think I should do?”

“I have no idea. Maybe . . . here’s a radical thought . . . your church?”

“A lot of help you are, missy.” She hung up with a loud click. I laid the phone back in the cradle, glad it was her in a tizzy and not me. How nice to be the one settled and happy for a change.

Gabe came in about an hour later, startling me awake.

“Did you have a good time?” I asked, my voice groggy. My book slipped down onto the floor next to our pine four-poster bed. It hit the wooden floor with a loud clump.

He shrugged out of his gray suit jacket and unbuttoned his cuffs, his face thoughtful. “It was good to see Del again. Shortly after you left, so did everyone else, and she and I were able to talk privately.”

I sat up in bed, instantly awake. “About what?”

He shook his head and finished undressing, hanging his pants and jacket up in the closet and tossing the rest of his clothes, like the neat ex-Marine he was, into the wicker hamper. “Things aren’t going so good for her right now. She’s taking some personal time off from the department.”

“Why?”

“Her dad died about a month ago. Heart attack. They were close.”

I wrapped my arms around my raised knees, feeling ashamed that I’d not been more congenial during dinner. “That’s too bad. Did you know him?”

Gabe nodded, deep lines forming next to his mouth. “He was on the job when it happened. Desk sergeant. Good man.”

“How old was he?”

He walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. “Around your dad’s age, late fifties.” He stuck his head through the doorway.

“How old is she?”

“Same as you. Thirty-six,” Gabe said and then his voice disappeared into the shower’s running water. When he emerged fifteen minutes later, I was standing in the doorway. The steam from his hot shower slowly floated across the small bathroom and dampened my bare legs.

“What’s Del stand for?” I asked, watching him dry the slick, black hair on his chest.

He grinned. “Delilah. But don’t ever call her that. She hates her name. It was her Indiana grandma’s and she’s never forgiven her mother for giving it to her.”

“I can relate.” My given name, Albenia, was not my preferred title either. “So, how’s her mother doing?”

“Her mother died when she was ten. Her dad raised her and her two brothers alone. Heck of a guy, Rudy. Real family man.”

It dawned on me. “
That
was the funeral you went to last month.”

He’d spent the night in Los Angeles and had come home quiet and pensive for a few days afterward. I hadn’t pressed him about details, having learned that this very private husband of mine would reveal them to me when he felt ready.

He nodded. “Rudy Hernandez. He was one of my instructors when I joined the LAPD. I remember Del when she was just a skinny fifteen-year-old girl. Always wanted to be a cop just like her dad. She’s a lieutenant now. We worked undercover narcotics together for two years.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling a twinge of apprehension, but forcing it back. For pity’s sake, I told myself, the woman had just lost her father. It was natural she’d drop by and see Gabe on her way up north. Old friends are often the most comforting when you’re grieving. It was not any different from me going to Elvia when I had a problem.

Remembering her long legs and rich brown eyes, I thought, well, a little different. I rubbed the dampness off the backs of my legs before crawling under our flannel-covered comforter.

“Did you ever mention Del being your partner to me?” I asked as casually as I could manage. What I really wanted to ask . . . accuse . . . was did you ever mention her being a
woman
to me? Of course, I knew the answer, which was no. I’d have remembered that little fact, I’m absolutely certain.

He slipped under the covers and settled down next to me. The heat from his body smelled a soapy, musky clean.

“I’m sure I did. She wasn’t exactly a partner like Aaron was. We didn’t ride in a car together. But she and I worked a lot of busts. They liked pairing us because the Mexicans trusted us and would sell us dope. In East L.A. the dealers didn’t always trust the white guys. Usually made them for cops right off. So she and I were more often out making buys rather than sitting in the surveillance van.”

“With her blond hair?”

“She used to dye it brown. She’s half Anglo, half Mexican, like me.” He chuckled and folded his arms behind his head. “We always got a kick out of that, how similar our backgrounds were. Mexican dads and Midwestern Anglo moms.”

“So, she’s leaving for her brother’s house tomorrow? Was it Seattle where he lives?”

“He’s a fire fighter up there. She’s feeling a bit out of sorts so she’s taking some time off. Wants to be near family.”

“I can understand that.”

“Her other brother’s up there too. An insurance guy, or something like that. She likes his wife, so she’s looking forward to seeing her.”

Okay, Benni, I told myself. Crisis averted. She’s just passing through on her way to her family up north. So what if he forgot to mention her to you? Nothing to worry about.

“She’s decided to stay in San Celina for a few days, see the sights before going up to Seattle. I’m giving her a tour of the station tomorrow. She thinks it’s hilarious that I’m a suit now. To be honest, I just think she needs to talk about Rudy.”

I didn’t answer. She was staying for a few days. Not with us, I hoped.

Before I could ask, he said, “She’s over at the Embassy Suites.”

“That’s nice,” I murmured. I had enough to worry about without entertaining some woman who might know my husband in some ways better than me.

“So, how was the rest of your day?” he asked.

Glad to be discussing something else besides Del, I told him about what I had bought for Elvia’s shower, Dove’s quandary about her wedding, and about Edna McClun’s request about cataloging Maple Bennett Sullivan’s personal effects.

“Killed her husband, huh?” he said, his voice slowing down and lowering in pitch as he neared sleep. “Nice woman.”

“Allegedly,” I said, feeling irrationally defensive about Maple Sullivan.

“I’d say a fifty-year disappearance of her and her lover might be a good indication of guilt.”

“I suppose. Anyway, there’s no time limit, thank goodness, because it feels like I’ve got every hour in the next three weeks booked solid. Which reminds me, did you go get fitted for your tux?” Gabe was best man to my matron of honor at both weddings.

“Yes, I did,
querida
. And I dropped my navy suit at the cleaners in preparation for the Ramsey-Lyons nuptials though it sounds like we’re not certain what we’ll be wearing yet. I’ve also thought about toasts for each wedding and have my department on call to chase down any and all nervous, runaway grooms. I’m organized and ready for both happy events.”

“I’m impressed,” I said, turning on my side and smiling at him. “But I’m feeling a bit displaced. What do you need me for?”

He slipped his hand under my T-shirt, caressing me with an experienced hand. Instinctively, I moved toward him.

“I can think of a few things,” he said.

5

BENNI

THE PHONE RANG the next morning while Gabe was out jogging.

“Benni?” Del’s crisp, businesslike voice was already familiar to me.

“Oh, hi.”

“Is Gabe there?”

Luckily I’d had two cups of coffee so my voice was semipleasant. “He’s out jogging. Want me to have him call you back?”

There was a slight hesitation in her voice. “No, that’s all right. I was just going to check to see if his offer for a tour of the department today was still on, but knowing Gabe, he wouldn’t have suggested it if he had something more important planned.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” This time I hesitated, then said, “I’m sorry about your dad. Gabe said you were very close.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “We were. Thank you.”

A half a minute passed in silence. “Well, I’ll tell him you called.”

“Thank you, Benni. Really, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

As I put a chocolate iced Pop-Tart into the toaster, I discussed our short, but awkward conversation with the other important male in my life.

“What do you make of that?” I asked my dog, Scout.

His German shepherd ear perked up jaunty as a beauty queen’s wave. A low rumble in the back of his throat told me he’d tell me anything I wanted to hear for a piece of my Pop-Tart. I reached into a glass jar on the counter and threw him a dog biscuit instead.

“I think I’m being paranoid.” His tail beat the tiled floor in agreement . . . or in enjoyment of his biscuit. “You know, it’s a pain in the butt to be married to such a good-looking man.”

Scout swallowed his biscuit and lifted one paw, begging for another.

“Not a chance, Scooby-Doo,” I said, juggling my hot Pop-Tart back and forth before dumping it on a plate.

I was halfway through my third cup of coffee and my toaster pastry when Gabe came in, all sweaty and slick from his run. I smiled a good morning and continued eating. Scout trotted over to the biscuit jar, his ocher eyes hopeful.

“Don’t fall for it,” I said. “He’s scored his morning biscuit already.”

“Hope springs eternal in a dog’s heart,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “Is that your breakfast?” His bottom lip tightened in disapproval.

“You get your vitamins your way, I’ll get them mine,” I replied, unperturbed. My eating habits were a constant source of irritation for my health-obsessed husband. I conceded to his concerns by taking the plate of vitamins he left out every day, but that was as much control as I would allow him.

“You know, an orange once in a while wouldn’t kill you,” he said, reaching for one in the glass bowl next to the bread box. “I bought these at Farmer’s Market last week. They’re incredible.”

I blew him a kiss and popped the rest of the disputed pastry in my mouth. “Umm, umm, good.”

He just shook his head and laughed, efficiently peeling the orange. The sweet, mouth-watering scent of citrus groves filled our warm kitchen.

“Here,” he said, taking a slice and rubbing it across my lips. I opened them and took the fruit, licking his fingers as I did.

“That really is pretty good,” I said.

“Told you so.”

I grinned at him. “Yeah, and the orange was all right too.”

After he’d taken a shower and was dressing for work, I told him Del called. I sat on the bed, my legs crossed underneath me.

The subtle brightening of his face did not make me happy, but remembering my worries a couple of months ago about Lydia and how they came to nothing, I pushed them away. I was going to trust my husband. That was all there was to it.

“What did she want?” he asked.

“Just to make sure everything was still on with your tour today.”

He nodded, turning to the long mirror to fix his subtly printed maroon necktie and button his cuffs. In the lightly starched white shirts he always wore, his dark skin looked wonderful. How could I blame any woman for looking twice at this man?

Just so long as he didn’t look back.

“Luckily, she chose to visit on a day I have only one meeting,” he said, critically eying his Windsor knot, then pulling it apart to retie it. “I expect to get lots of teasing today.”