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Authors: Earlene Fowler
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much?”
I shrugged. “Usually just on Mother’s Day. Sometimes I take flowers on her birthday.”
“Your husband’s buried there, too, isn’t he?”
I laughed and tossed a throw pillow at him. “No, but he might be after I get through with him for pulling that ridiculous stakeout stunt.”
Sam caught the pillow and held it in front of him, his face serious. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do,” I said softly. “And, yes, Jack’s there, too.”
He was silent for a moment, then said, “Dad said your mom died when you were six. That’s really little.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Was it hard having your mom die when you were so little?”
I studied the tops of my hands, hands that were already ten years older than my mother’s when she died. “When you’re that young, you mostly just tuck it inside you and don’t think about it except in little pieces.”
“That’s so sad,” Sam said.
I felt my chest tighten, remembering Dove telling me in the ranch house kitchen that while I was at school that day, Mama had gone to heaven and that I would see her again, but not for a very long time. I was eating an oatmeal cookie with raisins, and I recall picking out the raisins and laying them on my plate, carefully arranging them in a circle as Dove talked. I looked at Sam’s solemn face. “Actually I don’t remember that much.”
I stood up and stretched. “Think I’d better shower before your dad gets here. I haven’t checked the television, but I’m sure it works fine.” I tossed him the remote.
In the sparkling clean bathroom I threw away Chandler’s used soap and half-empty tube of Pepsodent toothpaste. In the cupboard I found two new bars of Zest soap and a new tube of Colgate baking soda gel toothpaste—both my favorite brands. Was it a coincidence? Or had this man actually followed me around in the store and watched what brands of soap and toothpaste I bought? That was beyond creepy. By the time I’d finished showering, dried my hair, dressed in jeans and a red long-sleeve shirt, I heard Gabe’s voice in the living room. It was only a little past ten o’clock, so he must have had trouble sleeping.
He and Sam were laughing at something—music to my ears since it didn’t happen often. Sam was at the age where he annoyed his father more than pleased him—and vice versa.
Much to Sam’s relief, I didn’t confront Gabe until after we’d all eaten breakfast, gone back to the house, and Sam left to help my dad clear cattle roads. Then I lit into my husband, pacing in front of him on the sofa.
“I will not have you sitting outside this house for two weeks. Not only are you too old to do that, you are way over the line. I swear I’ll call the cops if you’re out there tonight, and, buddy-boy, I’ll be watching.”
He listened calmly to my ranting, then said, “I could sit out there until the moon turns to blue cheese, and the Morro Bay police wouldn’t do a thing.”
I stopped pacing and glared at him. Oh, yes, how could I forget? The brotherhood. There were times I really, really hated being married to a cop.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me down next to him on the sofa. “Sweetheart, I’m just concerned for your safety.”
I sat there stiffly. “Why can’t you understand that this makes me feel like a child? No more discussion. You’re going to stop it.”
He looked at me silently for a moment, then said, “Okay. I won’t stake out this house again.”
I was instantly suspicious. He was giving in much too easily. “What about your officers?”
“You know I’d never use the city’s money for my private problems. I’ll continue to worry, but I’ll back off and let you handle this.”
My face must have screamed my disbelief.
“Benni, who’s not trusting who now?”
“All right,” I said reluctantly.
“But I do have one confession to make.”
“What’s that?”
“Last night I called a friend of mine who’s a private investigator down in Santa Barbara
I shrugged. “Usually just on Mother’s Day. Sometimes I take flowers on her birthday.”
“Your husband’s buried there, too, isn’t he?”
I laughed and tossed a throw pillow at him. “No, but he might be after I get through with him for pulling that ridiculous stakeout stunt.”
Sam caught the pillow and held it in front of him, his face serious. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do,” I said softly. “And, yes, Jack’s there, too.”
He was silent for a moment, then said, “Dad said your mom died when you were six. That’s really little.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Was it hard having your mom die when you were so little?”
I studied the tops of my hands, hands that were already ten years older than my mother’s when she died. “When you’re that young, you mostly just tuck it inside you and don’t think about it except in little pieces.”
“That’s so sad,” Sam said.
I felt my chest tighten, remembering Dove telling me in the ranch house kitchen that while I was at school that day, Mama had gone to heaven and that I would see her again, but not for a very long time. I was eating an oatmeal cookie with raisins, and I recall picking out the raisins and laying them on my plate, carefully arranging them in a circle as Dove talked. I looked at Sam’s solemn face. “Actually I don’t remember that much.”
I stood up and stretched. “Think I’d better shower before your dad gets here. I haven’t checked the television, but I’m sure it works fine.” I tossed him the remote.
In the sparkling clean bathroom I threw away Chandler’s used soap and half-empty tube of Pepsodent toothpaste. In the cupboard I found two new bars of Zest soap and a new tube of Colgate baking soda gel toothpaste—both my favorite brands. Was it a coincidence? Or had this man actually followed me around in the store and watched what brands of soap and toothpaste I bought? That was beyond creepy. By the time I’d finished showering, dried my hair, dressed in jeans and a red long-sleeve shirt, I heard Gabe’s voice in the living room. It was only a little past ten o’clock, so he must have had trouble sleeping.
He and Sam were laughing at something—music to my ears since it didn’t happen often. Sam was at the age where he annoyed his father more than pleased him—and vice versa.
Much to Sam’s relief, I didn’t confront Gabe until after we’d all eaten breakfast, gone back to the house, and Sam left to help my dad clear cattle roads. Then I lit into my husband, pacing in front of him on the sofa.
“I will not have you sitting outside this house for two weeks. Not only are you too old to do that, you are way over the line. I swear I’ll call the cops if you’re out there tonight, and, buddy-boy, I’ll be watching.”
He listened calmly to my ranting, then said, “I could sit out there until the moon turns to blue cheese, and the Morro Bay police wouldn’t do a thing.”
I stopped pacing and glared at him. Oh, yes, how could I forget? The brotherhood. There were times I really, really hated being married to a cop.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me down next to him on the sofa. “Sweetheart, I’m just concerned for your safety.”
I sat there stiffly. “Why can’t you understand that this makes me feel like a child? No more discussion. You’re going to stop it.”
He looked at me silently for a moment, then said, “Okay. I won’t stake out this house again.”
I was instantly suspicious. He was giving in much too easily. “What about your officers?”
“You know I’d never use the city’s money for my private problems. I’ll continue to worry, but I’ll back off and let you handle this.”
My face must have screamed my disbelief.
“Benni, who’s not trusting who now?”
“All right,” I said reluctantly.
“But I do have one confession to make.”
“What’s that?”
“Last night I called a friend of mine who’s a private investigator down in Santa Barbara
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