Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [38]
I shook my head no.
“We had breakfast this morning in town, and she said she was going into the museum to talk to you. Something about giving you tickets to a reception she’s going to.”
“Oh, yeah, the barrel tasting and artist’s reception at the San Patricio Resort in Eola Beach. She was supposed to get me a couple of tickets.”
“I’m covering that for the paper,” Emory said. “Sunday afternoon, right? Seven Sisters and a bunch of other wineries are hosting a tasting from some vintages that will come out in a couple of years and showing some of the label art being produced by local artists.”
“JJ’s designing some new labels for the syrah and pinot noir vintages,” Bliss said. “One’s named after Churn Dash. She’s been watching me train him for months, taking pictures and making sketches.”
“Who’s Churn Dash?” Miguel said, counting out her change.
“A two-year-old quarter horse they’ll be running at the track soon,” I said. “He’s a real beauty.”
“I’m working him every evening and the weekends,” Bliss said. She lifted her chin slightly and looked into my eyes, as if to say, “we’ve got nothing to hide.” “Whenever you’re free, come on out and watch.”
I smiled at her. “I’d love to. Is it all right to bring my dog with me?”
“As long as he doesn’t go crazy around horses.”
“No problem, he’s extremely well trained. I’ll surprise you one day and take you up on it.”
“Ready to split?” Miguel said.
She nodded, taking her paper sack from him. “See you at the ranch,” she said to me.
“Count on it,” I said.
Outside, Emory clapped me lightly on the back. “Very good, Detective Harper. Now you have free access. Hud will be right proud.”
“I’m not going out there to snoop,” I said, pulling on my leather barn jacket. “I’m just trying to establish a relationship with the girl who’s marrying my stepson. That’s all. And the horses do interest me.”
“Take a notebook,” Emory advised. “Believe me, at our age relying on our memory is death.” He laughed. “Whoops, bad choice of words.”
“Oh, go find a grocery store opening to cover,” I said.
“Now, now, as dear Aunt Garnet would say, let’s not let the nasty bird land in our apple tree. Where are you headed?”
“I’m dropping by the Historical Museum to pick up some research one of the ladies there has done for me on early California Chinese folk art and Hmong quilting. We’re thinking about having an Asian exhibit next spring.”
He kissed me on the cheek. “Be careful in your investigating, sweetcakes.”
“I’m not doing any investigating,” I called after him. His laughter was drowned out by two Ford Ranger pickups dragging down Lopez.
In front of the old brick Carnegie Library building, which Dove and her historical society friends had managed last spring by somewhat radical means to lease from the city for the next twenty years, I ran into JJ coming down the stone steps.
“Benni! What a lucky break for me. Now I don’t have to go out to the museum. I have your tickets right here.” She opened her small crocheted purse.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the tickets. “It’s Sunday, right?”
She touched her hair, the green slightly less bright today. “I’m so nervous about it. I’m showing my designs for the new labels and I’m always apprehensive about people’s reactions. This is the first time Aunt Etta’s let me design the labels, so I want to do a good job. I’m going to actually be working on one there—a watercolor of Churn Dash running, with Great-Grandma’s quilt in the background.”
“I’m sure they’ll be great. How are things at home?” JJ was much easier to ask than Bliss, and for a split second I couldn’t help but wish it was JJ Sam was in love with, not Bliss. On the surface, it seemed as if they would be better matched. Then again, I knew better than anyone else that love never paid attention to who matched and who didn’t.
“Everyone’s in a tizzy, of course. That weird detective left a message for me on my answering machine. Said he wants to talk to me again. Is that normal? I told him everything I knew the night it happened.” She rubbed her lips together, slightly smearing her burgundy lipstick.