“Honeybun,” Dove said, her voice became gentle. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay? Have you called Gabe about this?”

  “I will as soon as I get off the phone with you. I’m sorry. I’m just scared for you all. I’m so afraid you or Daddy or Aunt Garnet will get hurt or killed because of something I . . .”

  “Pshaw. The only person who’s going to have the privilege of killing my sister is me. I’m not about to let someone take that pleasure from me. I’ve been waiting too long.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Trust in our Lord. He’s got the whole world in his hands.”

  “Love you, Dove.”

  “Right back at you.”

  My next phone call was much harder. I decided to go upstairs to the guest room. This would take a little more privacy. After a bit of hemming and hawing, I told Gabe everything.

  “I’m coming home right now.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I replied, rubbing my bare foot across Scout’s silky rib cage. He was lying on his side, peacefully asleep. “There’s no plane to San Celina this time of night.”

  “I’ll rent a car. I can make it in three hours.”

  “That is at least a four-and-a-half-hour drive! And I’ll feel guilty for the rest of my life if you kill yourself coming back here to save me from nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing.”

  Downstairs I could hear Emory and Elvia’s voices. It was past 11 p.m., but Sophie Lou had been feverish and cranky. No doubt it would be a long night for everyone.

  “I know it’s not, Friday, but there’s really nothing you can do. I’m safe. Aunt Garnet’s safe. Scout is safe. The house is alarmed and you can have a patrol car check it every hour. There’s not much more you could do even if you were here.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “I just meant that you’d have to sleep too. Really, Gabe, I think this guy was just mouthing off.”

  “Have you called Detective Hudson?”

  “Actually, it didn’t even occur to me.” That had to make him a little happy.

  I could hear his breathing over the phone line. It reminded me of when we first started dating and we’d spent hours on the phone, neither of us wanting to hang up.

  “Call him. It’s his case.”

  “I will. Seriously, the only thing that will likely disturb our sleep will be Sophie Lou. She’s a little colicky tonight.”

  Hud picked up on the first ring.

  “You really shouldn’t give into peer pressure so easily,” he said, after hearing my story. “If your aunt jumped off a cliff—”

  “My great-aunt is not a peer. And I’ve been taught to mind my elders.”

  “Nevertheless—”

  “Stop. I’ve been lectured enough tonight.”

  “Then step back.” There was no humor in his voice. “There’s more to this than you know. I need you to step back from it before someone gets hurt.”

  “What do you mean there’s more to this than I know?”

  “Just do what I ask, okay? You’re my best friend in the world. I don’t want to lose you.”

  I was surprised silent. I was his best friend in the world?

  “Okay, I will.” Then I couldn’t help giving a small laugh.

  “My favorite sound. Stay safe, ranch girl.”

  “Likewise, Clouseau.”

  The next morning at seven thirty I was sitting with Elvia and Sophie at the kitchen table drinking my first cup of coffee when Emory burst into the room.

  “Benni, you have to come see this!”

  His unshaved morning face was frantic. He was dressed in wrinkled khakis and a sweatshirt, clothes he’d thrown on to step outside and pick up the newspaper. We’d noticed he’d been gone a little too long but assumed some talkative neighbor had accosted him.

  I jumped up, jiggling the table. Hot coffee sloshed into my cup’s thick white saucer. “What is it?”

  “Your house.” He gestured at me to follow him. I started after him, wearing a pair of Elvia’s shorts and an Arkansas Razorback T-shirt I’d borrowed from Emory. I didn’t even bother with shoes.

  “Darlin’, you and Sophie stay on the porch,” he told Elvia who’d grabbed the baby from her carrier.

  “Is it dangerous?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “No, but . . . I’d feel better if you stayed here.”

  I ran my hand over Sophie’s downy hair. “You can see us from the porch.”

  Scout followed me, but I told him to stay with Elvia while I followed my cousin down the street. A small crowd had gathered in front of my and Gabe’s California bungalow. I was relieved to see it was still there. From the horrified look on Emory’s face when he burst into the kitchen, I was afraid that someone had burned our house to the ground.

  A few seconds later we were standing in front of my yard, gawking at the lawn. Swastikas and obscene words had been spray-painted on our grass, our mailbox, our paneled garage, and our front door. Acid burned the back of my throat. I gulped back the bitter-sweet taste, willing myself to not be sick. I felt my cousin’s hand rubbing comforting circles on my back.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” he murmured. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  A black-and-white patrol car pulled up, dispersing the rubberneckers on the street. They moved back to the sidewalk. Our neighbors, Beebs and Millee, pushed through and came over to me, pulling me into magnolia-scented hugs.

  “Oh, sweetie pie,” Beebs said. “It’s terrible, terrible. We didn’t hear a thing. We must have slept right through it.”

  “Those pinheads,” Millee said. “Good thing for them we did. I’d’ve knocked their blocks off.” She stepped back, poised her hands in karate chops.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But I’m glad you didn’t hear them. I would have hated it if either of you had been hurt.”

  “What happened?” Beebs asked. “Why did they do this to you? Where’s Gabe?”

  Before I could answer her questions, one of the officers walked over, slipping his nightstick into his belt loop. He must have been new because I didn’t recognize him. A tall young woman with curly chestnut hair pulled back in a tight, low ponytail followed him. I remembered her. Last year at the annual San Celina Police and Fire Charity Basketball tournament she’d scored more points than any of the men, a feat gleefully reported on the front page of the Tribune.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Ortiz?” the young woman said. Her badge said T. Caldwell. Tina. That was her name. The guys called her Tee.

  “I’m fine. I wasn’t even here. I spent the night at my cousin’s house down the street. But I think I know who might have done this.”

  She nodded, communicating something to the other officer who had black hair and a square, handsome face. He was shorter than her by a good three inches but outweighed her by thirty muscled pounds.

  “Everyone stay back, please,” the male officer said.

  The crowd, even larger now since our neighborhood had many older folks who rose early and took walks, obeyed the officer and inched back a few steps. Officer Tee took me aside and asked me to explain who I thought might have done this. While we talked, police started cordoning off a large swath of sidewalk in front of our house and Jim Cleary arrived.

  “Benni, are you okay?” Jim asked.

  “Yes, but Gabe . . .”

  “I called him, but he must be in the air because his phone went directly to voice mail. He apparently caught an early flight. There’s a message for him to call me as soon as he turns his phone back on. Let me catch up on what’s going on.” He went over to Officer Tee and started talking to her.

  Minutes later photographers and reporters from the local media arrived. Hud arrived right behind the KSCC news truck, his scruffy face telling me that he’d just rolled out of bed. He brushed past the perky blonde newscaster.

  “Are you all right?” he asked me.

  “Yes, you realize it’s probably that guy I told you about. Or his friends.” A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Flory! You need to send someone to Flory Jackson’s house on Mill Street. We were there last night. They might have followed us! And our ranch . . . what if Dove and Daddy . . . What about Maggie and Katsy?” Panic overcame me and I felt my knees buckle slightly. Hud reached over to grab me, but Emory was quicker. His arm tightened around my shoulders.

  “Everyone at the ranch is fine,” Emory said. “I called Dove. This Ms. Jackson. What’s her number? And your friends Maggie and . . .”

  “Katsy,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t know their numbers by heart, but they’re in my purse at . . .”

  Hud waved his hand—no matter.

  Before he could call, Jim came over. “What’s wrong?”

  I grabbed his arm. “Jim! Flory Jackson . . . we were at her house last night with the Ebony Sisters and the people who did this . . . Maggie and Katsy . . .”

  He patted my hand. “I know Flory and I have Maggie’s number on my phone. I’ll give them a call.” He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and walked a small distance away. A few minutes later he returned. “Everyone’s fine. No sign of any vandalism. I’m afraid it’s just your and Gabe’s house.” He frowned. “So far. Do you have your house keys? The bomb dog has arrived.”

  “Bomb dog?” I said. “Do you think . . . ?”

  “It’s just a precaution,” Jim said.

  I went back to Elvia and Emory’s for my house key. In less than a half hour, the dog had cleared our house.

  “Scout’s going to feel so violated having another dog’s scent in his house,” I murmured. Emory sympathetically squeezed my shoulder.

  Jim, Emory and I entered the house. Since our alarm had never sounded, it appeared that the damage was only to the exterior. Everything looked exactly like it did when I left for the fair yesterday. It felt like a week ago instead of less than twenty-four hours.

  Normally I’m a pretty neat person. Gabe is still half-Marine. Between the two of us, the inside of our house is usually fit to be seen. But it had been a busy week and with the fair and all, so things were a little messy. It embarrassed me that the officer with the bomb dog and some of his detectives had seen my and Gabe’s unmade bed, the breakfast dishes in the sink, our overflowing laundry basket.

  But there were more pressing things for me to worry about, specifically that whoever vandalized our house was watching close enough to know exactly when they would be least likely caught.

  One of the detectives found Jim and I in the backyard where we were inspecting for damage.

  “One of the neighbors . . .” He looked down at his small leather notebook. “Mrs. Soto?”

  “She lives catty-corner from us in the lavender and gray Victorian,” I said. “She grows African violets in a greenhouse in the back.” I didn’t know why I felt the need to tell that.

  The detective, who had deep brown basset hound eyes and a habit of sniffing after each sentence, nodded like the information meant something. “She said she got up about one a.m. to . . . umm . . . you know . . . use the john and she thought she heard the screech of tires. She said she didn’t think anything about it because it’s happened so much with the Cal Poly kids . . .”

  “Except that it’s summer,” I said.

  He nodded. “Yes, she said that occurred to her so she looked out the window. Said she saw something, possibly a light-colored vehicle. She heard male voices. Then they drove on so she went back to bed. Said she didn’t bother calling because by the time the police got there, they’d’ve been gone.” He stuck the notebook inside his jacket. “None of your other close neighbors heard a thing.”

  After Jim and I ascertained that only the front of the house had been vandalized, we went back into the living room. One of the detectives came to inform us that they’d taken pictures of the scene and gathered what evidence they could.

  “Thanks, Stu,” Jim said. His cell phone rang. “Hey, Chief.”

  While Jim informed Gabe about what happened and what was being done, I looked through the living room window at the crowd still gathered across the street. I watched people point a finger, then comment to each other. It felt like our house was a zoo exhibit.

  “Benni?” Jim held his phone out to me.

  “Querida?”

  “Gabe.”

  “My plane just landed. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  I handed the phone back to Jim. “I’d better start cleaning it up.”

  “I’ll stay and help.”

  I shook my head. “You go on back home to Oneeda. Tell her what’s going on. I didn’t tell the ladies all the details last night because I didn’t want to scare anyone needlessly. Everyone should be aware that we have these kinds of people here in San Celina.”

  Jim’s dark brown eyes turned down at the corners. “Benni, people like that have always been out there. I’ll talk to Flory and she’ll tell the others, but don’t worry. We have all spent our lives looking behind us for people like that.”

  I leaned my head back against the fireplace mantel. “Oh, Jim, I’m so sorry. Because of Gabe, I thought I understood a little . . . but I didn’t, not really.”

  “There’s no way you could. Unless you’re a person of color, chances are you’ve never had someone pull their purse or package a little closer when you walk by. Or start a sentence, ‘I’m not a racist’ but then proceed to tell you some blatantly racist joke. Or ask me if I sunburn!” He smiled and shook his head, taking ten years off his face. “As my grandkids would say, duh! Sure I do, if I sit in the sun long enough.” He patted my shoulder. “We know that it can happen anywhere, anytime. And it’s usually when we don’t expect it, which is why we always unconsciously do expect it. Once they see Gabe’s back, I doubt they’ll be bothering you again.”

  “I hope not. But, I’m wondering . . .” I chewed my bottom lip.

  “Wondering what?”

  “What if there is something that is connected with Calvin Jones’s death? Maybe . . .”

  “Maybe you ought to let the sheriff’s department handle it,” Hud said, coming up behind me.

  Jim’s eyebrows went up and he didn’t say anything. But his expression confirmed he was in complete agreement with Hud.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, holding up my hands. “Honestly, I never thought I’d get into so much hot water just trying to do something my prim and proper great-aunt asked me to do.”

  “On that loaded emotional note, I think I’ll head on home,” Jim said. “Tell Gabe I’ll call him later and let him know if we’ve found out anything more from the neighbors. We’ve still got detectives canvassing all the houses in a three-block perimeter.”

  Then Hud and I were alone.

  “I do think this is connected to Calvin Jones,” I said.

  His face was blank. For the first time I noticed that his hair, a little long and shaggy, had streaks of gray in it. There was even a shadow of gray in his day old beard.

  “I know you can’t tell me anything,” I said, “but—”

  “But nothing,” Gabe’s voice said behind me. Honestly, I was going to start wearing one of those bike helmets with the tiny rearview mirrors. “He won’t tell you anything because you’re not going to be involved in this any longer.”

  Hud smiled, held up a hand. “Thanks for the save, Chief. She’s all yours.”

  “Let me know what’s going on,” I called after him. He didn’t even acknowledge me. I turned back to my husband, who, surprisingly, didn’t look mad.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, putting his arms around me.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” I said into his chest. “Your detectives are through with photos and all. I was just getting ready to go outside and attempt a cleanup.”

  “There’s turpentine in the garage. And, fortunately, there’s lots of trim and house paint left. Let’s get started.”

  Emory stayed to help us, as did Beebs and Millee. A half hour later, thanks to Elvia, we had her father, Hector, two of her brothers, Miguel and Ramon, D-Daddy and Gabe’s son, Sam. When Sam drove up, Justin Piebald rode with him. For some reason I couldn’t look Justin in the eye. I doubted that he had anything to do with this, but I couldn’t help wondering if he knew that one of the young men I suspected was involved with the vandalism worked for his dad.

  It wasn’t long before our house was almost back to normal. The only remnants we couldn’t completely clean away or paint over were the swastikas painted on the lawn. We tried mowing it and that helped a little. But we’d just have to let the grass grow long enough to cut off the paint on the thick St. Augustine blades.

  “Maybe we can paint over it,” Sam suggested. “Let me find some spray paint.”

  WHILE EVERYONE ELSE LOLLED AROUND THE FRONT YARD AND porch eating the doughnuts, muffins and coffee Gabe bought, I sat on the porch swing and talked to Dove on the phone.

  “Garnet’s just sick about this,” Dove said. “Says she’s thinking about going back to Arkansas tomorrow. Said she brought this on y’all.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Let me speak to her.”

  “I dare you to talk sense into that woman,” said Dove before handing the phone to her sister.

  “I’m sorry,” Aunt Garnet said. “I was being a foolish old woman and look what happened. Life is not a television show. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You weren’t being silly. Look at it this way. We obviously did something to make these people nervous. You know there is something going on and, sometimes a little push is just what bad guys need to make that mistake that will get them caught. We have probably helped the cops.” Actually, what I was saying was a bunch of bull, which is exactly what my husband’s exasperated expression was saying to me. I shot him an apologetic look. All I wanted to do was make my aunt feel better.

  “I suppose,” she said.

  “You can’t go home yet because you haven’t taken care of business. You know that. I don’t know why you’re here, but I do know that you and Dove have got to talk. You can’t leave until that happens.”

  Dead silence. “I think Dove is calling me.” Then she hung up.

  I held out the cordless phone and stared at it, openmouthed.