In the end, Lucille Grayson had acted with class and had allowed Minette Padgett to speak. Surprisingly, Minette was clear of thought and steady of balance. She spoke briefly- always a sign of discretion- and from the heart. If Barnes hadn’t known what a nutcase she was, he might’ve choked up.
When the hour was up, the casket was loaded into the hearse, and a community that had loved Davida offered its final good-byes. The graveside service was to be a small and private affair.
Amanda checked her watch as she and Barnes filed out of the auditorium. They joined the massive black wave undulating toward the exits. It was shortly after three. “Your man-to-man dinner still on for five thirty?”
“Far as I know.”
“Did you see Newell here?”
“I looked for him, couldn’t find him anywhere,” Barnes answered.
“We’ve got time to kill. Want to grab a cup of coffee?”
“Why not?”
She walked slightly ahead of him, made her way through the throng. Civil but still pissed off.
Outside the auditorium, Barnes caught up with her. “I called Newell this morning. You’re invited for dinner.”
“Why the change of heart?”
“Because you should be there. After dinner, I’ll take Donnie, and you occupy Jill Newell, just like you said.”
Neither detective spoke for several footsteps.
Barnes said, “You know I’m a loner, Amanda. I work well with partners but only up to a point. I feel a little bad about that, but not too bad. I am what I am. But that doesn’t mean that when someone calls me on my bullshit I can’t set it right.”
They walked a couple more steps in silence.
“Did you tell Newell I was definitely coming?”
“I said you might. Didn’t know if you had other plans.”
“I don’t now.”
“So I’ll call Donnie and tell him it’s a go.”
“How about if I call Jill and ask her if it’s okay for me to come to dinner? Then when she says yes, I’ll thank her personally and ask her if I can bring anything.”
“Woman to woman,” said Barnes.
“Person to person.”
As a state capital, Sacramento played a fine host to its politicians. It had classy restaurants, several art museums courtesy of Crocker Bank, concert halls, a few theaters and the ARCO arena with its NBA team, the almost-champ Kings. But like most cities, it had multiple identities.
In Sacramento ’s case, that meant a mining history and agricultural presence. When the Kings made the play-offs, the fans came armed with cowbells.
Barnes had grown up in a semi-rural, farming community twenty quiet miles from the capitol dome, where, like most of his schoolmates, he learned how to shoot a rifle and use his fists. The music of choice was country for the masses and bluegrass for those serious about guitar and fiddle. Having a gay brother and living in Berkeley had altered Barnes’s perspective but had never totally erased it. As Amanda had pointed out, sometimes he reverted to the cowboy thing. Sometimes to his detriment.
But this wasn’t one of those times. Sitting at the Newells’ big pine dinner table, wearing his bolo tie, a soft pair of Wranglers and well-broken boots, he felt right at home.
The ranch-style house sat on ten acres of oak and eucalyptus in a semi-agi neighborhood with barns and paddocks. The furniture was a chain-store leather ensemble complete with two La-Z-Boy lounge chairs fitted with cup holders that faced a sixty-inch flat-screen TV. Whatever art in sight was made by the Newell kids. Most of the table conversation centered on the kids asking the adults to pass around the food. Everyone praised Jill on her fine cooking, which was no lie. Jill seemed to take little joy in the attention. Shy woman, she always had been.
During the meal, Barnes snuck several sidelong glances at Amanda who ate sparingly and complimented the behavior of the Newells’ three kids.
As far as Barnes could tell, no thanks to Don who was loose and jocular and made no attempt to act parental.
It was Jill who ran a tight ship.
She was statuesque, about five ten, with a weathered oval face, high cheekbones, and piercing brown almond eyes that suggested Indian blood. Her lips were full but she rarely smiled. Her hands had been roughened by use, her fingers long but her fingernails short. She wore tight jeans and a loose-fitting sweatshirt. Her chestnut-colored hair was tied up in a high ponytail.
Like that artist…Georgia O’Keeffe.
“I don’t remember the last time I ate so well.” Barnes patted his stomach. “Man, that was terrific, Jill. Those ribs, unbelievable.”
Jill acknowledged the comment with a slight smile and a soft thank you. When she got up to clear the plates, so did Amanda.
“Sit, Amanda,” Jill told her. “The kids will do it.”
“I really don’t mind,” Amanda said. “Besides, I know it’s a weekday and they must have homework. I sure don’t mind helping if you want them to get a jump on it.”
“Well, okay- if you’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Jill nodded. “All right, you three, you caught a break. Go to your lessons and no computer privileges until all three of you are through.” She turned to her oldest- a fifteen-year-old boy named Ryan. “If I catch you sneaking online before you’re done, there will be hell to pay. Understood?”
Her son gave her a look somewhere between a smile and smirk. “I hear you. Thanks for dinner.” Then he grinned at his father, who gave him a wink behind Jill’s back.
Amanda, the millionaire, fit in seamlessly. She said, “I can wash or dry.”
Barnes knew she’d grown up hard. Could still relate to anyone.
“We have a dishwasher,” Jill said.
“Even better, I’ll load.”
“You need help, hon?” Don asked, not even pretending to mean it.
“We’re fine,” Amanda answered.
Don said, “Jill, would you mind if I show Will your new shotgun?”
“Go ahead,” Jill said.
“Your new shotgun?” Amanda said.
“Jill’s a crack shot,” Don said. “We could use people like her for SWAT but I’d rather have her cooking.”
Jill frowned. “Shooting people don’t interest me.”
“See, there’s where we’re different.” Newell managed to kiss his wife before she could turn away. “See you in a bit, ladies.”
After they were gone, Amanda took in a pile of dishes and began to push the leftover food into the garbage. “Where’d you learn how to shoot?”
“My daddy. He took me hunting when I was ten. At the time, I hated it, but I loved my daddy, so I went along. I never like to kill any animals, so I took up skeet. I discovered I had a good eye and good coordination. When I was fifteen, I started entering competitive shooting. I have enough blue ribbons to paper my powder room. But to me, competition is silly…a guy’s thing, you know? But it made my daddy real proud. The shotgun’s for turkey hunting. Donnie bought it for me- one of those gifts men get you ’cause they want to use it themselves.”