Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [37]
“I don’t think so.”
“Justice for a man killed in his prime?”
I just raised my eyebrows and didn’t answer.
“How about I’m guessin’ you won’t be able to help yourself, and you’re gonna get involved anyway, no matter what your hubby thinks?”
“Thanks, anyway, Hud-like-the-movie, but my detecting days are over.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice was so smug and disbelieving I wanted to smack him.
“I mean it.”
“In that case,” he said complacently, “do you know of a good place to eat lunch and kill some time in Goleta?”
8
“YOU’RE LATE,” EMORY complained. “I ordered for you already.”
“I was detained by the authorities,” I said and told him the whole story. By the time I finished, my hamburger and fries and his turkey sandwich had arrived.
“Hud?” Emory said. “You mean, like the Paul Newman movie?”
“Believe me, he’s no Paul Newman. And there was a book first. It’s ten times better than the movie. Horseman, Pass By. Larry McMurtry wrote it.”
“You don’t say?”
I rolled my eyes. “If you want to marry Elvia, you’d better bone up on your literature, my friend. Cliff’s Notes don’t count. Apparently, this cop’s given name is Ford Hudson.”
“Oh, lordy, and I thought being named after a school and a woman’s nail care product was bad.”
“I can think of worse nicknames for a Texan.”
“Like what?”
“Bubba, for one. Joe Bob. Tex.”
“You’ve got a point.” He reached over and snatched one of my steak fries. “Are you going to tell Gabe that this sheriff’s detective, this Hud”—he shook his head and laughed again—“is putting you on his payroll?”
“I never agreed to anything and since I don’t plan on doing anything, I don’t think it even warrants repeating to Gabe. Especially when he has so much to worry about with Sam and Bliss.”
Emory chewed thoughtfully. “Whatever you say.”
“Let’s forget about this problem that isn’t really ours and concentrate on the ones that are. Has Dove approached you about any money-making ideas for the senior citizen center?”
“She was askin’ about a walkathon, but I told her that the paper’s already sponsored three this year, and though a new stove, refrigerator, and Martha Stewart wallpaper might be important to them, it would have a hard time competing with muscular dystrophy, diabetes, and breast cancer. She made me ask anyway, and our editor-in-chief nixed it.”
“I told her I’d try to come up with an idea. The problem is there are so many fundraisers that it’s hard to think of one that hasn’t been done. Are you going to the Harvest Wine Festival this weekend?”
He pushed his lunch plate aside. “Yep, I’ve got a full week with the crush activities starting Friday. Seems like every winery in San Celina County has something going on, and my esteemed editor-in-chief wants as many of them covered as possible for a special insert. I’m suspecting the powers that be in the local government are pressuring him to play up the wine aspect of our fair county to better compete with big brother Napa up north.”
“That’s all we need, something to bring even more tourists into the county,” I grumbled.
He patted my hand. “The times they are a-changin’, sweetcakes. Cows are out, grapes are in.”
“I know, but I don’t have to pretend to be happy about it.”
We were on our way out when we ran into Bliss and Miguel, one of Elvia’s younger brothers and a four-year veteran of the San Celina PD. They were waiting at McClintock’s long wooden bar under the TAKE OUT sign. Seeing him in his dark blue uniform carrying a loaded gun and steel handcuffs never failed to amaze me since the memory of cuddling him in my thirteen-year-old lap and singing him to sleep when he was three was still so strong in my mind.
“Hey, Miguel, Bliss,” I said. “Who’s protecting the streets of San Celina while you two are goofing off?”
“How’s it going?” Miguel said, pulling out his wallet when the waitress walked up with two brown paper sacks. Bliss handed him a ten-dollar bill. She nodded at me without saying a word.
“Okay, I guess.” I turned to Bliss. “How are you?”
“Just fine,” she said, her voice tight. “Have you