Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [62]
But you and Lydia are sure spending a lot of time discussing it, I wanted to say. Pride and pure-born Ramsey stubbornness kept me from saying it. I was determined not to appear the irrationally jealous second wife. I stirred the ice in my glass with my finger. “I talked to Detective Hudson tonight.”
“Again?” A flicker of suspicion came over his face, then was gone. “Well, I’m glad you’re cooperating with him. This has to be a tough case to investigate. What did he want?”
Starting with the note JJ found in Bliss’s suitcase, I went through everything I discovered today. “Detective Hudson said he’s going to have to talk to all of them again.”
Gabe nodded, sitting down at the table across from me. “Yes, I can see why.” He ran a hand through his thick black hair. “I suspected Bliss knew more than she was telling.”
“Gabe, this detective. What do you know about him?”
He leaned back in his chair, his face concerned. “Just another detective, sweetheart. He’s new on the force, but apparently has good references from Texas. Why, is he causing you some problems?”
“No, not at all,” I said a little too quickly.
His eyes searched my face, but he didn’t press for more information. “Just be cooperative, Benni. And try to get Bliss’s sister and mother to take their concerns directly to him. I don’t like you being that involved.”
“Whether we like it or not, we’re involved with this up to our eyebrows. And for your information, every time JJ has come to me, I’ve not only told her to talk to Detective Hudson, but also that anything she tells me I’ll have to tell you and the detective.”
“Mi niña muy buena,” he said, getting up. “Looks like I’ve finally got you paper-trained.”
“Sexist pig.” I took an ice cube and threw it at him. He gave a surprised grunt when it bounced off his bare chest.
Later that night, as he lay sleeping next to me, my wide-awake brain hummed like an agitated hive, and I mulled over the events of the day, especially the contents of the envelope Giles gave to Susa.
A grave rubbing of a lily of the valley.
I’ll use it if I have to. Tell Cappy.
Was it a real tombstone somewhere? Unfortunately there were lots of cemeteries in San Celina County. It could take weeks to go through all of them looking for a specific tombstone. Narrow it down, that’s what I needed to do.
As I drifted closer to sleep, the black crayon rubbing drew itself in my mind, and the refrain Find the tombstone reverberated like an echo. Where was this tombstone? And whose was it? And the most pressing question of all: What about it would cause someone to kill Giles?
10
GABE AND I spent the next morning, Sunday, laying around reading the newspaper. No one called or came by, and for a little while I could forget everything that had happened in the last week—Sam’s announcement, Lydia’s presence, Giles’s murder, Detective Hudson’s uncomfortable attentions. About noon we met Emory downtown for brunch at a new Mexican restaurant that was getting rave reviews—El Cantina Gallo. Over seafood enchiladas the conversation turned to Elvia’s work habits. As usual, she’d been too busy to join us.
“This is her day off, and she insists on going in for a few hours,” Emory complained over his empty margarita glass.
“That’s just her,” I said, scooping up some guacamole with a fresh, hot tortilla chip. The reviews had been right. “If you’re serious about her, you’d better get used to it.”
“She’s driving me nuts,” Emory moaned, gesturing to the waitress for another margarita.
My cousin was one of those Southern men who knew how to wring every ounce of pleasure out of his leisure time. Though deep inside I knew he and Elvia were right for each other, there were definitely some surface issues that needed work.
“Welcome to the real world, Emory,” Gabe said, laughing. “It only gets worse.”
I elbowed him. “Hey, Friday, we’re trying to encourage, not discourage. Remember?”
While we continued to dispense sage and silly advice to