To accommodate the crowd, Leon and Sara Jane brought in extra chairs to the parlor. Under Heather’s guidance, they arranged the furniture so everyone could see all the members of the gathering. Steve told them not to bother with providing a chair for him; he’d stand in front of the fireplace. Heather knew him well enough to know that at some point he’d want to sit, so she and Leon brought in an overstuffed chair from the billiard room.
At seven minutes after six, Heather leaned into Steve. “Johnny Mattherson still isn’t here. Do you want to get started?”
“Not yet. We’ll give him until six-fifteen.”
Heather made a clockwise scan of the room. Belinda Mattherson chose the largest chair, a high-backed, Spanish inspired, all-wood antique with intricate carvings. All the woman needed was a crown and scepter. Next to Belinda sat an empty chair reserved for her tardy husband, a much smaller chair and of dubious quality.
On the first of two vintage couches sat the Wells family—Leon, Sara Jane, and Traci, who rubbed her protruding midsection.
The sheriff occupied the next chair, a cane-backed rocker. He used one of the vertical back-posts as an impromptu hat rack for his Stetson.
A gap in the seating allowed people to flow into the room and take their assigned seats. Another empty chair, a well-worn club chair, came next.
Continuing the circle, Ryan Mattherson sat on the first cushion of the second couch, directly across from Traci. The middle seat of the couch remained vacant.
Last, but certainly not least, sat the true Mattherson matriarch, Barbara “Babbs” Mattherson. Absent were any of her beloved cats and her normal attire. She came to the meeting wearing tan slacks, a white silk blouse, and a print scarf fastened with a cameo broach. The thatch of gray hair looked professionally tamed, and the appropriate amount of makeup completed the transformation.
Belinda Mattherson exhaled a breath laced with boredom. “Ryan, where’s your father?”
He shrugged, but added, “Probably at the 19th hole of some golf course having his third, fourth, or fifth glass of scotch and soda.”
She opened her mouth and huffed, but let the opportunity to respond pass.
A few more minutes of uncomfortable silence slipped by before the sound of footsteps in the hall caused most heads to swivel. In walked Johnny Mattherson wearing casual trousers with splatters of mud around the cuffs, soft-soled loafers, a collared knit shirt, and a baseball cap emblazoned with a logo reading, The Texas Open. He carried a glass tumbler filled with amber liquid and ice.
“You’re late,” said Belinda.
“Am I? So sorry, dear. Had to change my shoes.” He sat, took the time to give Heather a quick knee to neck inspection, and ran his tongue over his top lip.
Traci further delayed discussion when she let out a muffled yelp. Gazes shifted to her as she rubbed her midsection with her fingertips and blew out a breath from puffed cheeks. “Sorry. A contraction.”
Belinda lifted her chin. “The high price of sin.”
Babbs gave her daughter an icy stare. “Are any of us without sin?”
Eyes widened, and Johnny spilled part of his drink. Ryan chuckled as he said, “Wow, Babbs. Where did that come from?”
“From now on, if you want me to respond, you are to address me as Grandmother.” Her gaze shifted to Belinda and Johnny. “Mother or Barbara will suffice for you two. I’ve dropped the inappropriate moniker of Babbs.”
Belinda’s face took on a shade of pink Heather had never seen her wear before. Humility looked good on her.
Steve broke in. “Other guests are arriving. I heard a car pull into the front driveway.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” said Johnny with a slur.
Sara Jane stood. “I’ll get the door.”
When muffled voices sounded down the hall, Steve announced, “That will be a good friend of mine. His name is Detective Leo Vega. He’s a homicide detective from Houston and he has someone you all know with him.”
Leo made it to the doorway, nodded a greeting, and stood to one side.
“Brian!” shouted Traci. She wiggled to the edge of the couch, stood, and they met in the center of the room, hugging and talking over each other.
While everyone focused on the young man fresh from jail, Heather concentrated on people’s reactions. Leon Wells came to Brian, gave him a half-hearted hug, and said, “Welcome home.” He then went back to Sara Jane, who looked on with wide eyes.
Instead of her gaze being fixed on her son, Belinda directed her stare at her husband. He shrugged and mouthed, "I don’t know.” It appeared to be an answer to an unasked question. Both rose and gingerly walked to where their second son stood in Traci’s grasp. Once the youngest people in the room released their hold on each other, Belinda and Johnny moved in for a quick hug.
Belinda spoke first. “Why didn’t you call and let us know? How did you…”
“Yeah,” said Johnny, as he interrupted. “How did you get out? We haven’t been able to gather enough cash to post bail.”
Brian and Traci stood shoulder to shoulder. Brian looked at his father. “I noticed.”
Traci wasn’t so kind. “Isn’t it strange that the family with the most property in the county couldn’t use that as collateral to secure bond? I thought that’s how lawyers helped their client.”
Belinda narrowed her eyes. “Young lady, you do not know about the complexities of the law.”
Steve broke in. “We have much to discuss this evening. Everyone, take your seats. Brian, you’re to sit with your grandmother. Leo, you’re across from the sheriff. Everyone else will remain where we asked you to sit.” He gave a disarming smile. “Assigned seating is for my benefit. Sometimes voices are hard to distinguish.”
Brian sat beside his older brother, who stood to give him a weak hug and an even weaker “Welcome home.”
Before he sat, Brian looked at his grandmother. “Babbs? Is that you? You look awesome.”
“It’s the new me.” She patted him on his thigh. “Much has changed since you’ve been away. Much more will soon change, but we’ll weather this storm and sail into sunshine. By the way, my friends will want to welcome you home, too. Come by my bungalow tonight.”
Steve cleared his throat, which signaled everyone to listen. “Detective Vega will explain how and why Brian is back home.”
Leo hadn’t sat down, so he wasted no time in launching into his explanation. “It’s simple. He’s out on bond. Since this is still an ongoing investigation, I can’t divulge anything more.”
“Fortunately,” said Steve. “Because Heather and I are private investigators, we have much more latitude in what we can say. If you’ll bear with us, we’ll first give you our take on why someone in this room killed Amanda. It’s a long story that begins with Clovis Mattherson.”
The figure of a large man appeared in the doorway. “I was told the killer of my daughter is in this room.”
“Please come in, Mr. Palmer,” said Steve. “I apologize for not inviting you, but I wrongly assumed you’d be too distraught to take in what we have to say. Detective Vega will surrender his seat to you and you may stay as long as you commit to no physical violence. Are you armed?”
“What if I am?”
The sheriff spoke up. “Then I’ll take your pistol and give it back to you at your home later tonight.”
Belinda pointed a finger at her nemesis, Craig Palmer. “Sheriff, I demand you arrest this man.”
Before the sheriff could respond, Barbara Mattherson spoke in a clear voice. “Stuff a sock in that mouth of yours, Belinda. Mr. Palmer made no direct threat against anyone, and carrying a pistol in Texas is now legal.” She took in the astonished gazes around the room. “What? Just because I’m old and like cats doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s going on.”
Leo and the sheriff stood between Craig and the rest of the gathering. “Don’t reach for it,” said Leo. “Just tell us where it is and I’ll give it to the sheriff.”
“Back of my waistband. It’s a nine millimeter, semi. Full clip, but nothing in the pipe.”
Leo lifted the back of the shirt, eased the pistol out, extracted the clip, and operated the slide to make sure the weapon was unloaded. He handed the pistol to the sheriff, along with the clip.
“Good job, Leo,” came a voice from the hallway.
“Captain Price,” said Steve. “I thought I heard the front door close. Come in and take my chair.” He then introduced his former boss to the occupants of the room.
“Sorry I’m late. Believe it or not, I got pulled over by a highway patrolman for speeding. It took some serious talking to get out of the ticket.”
“How’s the new knee?” asked Steve.
“Coming along all right, but I had a hard time convincing the patrolman I could drive with a gimpy leg.”
Heather asked, “Did you bring clothes to stay the night?”
“Sure did. I even brought my wife like you told me to. Lora Sue’s the reason I got out of the ticket. She promised to drive the rest of the way and back to Houston.”
Sara Jane sprang from the couch. “Is she outside?”
“She always packs half her wardrobe. Should be on the porch with most of it by now.”
Brian rose. “I’ll give you a hand.”
Heather noted that the elder brother, Ryan, made no move to help.
Steve said, “Since we’re going to be delayed, let’s take a quick break.”
Traci wiggled to the front of the couch again. “There are drinks and snacks in the dining room. Help yourselves.”
“Ten minutes only,” said Steve. “We have a lot to cover tonight.”