Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [34]
“Do you think Giles’s murder was planned? No, that couldn’t be it. Who would plan a murder, then call the press to come cover it?”
“Good question. Let me know if you find out the answer.”
“Seven Sisters is scheduled for a full slate of wine activities starting this weekend. I wonder how Giles’s death will affect that.”
“It’ll triple the amount of people who go,” Emory said. “I have only my column to write, which I was thinking might have something to do with the inconsideration of family members who have inside tracks to breaking stories that could help the careers of their loved ones—”
“I have no inside track,” I interrupted. “You’re as bad as that detective. Believe me, no one knows less about this situation than me, and I plan on keeping it that way. I have enough on my plate with Sam and Gabe circling each other like deranged coyotes, not to mention Mama Coyote herself slinking about.”
“Was she there? I thought you said she wasn’t coming up until next weekend.”
“Apparently she pulled some strings and got her pending cases continued so she could check on her son. For that I have a begrudging respect for her. At least she’s putting her son before her job.”
“Tell me,” Emory said, his voice settling into that intimate, confidential tone that said he was ready to hear some dirt. “What is the dragon lady like? Did you spill a drink on her Armani suit? Grind your boot heel on her Ferragamo pumps? Tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell, you old gossip. She’s a very nice woman. We had a nice talk. She was very supportive of her son. She’s very—”
“Yeah, yeah, nice. Don’t forget who you’re talking to, sweetcakes. I know the Southern definition for nice. Any Southern lady worth her crystal egg plate would rather eat dark meat chicken salad made with storebought mayonnaise than be called nice. Were her insults very clever?”
“Not so very,” I said, allowing him that much. “A couple of gibes reminding me of her connection to, as she put it, her ‘two men.’ ”
“You’d better watch out, my gullible little pullet. If she’s just coming off a divorce, she might be feeling unsettled enough to want to renew old ties with something familiar, namely your handsome Latino husband.”
“Give me a break. They were divorced over nine years ago. Gabe said they wanted completely different things in life. She hated what he did for a living.”
“Which was?”
“He was working undercover narcotics then. She wanted someone more conventional, someone who wore a suit and went to work every day like a normal person. She liked parties and social stuff. She didn’t want to be married to someone who stumbled in at all hours all stressed out because of some drug bust, smelling like a sewer. She wanted someone—”
“Someone who is, say, the highly respected and socially prominent chief of police of a pleasant little town like San Celina?”
I froze, silent for a moment, his words articulating thoughts I’d been denying. “Okay, you’re right, he’s probably more now like the man she wanted then, but anything between them was over long before Gabe and I started our relationship. Don’t do this to me, Emory. I don’t need it right now. Things are finally running smooth between me and Gabe.”
Emory sighed over the phone. “Sweetcakes, I’m not trying to cause problems between you and the chief. I just don’t want anyone to rustle your husband when you’re not paying attention.”
“He’s not a prize bull, Emory. No one can steal him from me. He’s with me because he wants to be.” I said the words with conviction. I didn’t fool my cousin one second.
“Better buy yourself some new lingerie,” he advised. “And start cooking his favorite meals more often.”
I growled at him over the phone. “You are such a man!”
“Yes, I am,” he said calmly. “And if you’re smart, you’ll listen to me.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Benni—”
“I repeat, I’m—”
“Lunch?”
“Only if you promise this subject is closed.”
He was silent a moment.
“I mean it, Emory.”
“Okay, okay, closed for the day. But not