Chapter Thirteen

I got into my tiny shower and let the water run as long as I dared. Even after I shampooed three times and rubbed my head dry, I could smell booze and smoke in my hair, but I was running out of time. When we got back to the ranch, Bethany and Justin and Mama, whom I hadn’t seen since the party, wanted to talk. Everybody had a different idea of what happened at the Wheatleys with Justin standing firmly behind “an accidental shooting” despite everything the police knew to the contrary. Mama wanted to know if I’d talked to Hunter about it and I said “yes,” I had. Then she said that was a good thing, considering what she’d heard in town.

“Anything new?” Justin asked.

I shrugged.

“You’re not talkin’ to him, are you?” This was Mama, probing as hard as she could.

“Got other things to do.”

“What other things?” Mama demanded, giving me that arms behind her head stretching thing that only meant she wasn’t believing me.

“Things like my work, Mama.”

“You ask me, I’d say there’s something wrong between you and Hunter, like people are sayin’.”

I was too tired to take on all three of them so I hurried back to my old room and found a good enough outfit in the closet. I spent most of the time in the shower talking to myself. I was mad at every one of them.

“Enough is enough,” as Meemaw liked to say.

*   *   *

I decided I didn’t want to go anywhere in Riverville with Peter Franklin, especially not to The Squirrel, where Cecil would start in with the snide remarks and be telling everybody who I came in with so it would get back to Hunter. I didn’t want that, not now that I’d decided me and Hunter were going to make up and be friends again—or whatever we were to each other.

There was a little barbecue place over in Schulenberg. Everybody who comes to Texas wants Bar-B-Q so I knew I couldn’t miss, though once we got there and settled in, Peter wrinkled his nose at the menu and picked at his plate of ribs as if he were going through dirty laundry.

“I still hope I can at least get a look at your test grove, or even take a look at your records. We are working on similar problems, as you know.” He sat back and wiped his mouth so hard the paper napkin stuck and I had to point out places where he had dots of white paper around his mouth. I finished my plate of ribs and slaw and even gave a greedy glance over at the last of the ribs Peter had left on his plate. I reminded myself—as Meemaw often told me—to act like a lady. So I delicately wiped sauce off my chin and smiled, thanking him for the wonderful meal.

There wasn’t a whole lot to talk about. He didn’t seem interested in discussing things I’d read that other scientists were doing, nor saying much about his own work, so I figured I’d jump right in. “You know what Elizabeth’s up to? You seem to know her pretty well.”

He shook his head, seeming to be startled. “Hardly at all. I’m afraid I used her to meet you and now she’s taking a proprietorial interest in me. I’m very sorry about bringing her out to your greenhouse without your permission this afternoon. Not my idea, I can assure you. But she seemed so worried about Eugene’s wife and where she’d gotten to . . .”

“You call that worry? More like a posse after a bank robber.” I shook my head. “I’m not giving Jeannie up until she’s got a lawyer of her own. Melody Chauncey told her to go see Ben Fordyce. He’s been our family lawyer since before my daddy died.”

“If she thinks that’s necessary. I don’t think Elizabeth’s that bad a person.”

I shrugged and pulled my feet back from under the table. That was enough of that. I was ready to head home.

“What I meant was . . .” Peter leaned toward me from the other side of the table. He reached over and laid one of his hands on top of mine. I pulled my hand away slowly, getting a creepy feeling. His smile didn’t help any. Smarmy, I’d say. Nice-looking man, but he could sure ruin it with his trying too hard.

I was leaning down to pick up my shoulder bag when the restaurant door opened across the low-ceilinged room from where we sat. I wasn’t ready for who walked in and wasn’t ready for him to look at me, register who I was there with, then turn right around, put his big hand on the back of the pretty blonde he’d come in with, and almost push her out the door.

Any idea I’d had about making up with Hunter washed right out of my head. Didn’t take him long, I was thinking, as I sat kind of open-mouthed, not knowing what to tell myself I should be feeling.

“Wasn’t that the deputy I met the other night after Eugene’s death?”

I didn’t look at Peter. I nodded.

“Didn’t seem so friendly now.”

“Wasn’t then. He didn’t like you.”

“Didn’t like me? He doesn’t know me. If you mean he thinks I had anything to do with Eugene Wheatley’s death—why, that’s insane.”

“No,” I said and felt mean enough to add, “he wasn’t thinking that. He just said he didn’t like you.”

Peter made a kind of disbelieving noise and got up, pushing his chair back under the table. “Not exactly a wonderful example of Texas hospitality.”

I followed him out to his car and sat in miserable silence. All the way back to town, and my apartment, where I hopped out of the car and didn’t ask him in, Peter was lost in his own thoughts, repeating again and again, “Doesn’t like me,” as if he found such a conclusion impossible to believe.