Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [39]
I stuck my hand deep into the pockets of my coat. “It’s not just you. He dropped by the museum this morning to talk to me, too. I couldn’t tell him anything else either. I think he’s just fishing.”
“Giles’s family is having a fit about it, as you can imagine. His father is a very powerful man. He flew down in a private jet as soon as he was told. I wasn’t at the ranch when he arrived, but I called Jose, and he said there was quite a shouting match between him and Cappy. He claimed we were harboring a murderer.”
She was understandably upset by the accusation, obviously not wanting to face the fact that he was probably right. I couldn’t help asking, “Who do you think might have wanted Giles dead?”
JJ’s face twisted in thought. “I have no idea. He was a jerk, but exactly the type of guy I’d expect Arcadia to marry. Bliss would probably know more than me. She’s lived here since she was eighteen. I’ve only been here a few months.”
“I just saw her and Miguel at McClintock’s buying lunch. We didn’t talk about Giles, but then, Miguel was there and so was my cousin Emory. Emory writes for the newspaper, so that would tend to keep her from saying anything.”
“I’m worried about her.”
“We all are, but she’ll be okay. Pregnancy isn’t a disease. She and Sam will work things out.”
She reached up and fiddled with the four silver dangly earrings trailing down her left ear. “It’s not just the baby. She’s been upset about something else, and she won’t tell me what. That’s not like her. She usually tells me everything.”
“Have you asked her about it?”
Her dark lips turned up in a wry smile. “Get Miss Closed-Mouth Cop to talk when she doesn’t want to? I figured it had something to do with work. I knew about her and Sam, so it wasn’t that. And she told me when she first suspected she was pregnant, even before she told Sam. Like I said, we usually tell each other everything.”
I gave a deep, dramatic sigh. “If it has to do with her work, welcome to the wonderful world of law enforcement relatives. We should start a group. Cop-Anon.”
She giggled. “I forgot, you know all about that.”
“Trying to get them to talk to you when they don’t want to is, as my gramma Dove would say, like trying to milk a two-thousand-pound bull. Ain’t possible. Also, don’t forget, she’s got Sam now, so that might be where some of her confidences are going.”
“He’s her first boyfriend, you know. I always knew when she fell it would be hard.”
“If it makes you feel any better, even though he’s young, he’s a really decent human being. And I’m not just saying that ’cause he’s my stepson and I happen to be crazy in love with his dad.”
She touched my forearm lightly. “I know, Benni. It just seems like so much has changed so fast.”
“I hate to break the news to you, but as you get older, it only gets worse.”
She shook her head, her earrings making a soft, tinkling sound. “What a depressing thought.”
I WALKED THE three blocks to the Historical Museum where I interrupted a meeting of the San Celina Senior Citizen Kitchen-Raising Committee, the honorable Dove Ramsey presiding.
“Sit down, honeybun,” she said, pointing her gavel at an empty chair in front. “We’re almost done.”
After an excruciating half hour of listening to the seven people on the committee carp and pick at each other’s suggestions, Dove brought the gavel down with an angry slam. “People, the bottom line is we need twenty thousand, we’ve got three, and the insurance will pay ten. We need seven thousand dollars and we need it fast.”
“What’s the hurry?” I asked.
“The kitchen has to be rebuilt soon,” Sissy Brownmiller said. “There’s lots of seniors who depend on the hot meal they get there. It’s sometimes their only good meal of the day. It’s already been shut down a month. We’ve borrowed the kitchen at First Baptist, but they’re getting kinda restless about us going back to our own place.”
“I’m telling you,” Dove said, “we need something that no one’s ever done here before. I’m sick of bake sales and quilt raffles. We need something that’ll stand out. Something people really want. Something they’re