"Sure."

"Detective Hudson, listen up, because I don't plan on repeating myself. I am not going to snoop for you. Not now, not ever. Got it?"

His face turned serious, and I caught a glimpse of an intensity that startled me. "Benni, I have something important to share with you and I'm telling you because your husband probably already knows or will shortly, and you need to know it, too, whether he thinks so or not. We aren't dealing with a heat-of-the-moment homicide like it first appeared."

"We aren't?" I said, before realizing he'd won and pulled me into thinking of this as something we were doing together.

"I suspected as much Tuesday when I was taking the gun and bullet down to the lab in Goleta."

"Why?"

He said slowly, "The bullet didn't match the gun. The gun found at the scene was a .38 revolver. The bullet came from a 9mm semi-automatic pistol. They cause similar wounds, which is why no one questioned it at first. I'm kind of a gun nut so I knew when the bullet was recovered that it was a FMJ pistol bullet and not a lead round nose or partially jacketed revolver bullet."

"What?"

"A full metal jacket. Also, we didn't find a casing at the crime scene, so they must have taken it with them. Add that together with the switching of the guns and you have a premeditated murder, darlin'. Unless you or one of your family members had a grudge against Mr. Norton, it appears one of his his family members most definitely had this planned all neat and pretty or was a pretty quick thinker." He couldn't resist adding, "Just like I told you that night." family members most definitely had this planned all neat and pretty or was a pretty quick thinker." He couldn't resist adding, "Just like I told you that night."

"But it doesn't make sense," I said. "Why would someone take that chance when all of us are there? They could have killed him when he was out in the fields or in his office alone or any number of better times than when a party is going on. I think you're stretching the facts to fit your theory."

His face stayed genial. "You don't want to face the fact that someone in one of your most prominent families, a family your stepson is marrying into, is nothing but a cold-blooded killer."

I stood up. "I think this conversation is over."

He caught me again upstairs in the art section where I was glancing through a new book on Outsider artists from the South.

"Anything worth reading?" he commented from behind me.

I didn't turn around. "Don't you think you'd be serving our county better harassing someone who had some genuine involvement in this case?"

"Just one more thing before I take your subtle hint and leave. Aren't you wondering even just a little who called the paper hours hours before Mr. Norton was shot to say that there was something going down at Seven Sisters?" before Mr. Norton was shot to say that there was something going down at Seven Sisters?"

I didn't answer and in a few minutes I could tell he was gone. I took the Outsider artist book to the front counter where Elvia stood leafing through a book catalog.

"Put this on my account," I told the clerk working the cash register.

"What's up with the rhinestone cowboy?" Elvia asked. "You two were really going at it over there."

"Let's go outside," I said.

We sat on the bench in front of her store, and I told her what he said and how I didn't want to get pulled into this whole mess.

"Looks like you already are, amiga. amiga. And what else is wrong?" And what else is wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

Her look could have withered a hundred-year-old rosebush. "This is your hermana, hermana, you dope. I've known you since second grade. I know when things aren't right with you." you dope. I've known you since second grade. I know when things aren't right with you."

I described the happy little scene in the Italian restaurant.

She clucked under her breath, causing me to laugh because she sounded so much like her mother, though I wasn't stupid enough to say that out loud.

"She wants him back," she said.

"Dove thinks so, too."

"Listen to your grandmama, then."

"And do what?"

"Don't let her have him."

"Are you, of all people, telling me to fight for my man? Elvia, that's the most unliberated thing I've ever heard you say. I'm going to report you to the feminist police. They'll revoke your NOW card."

She laughed, poking me with one of her red nails. "Benni Harper, feminist or not, if and when I ever decide a man is mine, mine, you can bet you can bet mucho dinero mucho dinero that I'll never let any other woman have him until that I'll never let any other woman have him until I'm I'm through with him. If you need it, I have a great book on poisons at the store." through with him. If you need it, I have a great book on poisons at the store."

"Maybe I'd better warn Emory."

Her smile turned into a tiny frown. "He's not even close to being important enough for me to poison, so don't worry about it."

We made plans to have lunch at her mother's next week, then I went back inside and reclaimed Scout from his bed in the storeroom. The walk home went quicker than usual since my mind was reluctantly worrying over the case. Who had called the paper hours before the murder, claiming something was going to happen at the Brown estate that night? Did someone know Giles was in danger? Why not warn him directly, then? Had the killer called? No, it didn't make sense that anyone planning to kill Giles would want a newspaper reporter there. Unless there was some other announcement that was going to take place. Certainly it wasn't Sam and Bliss's engagement that would bring a reporter out to Seven Sisters. Maybe the announcement that the company was going to merge with Norton Winery? As earth-shattering to the Brown family as that might be, to the rest of the world it was merely another family business being eaten up by a corporation. In this case, a corporation owned by one of their in-laws. That information might make the financial page, but it certainly didn't warrant a reporter being sent out after regular business hours. Then there was that conversation I had overheard-"I'll do it tonight if I have to," Giles had said. Do what?

I was settled into bed reading my new book when Gabe came in at a little before eleven o'clock.

"How was dinner?" I asked, watching him pull off his leather jacket.

"It went really well. I'm feeling a little better about things, though Sam still doesn't have a clue as to how difficult his life is going to be."

"Neither did we at that age."

He smiled. "No, I suppose not."

After he was in bed, he asked, "What did you do this evening? I missed you, by the way." He nuzzled my neck.

"Walked downtown with Scout. Went to the bookstore and listened to some music. That folk singer I like who sounds like Emmylou plays on Fridays, and I need to tell you about . . . " He kissed me long and deep, cutting off my words before I could tell him about talking to Detective Hudson. That was my excuse anyway.

As we made love, though I fought it, my mind flitted over images of him and Lydia, how beautiful they looked together, how they had made love just as we were doing now.

"Querida," he whispered, his shadowed eyes watching my face as his wide, calloused hands cupped my waist. I wondered what he had called Lydia in bed. he whispered, his shadowed eyes watching my face as his wide, calloused hands cupped my waist. I wondered what he had called Lydia in bed.

Looking down into the strong, familiar planes of his face, an image of Jack came to me, the only other man I'd made love with. Our fifteen years together went so fast. I barely remembered what his lips felt like on my skin.

Gabe closed his eyes, and I wondered if he was thinking of Lydia, of the other women he'd been with, of me. Life with this man was so much more complex than I'd ever imagined it could be, not just because of the complicated adult life he brought with him, but also because of our very different histories.

Then I gave myself over to him, something I never found hard to do with this frustrating, often unfathomable man who made me feel safer than anyone ever had, and for that moment, lost to the hands and lips that had come to know my body so intimately, I told myself the lie all lovers tell themselves, that I was special, that no one had ever made him feel the way I did and no one ever would.

9.

"I'M GOING TO the office to catch up on some paperwork," Gabe said at breakfast the next morning. "What time is that wine thing? What's it called?"

"Zin and Zydeco. It starts at six-thirty. I'll give you your ticket now, and we can meet there." I slid the white ticket across the table. "I'll save a dance for you."

He put it in his wallet, took one last swallow of coffee, and kissed me on the lips. "No way."

"For your next birthday, I'm buying you dancing lessons," I said.

"Oh, by the way, I ran into Detective Hudson last night. He told me something interesting."

"What?"

I told him what the detective had found out about the bullets. Gabe's face sobered as he slipped on his jacket. "That's not good."

"So I assumed."

He looked at me intently. "Why did he tell you this information? Were you questioning him about his case?"

"No, he offered the information without me putting bamboo shoots under his nails."

Gabe didn't look convinced. "Please stay out of this."

"I am!" Tell him about Detective Hudson, Tell him about Detective Hudson, a little voice inside me encouraged. But the expression on his face told me that it was doubtful he'd believe me. Not with my past record. "I swear I'm avoiding this like poison ivy." a little voice inside me encouraged. But the expression on his face told me that it was doubtful he'd believe me. Not with my past record. "I swear I'm avoiding this like poison ivy."

Still looking skeptical, he left for work.

Frustrated, I picked up his breakfast plate, throwing a bagel piece to Scout, then stacking the dishes in the dishwasher. That was enough chores for me today. I hadn't been out to the ranch for a couple of weeks so I pulled on jeans and a pink cotton tank top, since the news said it would be in the upper eighties, and called for Scout.

We dropped by the folk art museum first to check on things. Saturday was usually a big day for both tourists and the artists. Many of our co-op artists worked full-time at other jobs during the week and tried to catch up on their inventory over the weekend. True to form, the gravel parking lot was almost full, and I was forced to park in a space near the empty back field. Out front, D-Daddy, my loyal and very inexpensive assistant, was hosing out two oak half barrels once used to age wine, preparing them for plants. He was a seventy-five-year-old Cajun man who'd spent forty years captaining a fishing boat off the coast of Louisiana and was the most dependable assistant I'd ever hired. His daughter, Evangeline, was a member of our co-op.

"I been thinkin' maybe some nice red geraniums," he said, turning one barrel over to drain. "Maybe some impatiens. What do you say, boss lady?" He gifted me with one of his dazzling smiles. With a thick head of white hair he babied with every sort of potion you could imagine, a lean, fit body from years of hauling up fishnets, and the stamina to dance all night, he was, according to Dove, quite in demand down at the Senior Citizen Friday Night Dance Socials.

"Whatever you want, D-Daddy. I know who the real real boss is around here." boss is around here."

"The real boss is the boss who bosses the boss."

"Ha, he doesn't boss me. Only thinks he does."

"I was talking about Dove," he said with a cackle.

"Okay, you got me there. Are you going to the Zin and Zydeco event at the mission?"

"Wouldn't miss it, cher. cher. Save me a dance." Save me a dance."

"You can have 'em all, D-Daddy. El patron's El patron's got two left feet." got two left feet."

Inside, all three pottery wheels were churning away with clay artists waiting, a tan snowstorm of wood dust thickened the air in the woodworking room, and two quilts were set up in the large room, a double and a queen size. The double was a log cabin made with retro western prints from the thirties-little buckaroos lassoing cattle that reminded me of the pajamas I wore as a girl. The queen was another wine quilt-this one was an appliqued silk and taffeta Dresden plate pattern featuring the signatures of local wine-makers. In the middle of each Dresden plate a cluster of grapes was embroidered. The colors were vibrant reds, greens, yellows, blues and burgundies, salmons and pinks. With a black background, the effect had the stark simplicity of an Amish quilt combined with the richness of a Victorian crazy quilt. I stood over the quilt admiring it, looking for names I recognized. I spotted Etta Brown's neat, small signature in one circle. Two circles away, next to his father's was Giles's bold scrawl.

"Quite a tragedy out at Seven Sisters," a quilter wearing trifocal glasses commented. "Heard you were there." The women surrounding the quilt all looked at me expectantly.

"It is a tragedy," I agreed, then turned and walked down the hall to my office, closing the door behind me. I sat down in my chair, resting my chin in my palm, wondering what was going to happen in the Brown family when one of them was charged with murder.

Though I hated admitting it, it appeared that Detective Hudson was right. One of the Brown family had probably killed Giles. And if that was true, there would be repercussions that would follow Sam and Bliss their whole lives. What a way to start a marriage . . . or a family.

A rap on my door interrupted my philosophical thoughts.

"Benni?" JJ's voice called from the other side.

I jumped up and opened the door. "Come on in."

She closed the door behind her and shoved an envelope at me. "Read this." Her voice was high and agitated.

I opened the crumpled envelope and took out a sheet of thick ivory stationery with the Seven Sisters logo printed on top. It read: I'll use it if I have to. Tell Cappy.

"It's Giles's handwriting," she said. "There's more."

I looked back inside the envelope and pulled out a sheet of cheap white typing paper. It was a crude crayon gravestone rubbing showing a single lily of the valley.

"Where did you get these?" I asked.

She ducked her head. Her hair lay flat and soft today, a deep red/brown merlot color. Without her spikes, she appeared younger, more vulnerable. Her kohl-lined gray eyes glowed with fear. "It was in Bliss's suitcase. I admit I was snooping, and she'll never forgive me if she finds out, but she's been so upset, and I've been worried sick. She won't talk to me, and so I went to Sam, and he says he feels like she's holding something back from him, too. I have to put it back before she gets off duty at three, but I had to show it to somebody. I'm so afraid this somehow will make the police think Cappy had a reason to kill Giles."

I studied the note, then the gravestone rubbing. "Do you have any idea of the significance of these flowers?," I asked.

"No," she said, rubbing her eyes, smearing her makeup.

This would not look good for Cappy if the sheriff's detectives saw it. Bliss's question about the importance of job versus family made sense now. "Did you show it to Sam?"

She shook her head no.

"Good, don't. He doesn't need to be pulled deeper into this." I chewed on my bottom lip. To be honest, I wish she hadn't shown it to me.

Tears welled up in her pale eyes. "Oh, Benni, I'm so sorry to drag you into this. It puts you in an awkward position, but I didn't know where else to turn. I thought about going to my mom, but she and Cappy have such a prickly relationship that I don't know what this would set off. I swear, everyone in my family hates each other." She put her face in her hands and started crying softly. I led her to a chair and sat down next to her, rubbing her back like you would comfort a small child.

"It's okay," I lied. "We'll figure something out."

I went over to my desk and ran both sheets through my fax machine, making myself passable copies, then handed the originals back to her. I stuck my copies in the pocket of my jeans. "But, JJ, the reality is that someone did kill Giles, and sooner or later the sheriff's department will figure out who."

She raised her tear-stained face and looked at me with such trust that I felt like crying myself. "What should we do?"

I sat back down beside her. "Let's take it one step at a time. It appears from Giles's note that he knew something about your grandmother that he thought he could use to blackmail her. We need to find out what that is."

She settled back in the office chair, folding her hands in her lap like a child trying to behave. "I know a few things, Benni, but Susa and Moonie left Seven Sisters before Bliss and I were even a year old. We came back for occasional visits, maybe three in my whole childhood, so there's a lot that's happened in the family that Bliss and I don't know about."

"Tell me what you do know."