Widow's Tears Read online

  I bet she did. Ramona wanted to come out on top, that’s what she wanted. I collected my trowel and empty pots and dropped them into the trug. “I won’t argue with that,” I said noncommittally. And I wouldn’t argue over Ruby’s feelings for Colin, either. I know she’s been grieving.

  “I want to help, and I can,” she went on. “I’ve been in the advertising business for over a decade. I have lots of administrative experience. I can see things in this operation that need to be…adjusted. Not huge things,” she added hastily, as if she didn’t want to offend me. “Just a few little things. Here and there. I really think we ought to talk about it.”

  “Later,” I said. I picked up the trug and began walking back to the shop. I was in a hurry. I was taking big steps.

  She ran after me. “I think we should talk about this now,” she said petulantly. “We need to have an understanding. If you and I are going to be partners—”

  That was enough. “Not,” I said over my shoulder.

  “But if I buy Ruby’s share of—”

  “You’re not going to do that,” I said. I walked faster.

  “Why not?” she cried, running to catch up. “I’ve got the money—”

  I stopped, so short that she almost bumped into me, and turned to face her. “You may have the money, Ramona,” I said in my calmest, most lawyer-like voice, “but I have Ruby’s signature on a partnership document that gives me the right of first refusal.”

  She pulled her brows together. “Which means?”

  “Which means that if Ruby wants to sell to you, I can match your offer. I can buy her out.”

  Ramona’s eyes widened in shock and she opened her mouth. But I lifted my hand like a traffic cop. “What’s more, I intend to exercise that right—if she intends to sell. But all I have right now is your word for it. So let’s call this conversation concluded until Ruby and I have talked.” Of course, that wouldn’t be for at least a week, since Ruby was out of town. Unless—

  Ramona likes to have the last word, but she wasn’t going to get it this time. I turned around and started walking again, leaving her behind. When I reached the shop, I glanced back over my shoulder. She was standing on the walk, fists on her hips, pouting like a little girl who has just been told that she can’t have a piece of her favorite candy.

  Inside, I put my things away and glanced at the clock. It was closing time. I hung up the Closed sign, locked the outside door to my shop, then went next door to Ruby’s, where Dawn was clearing out the register. I peered over her shoulder at Ruby’s bulletin board, which was plastered with the usual notices and reminders and community items.

  “Looking for anything special?” Dawn asked. She stuck the deposit slip in the blue plastic bank bag and zipped it shut.

  “A postcard from the friend Ruby went to visit,” I said, scanning the board. “I know she pinned it here somewhere.” I had happened to be in the shop when Ruby found it in the mail. She said she didn’t need directions and since it had a colorful photo of bluebonnets on one side, she’d stuck it on the board.

  “Hey, there it is!” I said, and pounced on it. I turned it over. “Just what I needed. Directions to Ruby’s getaway destination, somewhere the other side of Round Top.” That glimpse of Ramona pouting had been enough to make up my mind. I needed to talk to Ruby, and the sooner the better. If I’ve got to live with bad news, I’d just as soon get it over with so I can get on with whatever has to be done. The thought of losing Ruby as a partner—and having to figure out some way of working with Ramona—was just about the worst thing I could imagine. I wouldn’t get any sleep until it was resolved.

  “If you’re driving through Round Top, be sure to stop at Royers and get some of their fantastic pie.” Dawn is from San Antonio. She knows the area. “You’re going tomorrow?”

  “Tonight,” I said. “That is, if McQuaid is okay with managing the kids.” He’d probably see it as a good chance to take them out for Tex-Mex. It was a school night, so they’d be doing homework and going to bed early. “I suppose there’s a chance that I won’t get back tonight, though,” I added. “If there’s a problem, could you open the herb shop tomorrow morning? Myra Mason is scheduled to help with the tearoom, although I’m sure I’ll be back before the lunch crowd shows up.”

  “I can do that,” Dawn said comfortably. “I’ll come in as soon as I get my youngest off to high school. If you’re not here, I’ll open up both shops and get things going. You come in whenever you get back to town.”

  I gave her a quick hug, feeling relieved. “Thanks, Dawn! You’re a peach.” I glanced at the deposit bag. “Want me to take that? I have to drop mine off, too. Might as well make both deposits.”

  “Sure,” Dawn said, and handed it to me. “Tell Ruby I sold the last Motherpeace tarot deck, so I went ahead and reordered—got one for myself, too. I am definitely going to learn how to use those cards. They’re beautiful.” She waggled her fingers at me. “See you when you get back.”

  I went back to the shop to clear the register and put my deposit together, stopping long enough to call McQuaid and explain the situation to him. He’s teaching a course at the university this semester and he was still at the office, grading final papers and marveling at the remarkable ability of some students to torture the English language. He said he’d be glad to manage the kids’ supper, although he’d rather get take-out pizza. But he had a more immediate concern.

  “Are you going to try to talk Ruby out of selling?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “If that’s what she needs to do, I want her to do it. I can’t do anything about the Crystal Cave—she can keep it, sell it, give it away, whatever. But I can keep her from selling her share in the partnership to Ramona, and I will. I can’t work with somebody who sees every minor issue as a major battlefield and every point as a win-lose proposition. I had enough of that back in my courtroom days.” I sighed. “I’m sorry, McQuaid. This could cost a bundle, and now’s not the time to—”

  “I’m not thinking of money,” McQuaid broke in. “I’m sure we can manage that, China, one way or another. And Ruby’s pretty well fixed, isn’t she? She’d probably take your note.”

  That was true. If Ruby was dead set on selling out, we could probably make a deal. She had an income from a lottery win a few years back and from Colin’s insurance.

  McQuaid was going on. “It’s not the money, it’s the workload I’m thinking of. You and Ruby and Cass have built a pretty impressive empire. But if you buy Ruby out, where does that leave you and Cass? How will the two of you do what the three of you can barely manage?”

  “A good question,” I conceded. “I wish I had an answer.” Once Ramona was out of the picture, I could probably find another partner. But where would I find anyone like Ruby? She was my best friend. And not just that, her knowledge and skills were truly irreplaceable. The thought of losing her—just the thought of it—made me want to curl up in a corner and cry.

  McQuaid chuckled sympathetically. “Well, it’s not an answer you need right now, babe. Just keep the question in mind, okay? You’re the boss lady—I’m sure you’ll come up with the right fix.” He paused. “But if you’re driving to Round Top, I don’t think you should plan on driving back this evening. It’s a four-hour round-trip, at least. And there’s a storm coming. A sizeable one, the Weather Channel is saying.”

  I glanced at the clock. It was already five thirty. “Whoops,” I said. “I’ve got to go. I have to drop off the deposits at the bank.” The lobby windows are open until five on weekdays, the drive-through until six. “About driving home—I guess we’ll have to play that by ear. If this conversation turns out badly, Ruby might not want me to stay overnight.” I didn’t really think that could happen. Ruby and I aren’t just partners, we’re buddies, friends, sisters. But just the same…

  “Whatever,” McQuaid said. “I’ll leave the porch light on. Be safe, babe. Give Ruby a hug from me.” As an afterthought, he said, “Hey, wait. Better give me some contact information.
Where will you be?”

  “You can text me, I’m sure.” I scanned the postcard. “And here’s an address.”

  “That’ll work,” he said, and I gave it to him. We exchanged I love yous, and I went back to work. I finished counting the cash, totaled up the deposit, and got the charge slips together. Ten minutes later, I was locking the door and sprinting to the car. Pecan Springs is a small town without a lot of traffic, and Ranchers State Bank is only six minutes away, so there should have been plenty of time. Seventeen minutes after I finished talking to McQuaid, I was pulling into the drive-through lane.

  But that was as far as I got. A row of orange plastic traffic cones cordoned off the area, and I could see a gaggle of cop cars parked randomly around the drive-through island; a paramedic vehicle, lights flashing, uniformed paramedics standing with arms folded beside an empty gurney; and Maude Porterfield’s Ford F-150 pickup truck. Maude is a justice of the peace for Adams County, which operates under an old segment of the Texas Code of Criminal Procedure called the Inquest Law. It confers on JPs the responsibility for determining the cause of death in cases of accident, homicide, or suicide. Something bad was happening here.

  I stopped my Toyota and buzzed down the window, looking for my friend Sheila Dawson, the Pecan Springs chief of police. She wasn’t in sight, but I spotted Rita Kidder, one of the newer officers on the force. I left the car and walked over to where she was standing, talking to another officer beside the bank’s rear entrance, next to the drive-up window. Rita has been in the shop several times, both on-duty and off, and I’ve been impressed by her. I have the sense that she’s going to be a strong officer.

  The other cop—a veteran named Chico—turned away, and I stepped up. “Hey, Rita,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Bank robbery,” Rita said. Like a good cop, she was keeping an attentive eye on the parking lot while the two of us talked. “Inside the bank. Five minutes before the lobby closed.” Rita is barely regulation height, but she’s strong and wiry, all business in her sharply creased dark uniform, cap, and duty belt, which was heavily loaded with cop equipment. According to Sheila, while Rita might not have as much muscle as the other rookies, she was first in her class in defensive tactics at the academy. She has some pretty convincing takedown moves.

  I wasn’t surprised to hear that there’d been a robbery. The cops and paramedics obviously weren’t here for a tailgate party. Five minutes before the lobby closed made it just about a half hour ago. If I hadn’t stopped to find Ruby’s postcard and talk to McQuaid, I might have been on the scene when it happened. There was no point in asking how much money the robber got away with. If Rita knew, she wouldn’t tell me. And neither would the bank. They don’t like to confess that any of their money managed to get out the door without their permission.

  I nodded in the direction of Maude’s truck. “A fatality, I guess.” I didn’t put the remark into a question because I already knew the answer. The justice of the peace wouldn’t be here if somebody hadn’t cashed it in—so to speak.

  Rita pressed her lips together and slid me a glance, weighing how much to tell me. After a moment, she said, “Unfortunately, yes. The robber got panicked and shot a teller.”

  “Oh God,” I exclaimed. “Who?” Pecan Springs may be pinched between two big cities, but it’s still a small town. Everybody knows everybody else (as well as their parents, their kids, their in-laws, and their life histories). The merchants especially know all the people who work at the bank, from the president on down.

  Rita looked uncomfortable. “Sorry, China. I don’t think they’ve released—” She saw the look on my face and decided to break a rule. “Bonnie Roth. But don’t go spreading it around,” she added in lower voice. “It just happened. I don’t know whether the family has been notified.”

  “Aw, hell,” I said, very low. Bonnie and I had been friends for years, and we were both members of the Myra Merryweather Herb Guild. Since Maude was here, I didn’t need to ask what had happened, but Rita told me anyway.

  “My feeling, too,” she said regretfully. “She died instantly, I understand. It happened so fast, she maybe didn’t even have time to get scared.”

  I half-turned away, feeling the tears coming suddenly to my eyes. Bonnie was the bright spot of my almost daily visits to the bank. Ruby and I jokingly called her “Loose-Lips Roth.” She was a reliable source of local gossip, which she cheerfully dished out as she handed you the money or took yours away from you, depending on the nature of the transaction. She was always funny, never malicious or hurtful, and sometimes she gave you some really useful information—like the time she handed me an important hint about what Sally (McQuaid’s ex-wife) was up to. Bonnie’s husband, Al, worked in the hardware store; Briana, her daughter, was in Brian’s class and would graduate high school in a few weeks and had already been accepted to UT-San Antonio. Their lives would be changed by this horror, changed completely, changed forever.

  “I hope you get him,” I said between gritted teeth.

  “Them,” Rita said. “One did the stickup, wearing a hoodie and a mask. From the build, it could’ve been either a man or a woman. Somebody else was behind the wheel. A security guard got a quick shot off as the truck drove off—drilled a hole through the cab’s back window. May have struck one of them.”

  “Description of the truck?”

  “Ford Ranger, mid-’90s model, maybe gray, maybe green, with a Protected by AK-47 sticker in the rear window of the cab. A surveillance camera picked up the license number. But Chico just told me that when they ran the plate, it turned out to be registered to a Mazda in San Antonio.” She shook her head disgustedly. “You’d think if they were smart enough to put on a stolen license plate, they’d be smart enough to take that sticker off the window, wouldn’t you?”

  “Bonnie Roth,” I muttered numbly. Sweet, funny Bonnie, who always found something nice to say about everybody, even when she was dishing the dirt. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Now, remember what I said,” Rita cautioned, frowning. “Keep this to yourself. The chief will hold a press conference in an hour or so. And I think I saw Mr. Hibler here someplace.” She glanced around. “I’m sure the story will make the next issue of the Enterprise.”

  No doubt. There have been a few bank robberies in the area, mostly small-town banks without heavy security, but it’s been a while since Pecan Springs was hit. This would be big news. I glanced at my watch, then at the drive-up window. “I guess it’s too late to make my deposit.”

  Rita nodded. “The bank closed right after Ms. Roth was shot.”

  Well, it wouldn’t be a problem if the deposit didn’t go in until tomorrow. I thanked Rita and got back in the car, thinking again, sadly, about Bonnie. How many times had I driven up to that drive-through window, looking forward to seeing her and laughing at her jokes? Suddenly, I was swept by a deep, deep sadness for Al and Briana, who had got up that morning believing it would be an ordinary day, that the three of them would be together for supper this evening. But they wouldn’t. They would have to face life without mother, wife, lover, and best friend.

  But my sadness was laced with a savage anger at the person who had pulled the trigger. I knew Rita was right. The cops would catch him—95 percent of bank robbers are male—and he’d be charged with capital murder, intentional murder in the commission of a felony offense, which would likely get him the death penalty here in Texas. I’m not in favor of that: too many innocent people have been executed in this state. But when he was convicted and sentenced, I’d bet that the whole town of Pecan Springs would stand up and cheer.

  I put the Toyota in gear and drove east on Navarro, heading for the I-35 on-ramp. Far to the southeast, against the horizon, I could see a rising tier of cumulous clouds, and I wondered if they were a portent of some kind—a metaphor, maybe, of the stormy night ahead if it turned out that Ruby was as serious about selling out as Ramona claimed. I also thought of Hark’s warning about the tropical storm. But there was nothin
g to worry about on that score. However powerful Amanda turned out to be, once inland, she would likely follow Allison’s path, re-curve sharply to the north, and hightail it for East Texas. Houston would probably see some rain—welcome rain, actually. It’s been a dry spring.

  Had I but known…

  Chapter Ten

  Galveston

  Early evening, September 8, 1900

  At 6:30 p.m., Isaac [Cline], ever the [weather] observer, walked to the front door to take a look outside. He opened his door upon a fantastic landscape. Where once there had been streets neatly lined with houses there was open sea, punctured here and there by telegraph poles, second stories, and rooftops. He saw no waves, however. The sea was strangely flat, its surface blown smooth by the wind. The Neville house across the way now looked so odd. It had been a lovely house: three stories sided in an intricate pattern of fish-scale shingles and shiplap boards and painted four different colors. Now only the top two-thirds protruded from the water. Every slate had been stripped from its roof.

  Issac’s Storm: A Man, a Time, and the

  Deadliest Hurricane in History

  Erik Larson

  Isaac Cline, whose house stood on Q Avenue very near to the Blackwood mansion, was deeply puzzled by the flat surface of ocean that stretched from his front gallery as far as he could see through the sheeting rain. He could not know the reason for this strange calm: that the hurricane-powered waves had pushed up a massive levee of debris dozens of yards wide and nearly three stories high, stretching for miles along the beach. This temporary barrier was constructed of the walls and roofs of buildings, barrels, bathing machines, banisters, buggies, benches, bales of cotton, boxes and crates, broken boards, empty boats, and bodies, uncounted, countless drowned creatures: cows, pigs, horses, chickens, dogs, cats—and humans. The gigantic wedge, fronted by long sections of wrecked streetcar trestle, was being shoved by the waves toward the north and west, a giant bulldozer obliterating everything in its path.