“She didn’t know she was allergic?”
Burtis shook his head. “Dayna was a picky eater. A lot of stuff she’d never tried.”
“I don’t remember seeing a medic alert bracelet,” I said, spearing half a sausage with my fork.
“That’s because most of the time she didn’t wear one,” Burtis said with a snort of derision. “At least not when we were together. Doctor said she needed it and I bought one for her, but she didn’t think it looked fashionable.” I remembered Olivia saying pretty much the same thing. He reached for his coffee again. “I doubt that changed. She did carry one of those autoinjector things like Olivia Ramsey had. Or at least she used to.”
“Who knew about the allergy?”
He shrugged. “Far as I know, nobody outside of me. It’s not as common as peanuts. She had a bad reaction to poison ivy one time, though. Doctor said it’s the same family.”
I used a bit of toasted raisin bread to mop up a few stray baked beans and sauce on my plate.
“Burtis, why am I here?” I asked.
He looked at me and nothing in his face could tell me what he was thinking. I made a mental note never to play poker with the man. He had no tells or tics that I could see.
“Looks to me like you’re eatin’ breakfast,” he said, his tone affable.
“You don’t think your ex-wife’s death was an accident?” I said. I picked up my fork and finished the last of my potatoes while I waited to see how he’d answer my question.
He let out a slow breath. “I think it’s a possibility,” he finally said. “And based on the questions your boyfriend has been asking, I think he’s leanin’ the same way.”
I reached for my coffee again. “So you want me to do what? Find out what Marcus is thinking?”
Burtis gave a snort of laughter. “I think I know you well enough by now to know that’s never going to happen.”
He pushed his plate away, turned to face me and his expression grew serious. “Dayna and me were too damn young to get married. And way too different. A lot of the blame—hell, most of it—is mine. I was gone from sunup to sundown and she had babies and no help. I can’t fault her for feelin’ overwhelmed and leaving.”
I threaded my fingers through the handle of my mug. “All these years, she never came back for a visit?”
“She was unhappy here, unhappy with me. She stayed in touch with the boys: She wrote letters, and she remembered their birthdays and Christmas and such.” He sighed. “It wasn’t perfect, but what is?”
“So, why did she show up now, after so many years?”
He put his huge hand over the top of his coffee mug. It engulfed the heavy stoneware cup. “I swear, Kathleen, I don’t know.”
I had a million questions swirling in my head. “Did you talk to her before the reception?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Lita called. Told me she’d seen Dayna at Eric’s Place. I called Brady. Then I called the other two at school. I thought she’d show up out to the house. When she didn’t, I figured I’d just wait until she did. I’d waited more than twenty years for her to get in touch. I could wait a little bit longer.”
“I saw her come over to you and Lita,” I said. “At the Stratton. What did she say?”
He picked up his cup and set it back down again. “She said hello. She told me I looked well and she told Lita she liked her dress.”
“That’s it?”
He nodded. “Yep, that’s it.”
I pressed my lips together, trying to come up with the best way to say what I needed to say. “Burtis, even if Dayna’s death wasn’t an accident, it’s not something I should be involved in.”
“Because of Marcus Gordon,” he said.
I ran my finger along the edge of the counter. “Yes, because of Marcus. And because I’m not a police officer.”
Burtis’s expression didn’t change. “That didn’t stop you when Mike Glazer died and Harrison Taylor asked you to see what you could find out. Or when that whole side of the hill let go up at Wisteria Hill and those bones were uncovered. You put all the pieces together and figured out how he died and gave Roma some peace about her father.”
I turned to face him more directly. “Both of those times are different,” I said, narrowing my gaze at him. “Roma is one of my best friends and Harrison and I are very close. Not to mention that Marcus and I weren’t together either of those times.”
“So you and me? We’re not friends?”
It was one of those questions that had no right answer. So I didn’t answer it. Instead I said, “Every time I’ve gotten involved in one of Marcus’s cases, it’s cost me. He’s a good man and a good police officer. Let him do his job.”
“Marcus is a good man,” Burtis said. He gave me a half smile. “It surprise you I think that?”
I shook my head and tucked my hair back behind one ear. “Not really,” I said. “You’re many things, Burtis, but petty isn’t one of them.”
“I could say the same thing about you, Kathleen,” he said. He stretched and reached for his Minnesota Wild cap on the counter beside his plate.
“You and the detective come at things from two different ways. He follows the evidence.” Burtis put a hand on his chest. “It seems to me you follow this.”
He climbed down off his stool. “I get that you don’t want anything to get in the way of what you have with Detective Gordon. I wouldn’t take kindly to anyone getting between Lita and me.” He pulled on his cap. “You know, Kathleen. If that boy loves you—and a person only has to look at him when you’re around to know he does—he isn’t going to want you to stop being who you are.” He gestured at our plates. “Breakfast is on me.”
“Thank you,” I said. I’d said I wasn’t going to get involved and I meant it, but there was one question I still had to ask.
I put out my hand as Burtis moved past me and touched his arm. He turned to look at me. “Do you know why someone would want to kill your ex-wife?” I asked.
His gaze narrowed. “That’s the problem, Kathleen,” he said. “I don’t.”
7
Ruby’s truck was just pulling into the parking lot when I got to the library. I parked beside her and got out of my truck. “Good morning,” I said.
Ruby smiled. “Hey, Kathleen, isn’t it a beautiful day?”
The clouds were already retreating up the hill. The glimpses of sky I could see were blue, and even though it was cold, my left wrist told me there wasn’t going to be any snow for a while.
I smiled back at her. “Yes, it is,” I said. I gestured to the boxes on the front seat and the floor of the passenger side of the truck. “Give me something to carry.”
She slid a lidded banker’s box across the seat and handed it out to me. Then she grabbed another box and her overflowing canvas tote bag.
We headed for the front door. I was happy to see that Harry had been by and spread more sand in the parking lot.
I unlocked the front doors and disarmed the alarm system. Ruby set the carton she’d been carrying on the checkout desk and leaned her bag beside it. “I have one more box,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She was wearing a neon green quilted jacket with a red-and-white stocking cap. Her sherbet-colored hair poked out in two pigtails from under the edge of the knitted hat. Just looking at Ruby made me smile.
Once she came back with the last box of supplies, I relocked the main doors. I put my things in my office, started the coffee in the staff room for myself—and Susan, assuming she wasn’t still on her latest green smoothie kick—and set some water to boil so I could make Ruby some tea. Then I went back downstairs.
Ruby was already in the conference room setting up. Harry had put up three long tables in the inverted U shape Ruby had asked for, and she was already unpacking her boxes.