Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [75]
“I can’t change what’s already happened, but I can stay out of their way. Which I will. If JJ asks me to get involved any more, I’ll just say no.”
“Good. And don’t forget to tell all this to Detective Hudson.” He shuffled through the paper and found the sports page. “You know, Benni, I am very happy you’re keeping me informed on this.”
I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what the situation was with the sheriff’s detective, then stopped. I’d never been in such an awkward position. I knew there had always been a slight animosity between the sheriff’s department and the city police, though the sheriff and Gabe seemed to like each other personally. Like rival cattlemen and sheep-men, they looked at their professions in different ways and were certain their way was the right one. This situation with Detective Hudson could cause a bigger rift between the two agencies. Maybe I could figure a way to get the detective off my back without running to Gabe.
IT WAS QUIET down at the folk art museum. Monday was our only officially closed day, and D-Daddy used it to do any major work inside the museum itself. Today he was patching up some places in the adobe and replacing a window that broke yesterday.
“Have fun on Saturday, ange?” he asked, stopping to rub Scout’s belly. “That boy, Hud, he’s real Cajun. He does the dancing, him.”
“Only half Cajun, D-Daddy. The other half is pure bullshit.”
He threw back his head and gave a rich cackle. “That make him full Cajun, then.”
I smiled and said, “Thanks for the dances, but next time don’t let another man cut in, okay?”
He went back to slapping on the mixture he’d concocted to match the dusky white adobe walls. “I think he likes you, ange. Cajun men, we like the jolie blondes. Your police chief, he better be closer watching the chicken coop.”
“It’s not that he likes me. I just have something he wants.”
D-Daddy nodded his head solemnly, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, ma’am, you surely do.”
I felt my face warm at his words and gave a nervous laugh. “Not in his wildest dreams, D-Daddy.”
I walked outside, passing under the green canopy of honeysuckle and ivy, to my office in the co-op studios. Except for two women in the common area basting a quilt, Scout and I were alone. I grabbed a cup of coffee for me, a dog biscuit for him, and checked through the mail and messages that had accumulated in my box. Then I got down to work, digging into all the letters, reports, and filing I’d gotten behind on, accompanied only by the comforting doggy sounds of my canine companion, the only male in my life I truly understood these days. I didn’t even glance at the clock until my phone rang two and a half hours later. Ten-thirty-five and I’d already done a day’s work. I was feeling pretty proud of myself when I picked up the phone.
“Josiah Sinclair Folk Art Museum. Benni Harper speaking.”
“I’m still waitin’.” Detective Hudson’s audacious Texas twang instantly deflated my good feeling. “Did you forget to set your alarm?”
I hung up the phone without answering, knowing I’d regret my impulsive action. It rang again ten seconds later. On the fourth ring, I reluctantly picked it up.
“Josiah Sinclair . . . ”
“I know where you work.” His voice wasn’t amused. “Get over here now.”
Ah, the wonderful arrogance of law enforcement officers. What he’d forgotten was that I was married to one. I’ve been through that be-nice-then-surprise-them-with-force psychological tactic too many times to count. “We both know I can tell you what you need to know over the phone. I don’t have time to drive to the sheriff’s office.”
“I want to see your face when you’re talking. That’s the only way I can tell if you’re trying to pull one over on me.”
“Listen up, because though I promised my husband I’d cooperate with you and I try to keep my promises to him, I’m only going to tell you my story once. If that’s not good enough, then I suggest you take it up with my husband, the police chief. Have you got a pad and pencil?”
There was silence at the other end. Ha, I’d managed to shut