7
Clyde pulled the snack tray from the refrigerator and set it on the counter, giving Joe a warning look, his dark eyes threatening dire repercussions if Joe so much as reached a paw into the party food or made a scene in any way. Joe hissed at him in a casual manner and settled more stubbornly down onto the cold tile counter, watching the three officers and Charlie rise to load their plates, then fit them in beside their cards and poker chips and beer cans.
Harper's lined, sun-wrinkled face made him seem years older than Clyde, though they were the same age, had gone all through grammar school together, had rodeoed together when they were in high school. With his lean, tall build, he looked very at home on horseback.
Dallas Garza was built more like Clyde, blocky and solid. He was about the same age as Clyde and Harper, somewhere around forty. His tanned Latino face was square and smooth, his expression closed, his black Latin eyes watchful-a man who exuded a steady and comforting presence. Garza seemed always in control, calm and unruffled. And Joe had learned that Garza was an officer to be trusted-as was Detective Davis, with her dark, steady gaze.
Juana Davis was maybe in her early fifties, had been widowed, and had two grown children, both cops.
Charlie was the only fair one at the table, with her bright freckles and brighter hair. She was younger, too, maybe four years out of art school-which she described as her squandered past.
Garza said, "Ryan's been up in San Andreas for a month, designing the addition to a vacation cottage, surveying the land, finalizing the plans. She gets home, another woman's clothes are in her closet, a strange car in her half of the garage.
"She said she wanted to put her pickup in four-wheel drive and run that little red convertible right through the back of the garage. Only thing that stopped her was the legal mess she'd be in-and she didn't want her insurance canceled."
"I'd have killed him," Juana said, with a twisted smile.
Charlie nodded. "A slow and painful death."
"Rupert did her one good turn," Garza said. "The nine years they've been married, she's had a chance to work into the building trade-but only at her insistence. She got him to let her do some designing and to work on the jobs. She's learned the business well, and she has solid carpentry skills."
Garza discarded two cards and watched Juana deal. "In all other ways, Rupert's a real loser. But Ryan's good at what she does, she's made a name for herself as well as for the firm-something Rupert never gave her credit for. She has a nice design style, very original. She wants to get her license in this county, start her own construction firm. She loves the village. When the girls were small, we spent a lot of summers and holidays down here."
From the kitchen counter, Joe watched Garza with interest. He'd seen something of Garza's closeness with Ryan's sister Hanni, who now lived in the village and had her own interior designing firm. But he'd not seen this degree of fatherly pride that Dallas had for Ryan. He knew that, under the guidance of Garza and the girls' father, the three sisters had learned not only to cook and clean house, but to shoot and handle firearms properly, to train the hunting dogs that Garza loved, and to ride a horse-all skills, apparently, that the two law enforcement officers felt would build strong young women. Joe had learned a lot about Garza when he'd moved in with the detective last winter, playing needy kitty.
That was when Garza was first sent down to the village, on loan from San Francisco PD, to investigate the murders for which Max Harper was the prime suspect. When Garza first arrived, Joe and Dulcie both had thought they smelled a rat. They'd been sure that in this prime case of collusion to ruin Harper, Garza was part of the setup. The week that Joe had lived with the detective, he had playing up to Garza as shamelessly as any groveling canine in order to learn Garza's agenda.
He'd ended up not only sharing Garza's supper, and privately accessing Garza's interview tapes and notes, but admiring and respecting the detective. Then later, when the case was closed, Max Harper had thought enough of Garza to ask him to join Molena Point PD. Garza had jumped at the chance to get out of San Francisco for the last five years of his service.
"She'll be taking her maiden name again," Garza said, "R. Flannery. She wants no part of Rupert, except to be paid for her half of the business. Said she doesn't want to see me or her sister for a few days, either, until she gets herself together. That's the way she is. Hardheaded independent."
"Don't know where she got that," Harper said, grinning.
"One thing," Garza said, shuffling the cards. "She drove one of the company trucks down, to haul her stuff. Said the brakes were really soft." He looked at Clyde. "Would you…?"
"First thing in the morning," Clyde said. "Tell her we open at eight."
"Likely she'll be waiting at the door." Garza paused, surveying his cards. "She did say something strange-she asked about Elliott Traynor. Said she'd heard the Traynors were in the village, asked if I'd met them. Said they'd spent a month in San Francisco last fall. Before Traynor got sick, I guess. They flew out from New York, apparently on business. She and Rupert met them through mutual friends."
At mention of the Traynors, Charlie looked quickly down at her cards. Laying her cards facedown, she bent her head to retie the ribbon that bound back her kinky hair, hiding her face, concealing some swift and uncomfortable reaction that made Joe Grey watch her with interest. Was there a look of guilt on her freckled face? But why would Charlie feel guilty about Vivi and Elliott Traynor?
As Clyde dealt a hand of five card draw, Joe's attention remained on Charlie. They played three more hands of stud before Clyde mentioned the break-in at Susan Brittain's. "Have you found the guy yet? Or found his body?"
"Nothing," Harper said. "One set of prints isn't on record."
"That's unusual."
"Very," Garza said. "Information on the other set hasn't come back yet."
Clyde sipped his beer, setting the can on a folded paper napkin. "How did Susan handle the break-in? Was she pretty shaken?"
"Not at all," Garza said. "In fact, very cool. She seems a straightforward woman. She thinks she might know the man. She saw only his back, but when she thought about it awhile, she was certain he looked familiar." He paused, waiting for Clyde to bet. Charlie raised Clyde, and Garza and Davis folded. Harper raised Charlie, winning the pot with three jacks, giving her a superior look that made her laugh.
"So who is he?" Clyde said.
"She thinks he might be an early morning dog walker she's run into, a newcomer to the village, a Lenny Wells. Young man who just moved down from San Francisco. About thirty, six feet, maybe a hundred and seventy, she thought. Light brown hair. She stopped for coffee with him a couple of times when they were walking the dogs, said she told him a little about the village to help him get settled."
Juana Davis dealt the next hand, upping the ante on seven card stud. Clyde showed a pair of aces, but when the hand was finished Davis raked in the pot on three eights. Their poker was never high-powered, with the keen attention and subtleties of a serious professional game, just a friendly excuse to get together. The conversation turned to the remodeling of the police station and how soon the contractor would be finished. "An equation," Harper said, "arrived at by squaring the original four months to completion time."