"What impression was that, love?"
"I didn't think he cared for me any longer."
Aunt Vi watched me intently, saying nothing. I swallowed and waved a hand through the air to disperse her concern.
"Oh well, you know how he's always finding fault with me. I figured our relationship had run its course. Obviously, he had a different opinion. I didn't handle the situation very well."
"Now Thea, I'm sure you're being too hard on yourself."
I had the impression her reference took in more than the way I'd handled Jonathan's proposal. My adversarial relationship with Valerie was in there, too, and a lot of other things I typically beat myself up over. I drew little designs on the smooth table top with a finger as I answered her-mostly so I didn't have to see her expression while I pretended we were still talking about Jonathan.
"Aunt Vi, I literally ran out of the restaurant."
"Ohhh. Have you talked to Jonathan yet today?" The rolling pin made a soft rattle and a little whoosh. I glanced up. Aunt Vi's attention was back on the dough.
"No."
"I think you might want to do that."
Uncle Henry came through the kitchen door. "Do what?" He hung his jacket on a peg.
Aunt Vi left her dough-rolling to pour tea. "Talk to Jonathan. He asked her to marry him last night."
He cocked his head at me. "Did he now? So…"
"So nothing. I overreacted and left without giving him an answer."
"Ah, that's why Paul -"
"Yes," I said, a little sharper than I intended. "But it was Juliet I called to come and get me."
I poured milk into my tea and stirred it, spilling some into the saucer. Uncle Henry watched me before fixing his own tea. "Was there a problem with Paul?"
"No."
"Oh?"
"He picked me up and dropped me off at my car. That's all. Nothing happened. He was perfectly fine. I'm just upset with Juliet for putting everyone out. By the way, why didn't you tell me Paul was Delores's nephew?"
"I thought you knew, dear," Aunt Vi said. She put the strawberry-rhubarb pie in the oven.
"No, I didn't. Though everyone else seems to have been told." I winced at how whiny I sounded.
"He used to come out here in the summers from Minneapolis when he was a teenager and clean stalls at Copper Creek." Aunt Vi said with extreme patience. "I suppose you were too interested in the horses to notice him."
That explained exactly nothing. I grunted a response. Whatever.
Aunt Vi and Uncle Henry exchanged a look, and we sat in silence drinking tea while the pie baked. My shoulders sagged. I wanted to curl up on the big overstuffed sofa in the living room, but I was too tired to move. At least I had Blackie back.
"I notice the tractor is working again, Henry," Aunt Vi said.
"It's limping along. I had to order parts for it again."
"You can get parts for that old thing?"
I half listened to their discussion. I wanted to tell them Blackie didn't kill Valerie. It was important. I debated the best way to broach my murder theory. Maybe it would be best to return to my concerns from last night's dinner. I botched it, big-time. Obviously, I needed advice.
I had wanted to run, screaming, from Jonathan, and had done almost exactly that. How was I going to save face with him? My own mother was going to be more than willing to hand me an itemized list of how completely I'd screwed up and disappointed her. By Mother's standards Jonathan was quite a catch. Blond haired and handsome, a successful attorney in his father's law firm, secure future. Even Jonathan made it clear I was lucky to have him.
When Mother found out I was dating an attorney, she began to drop hints. Visions of tiny lawyers and accountants danced through her head, along with four thousand square feet of house in any upscale Seattle suburb. Let not forget matching BMWs. If I wanted any peace I'd better not broadcast last night's disaster. Ha! Now that Juliet and Aunt Vi knew, I could kiss that idea goodbye. Fortunately, Mother and Dad lived near San Francisco and it would take at least until this evening before the news reached them. But, judging from the lack of opinions being tossed in my direction by Juliet, Aunt Vi, and Delores, a lot of talking was going on behind my back. It wasn't like us to keep our mouths shut and let others make their own mistakes. Everyone had to have a hand in it. Their lack of spirited advice made me edgy.
"I don't know, Henry. If we can get some more use out of it-"
"Depends on the cost to repair it this time. Might be worth finding a used model in good shape. Paul can't spend all his time tinkering with it, you know."
Paul. I'd met him for what I swear was the first time yesterday. Met. Right. Now that's stretching a definition. Jonathan and I conducted a rather loud discussion in the middle of Uncle Henry's driveway. When Jonathan drove out in a high-handed snit, I'd made an obscene gesture at his back that turned into a feeble wave as I saw him look into his rear view mirror.
"Hubby having problems keeping the little woman in line?"
I'd spun to confront the speaker, mortified not only because my silent opinion had been witnessed, but because the nature of our confrontation so obvious. And there he was, standing by the old tractor, dressed in jeans and t-shirt so worn they looked like they'd lost their will to live, wiping his hands on a rag, a sardonic grin on his face. I thought he was the tractor repair guy.
And I thought he had a hell-of-a-nerve.
"Not that it's any of your flippin' business, but he's not my husband."
"My mistake." That damn grin was still there.
"Damn right it's your mistake. And another thing-I'm nobody's 'little woman' and nobody keeps me in line."
"I can see that." Still grinning.
I could have come back with something to put him in his place if I hadn't been so flustered. It wasn't his undeniable masculinity that threw me off stride (I know plenty of good looking men), or that he'd witnessed my rudeness. It was those eyes. Those blue eyes. They cut right through my crap. The unwavering look told me he knew how much of the fight with Jonathan was my fault. I felt a complete fool. Then, later that evening, when he arrived at McMurphy's instead of Juliet embarrassment rendered me incoherent. Juliet would have died laughing.
"Tell me what happened this morning, dear," Aunt Vi said. "It might make you feel better if you don't keep it all inside. Delores said it was quite a shock."
Aunt Vi just handed me the answer to how I could tell them Blackie had no part in Valerie's death.
I sipped my barely warm tea and set the cup carefully on its saucer. "Blackie didn't kill Valerie. I know it, and I'm sure I can prove it. Someone murdered her and is trying to make it look like Blackie kicked her. I need help protecting him until I can convince the sheriff."
Aunt Vi clasped both hands over her mouth. Uncle Henry drew up, taller, in his chair, his gaze fixed on me.
I reached a hand across the table toward him and plunged on, attempting to soften my raw statement. "I can't imagine someone hating her enough to want to kill her. It's possible it was an accident and someone is frightened. The thing is, though, I don't understand why she would steal my horse and take him to her place. That's plain stupid. But I'm convinced Blackie didn't kill her. He never would have kicked her. I need to prove it. If I can't they'll put him down."
"I'm surprised at you, Thea." Uncle Henry's tone had a hard edge I rarely heard from him. "You, of all people should know any horse is capable of causing severe injury to a person."
"But -"
"Including Blackie. Furthermore, you have no proof she stole your horse. None. It is completely contrary to what she wanted. She worked hard for years for a chance to be selected for the U.S. Team, and she would not have risked her dream by stealing Blackie. I can't and I won't believe it. It simply makes no sense."
His eyes held mine in a silent reprimand. I closed my dry mouth and swallowed. With his mouth still set in an angry line, he turned his attention to his tea cup and nudged the handle with his index finger until it lined up precisely parallel to the edge of the table.