"And next to your gramma, Benni Harper, you are the light of my life."

I hugged his arm to me. "Ha, gratuitous flattery will get you everywhere with a Ramsey woman."

"So I've discovered."

"I'm not touching that comment with a ten-foot cattle prod."

WHEN I ARRIVED home, my lightened mood turned black again when Gabe's car was still gone. That bullwhip was looking better and better. I was in bed cruising the television stations when he came in at ten forty-five. I heard him call out to me, then listen to the message on the answering machine before turning out the living room lights and coming into the bedroom.

"What's that sheriff's detective talking about?" he asked, walking into the bathroom while unbuttoning his shirt. "You are cooperating with him, aren't you?" When I didn't answer, his head popped out of the bathroom door. "Benni, I asked you a question."

"Hello, Gabe. Yes, my day was great. How was yours? Of course I missed you as much as you missed me. I agree, it was such a long day without you. Of course I'll tell you everything, but, please, you go first."

He walked back into the bedroom slowly, his head tilted in wariness. "Querida, are you all right? Did something happen today to upset you?" The sight of the dark circles under his tired eyes softened my irritation.

I sighed, climbed out of bed, and went to him, pulling his shirt out of his jeans and running my hands up his warm back. Sarcasm wasn't going to solve this. "No, Friday, I'm just . . . It's nothing. I'm fine. You were later than I expected and I got worried."

"We ended up spending the whole day with Lydia's mother, and then she wanted to take us out to dinner. After we dropped Sam and Bliss off at JJ's house, Lydia and I started talking about Sam, and then one thing led to another. I'm sorry. I should have called."

I pinched his lower back. "Yes, you should have."

He jerked. "Ow! Okay, okay. It won't happen again, I promise."

I laid my cheek on his bare chest, his musky scent so familiar and yet still so mysterious to me.

His hand stroked my hair, and I rubbed my face against his coarse chest hair. "About that message from the detective . . . " he said.

"I'm cooperating with Detective Hudson as much as I can."

He grasped my shoulders and held me away from him, staring down into my face. "What's that mean?"

"Well, I..." I didn't know how to explain that the detective was asking me to do exactly what Gabe was asking me not to do.

"Benni, it's one thing when you defy me and get involved in investigations, but please don't embarrass me in front of another agency. I want you to do whatever Detective Hudson requests of you."

"But..."

"No buts. I'm too busy right now with Bliss and Sam to be worrying about you. Please, for once, curb your urge to snoop. If you have some information the detective needs, give it to him and then stay out of his way."

"It's not what you think, Gabe. Detective Hudson-"

"Has a job to do and doesn't need you getting in the way. No more discussion. You'll do as he asks, comprende comprende ?" ?"

"Understood," I said, my voice cool. I pushed away from him and climbed back in bed.

He joined me a few minutes later. "Sweetheart, let's not argue. I know I sound like a drill sergeant sometimes . . . "

"That's putting it mildly."

"I'm really sorry. I'm just so preoccupied with this situation with Sam and this nutty family he's marrying into. I don't want to worry about you being hurt because you've gotten in over your head."

An ominous prickling rippled through me. The last part of his sentence almost word for word mirrored Cappy's statement.

"I know," I said, reaching under the covers, taking his hand and lacing my fingers through his. "I'll stay out of this as much as possible. I promise."

"Good," he said, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing it. "Lydia sends her regards. Said she was sorry you didn't come."

I'll bet, I thought, and the possibility ran through my mind that I was indeed being naive, that my husband was being stolen right from under my passive little nose.

Then I went to sleep and dreamed fitfully all night of gravestone rubbings and clouds and wine bottles that sprouted legs and became racehorses, and beautiful Mexican women wearing cowboy boots in all the colors of the rainbow.

"IT's A FULL moon tonight," Gabe said, glancing at the kitchen calendar the next morning. "All the loonies will be out."

"Isn't that an old wives' tale?" I asked. "I saw on one of those magazine shows some statistics that said that there wasn't any more crime on full moon nights than any other."

He stood next to the toaster in his jogging shorts, waiting for a bagel to pop up, his strong thighs still tight and twitching from their morning run. I watched him over my coffee through bleary eyes, feeling like, with all my crazy dreams, I'd only slept two hours instead of eight.

"Let that television reporter take the next seven p.m. to three a.m. shift during a full moon and see if he changes his tune." He grabbed his toasted bagel, juggling it from one hand to the other before dropping it on the plate across from me. As he spread grape jelly over it, he glanced at the morning headlines, then peered at me over wire-rimmed glasses. "Are you going to talk to Detective Hudson today?"

"I guess."

"You guess?"

"Okay, yes, I'll talk to him. I don't really have anything to tell him, though. The conversation with Rose Brown that he's putting so much stock in was nothing that would help him find out who killed Giles Norton."

"What was it about?"

"She rambled about her dead husband, how much he loved beautiful women and good horses."

"That's it?"

My big gulp of coffee burnt my throat. He waited while I waved my hand in front of my mouth. "She also told me I should fix myself up or you'd leave me for someone prettier."

He laughed out loud and took a bite of his bagel. "Lucky thing for her she's elderly and Dove taught you to respect your elders. I take it you didn't smack her."

"No, but I sure wanted to."

"You look fine just the way you are," he murmured, his attention distracted by the newspaper.

And is fine good enough? I wanted to ask, but didn't. I contemplated whether I should tell him about Cappy's reaction to my conversation with her mother. Since we had enough other things creating barriers between us these last few days, I decided to be as open and honest as possible. I wanted to ask, but didn't. I contemplated whether I should tell him about Cappy's reaction to my conversation with her mother. Since we had enough other things creating barriers between us these last few days, I decided to be as open and honest as possible.

"Cappy reacted real strange when she saw me talking to her mother."

His head came up. "How so?"

"She seemed to have the impression that her mother told me something she shouldn't have, that I should ignore what her mother said and to basically mind my own business."

He looked at me over his glasses again, his nonverbal agreement with her obvious.

"I'm no more involved than you," I said petulantly. "She didn't even give me time to say that her mother didn't reveal a thing, only insulted my looks."

He thought about it for a moment. "That bothers me. If Cappy is involved in Giles's murder and she thinks you know something . . . "

"It didn't feel like she was threatening me, Gabe. Besides, I don't think she'd hurt me. Don't forget, I've known her since I was a girl."

"That doesn't make any difference," he said, looking worried for the first time. "If she felt her family was threatened, if she or someone in her family committed that murder and it appears they did, how long she has known you won't matter one bit."

"I can't change what's already happened, but I can stay out of their way. Which I will. If JJ asks me to get involved any more, I'll just say no."

"Good. And don't forget to tell all this to Detective Hudson." He shuffled through the paper and found the sports page. "You know, Benni, I am very happy you're keeping me informed on this."

I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what the situation was with the sheriff's detective, then stopped. I'd never been in such an awkward position. I knew there had always been a slight animosity between the sheriff's department and the city police, though the sheriff and Gabe seemed to like each other personally. Like rival cattlemen and sheep-men, they looked at their professions in different ways and were certain their way was the right one. This situation with Detective Hudson could cause a bigger rift between the two agencies. Maybe I could figure a way to get the detective off my back without running to Gabe.

IT WAS QUIET down at the folk art museum. Monday was our only officially closed day, and D-Daddy used it to do any major work inside the museum itself. Today he was patching up some places in the adobe and replacing a window that broke yesterday.

"Have fun on Saturday, ange ange?" he asked, stopping to rub Scout's belly. "That boy, Hud, he's real Cajun. He does the dancing, him."

"Only half Cajun, D-Daddy. The other half is pure bullshit."

He threw back his head and gave a rich cackle. "That make him full Cajun, then."

I smiled and said, "Thanks for the dances, but next time don't let another man cut in, okay?"

He went back to slapping on the mixture he'd concocted to match the dusky white adobe walls. "I think he likes you, ange ange. Cajun men, we like the jolie blondes jolie blondes. Your police chief, he better be closer watching the chicken coop."

"It's not that he likes me. I just have something he wants."

D-Daddy nodded his head solemnly, his eyes twinkling. "Yes, ma'am, you surely do."

I felt my face warm at his words and gave a nervous laugh. "Not in his wildest dreams, D-Daddy."

I walked outside, passing under the green canopy of honeysuckle and ivy, to my office in the co-op studios. Except for two women in the common area basting a quilt, Scout and I were alone. I grabbed a cup of coffee for me, a dog biscuit for him, and checked through the mail and messages that had accumulated in my box. Then I got down to work, digging into all the letters, reports, and filing I'd gotten behind on, accompanied only by the comforting doggy sounds of my canine companion, the only male in my life I truly understood these days. I didn't even glance at the clock until my phone rang two and a half hours later. Ten-thirty-five and I'd already done a day's work. I was feeling pretty proud of myself when I picked up the phone.

"Josiah Sinclair Folk Art Museum. Benni Harper speaking."

"I'm still waitin'." Detective Hudson's audacious Texas twang instantly deflated my good feeling. "Did you forget to set your alarm?"

I hung up the phone without answering, knowing I'd regret my impulsive action. It rang again ten seconds later. On the fourth ring, I reluctantly picked it up.

"Josiah Sinclair . . . "

"I know where you work." His voice wasn't amused. "Get over here now."

Ah, the wonderful arrogance of law enforcement officers. What he'd forgotten was that I was married to one. I've been through that be-nice-then-surprise-them-with-force psychological tactic too many times to count. "We both know I can tell you what you need to know over the phone. I don't have time to drive to the sheriff's office."

"I want to see your face when you're talking. That's the only way I can tell if you're trying to pull one over on me."

"Listen up, because though I promised my husband I'd cooperate with you and I try to keep my promises to him, I'm only going to tell you my story once. If that's not good enough, then I suggest you take it up with my husband, the police chief the police chief. Have you got a pad and pencil?"

There was silence at the other end. Ha, I'd managed to shut him up for one nano-second.

"Rose Brown told me exactly nothing yesterday," I said. "Write that down, detective. Nothing Nothing. She rambled on like older people do about her dead husband, his fondness for the law, horses, and women, not necessarily in that order. She then proceeded to tell me to fix myself up or my husband would leave me for a prettier woman. That was it. I got away as soon as I could because I've about had it up to my chin with people telling me how to keep my husband from straying and I've had it with you bugging me. Good-bye." I hung up the phone, waiting for it to ring again. When it didn't, I let out a deep sigh and went back to filing, trying to keep my mind off the whole darn Brown family and their internal family dramas.

About a half hour later, I was on my knees, filing in the S-T's, when my office door flew open and a grim-faced Detective Hudson filled my doorway. Scout jumped to his feet, his one German shepherd ear at full mast, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

"Oh, great," I muttered.

Detective Hudson took a step inside the office, and Scout's hindquarters went taut, preparing to spring.

I waited a few seconds before saying, "Scout, friend." Scout sat down and lifted a paw. I reached over and pushed it down. "Don't take that word to heart," I said to the detective. "I have to call you a friend or he'll chew those atrocious-looking boots to leather shreds." Detective Hudson's feet were encased today in navy blue ostrich quill boots. They were ugly, but even I could tell they were expensive.

"I have one more question about what Cappy Brown said to you after you talked to her mama, and since my ear is already half deaf from you slamming the phone in it, I decided I'd probably be more successful and safer continuing this conversation in person."

I turned my back to him and resumed filing.

"Benni, I swear I'll take you down to the station, then call your husband and tell him that though I've repeatedly asked you not to, you've been investigating this on your own."

I turned to gape up at him. "You'll what? Are you saying you'll tell my husband lies about me?"

Any resemblance to Tom Sawyer disappeared when his face hardened. "I'll do whatever it takes to solve this case." The unbending resolve in his voice told me to take that statement seriously.

I stood up, weary of this game. "Detective Hudson, my husband asked me to cooperate with you, and I'm trying to do that. I'm sorry if I was rude, but to be honest, you rub me the wrong way. One minute you're Mr. Texas-cutesy and the next you're Mr. Hard-ass Cop. I'm tired of being manipulated by you and by the Brown family. I'll tell you what Cappy said to me, and then you're on your own."

His dark, serious eyes studied me for a long moment, his hands resting on his hips. Then he said in a solemn voice, "You think I'm cute?"

"Geeze Louise!" I said, throwing up my hands. "That's exactly what I mean."

He grinned. "Just tell me what Cappy said to you."

I told him the same story I told Gabe.

"So obviously she now suspects you know more than you do. I sure don't like that idea."

"Neither did Gabe, but I'll tell you what I told him: I don't think she'll hurt me. I know it appears she is the most likely one to be involved with Giles's death, but I know her better than you and Gabe and I don't think she'd kill someone in cold blood."

His face had the same scornful and superior boy-are-you-naive look I'd seen on Gabe's. It must be a class they take in cop school. Condescension 101.