MURDER IN FOUR
PART HARMONY

Murder In Four Part Harmony

PROLOGUE

At ten thirty p.m. Tony woke abruptly from a restless sleep. At first he wasn't certain what had awakened him. Then he noticed the growing tightness in his chest. His breath became ragged and painful as he reached for the asthma inhaler on his bedside table. His shaking hand knocked the inhaler and little travel clock onto the ugly green carpet of the lonely hotel room.

Tony shoved aside the suffocating covers and tried to retrieve the inhaler but fell to the floor. What’s happening to me? He'd never had an asthma attack this severe. He shouldn't be having an attack at all, he’d taken his pills. Gasping for breath, he clutched his aching chest as if he could somehow force his lungs to take in the needed oxygen. It was a useless effort. Tears filled his eyes. "Oh God don't let it end like this," he whispered.

At fifty-five there was still so much he wanted to do and see. He couldn't leave his wife. She'd squander all of his money. Irrational thoughts raced through his mind as he slipped in and out of consciousness. I can’t die without my toupee. They can’t find me without my hair.

There was no more time to make amends, to change his ways. Why was this happening to him? He’d only come to the tiny town of Donlyn, California to scam some money out of a local music group, not to die.

Tony opened his mouth as if to plead for mercy but no words came out. His last thought: Could it have been the tea? His body went limp and he lay motionless, his left hand only inches from the inhaler.

CHAPTER 1

I fiddled with the small heart-shaped locket that always hung around my neck, pacing nervously as I waited to go on stage. After twenty-four years of singing gospel music you'd think I wouldn't get nervous, but butterflies and church foyers go together in my world.

Nothing seemed right this trip. I missed my personal cheerleader. My daughter, Jessica, normally sat on the front bench, clapping after every song. This was the first time I’d left her at home, and I wasn’t certain if I could bear to do it again. Jess would be starting school soon and needed to become accustomed to staying at home. I wondered if I should give some thought to home school. I’d been home schooled since the age of twelve because my family was on the road so much, but I’d missed so much of being a child.

If only Jess had a father to stay with instead of a live-in baby-sitter. But my husband, Mike Evans, had left us for a two bit floozy right after her birth.

I heard the pastor begin his introduction and quickly checked my appearance in a little mirror from my purse. Daddy told me my best features were my green eyes and long blonde hair that fell just past my shoulders, features I’d inherited from my Grandma Walters. I powdered my forehead, moist from the brutal July heat. Portland, Oregon was almost as hot this weekend as my hometown of Donlyn, California, a quiet little town nestled in the heart of the San Joaquin Valley.

"Would you please welcome Alexandra Walters," boomed the pastor's deep voice over the sound system.

Once on stage, I grabbed the microphone from its stand and began to sing to the taped accompaniment music that filled the sanctuary. As soon as I sang the first word, my nervousness vanished.

With the ease that comes from repetition I went from song to song, worrying only a little about hitting all the right notes and remembering all of the words. I was on automatic pilot. I only forgot the words when I concentrated too hard. Between songs, I shared stories about my life, some to encourage, others just for a laugh.

The familiar words I'd spoken hundreds of times tumbled from my lips without effort. But tonight it was hard to concentrate on what I was doing. Thankfully this was my last concert before flying home. The audience was responsive and attentive, but I kept looking at the space on the front pew where Jess would normally be sitting. I was ashamed of giving less of myself than usual, but since her birth four years ago, Jess and I had been inseparable.

I searched the crowd for familiar faces and found many. A smile of recognition from a friend always boosted my spirits. It was good to return to the same places every year and renew old acquaintances, to see enjoyment and appreciation on their faces. I’d never liked my own voice, but had come to accept the fact that others did; though it never ceased to amaze me. After years of singing I was now confident in my talent even though I’d never listen to my own voice by choice.

As I heard the familiar strains of Amazing Grace, my closing song, my thoughts drifted back to the last time I'd sung that song on this stage. Eleven years ago, when I was traveling the gospel quartet circuit, I'd sung it as a duet with my first big crush, Jerry Web.

By the last verse of the song, as the beauty of the words flowed over me, I brought my thoughts back into focus.

Afterward, the pastor joined me on stage. "Thank you, Miss Walters, for an inspirational evening," he said.

It had been a good night, despite my distraction. The crowd shuffled by my table. Some looking at the CDs and stuff I had for sale, others too busy talking with friends. I forced myself to smile and be polite, even though I was completely exhausted.

“You know dear, you sound just like Karen Carpenter,” said one older lady in a dress covered with daisies.

“My daughter sings too,” said a middle-aged woman who wanted to send me a tape of her daughter’s singing, as if I could somehow guide her to her big break.

When I'd shaken my last hand and smiled my last smile, I put away the public me and took a deep breath. I put the things that hadn't sold into my worn brown suitcase and locked it. At last, I could go home.

Arms filled with four days worth of mail, I plopped down onto my old blue sofa and kicked off my sneakers. It was good to be home. When I’d left the Fresno airport, it’d taken everything in me not to head my ‘57 Chevy towards Jess’ preschool and take her out early. But I didn’t want to disrupt the class.

Whoever said life on the road was glamorous had never been on the road. One of the few things Mike had left me when he ran off was a beautiful, old-fashioned, two-story home in Donlyn. The Kings River flowed by my back yard, and two great big mulberry trees covered the entire place with shade in the summer. Though the house was a definite fixer-upper, I loved it and it was mine. It made leaving home even harder. Maybe the single mother of a four year old had no business traveling across the country singing. But every time I'd tried to hold down a real job, I'd gone crazy within a week. My restless spirit kept me on the road. That, and a need to do something I felt was worthwhile.

I was anxious to see Jessica, but it was only ten a.m. I'd have to wait two more hours until Cassandra Gable, a tenant and friend, picked her up from preschool. Cass and I had grown up together and seen one another through good times and bad. This was one of the bad times for her. She was starting over, having left an abusive husband and returned to college. Whenever she baby-sat for me I gave her a break in the rent. It benefited us both.

I sighed, knowing the pile of mail in my lap contained a depressing amount of bills. To pay for the renovations I'd rented out four of the upstairs bedrooms. The only people making money in the Christian music business were the Amy Grants and Michael W. Smiths; the rest of us were lucky to make enough to get by. Still, I couldn't imagine any other occupation.

I began to sort through: junk, bill, junk, bill. Wait, what was this? A bright red flier with bold black lettering caught my eye. It read:

A NATIONAL CONVENTION OF GOSPEL MUSIC MOVES TO BRANSON, MO. ORDER YOUR TICKETS NOW, YOU WILL NOT WANT TO MISS THE FIRST CONVENTION TO BE HELD IN BRANSON.

Convention? I laughed. More like the National Convention of Cheating Husbands. No, I was being too cynical. Just because I'd had the misfortune to know some of them, and marry one when I was twenty-three, didn't mean they were all that way.

I had been part of the Walters Family Singers. After winning a recording contract in a contest at the annual Convention we toured with the famous Web Family Quartet. I was twelve years old at the time and continued on the circuit until I was eighteen.

During my seven years on the gospel quartet circuit I'd met a lot of sincere people who were in it for the right reasons. But there were also those who were just looking for a stepping stone to country music fame and fortune. They gave the rest of us a bad name.

Many singers started out with the right motives but couldn’t cope with being away from their families three hundred days out of the year. They got lonely and gave in to temptation, which was plentiful. Gospel music attracted groupies just like any other form of music. A married person on the road alone was asking for trouble, and found it more often than their fans would like to believe.

Turning the flier into a 727, I flew it across the room, then reluctantly left the comfort of my couch. Dragging myself into the kitchen, I snatched a Pepsi out of the fridge. Pepsi addiction was a Walters family trait and I was a Walters, not an Evans. To a Walters drinking anything but Pepsi was practically a sin.

Watson, the temperamental black cat my cousin had given me to chase away mice, purred a welcome. Not normally an affectionate animal, I knew he had an ulterior motive. This cat didn't need my love, just my ability to open a can of cat food. I scratched behind his ears and the drone of his purring increased. His bowl was full, so he could wait. Cassandra was buying that cheap generic food again and he wasn't having any of it. For a former wild barn cat, he sure was finicky.

Pepsi in hand, I went into the room I shared with Jessica. Watson followed, still purring. Airports always wore me out and I was looking forward to a shower and a nap before Jess got home.

Before I could strip off my airplane clothes, I noticed my answering machine light flashing. The last time I'd picked up my messages was Sunday. When I was out of town I didn't like dealing with business. Anyone except Jess could wait four days. I called her everyday.

I sent up a silent prayer that the message wasn't from a bill collector, then pushed the button. Watson continued to protest so I picked him up and tried to calm him while I listened.

"Alex, this is Jerry Web." I dropped the cat, and was vaguely aware that my mouth was hanging open. Watson landed on the floor, giving me a reproachful look before retreating. This was worse than a bill collector. Better watch out what I prayed for.

The message continued. "I’m in trouble and didn’t know who else to call. I’m at the Donlyn police station. There's been a murder and they've brought me in for questioning. I don't have a clue why and I don't know any lawyers here. Hope you get home soon. You're the only real friend I have in town. It's July 27, 9:30 a.m."

I closed my mouth and let out a long breath. Why hadn't I seen any of his posters in town before I left? Maybe the church didn't advertise, a common problem unfortunately. I wasn't surprised Jerry hadn't contacted me ahead of time. We hadn't seen each other in four years. But murder was a surprise.

When I was sixteen I had a terrible crush on Jerry. My first one, and the only time I’d ever fallen head over heels for anyone. We never did anything more than hold hands and talk for hours, except for that one time he’d kissed me. We were best friends. But I thought I was in love and that was wrong. He had a wife and kids back home in Tennessee.

I still wondered how such an innocent girl could have let herself feel like that about a married man, and I carried the guilt of those feelings. But he’d touched my heart in a way no one else ever had. I was grateful now that he’d been a decent guy and put a stop to things before they’d gotten out of hand. He set me straight, even though I would have sworn back then he felt something more than just friendship for me. A school girl’s fantasy, perhaps, but I never completely got over it. I guess no one ever gets over their first big crush. If he’d been chasing after all the bimbos who threw themselves at him I could have labeled him a jerk and gotten over it.

At eighteen, for the sake of my sanity, I left the circuit and Jerry behind, and started a low-profile solo ministry that allowed me to avoid traveling in the same circles as the quartet circuit. He had also gone solo, for the sake of his marriage.

Jerry and I maintained a distant friendship. We sent each other Christmas cards and ran into each other on the road. Eleven years had passed since the last time I'd been alone with him. We'd never had the opportunity to talk things out. His choice, not mine. I longed to know how he really felt back then. Had I just been a silly kid who embarrassed herself over an older man? My hand went to my locket and I played with it nervously; I had put my feelings for Jerry in a tidy little place in my heart and left it there. I didn't look forward to dealing with those feelings now; I wasn't even certain what they were.

A nervous excitement rumbled inside my stomach, making me feel ill. I grabbed the receiver and punched in the familiar number of the Donlyn city police station.

My old friend, Max Lereau, was at the dispatch desk. His familiar gruff voice brought back a cascade of memories. After Mike left, I'd taken the required classes to become a reserve officer and had worked for the Donlyn P.D. for six months.

"Hi Max. It's Alex."

"Hey angel face, what's up? Haven't heard from you since the policemen's benefit basketball game."

“I’m calling about someone who was brought in for questioning. Jerry Web.”

I heard a shuffling of papers. “Here it is. They’re waiting on a young man to arrive from the public defenders office.”

"Tell them to wait a little longer. I’m going to get Jerry the best lawyer in town."

I hung up and called my cousin, Paul Unruh, the only criminal lawyer in town. Paul was short and bald, and didn't look anything like a big city lawyer. His old brown suit was more Sears than Pierre Cardin. But he was very good at what he did.

It seemed like everyone in Donlyn was related in some way. I wasn't certain how Paul and I were cousins, I just remembered my mom telling me that we were. I thought it might be a German thing. Most Germans I'd known were obsessed with tracing their genealogy, and the population of Donlyn consisted mainly of Germans and Hispanics.

Paul answered his own phone. I bypassed the niceties and told him about Jerry.

"I heard about that murder. Is your friend being charged?

“I don’t think so, but I don’t know much.”

“I'll meet you at the station in fifteen minutes."

I looked in my bathroom mirror. Three hours on a plane from Portland, Oregon had left me a little worse for the wear. I took a brush to my hair and tied it back in a functional ponytail. I tugged at my jeans and T-shirt trying to pull out the wrinkles with little success. Oh, well, it would have to do.

My black '57 Chevy Bel Air convertible, my pride and joy, was waiting patiently in the driveway. It took most of my remaining ten minutes to get her going. Luckily, the station was just a few blocks away. I parked in front and got out. As I walked in I saw Max's familiar grayish blond head.

"Hey Alex, you're late. Unruh is already in there with Web, Detective Freeman and Chief Hofer. You'll have to wait out here."

I sat in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs in the lobby, and squirmed nervously. My hand found its way to the silver locket. It had been a gift from Jerry on my eighteenth birthday; it was inscribed "My Special Girl". There had been many times I’d started to put that silly locket away, but what was it they said about first loves? You never really get over them.

After ten long minutes, Lereau buzzed Paul into the lobby. I stood and offered a hand. "So what's the scoop?"

Paul took my hand and shook it confidently, then gave it an affectionate squeeze. "Web'll be out here in a minute. They're not ready to charge him with anything yet, but it doesn't look good."

"Who was killed? And why do they suspect Jerry?"

"I think it would be better if Jerry filled you in. I left my cell phone in the car and I want to call Stephen. I'd like him to see what he can dig up on other suspects." Paul ducked out the door before I could stop him.

The idea of him hiring Stephen didn't thrill me, and I wasn't certain he'd take the case since he knew all about my past with Jerry. Stephen Carlucci, the best and only private investigator in town, had been a close friend ever since Mike'd left, but lately things had become more complicated. I knew he wanted a commitment, but I wasn’t ready.

I could see this wasn't going to be the homecoming I'd planned. My first love a suspect in a murder case and my current interest investigating it. The door buzzed open again and I quickly slipped the locket down my T-shirt, not wanting to give him any ideas. The familiar scent of his English Leather cologne greeted me before he did, bringing back a flood of memories of sunny afternoons holding hands in the front seats of the Web Family bus.

Age hadn't changed Jerry much. At forty-four, only a few lines at the corners of his blue eyes and a touch of gray in the wavy brown hair betrayed his age. I'd always thought he looked like a young Sinatra. I loved Sinatra.

Instead of the expensive double breasted suit that graced his slender frame when he sang, he wore faded blue jeans and a red polo shirt. Jerry still looked good. He appeared tired and worried, but his face lit up with a smile when he saw me.

"Alex Walters, I've never seen a more welcome sight." His southern accent was slight. Though he lived in Memphis, he'd been born in California.

I slipped into those familiar strong arms for a hug. Southern people hugged everyone they knew. I liked the custom but this hug sent my heart racing. Could I still be in love with him after all this time? I couldn't even guess what he might be feeling.

He pulled back. I forced a smile and finally spoke. "Let's get you out of here, then you can tell me what's going on."

"Don't leave town, Mr. Web. We're not through with you yet." The gruff voice that bellowed behind us was familiar. I looked up into the face of Chief Hofer, who’d always reminded me of a bulldog.

Douglas Hofer hadn't changed much in the last three years. Though now in his early fifties, he didn't look any older. He'd always looked old. His bald head didn't help, nor did the fact that his face seemed frozen in a frown.

"If it isn't our little singer." The big burly man towered over me, his oversized stomach the only thing between us. "I'm not surprised to see you here. This must be one of your gospel music pals."

"Nice to see you again too, Chief Hofer." He was one of the reasons I resigned from the police force. Hofer had it in for me from day one, I wasn’t certain if it was because I was a woman or because I was a gospel singer. Though he was adequate at his job, he was impossible to work for.

Hofer's threat was an empty one. They would have charged Jerry if the evidence had been that strong. But it didn't matter. Jerry couldn't afford to leave town without clearing his name; such things could ruin a career. He wouldn't be going anywhere, threat or no threat.

"Don't get any ideas about getting involved in this, Ms. Walters. It's too complicated for a pretty little thing like you. Just busy yourself with your church work and leave the difficult stuff to us here at the Donlyn P.D." Hofer abruptly turned and went back to his office.

Jerry and I headed to my car without a word. I was dying with curiosity but didn't want to push him. The silence continued all the way to the No Name Cafe and Bookstore downtown. I was in serious need of a chocolate latte, despite the intense heat of the San Joaquin Valley in late July. I suspected that Jerry could use a cup of coffee and some breakfast as well, so my curiosity would have to wait. At least until after his second cup.

CHAPTER 2

The No Name Cafe was located in downtown Donlyn, a city of ten thousand located in the heart of the San Joaquin Valley. Because the surrounding farmland was dotted with peach and plum orchards, grape vineyards, and nearly a half dozen other varieties of fruit, Donlyn was commonly referred to as the Fruit Basket of the Nation. Although larger now than when I was born, it still had that simple small town feeling; I liked that.

Unfortunately, some of the joys of big city life had begun to slip in. We now had gangs and murders just like Fresno, thirty miles northwest of Donlyn.

Without a trip to the NoName a Donlynites day wasn't complete. They served the best food and coffee in town. Between four and five a.m. the cafe was overrun with farmers decked out in the standard workday gear of dusty jeans, cotton shirt stained with sweat, well worn cowboy boots and baseball caps. Between eight and nine a.m., the business types wandered in, not clad in big city business garb, but just nice slacks and shirts. Rarely did I see a tie. Donlyn was a casual farming community. Suits were reserved for Sunday mornings.

NoName was a homey little cafe similar to the Diner on the Andy Griffith Show; same fifties feeling. Booths upholstered in baby blue fake leather lined the walls on both sides, with another row down the center. A counter with barstools, filled with teenagers drinking sodas and milkshakes after school, was at the other end of the room. An old-fashioned cash register sat at the end of the counter. Waiters and waitresses wore crisp white aprons.

Jerry and I headed for my regular booth in the far right corner near the kitchen. It was the most private. Through a door to my right was an adjoining bookstore. One of my boarders, a young woman of twenty-two named Miriam Sanchez, worked there and kept me up on the latest mysteries.

Missy Callahan, a blue-eyed, red-haired waitress in her thirties, brought Jerry a menu. I knew the menu by heart. "Hey, I bet you're that killer,” said Missy. “I never waited on a killer before." The entire population knew about anything that happened within twenty-four hours.

Jerry frowned, but otherwise ignored the comment. As Missy hovered over him with pen and order pad in hand, he ordered the special. Two eggs over easy, bacon, and biscuits and gravy. I ordered my latte.

When Missy left, Jerry looked across the booth at me and smiled. "I sure hope I don't go to trial in Donlyn if the whole town thinks I'm a killer." He sighed. "I guess you'd like to know what's going on."

I nodded, proud of myself for having been so patient.

"I left Memphis on Wednesday, had a stopover in Branson for a service that night, then a stopover in Dallas for a Friday service. Arrived in Donlyn on Saturday evening. On Sunday morning I was at the Assembly of God Church in Dinuba and that evening at the First Community Church here in Donlyn." Missy arrived with coffee and Jerry waited for her to leave.

I watched as he poured a ton of sugar into his coffee. "I got a room at the Friendly Country Inn on Saturday night," he continued, when he was satisfied with the coffee's sweetness. The Friendly Country Inn was the only bed and breakfast in town.

"You were staying just three blocks from my place and you didn't try to call me?" It was one thing for him to breeze in and out of town in one day, but to stay so close and not call bugged the heck out of me. Didn’t matter that I’d been out of town, he could have at least tried to call me and left a message.

Jerry blushed. "I should have called, I just didn't know what to say. It's been so long."

"And yet when you're in trouble you call."

"I knew you'd help. That's how you are. look, if you'd like me to leave..." He started to get up but I motioned for him to stay. This wasn't the time to dig up old bones.

"Don't go.”

He stared at me for several minutes, probably trying to figure out what I was really feeling, then continued. "I was packin' up my stuff at the church in Donlyn Sunday night and Tony walked up to the record table. He smiled and acted all friendly, saying he was in town to look at a local act for his new recording company in Branson. He claimed he'd seen a poster and decided to stop by and say hi."

"Claimed? Did you have any reason to doubt him?" I asked. Tony was the black sheep of the family; always in some sort of trouble or involved in a scam.

Jerry took another sip of his coffee, stalling. "Well, if this church advertised at all I must not be as popular as I thought," he said sheepishly.

As I sipped my latte, he continued. Trying to be polite, he’d invited Tony over to the Inn for a late night snack. While eating tuna sandwiches and drinking iced tea, Tony told him about an offer from Hollywood to do a TV movie telling the true story behind the Webs. The Webs were the most successful group in southern gospel music. Unfortunately, Tony's version of the family story was filled with damaging lies and a few family skeletons better left in the closet. While the Webs could survive the telling of the skeletons, their truth would lend credibility to the damaging lies.

Tony asked for one hundred thousand dollars to turn the movie deal down. They fought, leaving Tony with a black eye. Jerry threatened to kill Tony if he went to his father with the blackmail. Not a smart move for Jerry.

This was the Tony I remembered. He was an evil person. Once he'd tried to blackmail me with the threat of telling Jerry's wife that we were having an affair. It was a lie, but it still scared me. One’s reputation could be ruined just as easily by untrue gossip as by a horrible truth. But, I didn't have the money and nothing happened. Often his threats were empty and I found it hard to believe he'd been murdered. I also wondered what had set Jerry off to the point of violence; that wasn't the Jerry I'd known.

Jerry motioned for Missy to refill his coffee. "Mrs. Peters, the owner of the bed and breakfast, wanted to call the cops but I apologized and promised to pay for any damage. She seemed satisfied. I didn't think about it anymore until the police picked me up for questioning.”

Missy arrived to refill Jerry's cup, he thanked her, then went on with his story.

During the next couple of days Jerry had spent time visiting in-laws twenty-five miles away in Visalia. This morning the police arrived as he was packing his rental car to leave, and took him in for questioning. Tony died the night of the argument from a fatal dose of penicillin which he was deathly allergic to. The last person known to have seen Tony alive, other than the hotel staff, was Jerry. A maid found the body Monday morning in Tony's hotel room.

The police had learned of the argument from Mrs. Peters as well as the threat Jerry'd made on Tony's life. They used that to get a search warrant for Jerry's room. Nothing was found, but because of the threat and his probable knowledge of Tony's allergy they still considered Jerry the prime suspect and were still searching for the penicillin.

Jerry reached out and gently touched my hand but I pulled away. I didn’t need to stir up old feelings that had caused me such grief in the past. He looked hurt when I pulled away and I wondered if I was being too cautious. Southerners were affectionate people and the touch probably meant nothing.

"You haven't said anything,” Jerry said after several minutes of silence.

I took a deep breath, trying to get a handle on the emotions that threatened to come to the surface. It was like I was sixteen all over again with a silly schoolgirl crush. "Sorry, I was just taking it all in.”

He picked up the brown coffee mug and cradled it in his hands. "Paul Unruh says it looks bad for me.”

“Maybe I can do more then just find you a lawyer. I was a reserve officer for awhile so I know a little about investigating a crime.” Besides, how dangerous could it be? I thought. Just ask a few questions. The killer was probably some poor victim of one of Tony’s scams. Not a serial killer or a professional. Something in me needed to help Jerry. I still felt something for him, though I couldn’t quite define it. The thought of him going to prison for something he didn’t do was more than I could handle.

"Wait a minute." He set the mug down with a thud. "I called you for the name of a good lawyer. That's all. Don't put yourself on the line for me."

He was stubborn, but so was I. "You’re a friend. You need me. I can’t turn away and just hope you’ll be fine. Paul Unruh is going to hire a private investigator, someone I know. I'm sure he'd welcome my insight into Tony Web and the gospel music industry. I’ll be careful. Besides, I wouldn’t do anything I felt would put Jessica at risk?"

"I could give him as much insight as you." As if to say there wasn't any room for argument, he picked up his fork and began wolfing down his now cold breakfast. I waved Missy over for a refill of my latte.

"I'm curious, why didn't you call your in-laws for help?"

He licked the egg from his fork. "I did, but they weren't any help. They’ve never needed a lawyer for anything so they couldn’t suggest anyone. They have a small farm on the outskirts of town and that's pretty much their whole life.”

I fiddled with my cup. "There's something you should know. Stephen may not take the case."

Jerry raised an eyebrow. "Stephen?"

"The private investigator."

"Why?"

"Stephen and I are close friends. I told him that you’d kissed me." I felt like a teenager who'd betrayed a secret trust and wished the booth would swallow me up.

The familiar blue eyes stared at me for a long time, a frown creasing the corners. "Great. He’d probably just as soon see me rot in jail.”

Jerry got up and started to gather his things.

"Where are you going?"

"To call my lawyer and get him to find another private investigator. Someone who won’t be prejudiced against me. And, to ask him to give me a ride back to the bed and breakfast."

Why did I always let my big mouth get me in trouble? I reached out and grabbed his arm and he glared at me. I pulled back like I'd been burned.

"Look," I said, "you're overreacting. I had a right to tell Stephen. As far as hiring someone else, Stephen is the only P.I. in town, and the best in the valley. He'll do a good job. Somehow I’ll convince him to take the case. Don't call Paul."

I picked up my purse, put the money for my part of the bill on the table despite his protests, then stood up. "I can give you a ride." I headed for the door.

I got into my car, he got in beside me. We didn't speak. When I pulled into the driveway of the bed and breakfast, he grabbed his things and got out. Before heading inside, he walked over to the driver’s side door and leaned against the car. “I’m sorry if I seemed like a jerk. I’m just scared. I’ve never been in this kind of trouble before.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have called you. It wasn’t fair. I just didn’t know anyone else I could count on.”

“When Grandma and Grandpa Walters died I called you in the middle of the night, but you didn’t mind. You were there for me even though it’d been years since we’d really talked. I called you because I knew I could count on you. I knew you cared. Whenever my world fell apart you were there. You were the only one I could lean on because the rest of my family was leaning on me.”

I took a deep breath, fighting back the memories of pain from that time in my life. Grandma and Grandpa Walters had died within days of each other, and I’d been closer to them then my own parents. My husband left me one week later. “You were also there for me when Mike left. Now it’s my turn.”

Jerry smiled and squeezed my hand. “If this thing gets at all dangerous I want you out.” It was an order, not a suggestion.

I watched his retreating back and wondered what I'd gotten myself into.

It was still only eleven thirty, so I drove to my favorite Italian restaurant, Valentino's, to pick up a pizza to surprise Jess. Pizza was her favorite. I barely made it back to the house in time to see Cassandra pulling into the driveway in her beat up old blue Renault. Jess sat beside her.

Jessica jumped out of the car at a run and flung herself at my legs, nearly sending the pizza box soaring like a flying saucer. "Mommy, mommy, you're back. Yum, you got pizza."

I mussed her dusty blonde mop and laughed. "I've been gone for five days and all you care about is the pizza?"

She giggled, then raced me to the front door. Once inside, we headed for the living room. I put the pizza on the maple coffee table, and knelt to give Jess a hug. She knelt, too, and I laughed. It felt so good to hold my baby again I almost forgot the awfulness of the day. Almost. Watson hopped up on the table and purred like a lawnmower as Jess scratched behind his ears. Jess was the only one who'd won a place in his heart. After saying his hellos, he positioned himself next to the pizza box and waited.

Cassandra came in from the kitchen carrying napkins, paper plates and Pepsi. I doled out the pieces, picked the olives off each piece and gave the offending olives to the waiting feline. Cass knelt beside the table and brushed her red bangs out of her face before diving into her slice. It was a beautiful face that finally showed signs of healing from the bruises her abusive husband had put there. I only hoped the bruises inside healed as well.

"Cassandra, where's the rest of the gang?"

"Hunter's at the college teaching his writing class. Emilio's at rehearsal. Miriam’s at the No Name. Dorian is counseling at the youth center, and Joel is trying to memorize his script for opening night this Friday."

"It can't be that close to opening night?" Joel was our resident actor slash waiter.

She laughed sarcastically. "You can say that because you haven't spent the last three weeks helping him with his lines. If I never hear ‘to be or not to be’ again, it'll be too soon."

Though we were a small town, we had a healthy theater group, thanks in large part to the lack of entertainment on the weekends, unless you wanted to drive to Fresno, or go downtown to the Classic Theatre; a small one-screen theater without stereo sound. I loved it, but for some it wasn't modern enough.

I sighed. If only I could take a quick nap, or even a shower, then spend the rest of the day with Jess. It sounded more appealing than what lay ahead of me. I wiped my mouth with a napkin, kissed Jess on the forehead and promised to play Candyland with her when she finished her pizza, then headed for my office.

On my way through the kitchen I snagged a Pepsi out of the fridge; I needed the extra caffeine to keep me going. In my tiny office next to the bedroom I shared with Jess, I dialed Rick Freeman's private line at the police station.

"Detective Freeman here. How may I help you?"

"Rick, it's me, Alex."

"Hey kid, how ya doin'?"

"I'm fine. Rick, I need details on the Tony Web case." I was too tired for small talk, and knew Rick well enough to be rude once in awhile.

There was a long moment of silence. If he told me what I wanted to know and Chief Hofer found out, Rick would be in big trouble. They weren't supposed to talk with citizens about an ongoing investigation. But during my stint as a reserve officer I’d shoved him out of the way of a bullet. He still felt he owed me. It was time to call in the marker.

"I shouldn't do this." He paused and I heard the shuffle of paper in the background. "I can't get you a copy of the police reports, but since it's my case I can give you a few details."

I grabbed my favorite pen and a notebook. "Give me what you've got."

Rick cleared his throat. "At nine a.m. the morning of July twenty-fourth Tony Web was found by a maid, dead on the floor of his hotel room at the Masters Hotel. The maid called 911. We responded. Not certain whether it was a natural death, I called the coroner's office.

"An asthma inhaler was found near the body. Coroner felt it was likely he'd died from a severe asthma attack. But this being someone from out of town and the added question of the black eye, he felt an autopsy would be best."

Rick stopped. I could tell someone was speaking to him. I took a quick look at my notes while I waited. I was aware of Tony's asthma, but he took Theophylline to control it. Yes, an autopsy had been necessary. My brother, Jonathon, was also an asthmatic who took Theophylline. It had its side effects but it worked. Tony shouldn't have had a fatal attack under any normal circumstances.

Rick continued. "Sorry for the interruption, kid. Where was I? Oh yeah. There was a small battery-operated travel clock found on the floor by the bed. It appeared that the batteries had jarred loose when it was knocked to the floor. It'd stopped at ten thirty p.m., so it was assumed to be the approximate time of death. Liver temperature confirmed it. We figure he knocked it down while trying to reach the phone on the bedside table to call for help or reaching for his inhaler.

"The coroner called Tony Web's wife and broke the news to her as gently as he could, then gave me a call. He'd found it interesting that she remained fairly calm. I chalked it up to shock."

I smiled. Rick didn't know Hillary Web. I doubted it mattered to her that her husband was dead and I was willing to bet there was a large life insurance policy. All she'd ever cared about was money. The marriage had been one of convenience not love. The Web name carried a lot of weight in the south.

Rick continued. "She insisted we perform an autopsy because her husband's condition was well under control with his medication so it couldn’t have been natural causes. Chief Hofer insisted the autopsy be done immediately because he could see headlines in the future; death of a sort of celebrity and all. A medic-alert bracelet was found on the victim's right wrist. He was fatally allergic to penicillin, so among other things the body was checked for penicillin. It tested positive. It was then determined that the cause of death was a fatal asthma attack brought on by penicillin. There was no indication of suicide. Murder is suspected."

Rick went on to tell me that when the police investigated they learned Jerry was probably the last person other than hotel staff to see Tony alive. They also found out about the argument and the threat Jerry had made on Tony's life. Mrs. Peters, the owner of the Bed Breakfast, heard the argument and also said she'd seen Jerry making tea and sandwiches for the victim. It was considered likely that he'd put penicillin in the tea. I still wondered why he’d actually hit Tony. There had to be something he wasn’t telling me.

With this information the police obtained a warrant and searched Jerry's room and the rest of the bed and breakfast. They'd found nothing suspicious in his room and the glasses and pitcher with the tea had been washed the next morning. During this time Jerry was visiting his in-laws, so they hadn't been aware of his location. Since Jerry's things were still there they staked the place out and hoped he'd return.

This morning the police caught up with Jerry and took him in for questioning. "We really don't have any other good suspects," continued Rick. "Jerry Web had motive, opportunity, and knowledge of the victim's fatal allergy. No one else we questioned did. During Web's questioning he admitted to being aware of his cousin's allergy. He'd been present when the victim first became aware of it himself after taking a dose of penicillin and nearly dying. Most likely there'll be an arrest as soon as we're sure we've covered all the bases. And of course it'll help if we can find out for certain how the victim got the penicillin."

There had to be more suspects. If they had a party to celebrate Tony's death they'd have to rent a sports stadium. But who else would have had opportunity or knowledge of Tony's fatal allergy? Family of course, but they were all miles away. It was odd that Tony and Jerry had ended up in Donlyn at the same time. Since Tony was out to blackmail the family, he’d probably made the trip just to confront Jerry away from the rest of the Web family. Divide and conquer.

"Alex, are you still there?" asked Rick after my lengthy silence.

"Yes. Is there anything else?"

"Not at this time. Hey, kid, I thought this was Carlucci's case. You helping him or something?"

I'd forgotten about Stephen. "Sort of. Jerry's a friend and I want to prove he's innocent. If you learn anything more would you let me know? We'll do the same for you."

"Sure. Good luck, kid. Your friend looks guilty to me, you may need a miracle on this one." His deep laughter resonated over the phone. "I guess if anyone can come up with a miracle you can; preacher's kid and all."

I hung up and went through the bathroom that separated my office from the bedroom. Jess was sacked out on the floor in front of the TV; tummy full, exhausted from an active morning at the Little Lambs Preschool. Watson was curled up next to her. I gently lifted her up off the floor and put her in bed. Watson grumbled at having been disturbed. Candyland would have to wait. I was probably more disappointed than she was.

The bed looked inviting. Did I have time to take a quick nap before calling Stephen? I really should make some business calls and take care of paperwork. Before I could decide, Watson hopped up on the bed and claimed my pillow. I ended up back at my desk staring at my mile-long “to do” list.

1. Call churches to book services;

2. Send out advertising material;

3. Make demos and get new posters printed;

4. Write new songs for upcoming album etc. etc.

My thoughts drifted back to my comfortable inviting bed. I wondered if the list could wait, and if I could convince my stubborn cat to vacate. And, I wondered if someone I once knew so well could have committed murder.

CHAPTER 3

The grandfather clock in the hall struck five and I sat up with a start. I didn't remember falling asleep. As I struggled free of my favorite red cotton sheets, the stark reality of the day hit me. Tony Web had been murdered and Jerry was the prime suspect.

I stumbled into the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, brushed my teeth, and tidied my ponytail. Back in the bedroom I found Jess playing with her Barbie dolls. Watson was nowhere in sight and I hoped he was out guarding the perimeter from any mouse that might try to get in. My one irrational fear was of mice.

I sat cross-legged next to Jess and leaned over to give her a hug. She smiled. “I love you, Mommy.” Boy, how I’d missed her.

My stomach growled, reminding me I’d only nibbled at the pizza. "Hey Jess, why don't you ask Uncle Hunter if he'd order Chinese for us."

"Yummy," she said and rushed off to Hunter's apartment. I did not want to cookery today; not that I bothered with it often on a normal day. Life on the road had accustomed me to letting others do the cooking. It wasn't that I didn't know how to cookery, but picking up a phone and ordering take-out was easier than picking up a spatula.

Hunter wasn't really her uncle, just another of my tenants. He had the best quarters, and the only private apartment, a small one above the garage. Jess adored him and called him Uncle Hunter, though he was closer to the age of my father. It was nice to have male role models around since her father lived in Atlanta, and all of my family had recently moved away.

My parents moved to Asheville, North Carolina where my father was pastoring a church. My brother, Jonathon, lived with his wife and two kids in Medford, Oregon, where he worked as a minister of music in a large church. Tommy, the youngest of the family, lived mostly in cheap motel rooms. He was a drummer and his current gig was with a jazz band called the River Rats. I missed them, even though sometimes we’d driven each other crazy in the ten years we’d lived together in our old 1962 bus two hundred days out of the year. The rooms in that bus were so tiny.

Now I had a surrogate family; the tenants that lived under my roof. Hunter was a recent addition, having shown up on my doorstep last winter looking for an apartment. Recently divorced, he wanted a change of life so he retired from his position as an English professor at Berkeley to pursue his dream of being a mystery author. One day he simply packed up his car and headed south. Four hours later he stopped for dinner in Donlyn and learned of my vacant apartment.

The rest “as they say” was history. Needing to earn some spending money he'd taken a position teaching writing at Donlyn City College. His first novel had been published this spring with modest success.

Because he was an atheist, Hunter and I had many spirited discussions about religion. I think we both enjoyed the challenge. He was also the first mystery writer I’d ever known and was constantly quizzing me about my time as a reserve officer. We were an eclectic group. A jazz guitar player, a youth center counselor who looked like she stepped off the cover of Vogue, a waiter/actor with a blond ponytail that went nearly to his waist, a shy young librarian-to-be who worked at a bookstore while attending school, and an abused wife looking for a new beginning.

After a few minutes, Jess returned with Hunter in tow, dressed in his favorite tan sports coat and slacks; it was about as casual as he ever got. "What's this about Chinese?" he asked.

"I was hoping you could pick up some Chinese take-out for us. I'll pay."

He smiled, lighting up a dark, handsome face and turning up the corners of his salt and pepper mustache. "In that case, how could I refuse."

I scribbled down an order of sweet and sour chicken and pork fried rice for Jess and me, and at the last minute decided to add Stephen's favorite, fried shrimp, hoping to get him to join us. Hunter took the list and a twenty from me then went into my office to call in the order.

When he finished with the phone I dialed a familiar number; my stomach tied up in knots of apprehension.

"Stephen Carlucci, may I help you?" answered the melodic tenor voice. I tend to think of people’s voices by vocal parts.

"Stephen, this is Alex. I was wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner?"

The other end of the line was quiet. I thought I'd lost him so I added, "It's Chinese" hoping he was still there and wouldn't be able to resist his favorite take-out.

"When?" he finally asked.

"Hunter should be back with it in about ten minutes."

"I'll be there," he said, then hung up. Paul must have called him. Stephen was the ultimate gentleman and only reverted to caveman behavior when he was upset. I didn't look forward to hearing his complaints about helping Jerry, but I was determined not to let him get out of it. To clear Jerry, we needed the best, and I'd meant it when I'd said Stephen was the best.

I decided to unpack my suitcase as a distraction. Most of it went in a pile of dirty laundry to put in the hamper in the bathroom. But there was one little item I dug out with care, a tiny gray, glass mouse I'd found on the Klackamas Mall in Portland. I gently set it on the bookcase by my window, next to a family of the same species. I'd been collecting mice ever since Jonathon had given me a plastic one as a joke on my sixth birthday. I was terrified of the real thing from birth; it was genetic. Every woman on my dad's side of the family as far back as anyone could remember had been afraid of mice. This was one of the multitude of things I'd inherited from my Grandma Walters. She had been the biggest influence in my life and I'd gotten many of her treasures when she went to join the angels in the sky.

I was lost in my memories of Grandma when I heard Hunter slam the front door. Next I heard Stephen's familiar voice muffled by the walls between us. I joined them in the living room.

Stephen sat on the couch with Jess on his lap. His blond hair fell over his eyes as he leaned forward to listen to Jess' excited chatter. The incredible gray eyes that had first attracted me were hidden from my view. His build was similar to Jerry's, tall and slender. Just like my dream hunk, Pierce Brosnan. I’d never tell Stephen, but I intended to buy the Pierce Brosnan calendar I'd seen in a catalog. He'd think it childish but so what? I was entitled, I sacrificed most of my childhood to life on the road.

He'd been home long enough before I called to change from his normal work clothes, a fine Italian suit, to Levi's and a black Los Angeles Kings T-shirt. Two more things that had attracted me to him; I loved men in quality suits, and hockey was the only sport I got excited about. Though of late the Kings hadn't been very exciting.

Stephen looked up and noticed me. He didn't smile, just nodded. Watson crouched behind a planter in the corner of the room, he didn't like men. Suddenly Stephen sneezed, and sneezed, and sneezed, at least ten times while retrieving a pillbox from his pants pocket. Watson skittered out of the room. Stephen was terribly allergic to cats and normally took his pills before coming over, but sometimes he was in a hurry and forgot.

After Stephen's parade of sneezes, I joined Hunter, Stephen, and Jess around the coffee table. Cassandra had left for her computer night class. "I'm starving. How about sharing with Mommy, Jess?"

She pulled the box of rice from the table and clutched it to her. "Mine."

I gave her a scolding look and she put it back on the table her mouth in full pout. I'd found over the last few years that young children and men have one thing in common; they don't like to share.

We took the take-out to the kitchen and gathered around Grandma Walters’ old oak table. Jess quickly forgot our confrontation and happily devoured her dinner. After several minutes of nothing but the clicking of chopsticks, forks and Stephen's sniffles, Hunter spoke.

"So anything unusual happen today?"

Stephen and I looked at each other and laughed. I was happy for a break in the tension. It would be an understatement to call our day unusual. I filled Hunter in on the murder and he was thoroughly intrigued. "Give me all of the details. Don't leave anything out. I am somewhat of an expert on such things you know. Perhaps I can be of some assistance."

"I'm afraid I've already told you everything we know. But when we get more details I'll be certain to pass them on to you," I said.

Hunter frowned and I patted his arm. With no wife or children he thrived on being needed by his new family. "Don't worry, I'm sure we'll know more soon. And of course your assistance will be invaluable."

We finished dinner over more casual conversation. "My weekend in Portland was just routine. I had three services, average crowds and decent income, half of which I spent at the malls and discount stores."

Stephen smiled. He’d quickly learned I was incapable of passing up a bargain. My house was filled with odd little things I felt compelled to buy, but of course I’d gotten them at a discount so how could I possibly resist.

"My weekend was equally exciting. My latest case brimmed with danger and intrigue as I mercilessly tracked down a fugitive."

Buying into Stephen's spiel, Hunter was on the edge of his seat, chopsticks in midair. I recognized the twinkle in Stephen's eye and waited for the punch line.

"Did you catch him?" asked Hunter.

Stephen nodded. "I had him cornered in a dark alley downtown and barely managed to take him alive." He burst into a hearty laughter. "If I hadn't had that dog biscuit in my pocket I wouldn't have made it."

Hunter sank back into his seat. "A dog," he said disappointedly.

"Not just a dog, a registered Cocker Spaniel worth five hundred bucks."

I smiled. Life in Donlyn was as exciting as watching water boil but I liked it that way. I'd experienced enough excitement for a lifetime traveling across the country in a bus. Stephen only had to go into Fresno for his excitement, or perhaps this time to the Donlyn city jail.

“Mommy, can we keep the doggie Stephen found?”

Stephen laughed. Jess and I had been battling over the idea of a new pet for the past month. “This doggie belonged to someone else, honey.”

“Can we get another doggie?” Jess prodded.

I frowned. “Are you finished with your dinner?”

She pouted. “I want a doggie, Mommy.” Jess stomped to the sink carrying her empty plate. I hated to admit that eventually she’d probably win this battle. I was a softy when it came to my Boo Boo Kitty. I’d started calling her that when she first started walking and kept falling down and getting hurt. Somehow it’d stuck.

I took Jess to our room and managed to put Winnie the Pooh jammies on her as she jumped up and down on the bed, excited to have Mommy home. I had scolded her over her pouting and we’d agreed on a temporary cease fire.

Meanwhile I could hear Stephen and Hunter discussing their favorite sports teams over coffee in the kitchen. I brushed Jess' teeth, read her a bedtime story, listened to her prayers and gave her a great big hug. It was a little early for her to go to sleep so I asked Hunter if he'd mind taking her into my office to play the new Winnie the Pooh computer game I'd gotten for her on my trip. No sales tax in Oregon so I always came home bearing gifts. Watson had disappeared and wasn't likely to reappear until the men were gone.

Stephen followed me into the library, his allergies calmed down. While I searched through my extensive collection of CDs for one that suited my mood, he took a seat at my Grandpa Walters’ black baby grand Steinway that sat in the middle of the room. To my dismay he began playing a very somber Beethoven piece. What he played usually told of his mood.

I watched as the long, slender fingers danced expertly across the keys. Stephen had once been headed for a career as a concert pianist. When his brother was killed in a Mafia hit and he learned of his father’s connections, he lost his desire to play professionally. I envied his gift, he had attended Julliard and could have had a promising career. Myself, I had dreamed of playing and grandpa had encouraged those dreams by paying for years of piano lessons; the best I could do was play what was written. I had no talent for improvising, and played without passion. Grandpa had been disappointed when I failed to show any great talent; it had been his unrealized dream to play professionally; poverty had deprived him of that dream.

When Stephen played the last note, I popped in a Sinatra CD, then sat down on the window seat cradling a mug of steaming cafe mocha Hunter had brewed for me. Despite the relentless heat of the San Joaquin Valley in July, I still enjoyed a cup of flavored coffee. It had a relaxing affect on me. Stephen sat next to me. We shared a love for Sinatra. Actually, Ol' Blue Eyes was responsible for getting us together. When Stephen was in a lighter mood he played Sinatra songs.

One year after my breakup with Mike I attended a Sinatra festival at the Classic Theatre; once a week they had a nostalgia night. I literally ran into Stephen as we both raced, popcorn in hand, into the darkened theater. We were late for the start of "Take Me Out To the Ballgame,” one of Sinatra's early pictures with Gene Kelly.

Popcorn had gone flying. As we bent down to pick it up we realized we'd run into each other once at the police station. We decided to sit together in the theater. A passion for Sinatra became a connection for us. During the last two years we'd become very close, but had never completely walked over the line from friendship to boyfriend and girlfriend; though we'd wandered over it for brief wonderful moments.

Sinatra crooned, "I've Got You Under My Skin" as I got ready to speak. "Stephen, I need to talk to you."

"Yes, you do."

"Did Paul Unruh call you about the Tony Web murder case?"

He nodded.

"Did you take the case?"

"Yes." He turned to face me and smiled, a most disarming smile. "I knew if I didn't investigate it you would. I intend for you to stay out of it and I intend to keep you safe."

"But—" was all I got out before he pulled me to him and kissed me, then pulled away. Another dalliance over that line. "You are staying out of this, right?"

I was so shocked I just nodded. He'd never kissed me with quite that much intensity before. Stephen left and I stumbled into the bathroom to splash water on my face. I really needed to get a hold of myself and get my priorities straight. Jessica must always come before any man.

Why was a kiss so deadly? Jerry had been my first kiss. That kiss had filled me with feelings I'd never experienced before and laid claim to my tender young heart in a way no kiss had been able to do since, though to my surprise Stephen's kiss just now had come close. It wasn't fair for Jerry to make me love him when I couldn't have him. Was I playing with fire by helping him now? If so, I'd better fireproof my heart. I wasn't going to turn my back on him when he needed me; I couldn't.

Jess was asleep, and I hated I hadn’t tucked her in. I checked her breathing; it was a mommy thing. She was fine. Though my body ached with exhaustion, I had too much on my mind to sleep. I went into the kitchen, grabbed a Pepsi, then found Hunter sitting on the couch in the living room watching an old Jimmy Stewart movie, his sports coat at last retired for the day, flung over the back of the easy chair. I plopped down beside him in desperate need of vegetating in front of the TV. Watson came scampering into the room and snuggled up next to me. Perhaps he wanted to be certain I wasn't finished with all men; after all I was the one who fed him.

MURDER IN FOUR
PART HARMONY

THE TROUBLE
WITH TENORS

The Trouble With Tenors

CHAPTER 1

Tenors are trouble.  Those high, smooth, sensual notes should be outlawed.  Tenors draw you in and wreak more havoc on your life than all the baritones and basses put together.  At least that had been my experience after twenty-five years traveling the country singing gospel music.

The worst offender was my ex-husband Mike Evans who dumped me for a bimbo groupie right after our daughter Jessica was born.  In four years the phone calls had been scarce and birthday presents and cards non-existent.   Then out of the blue he had sent me an early thirtieth birthday card just before I left for a weekend of concerts in Phoenix. It bothered me.  Mike never did anything without an ulterior motive.  And I found it even more suspicious that he had addressed it to Alexandra Walters.  He had never before been willing to accept the fact I had taken back my maiden name.

Thoughts of Mike made me push my 57 Chevy Bel Air to the limit as I sped along Highway 99 from Fresno to my little town of Donlyn, California. Only the early morning fog slowed me down.  It was so thick I could barely make out the grape vineyards and peach orchards that dotted the landscape, lying dormant as they awaited the return of spring to give them new life.

My heart ached to be home with my little girl.  Recently I had started leaving her home on some trips to prepare us for the separation once she began school next fall.  Jesssica was in the good hand hands of my longtime friend and tenant Cassandra Gable, but I hated leaving her behind.  Unfortunately, this was how I made my living, such as it was. We’d never survive if I didn’t rent out rooms in the big old house Mike left me to finish paying for, and I’d never had much luck at other jobs. There was a side benefit to renting out rooms; I’d become a part of a whole new family.  My tenants made this first Thanksgiving without my parents bearable.   We shared a multicultural meal of German, Hispanic and Italian food.  My Grandma Walters old recipes had provided the German touch, though I wasn’t half the cook she had been.   My parents recently moved across the country to North Carolina so the only family that had been present was my little brother Tommy. 

I let up on the gas as I spotted a familiar sign.  Donlyn City Limits. Population 10,000.  It was a town made up mostly of farmers and Hispanic farm workers.

Turning onto Reed Avenue I smiled.  Home.  The Kings River flowed swiftly behind the old two story homes that lined Reed.   Born and raised a Donlynite, I intended to raise Jessica here.   My spirit was too restless to stay home for long periods of time, but I loved returning.  As I pulled into the driveway I spotted an unfamiliar car in front of my house.  Probably my boyfriend, Stephen Carlucci, I thought.  He rented different cars to suit his mood, vowing never to buy one until I’d sell him mine, which I’d never do.  Stephen said he might have to marry me for my car.

I grabbed my suitcases from the trunk and rushed to the front door.  Dropping my cases on the wooden entryway floor, I ran into the living room only to skid to a stop.  What I saw made my stomach turn and my temperature hit boiling.  Yes, tenors always brought trouble.

"Welcome home," said Mike, who sat on my blue couch next to Jessica.  Mike stood and reached out a hand in greeting, I ignored it so he turned to the young redhead who sat next to him on one of my chairs. "Alexandra, this is my bride, Leslie."  I cringed.  I always hated it when he called me Alexandra and he knew it.

"It’s so nice to see y'all again," said Leslie, in an overly sweet southern drawl that made my teeth hurt.  This was the groupie Mike had left us for and she had the nerve to offer a well-manicured hand in greeting like nothing had ever happened.  She was dressed in a purple pantsuit that hugged every inch of her slender, curvy figure.  I wondered how much child-support money it had taken to pay for it.  Let’s see her wear something like that after a kid or two, I thought.

At that moment Cassandra Gable, an old schoolmate and friend who watched Jessica for me, walked in carrying a tray of iced tea.  "Drinks, anyone?" She smiled apologetically, knowing well the problems of ex-husbands. Cass had moved here to escape hers.

Ignoring Leslie’s greeting, I took the tray from Cassandra and set it on the oak coffee table.  "Why don't you take Jess into the kitchen for cookies," I said between clenched teeth.

I picked up Jess and gave her a big hug.  "I missed you so much."  She hugged me back and I wanted more than anything to ignore my uninvited guests and go to the kitchen with her. 

"Honey, wouldn’t you like a snack?  Go with Cassandra to the kitchen and I'll join you in a few minutes."

Jess pouted.  "But I missed you, Mommy."  It tore at my heart, but I needed to get rid of Mike and his bimbo, and had no desire to make a scene in front of my daughter.

"I know, honey.  But I need to talk to your daddy for a minute.  Tell ya what, have Cassandra get Mommy's blue suitcase.  There's a surprise in it for you."

"Oh goody, a surprise."  Jess jumped down and pulled Cassandra into the entryway.  Now I was past boiling, I had carefully picked out the stuffed black cat and looked forward to giving it to her.

As soon as Jess was out of the room I turned on Mike.  "What are you doing here?" 

"I came to see my daughter.  No crime in that is there?"  Mike started to pull out a cigarette, but my glare stopped him.  This must be a new habit he had acquired along with his new wife.  If he kept it up he could ruin the only thing I still admired about him, his voice. "You haven't been to see her for the past four years, why now?"  "Have a seat, Alex.  We need to talk."

Mike returned to the couch, but I remained standing.  It was no longer his house and I wasn’t his wife.  I didn’t have to obey his commands. He sighed, then bestowed upon me one of the same winning smiles that had first attracted me to him.  Now I found nothing about him attractive.

Mike had changed very little; same sandy brown hair, hazel eyes, tall well-muscled build.  No wonder the groupies went wild over him.  At thirty-two he still looked like a college jock.  When he sang in that perfect tenor voice, a girl could easily lose herself.  The curse of the tenors.  But living with him dulled the shine of his charms. 

Mike was typical of too many Gospel quartet singers.  They traveled the country without their wives and felt justified in enjoying the female companionship offered them in every town.  After all they were lonely. Thankfully, there were still some good, moral people in the business.  The bad ones were the reason I’d left the quartet circuit to go solo. "Alex," he finally said.  "Leslie and I just got back from our honeymoon."

Leslie smiled adoringly at Mike.  "We went to the Caribbean," she said in a soft feathery voice.

Good for you I thought. 

Mike nervously played with a book of matches.  "I’ll get to the point. We think it'd be better for Jessica to live with us since we could give her a real home now, with two parents."

"I’ve always wanted to be a mother," added Leslie. So that’s what he was after.  After all this time why would he want Jessica?  If Leslie was so hot to be a mother why didn’t they have kids of their own?  "GET OUT!"

Mike’s eyes grew wide in astonishment.  "But, Alex, it's the best thing for Jessica."

"How could living with you and your wife be good for Jess?" Leslie looked offended.  I was glad. I wasn’t a mean person, but Mike always brought out my bad side.  It was a miracle we hadn’t killed each other when we were married.

He glared at me.  No more charm and blarney.  "Let me list a few reasons.  You can barely afford to make ends meet.  You can’t even afford to have health insurance so you can get Jess proper treatment for her asthma.  You hang around with unsavory people, you—"

"Unsavory people?" I interrupted.

"Your ‘boyfriend’ is connected to the Mafia.  And ever since you were a reserve officer you’ve hung around with cops.  You even keep a gun in your house."

"For your information Stephen is not connected, his father used to be. And cops are some of the finest people I’ve ever known, certainly miles above the character of some of the people you hang around with.  And my gun is locked away in the safe in my office."

I couldn’t take any more of this nonsense.  I walked to the front door and swung it open wide only to find Stephen on my doorstep about to push my doorbell.  "Are you psychic?" he asked.

"If I was I would have found a way to avoid this."  I snapped, stepping aside.  "Mike, get out of here."

He and Leslie left as Stephen came in, but Mike grabbed the door before I could slam it in his face.  "We're staying at the San Franciscan downtown.  Call me when you cool off and we can talk about this like adults."  He let go of the door and I slammed it shut in his face. Perhaps not a mature reaction, but I felt an appropriate one.

Stephen stood in the entryway with a puzzled look in his gray eyes. "Wasn't that your ex?"

I merely nodded, not yet trusting myself to speak.  Several minutes passed in silence, the look in Stephen's eyes changed to concern.  He reached out and I collapsed against his strong slender frame, burying my face in his shoulder.  Mike had said some things that hit home.  Maybe I couldn’t give Jess everything she wanted but she had everything she needed, and I gave her something Mike never could.  Love.

Pulling myself together, I led Stephen into the living room where I collapsed onto the couch. "He wants Jess."

In the last three years Stephen had become very fond of Jess, and me.  "He can't do that, can he?"

I sighed.  "I don't think so, unless he can convince a judge they'd give her a better home.  He's married again and says she'd be better off in a real home."

Stephen began pacing the room.  "That's stupid, she has a real home. Why’d he all of a sudden decide to be a father?"

"I don’t know."

Suddenly he stopped and joined me on the couch.  "Marry me, Alex."

My eyes widened in shock.  Our relationship had only recently become more than friendship and with my track record I didn't feel ready for marriage, and yet if it would help me keep Jess.  I shook my head.  No, that wasn't right.  "I'm touched by the offer, but we can't get married just because of this.  We have to wait until we're ready."

He brushed an unruly lock of blond hair from his eyes.  "If you change your mind the offer still holds.  You know how I feel about you, it wouldn't be a sacrifice on my part."

Yes, I knew how he felt and I loved him.  But I didn't know if I was actually in love with him, and if I got married again I wanted it to be for the right reasons.  When I fell for Mike I’d been on the rebound from a doomed relationship with a married man; one that ended before we went too far, except with our hearts.  It had been the final straw.  I left my family’s singing group and the quartet circuit planning to start my own solo career, but I left a week too late.  I stayed on the circuit long enough to meet Mike and let his charms soothe my broken heart.  We kept in touch and the relationship developed.  If I hadn’t married Mike I wouldn’t have Jess, the center of my world.

I took Stephen's hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze; I'd come to depend heavily on him.  Despite his passion for cars and a cat allergy that sometimes drove me crazy when he forgot to take his pills, he was a good man and as gorgeous as a young Robert Redford.

"I should call Paul.  He can recommend a good lawyer if it comes to that."  I got up and headed to the kitchen, Stephen followed.  Paul Unruh was my cousin, and an excellent criminal lawyer. 

I went to the phone and Stephen took two Pepsis out of the fridge, popped the top on one and handed it to me.  He knew me too well; I was desperate for a Pepsi fix.  A love for Pepsi was a Walters family trait, and I was a Walters, not an Evans.  As I dialed my cousin's office I noticed that Jess was gone and the remnants of her jelly sandwich lay on the large oak table I'd inherited from Grandma Walters.  Until she died, Grandma had been the rock of the Walters family.  How I wished she were here now.

"Paul Unruh, Attorney at Law.  May I help you?" asked a soft soprano voice.

"Peggy, this is Alex.  Is Paul in?"

"Sure, honey.  Let me buzz him for you."

Less than a minute later Paul came on the line.  "What's up, Cuz?" "I need the name of a good lawyer.  Mike is back and he wants to take Jess from me."

"I’ll talk to my new partner, Pete Krahn.  He’s handled tons of custody cases." "Thanks, Paul."

"No problem, Cuz.  I'll have Peggy dig up the records from your divorce case and we'll go from there.  Sorry to rush this but I've got a meeting with a client in ten minutes.  Don't worry, I'll take care of things." Before I could respond I was conversing with a dial tone.  I felt some better, but not a lot.  I trusted Paul’s assessment of his partner, but Mike was a smart creep, the worst kind.

I joined Stephen at the table.  "Paul says he'll take care of it."

Stephen got up.  "I think I'll check Mike out and see what he's been up to since he split."  Against his father’s objections, Stephen had become a private investigator, a fact I was very glad of at that moment.  He pecked me on the cheek and headed for the door and I went to find Jess.   Jess was in front of the TV in our bedroom cuddling the stuffed black cat and our live one, Watson.  When she saw me she jumped up and Watson scattered.  She flung her arms around my neck, careful to hang on to the new toy.  "Thank you, Mommy.  I love it.  I named it Trixie."

My baby, I loved her more than life and I wasn't going to let anyone take her from me.  Whatever the cost.

CHAPTER 2

Mike called less than an hour later. 

"Alex, it's Mike.  Don't hang up." 

I almost did.  I had no desire to talk to him, but for Jess’ sake I had to. "What do you want?"

"Meet me.  We should talk about this, I don't want to go to court."

This gave me cause for hope.  "Where?"

"The hotel lobby?"  It seemed a safe, public place to meet.

"When?"

"Half an hour."

"Okay."

We hung up and I returned to my bedroom where Jess had crashed on the bed, Watson and the new toy cuddled up next to her.  I sighed.  I had to convince Mike to back off, that a custody battle would be bad for Jess. But would he listen?  Why did he even want her after all this time?  Was it Leslie's idea?  Why would she care? I hoped to find out tonight.

The phone rang again and I jumped.  Mike had been back in my life less than two hours and he already had me on edge. I was as jumpy as a cat.  I went through the bathroom to my office, and picked up the phone. 

"Hello," I said cautiously.

"Alex, this is Pat."

I was surprised at the sound of the familiar Texas drawl. Two tenors in one day; this couldn’t be good.

"Pat, it’s been ages.  What’s up?"

"Can’t a friend call a friend?"

I laughed.  "If there’s nothing up why’s this the first time you’ve called in a year?"

His soft, deep laughter resonated over the phone lines.  Contrary to old Hollywood parodies, tenors didn’t all talk with high squeaky voices; at least not the ones I knew.  Patrick Hoffman had been the high tenor for the famous Web Family Quartet many years ago when my family, the Walters Family, toured with them.  But he had been one of many who left the hectic life of the gospel quartet circuit in order to save his marriage. It worked.  He and Maggie recently celebrated their twenty-fifth anniversary.   The last I’d heard, Pat had formed his own part-time quartet that performed only on the weekends.  During the week he had his own booking agency, Hoffman Happenings.

"You’ve got me," said Pat, interrupting my reminiscing.  "I need a favor."

Without another word I knew I was done for.  I was terrible at turning down friends in need, even when it was prudent to do so.  "What?"

"I imagine you’ve heard about the first annual Singfest West Gospel Music Convention that Pete Schellenberg is bringing to Donlyn?"

"I’ve seen the advertising.  Starts tomorrow night doesn’t it?"   "Alex, I need a huge favor.  I’m takin’ care of the entertainment for the convention and the man in charge wants an emcee with local appeal. We had the emcee one of the big promoters in Los Angeles uses, but he fell off a ladder yesterday and broke his leg.  I was hoping maybe..."

"Oh no." I shook my head vigorously. "No, no, no.  Not a chance."

"But I’m desperate.  I can’t get anyone else this last minute.  I tried. For old-times-sake?  It pays good."

There wasn’t any point arguing, with past due bills I couldn’t turn down a paying gig.  At least I could have Jess with me.

"All right."

"Yes!!" he shouted into the phone so loud it made my ears ring.  "You’re a lifesaver, Babe. Of course we’ll want you to sing a couple songs a night too, more local appeal.  We need to meet after lunch to go over the details."

Without another word from me he hung up.  I’d been home less than two hours and already my ex wanted custody of our child and I’d become the emcee of a big convention starting tomorrow.  Gospel music conventions were common to the Eastern half of the country, but there hadn’t been many really big ones in California for a long time.  Not since the Web Family was at their hottest.  Just a few years ago the biggest national convention promoter in the country had started an annual convention in Fresno, but due to a lack of attendance he had decided to move it to a larger city. 

One Joaquin Valley farmer had not been pleased with the rumors about the move so he decided to start a convention of his own that no one could move but him.  He’d even built a new auditorium.  In the long run I was certain he’d be lucky if he broke even. But he was doing it because he loved Southern Gospel music, not to make a profit.  Though it would be cheaper just to fly back east every year.

I decided to unpack before there were any more interruptions since I had to meet Mike in about twenty minutes.    I laid my well-worn brown suitcase on the floor and sat down beside it, not wanting to disturb Jess.  The first thing I retrieved was my latest treasure, a small brown stuffed mouse with the cutest grin on his little face, like he’d pulled something on the cat and gotten away with his life. 

My collection of toy and ceramic mice lined a small shelf that encircled the top of our bedroom.  My first mouse came as a joke gift from my brother, Jonathon, when I was eight.  It was supposed to be a joke because I’ve always been deathly afraid of the real thing, but it turned into a hobby.  Thankfully, after Mike left, my cousin Lynn gave me Watson to keep away the real mice.  Mike hated cats.  Lynn hated mice as much as I did and understood I needed a cat.  The fear of mice seemed to be a Walters women family trait.

I glanced at my watch.  I had ten minutes to get to my meeting.  Shoot, I was a mess after my plane trip.  I didn’t care what I looked like for Mike, but wanted to look nice for Pat.  In the bathroom I brushed my teeth then checked myself out in the mirror.  Liner needed a touch up, and I winced at what had to be the beginnings of crows-feet.  Yuck.

Daddy had always told me that my best features were long blonde locks I’d inherited from Grandma Walters, and green eyes that changed shades according to my clothes. I ran a brush through my hair and shrugged, it would have to do.

Cassandra was at the kitchen table studying as I headed through the room.

"Cass, would you mind watching Jess while I run out for a pizza?"

"Not as long as I get a piece."

"No problem."  I didn’t dare tell her I’d be making a detour; she’d try to talk me out of it.

Jess came bounding out of the bedroom.  "Mommy, Mommy, I’m hungry."

I knelt down beside her.  "Want pizza?"

"Yum. Can I go with you?"

"No, you need to stay here and keep Cassandra company. You wouldn’t want her to get lonely."

Jess was a very smart four-year old, so I knew ploys like this wouldn’t work much longer, I only hoped they would work now.  She didn’t need to see Mike and I fight.

She pouted and let out an awfully big sigh for someone so small.  "Okay, Mommy."   I pulled on my old, red, Walters Family touring jacket and grabbed my purse as I headed out to  warm up the Bel Air and put up the top.

November was finally getting cold.  The weather in the San Joaquin Valley was hard to predict, except during the summer when it was always hot. Usually, Thanksgiving brought good sweater weather, but sometimes you'd still be wearing shorts.  This time it brought welcome cool relief after the brutal heat of summer’s triple digits. 

In need of some calming music, I tuned in my favorite station KBLU on the car radio.  I was in luck.  Frank Sinatra’s soothing tones drifted over the radio waves.  He was singing the Coffee Song, a fun upbeat little ditty.  Mmm.  Coffee sounded good.  I felt chilled to the bone, my body not yet adjusted to the cold weather.   I turned the radio up a little louder.  Sinatra was a big favorite. Next July I planned to make it to the Frank Sinatra convention in Atlantic City as a late birthday present to myself; I deserved it for making it all the way to the big three-o. My birthday was in a week. What a birthday present this thing with Mike would be.

It only took five minutes to get to the San Franciscan, or anywhere in Donlyn.  The lobby of the San Franciscan was quiet.  The front desk clerk was reading a magazine.  Mike sat at a small table near the front window working at his laptop.  I stepped onto the blue carpet and my feet sank into its luxurious depth.  Long blue satin curtains flowed from the front window.

Noticing me, Mike closed his computer and patted the chair next to him. Reluctantly, I complied. 

"Alex, I'm glad you came."

"You said something about settling this without going to court.  What did you have in mind?"  No small talk, it’d been a long day.

Mike frowned.  "You never change, do you?"

"You're wrong.  I've changed a lot."

He ran his hand through a mop of dusty blond hair, a move I’d seen many times in our three years of marriage.  "I think we both want what's best for Jessica and you'd have to admit that your lifestyle doesn't allow her to have a normal life."

I stiffened, clenching my fists.  "Normal?"

"Jessica would be better off in a real home."

"Now wait a minute.  This is absurd, you travel more than I do!"

"But Leslie could stay home with Jessica all the time.  She'd never be without a parent.  You gotta see that’d be better for her.  We can’t have kids, so this is the only chance Leslie has to be a mama and I think she’ll make a darn good one."  So that was it, Leslie wanted to be a Mommy.  Well, she wasn’t going to be one with my child.

Mike fidgeted with his watchband, avoiding my eyes.  "And now that I’m older and more settled I want to be a daddy.  My dad was never around and I realize now I don’t want to be like him.  Don’t want to hurt Jess like Pop hurt me."   This sudden burst of sincerity threw me; he’d never been that vulnerable while we were married.  I hoped it wasn’t just a scam.  I might consider letting him back in her life, but he wasn’t taking her away.

I sprang from my seat, accidentally sending the chair crashing to the floor and attracting the attention of the desk clerk. I blushed.  "If you want to be a part of her life again, fine.  But Leslie is not her parent. I am.  You’re not taking her away." My voice trembled with emotion.

"She's with me almost all of the time.  I only leave her once in awhile so she doesn't have to miss her friends at preschool.  And no judge in the world is going to give her to a father that abandoned her and hasn’t ever bothered to pay child-support!"  I stormed off towards the door but Mike grabbed my arm.

"Your lifestyle makes you a bad parent.  You run around with someone whose father is in the Mafia.  I'll get Jessica.  Be reasonable and settle out of court and I'll let you have her during the summer."

I yanked my arm from Mike's weak grip, then turned on him with rage so strong I trembled.  "No one is taking my baby away!" I screamed.  "I'll do whatever it takes to keep her."

Mike’s mouth hung open at the sight of my anger.  He’d made a mistake if he thought I was weak and that taking Jess would be easy.  His hands shook, but there was no passion in his eyes, no anger, only the slightest bit of fear.  Was it fear of me or of Leslie not getting what she wanted? "I'll get Jessica if it kills me," he spoke in even tones.

I opened the door, then spoke over my shoulder.  "It just might."

THE TROUBLE
WITH TENORS

DEADLY
DISCRIMINATION

Deadly Discrimination

CHAPTER 1

ICE CREAM TRUCK ROBBED, read the headlines in the Kingsbury News. I nudged my breakfast companion from his study of the entertainment section of the San Francisco Chronicle. He looked up, annoyance in his gray eyes, and I showed him the headlines.

"And you thought nothing interesting ever happened in Kingsbury," I teased.

My friend frowned and waved our waitress, Candy Callahan, over for a refill of our coffee. "I wouldn't call that interesting, Preacher Boy. That's just weird."

"It's as much crime as I ever want to see,” I said, as I added cream to my coffee. “Not that it makes for very interesting print. But I'm satisfied with covering local charity events, pet parades, and harvest festivals."

This got my companion to put down his paper, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. That face had broken many a heart when we grew up together in New Orleans. Stephen had always been the ladies man of our team. Around him I didn’t have a chance.

"Don't you get to cover the Kingsbury Fiesta parade this year?"

I shrugged. "My editor says people return to town for it from all over the country. The booths are rumored to sell the best food in the San Joaquin Valley. The food part definitely sounds good.”

“That parade is so boring and predictable you could write about it without even seeing it this year and no one would ever know the difference.” Stephen again waved Candy over.

She walked over with a lightness in her step that would fade as her day went along. Working at the Main Street Café, the busiest café in town, had to take its toll. I'd been trying to get Candy to attend my church ever since I moved to Kingsbury a few months ago, but without success. She'd had a hard life but was a sweet gal.

"Was your breakfast all right, Mr. Carlucci?"

Stephen favored her with one of his smiles. "Delicious, Candy. What's it going to take to get you to call me Stephen?"

She blushed, matching the red of her hair, and giggled like a schoolgirl despite the fact she was probably in her thirties like myself.

"What about you, Pastor Mike? Were your biscuits and gravy okay?"

"Great as always. No food better in town than that of the Main Street Café. Will I be seeing you in church this Sunday? The choir's got some good numbers planned."

I was rather proud of our new choir. When I first took on the pastorate at the Kingsbury Community Church there wasn't any choir at all. This was my first church and I was determined to do well by it.

Candy shook her head. "Too busy with the Fiesta this weekend. The Main Street Café has a booth this year. Matter of fact, I have to go over there and set it up this afternoon."

"I forgot that the booths open tonight."

She placed our bills on the table. "Is this your first Fiesta, Pastor?"

“Yep, and I’m really looking forward to it. Everyone seems so excited.”

"It's nothing like Mardi Gras in New Orleans, but it's a lot of fun. The booths will have great food, some craft stuff, a few carnival games, and there's even a pony ride for the tots. And there’ll be a concert in the bandstand around eight. You really ought to come. It's a local jazz band and they're great. Friend of mine plays bass."

Stephen took a sip of his coffee, then nodded. "Emilio, right?"

"Yeah."

"He's one of my girlfriend's boarders. Seems like a cool guy; never heard him play. Mostly does church stuff." Stephen grimaced.

I was certain he hadn't darkened the door of a church on Sunday for a long time. Raised Catholic, Stephen left church completely when the Mafia executed his brother. It was at that time that Stephen learned of his father’s position with the Mafia. If the Catholic Church accepted his father among its members, Stephen wanted nothing to do with it. Only in a city like New Orleans could a preacher’s boy end up best friends with the son of a Mafia don. Of course our friendship blossomed during a darker time in my life.

In the last few years one of my greatest desires had become to win my best friend to Christ. I was certain it was part of the reason God had called me to a church in the same town where he now lived.

“Pastor?”

Candy’s voice brought me back to the moment. "I'll be there. Don't want to miss a moment of my first Kingsbury Fiesta. What about you, Stephen?"

"I don’t know about tonight or even the parade, but I'll definitely catch you at the park after the parade. We can meet at the Mennonite Church booth. I've developed a taste for German food since moving here."

"And for German women?” I prodded, knowing my friend’s heart was completely taken with the young gospel singer he was dating. They made quite the contrast and I wasn’t sure how their relationship meshed with his lack of religion.

"Watch it, Preacher Boy. I wouldn't talk if I were you. Isn't that lovely Lola of yours German, too?"

"Got me there, Heathen Boy." As boys we’d given each other nicknames that had stayed with us a lifetime. Our nicknames had been as odd a combination as our friendship.

Candy laughed as she left us to greet some new customers coming through the door.

Stephen’s cell phone rang, so I leaned back and watched the room as I finished up my coffee. Watching people was a hobby of mine; it was amazing what you could learn. The cafe was packed as usual. The only thing that ever changed was the makeup of the crowd. We’d missed the farm crowd, they were here as early as five a.m., much too early for this city dweller.

At this time of the day senior citizens filled the place, and perhaps a few business types stopping in for a cup of coffee. The room was filled with quiet chatter, but this was quickly shattered as three young men breezed through the doors and waltzed up to the counter, each sitting down on an empty stool.

One of them slammed his fist down on the counter. “Candy, get your pretty little self over here and bring us coffee and donuts. Growing boys need sustenance.”

I’d learned that many of the seniors at the two local high schools were given a certain amount of leeway for going off campus when they didn’t have a class, something that didn’t happen anymore in big cities. Of course the kids from Kensington High, the private high school in town, had the most leeway and lived by a completely different set of rules. I recognized these boys as being from Kensington.

The normally perky waitress looked up from the bill she was figuring and frowned. “Keep your pants on, Josh Matthews. And your voice down.”

Josh hopped off the stool and helped himself to the coffee. Candy tried to shoo him away without success. Her petite form was no match for the six-foot-two-inch football player.

It was time to intervene-after all, he was the son of a member of my church board. I walked over to the counter. “Josh, behave yourself and take a seat. I’m sure Candy will get to you as soon as she can.”

Candy smiled with relief, but Josh glared at me without moving. But when Stephen came up beside me Josh returned to his seat. A big, tough, private investigator was more threatening than a simple country preacher.

We returned to our booth for our bills. Before we could leave our church’s young janitor came rushing in, his face twisted in anger.

"What's wrong, Eddie?"

"Mr. Toews is a jerk!" he yelled as he plopped down into the booth we had just vacated.

Stephen headed for the cash register. "I’m outta here, Preacher Boy. I’ll catch the bill this time.”

Stephen could afford to pay more than I could and we both knew it, so I didn’t protest. He may be a private investigator, but he lived off of his investments. I always believed he became a private investigator just to tick off his father. It seemed more of a hobby than a serious profession. Though he was good at it.

Candy suddenly appeared with her coffeepot. “Coffee, Eddie?”

He smiled at her but it didn’t have the same effect coming from a tall, thin boy just beginning to come into his manhood at seventeen. “Thanks, Candy. In a to-go cup please. I’ve got to drive the ice cream truck and catch the homeschool kids on break.”

Eddie watched her walk away with the interest of youth in beauty. His family owned the local ice cream parlor and had a truck that roamed the neighborhoods selling ice cream. Perhaps his had been the robbed truck. I cleared my throat to get his attention.

“Sorry, Pastor Mike. Mr. Toews turned me down for the internship at the radio station.”

“Did he say why?”

“He’s prejudiced, that’s why. If I had a name like Toews or Matthews instead of Martinez I’d been hired on the spot.” Eddie glanced over at the boys at the counter who were once again annoying Candy. But this time she was armed with a spatula. I smiled.

Mr. Toews owned the local Christian radio station. Recently he talked me into hosting a music program. I learned quickly that Toews wasn’t known for his generosity and that Christian kindness had nothing to do with how he ran his business. He was a tyrant to work for.

“Why would you say that?” I asked.

“What else could it be? I put in the first application, I’ve got experience in radio from deejaying that show on the high school campus station last year, and I’ve got a great radio voice.”

Eddie had a point. His voice had gone bass at the beginning of his junior year and I still hoped to get him into our choir. I wondered if his appearance would ever catch up with his voice.

“Would you like me to talk to him?”

His dark eyes suddenly sparkled. “Would ya, Pastor Mike? That’d be great.”

“I’ll let you know what he says.”

Candy handed Eddie his cup, and he slid out of the seat. It was my cue to leave as well, so I followed him to the door.

“Was that your truck that was robbed?”

“'Fraid so, and on my watch too. I feel awful. But he didn’t take much of anything. Really odd if you ask me.”

“Did you get hurt? Did you get a good look at him?”

Eddie shook his head. “I’m fine. I was making a delivery out on Elm and when I was walking back to the truck I saw someone jump out of the driver’s seat. They were dressed in black from head to toe-couldn’t even say for sure if it was a man or woman. It all happened so fast.”

“What did they take?”

“Nothing really. Just a twenty that I’d stupidly left on the seat. All the other money was with me.”

“Maybe you should start locking the truck when you get out?”

He slipped into the drivers seat. “You bet. See ya later Pastor, when I come by to clean up the church.”

I waved as he headed off down the street. Eddie was a smart boy and had graduated last June. Now he worked to help his family and save up for college. I only wished there were more the church could do for young people like him. I sighed as I spotted Josh’s silver Porsche parked out front. Why did some people seem to have everything and others nothing? I knew God had His reasons, but sometimes I wished He’d let me in on them.

DEADLY
DISCRIMINATION

OUT OF
TUNE

Out Of Tune

PROLOGUE

Her hands shook as she opened the letter that had been slipped under her door moments ago. The handwriting seemed familiar but she couldn’t quite place it.

My dear pet,

You will pay for what you did to me. I haven’t decided how, but you will pay…and you won’t know when to expect it.

Half the fun will be watching you squirm with fear while you wait to see when I will strike and what I will do to you. I am watching.

Finally I will have my revenge.

Your tormentor

The note fell to the floor as she let out a scream. She covered her mouth in fear someone in the retirement village might have heard her. Who is this mad person? What can I do to protect myself?

"I’ve got it," she said out loud. "I’ll make them all come home." She looked at the family portrait on her mantel and began to trace each face with her fingers. With her family around she knew she’d be safe. Her breathing slowed and she relaxed. Yes, she’d make sure they were here, and she knew just how she’d go about it.

Her laughter filled the apartment as she picked up the phone. "They will come."

CHAPTER 1

I hate bicycles! Why would anyone ever want to ride one for miles just for fun? But apparently my grandma Harms did, and she was bound and determined that her family be there to watch. Edna Harms was a difficult woman, always manipulating those around her.

"Alexandra Walters, you should be ashamed of yourself," I scolded the reflection in the rearview mirror as I pushed a stray strand of blonde hair back into place. After all, she was my grandmother. But she made it so hard for anyone to like her.

My foot pushed down on the gas pedal as I sped along Manning Avenue toward home, the sun barely creeping up into the sky. It was far too early for me — I was a night person. It also didn’t help that I hadn’t been sleeping well. I’d been plagued with nightmares ever since being trapped in a burning barn just a couple months earlier.

Why had I allowed Edna to talk me into coming home early from my trip? We were gathering together because she had finally decided to have my grandfather’s memorial service, and I knew she had timed it so we’d all be there to watch her in the Blossom Trail Bike Ride as well. Otherwise, after putting the memorial service off this long, she could have waited two more days for me to get home. The only plus side to all of this was that I would get to see my family again. After spending years traveling together singing gospel music, it was hard to live so far apart.

Nearly two months had passed since my grandfather’s death while on safari in Africa. The family threw a fit when she didn’t bring his body home, but she moaned about red tape and the cost. Edna never spent any money she didn’t have to. But why did it have to be now? Why did we have to watch that boring Blossom Trail Bike Ride? It really wasn’t that I hated bikes personally, I just wasn’t much of an exercise type person and watching others do it wasn’t at the top of my list for fun.

Thoughts of the Blossom Festival prompted me to glance at the incredible scene surrounding me as I neared home. Acres of trees covered with white or pink blossoms covered the landscape like a beautiful blanket. It was breathtaking, but just looking at the spring flora tickled my nose and nearly made me sneeze. But the thought of the fruit that would take their place in the summer made my empty stomach growl and my mouth water.

Despite the chaos I knew awaited me at home, the Donlyn City Limits sign on the edge of town filled me with a sense of peace. The little town of Donlyn, California nestled in the heart of the San Joaquin Valley and surrounded by orchards and vineyards, had been home all of my thirty years.

I could hardly wait to see my daughter. Since my parents arrived early for the memorial service, Jessica had been able to stay with them. They were thrilled at the chance to spend more time with their granddaughter. My parents now lived in North Carolina and saw little of their girls. I missed them terribly.

Thinking of my little girl made me smile. Jessica was five years old now, and I didn’t look forward to her going to school. Then I’d have to leave her home more often when I traveled.

The big front porch at 351 S. Reed with its worn wooden swing were my favorite things about the old house I called home, and the first things I saw as I pulled into the driveway. The swing moved slightly in the early morning breeze as though propelled by the little legs of a ghost child from the past. My stomach suddenly tied in knots at the same moment my heart leapt for joy. I wished the homecoming had nothing to do with my grandmother.

My jacket securely around me, I got out and popped the trunk on my black ‘57 Chevy Bel Air convertible, then lugged my suitcases to the front door. Though it would warm up to a pleasant spring temperature as the day went along, right now it was chilly. As I fumbled for my keys, the door flew open and my little angel came running out, followed by my dad. I dropped the suitcases, threw my arms around her tiny frame and kissed the top of her dusty blonde head.

"Mommy! I’m so glad you’re home."

My dad stood on the porch and watched us with a silly grin on his face. I’d made a lot of mistakes in my life but I knew he was proud of the life I now lived, and the child one of my mistakes produced.

Dad was in his early sixties but still as vital as ever. His once black wavy hair was now mostly gray, but still thick. Many in our family had hazel eyes, but Daddy’s were a sky blue like his father’s and sometimes twinkled with the same mischief. As he took the suitcases I noticed slight circles under his eyes. He wasn’t a morning person either.

Before we could get inside the entryway, Mom came rushing out, a whirlwind of energy. "Alex, I’m so glad you’re home," she said, in a strong soprano voice. "I bet you’re hungry. Come on in and I’ll make you something to eat." Mom knew left to my own devices I’d live on Pop-Tarts and Pepsi.

We went inside as a unit and headed for the kitchen. Dad took my things into the bedroom next to the kitchen, then joined us at the table as Mom busied herself preparing something. Her still-blonde hair was cut short and framed her pale yet youthful looking face.

"Where is Grandma Harms?" I asked, the word grandma nearly sticking in my throat. To me she had never been a grandma, but I used the word for my mom’s sake.

"Edna’s out training," answered my father in his soft baritone voice, as a frown creased his forehead at the mention of his mother-in-law. He so seldom frowned that the lines smoothed right back out again.

"Did you know she has Richard’s memorial service and dinner planned at the Moonlight Café?" he asked. "Why she picked that place I don’t know." The Moonlight was a jazz café and Dad hated jazz.

"And you’re going to love this. She has demanded we be at Lewis Park for the opening ceremonies for the Blossom Festival right after lunch at one o’clock today. Even arranged for us to sing."

"Sing?"

Dad nodded. "Yeah, she just told us this morning. Told us, not asked."

Mom was still at the stove. "It actually sounds like fun," she said. "I enjoyed singing together at the Singfest West Convention a few months ago, and this time the boys will be here too."

"Assuming Tommy actually shows up," said Dad in a tone he reserved for my baby brother. He loved each of us to death, but Tommy always lived life his own way, which was usually the opposite of what Dad would have picked for him.

It would be great to be home with my family again, but like most families we didn’t always get along. Home. Everything changed when Grandpa Harms died and Edna moved back into town a few weeks ago. She quickly drummed up old friends and enemies.

Before I could get myself too worked up, the doorbell rang. I wasn’t certain I wanted to answer it. What if it was Edna? My dad beat me to the punch and trotted off to get it. His health was so much better since leaving the road. Life on the road had just become too hard on him, though I knew he missed it.

Stephen’s tenor voice echoed through the house. He was sort of my boyfriend and the best private investigator in the state of California, in my humble opinion. Mom put bacon and eggs in front of me as the voices of the two most important men in my life drifted into the kitchen as they chatted casually.

"I see you’ve made some changes since we were here for Alex’s birthday," said my dad.

Oh no! I’d forgotten Dad’s opinion about beards. I honestly wasn’t certain what I thought of Stephen’s change in appearance, but I didn’t think it was because he was hiding something. I stifled a giggle as I remembered what my dad used to say when he met someone with a beard. But those little things made him dad, and I wouldn’t trade him for anything.

Stephen strolled into the kitchen, he always strolled never rushed, and I smiled at him. Until the beard, he reminded me of a young Robert Redford. With the beard I wasn’t certain whom he looked like. One thing never changed, the gorgeous head of blond hair that always fell forward over his intense gray eyes.

He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek since my mouth was full of breakfast. "Welcome home, Babe. This is a bit early for you," he teased, then sat at the table directly across from me. Yes, even with Edna around it was nice to be home. "How was the trip to San Diego?"

I swallowed a mouthful of eggs. "It was great. I managed to stop in at another mystery bookstore. You would have loved this one. They have Sci-Fi books too. It’s called Mysterious Galaxy and the most delightful, perky redhead runs it. Her name is Maryelizabeth, you’d like her too."

"And speaking of mysteries, what kind of case are you working on?" I asked him in between bites.

"Nothing important, just a missing person’s case." His eyes twinkled, as he purposely didn’t say anything more, knowing how much that would drive me crazy.

I leaned in closer and whispered, "Anybody I know?"

Stephen frowned. "Client confidentiality. Sorry."

As curious as a cat, I had gotten myself into my fair share of trouble. So accepting Stephen’s answer was hard for me, even if I didn’t believe in gossip. I never gossiped, I just collected information.

"Honey, we need to go to the airport and pick up Uncle Chuck and his new wife," said my mom. "If your grandma calls, tell her where we went. We’ll meet at Lewis Park around twelve thirty so we can set up and hopefully practice a little." Mom leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

"Thought we’d do ‘I’ll Fly Away.’ Something simple since we might not get to practice," said my dad, as he gave Stephen a suspicious look before following Mom out the back door. I almost laughed.

Before I could take another bite of food, the phone rang, and I jumped up to retrieve the cordless from the kitchen counter. "Hello."

"Hey, Sis, how’s things?"

"Tommy, where are you?"

My little brother, Tommy, was a musician right down to his soul. A great guy, but never could stay put. "Yikes Sis, you sound like Mom."

"Thanks. I am a mom too, you know. Are you going to make it in time? Did you hear about the singing at the opening ceremonies?"

"Yes, and I’m just passing through Bakersfield. Can you pick me up at the bus stop in Goshen in about two hours?"

"It doesn’t take two hours to get from Bakersfield to Goshen."

His rich baritone laughter resonated through the phone. "It does on a bus."

Exhausted from travel, I didn’t feel like going anywhere but gave in to the pull of my sisterly duties. "I’ll make sure someone’s there."

"Thanks, Sis. I knew you’d come through. See ya." Before I could say anything else, I was listening to a dial tone.

Jess came bounding out of the bedroom. Seeing Stephen, she ran to him, and he stood up and lifted her high above his head. She giggled. It was quite the domestic scene, and it bothered me. I didn’t want her becoming overly attached to him if things didn’t work out. But why wouldn’t they? He was great. I’d be a fool to let him go.

Stephen put her down and she turned to me. "Mommy, who was on the phone?"

Jess was definitely her mother’s daughter. "It was Uncle Tommy. He needs us to pick him up at the bus station in a couple of hours. Want to go with me?"

"Yes, please."

"Hey, Babe, I ran into your mailman on my way up your drive." Stephen handed me a pile of letters. I quickly sorted through them just to check if there was anything important. One letter caught my eye-it was in a gorgeous royal blue envelope. Interesting.

The slam of the front door stopped me from opening it. I assumed it was one of my tenants returning home. You know what they say about assumptions.

Into my kitchen without even ringing the doorbell, walked the storm, as we often referred to my grandma Harms.

"Alexandra, it’s about time you got home. I didn’t buy you a plane ticket so you could dawdle around and be late. We have a lot to do to get ready for tonight."

We? Was she now referring to herself in the plural or did she have a mouse in her pocket? I doubted it.

Edna sat down at the table and shoved aside my food. Stephen reached over and rescued it, putting my plate on the other side of the table and pulling out a chair for me, which I hesitantly took. He was wonderful.

I was surprised at Edna’s new look. Her gray hair, which was always perfectly coifed at the beauty shop every week, was now cropped tightly to her head. The perfectly dressed woman I’d known since birth now sat in front of me wearing sweats. I couldn’t help myself; I leaned over and took a gander at her label. Had to be designer sweats at least. Sure enough, it was some fancy French name.

"Edn-, er, Grandma, what’s with the new do?"

She looked a bit confused at first. "Oh you mean the haircut. It’s quite the latest fashion and so much more functional for bike racing. Now about tonight. I need you to run a few errands for me and don’t forget the opening ceremonies." She handed me a list about a mile long, and a crumpled piece of lavender paper fell to the floor. Edna snapped it up quickly, a brief look of terror on her face, like a shoplifter who had almost been caught. Obviously I wasn’t the only one receiving strange correspondence.

"I’m not going anywhere right now because I’m eating." I held up a forkful of food to make my point. "Then I have to pick up Tommy. You wouldn’t want him to miss the ceremonies."

"But, Mommy, I thought we didn’t have to…" I put my hand gently over my little girl’s mouth.

"We need to leave right away, honey. As soon as I finish my food. Go get your shoes."

Jess gave me a funny look, but to my delight she didn’t argue for a change.

Edna’s eyelids squeezed together as she frowned at me, and I could tell she wasn’t pleased. "I can’t possibly take care of all of this by myself, and you wouldn’t want a shabby service for your dear sweet grandfather. You always were his favorite, you know."

I bit my tongue. Edna never changed, even if her clothes and hairstyle did. Stephen could tell I was about to explode, and probably feared being recruited, so he grabbed my arm and headed for the back door which was only a couple feet away, sadly leaving my now-cold food behind.

"Jess, hurry up," I yelled as he kept moving me along.

"Stephen, dear, you are going to shave that horrid beard before tonight I hope."

This time I grabbed Stephen and reached back for the letter. Thankfully, Jess came running out, and we left the storm behind to brew into a hurricane. I’d just have to catch some food later.

CHAPTER 2

After killing some time downtown and finally getting a meal, Jess and I headed off to pick up my brother. Stephen went to work on a case. Goshen wasn’t much more than a spot on the map, but it had the nearest bus stop. During my six months as a reserve police officer, I’d heard enough about Goshen to know it wasn’t a place I wanted to be any longer than necessary.

The bus depot was just off the freeway, so I didn’t have to go far into town. The depot barely qualified as a depot. The building housed a bar, restaurant, and casino with a window to sell tickets for the bus. A few rows of ugly orange chairs sat out front. It was appropriately named "The Senseless Depot."

When I pulled into the parking lot, a white pickup followed. I’d have sworn it was behind me since I’d left town. A chill ran down my spine, but then he went on past so I decided I was just being silly. The nightmares had me on edge. I needed to learn to relax again. Besides, this area seemed to be the white pickup capital of the world. It seemed every farmer owned at least one.

I spotted my brother talking to a young girl in front of the depot. He leaned against the side of the building, his long, sandy-brown hair falling past his shoulders. Tommy was a musician through and through. I honked for him and finally got his attention. He handed something to the girl, she smiled, then he grabbed his duffle bag and trotted over. Throwing the bag next to Jess on the back seat, he slid into the passenger seat.

"Hey Sis, how’s it going?"

"Fine and you?"

He didn’t answer so I glanced over at him as I headed back to the freeway. "Tommy?"

"I left the band."

"Why?"

"They were compromising on the music. Never wanted to practice. We sounded awful."

Tommy was a perfectionist when it came to music. In everything else he was the most laid back person I knew, but not with music.

"You’ll find another band. You always do." I pulled the Bel Air onto the freeway.

"I was thinking about staying in Donlyn for awhile. Don’t suppose you’ve got a spare room in that big old house of yours?"

"Is Uncle Tommy going to live with us, Mommy?" shouted Jess from the back seat, trying to talk over the roar of the wind from the open window. Good thing I’d put the top up.

Tommy rolled up the window. From the corner of my eye I saw him turn in his seat to face her. "Would you like that, cupcake?"

"Oh yes!"

"What’s really up, Tommy?"

"Your little brother is almost twenty-five, and I’ve been on the road since I was a baby. Maybe it’s time for me to settle down. Have a real life. Maybe find a nice small-town girl and get married."

"You can be in a band and be married," I countered.

"Yeah, you did a great job of it."

That hurt and wasn’t at all like him. I didn’t respond.

He was quiet a few minutes, staring out the window. "I’m sorry, Sis. That was uncalled for. You didn’t know what a creep he was when you married him. I just feel like I need a little time off the road to figure out where I want to go with the rest of my life."

"You can stay with us as long as you need."

A smile spread across his boyish face. "I knew you’d come through. You always do."

My baby brother had a point. I always felt more like a second mom to my brothers than their sister. Since childhood, they’d accused me of being bossy, but they also seemed to count on my being there for them.

We turned down Reed and soon found ourselves in front of the house. Even though Tommy was right about my ex, Mike, having been a creep, Mike had left me a great old house. I didn’t mind renting out rooms to pay the bills; it had given me a wonderful surrogate family.

Mom and Dad’s rented van was parked out front, and I was relieved there was no sign of Edna. Tommy grabbed his duffle bag and followed us to the door. Before we reached the front porch, it dawned on me he was a little short on luggage. "Where are the drums?"

His pale skin turned red. "Take a guess."

"Joey’s Pawn Shop in LA?" Every time he was without a gig that’s where they ended up.

"How do you think I bought the bus ticket?"

"Didn’t Edna pay your way here like the rest of us?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Guess she ran out of money before she got to me. All I got was a telegram summoning me home."

We went inside, and I led him upstairs to the room he’d be sharing with our resident waiter/actor Joel. They had a lot in common and seemed to click during Tommy’s infrequent visits. Both were entertainers and both oddly enough had ponytails. Joel was out so Tommy threw his stuff on the extra bed, then pulled a small package out of his bag and handed it to me.

"What’s this?"

"Open it and find out."

I tore open the brown paper wrapping and pulled out a tiny glass mouse that was playing the drums. "Oh, it’s precious. I know it’s a bribe to make sure I let you stay, but I’ll take it.

"It’s been awhile since I’ve added a mouse to your collection, so I thought it was about time." He grinned, showing a mouthful of perfect teeth that had cost our folks a bundle. "And no, it’s not a bribe."

We were headed back downstairs, my treasure in my hands, when my parents came out of my only spare bedroom. Since I was back, they had their suitcases packed and were ready to move to the Masters Hotel. They loved staying in hotels.

Dad frowned, as he always did when he saw Tommy’s hair, but he knew it didn’t do any good to say anything. Tommy always did what he wanted anyway.

"Hi," said Tommy. Mom went up to him and gave him a big hug, and Dad hesitantly followed suit.

"Where are Uncle Chuck and Aunt Clarisse?" I asked. Our family didn’t always use the titles uncle and aunt; my dad thought they were too formal. We tended to use them only with those we didn’t know as well.

"We dropped them off at the car rental place, then they’ll be heading to the Masters to get ready for the opening ceremonies. Hopefully everyone else will be here by then. Speaking of which, you guys need to get ready."

"Yes, Mom," we said in unison, then laughed.

I left Tommy to settle in, and my folks headed out. Once back in the bedroom I shared with Jess, I stood on a chair to add my new mouse to the collection that filled the shelves running around the wall. Jonathon gave me the first one as a joke because I was so terrified of the real thing. Now it was a hobby. I wondered if Jonathon was going to make it in time for the ceremonies.

My sleek black cat, Watson, jumped up on the bed and began purring for attention. With the onslaught of new people, he had been in hiding and would most likely not leave the bedroom for the next week, so I moved his food and litter box into the corner.

Jess came bounding in with a yapping puppy at her heels and Watson dashed back under the bed. "Sherlock, sit," I commanded, and he actually listened, his long pink tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth.

"Good boy." I knelt in front of the energetic Cocker Spaniel, a recent gift from Stephen, and petted his silky caramel-colored fur. I was rewarded with a fit of licking. Jess giggled and joined the pile on the floor. It was time to get ready, so I put an end to the fun. I picked up the pup and held him tight, but not before his flailing limbs knocked my purse on the floor.

"Jess, you know he’s supposed to stay outside while we have company. He’s just too friendly and not everyone in our family likes dogs." It was something I couldn’t understand but was forced to accept.

She pouted and looked at her feet. "Sorry, Mommy. I forgot."

I laughed. Even when she was in trouble, she was darn cute. "That’s okay, honey. Just try to remember the rest of the week. You can go outside to play with him later. Now get in the bathroom and clean up while I take him out."

After disposing of the squirming animal in the backyard, I headed for our bathroom and took care of my makeup and hair while trying not to end up with Jess’ toothpaste all over me. When we finished cleaning up, we returned to the bedroom to get dressed. I then pulled out a simple black dress that tapered at the waist and fell almost to my ankles. I liked the way it swooshed around when I moved.

Jess wore a blue velvet dress my parents had given her for Christmas. It was nearly time to leave by the time we were both ready. I was anxious for this whole thing to be over.

I reached to pick up my purse, and the blue envelope fell onto the floor. My curiosity wouldn’t allow me to put it off any longer, so I sat on the bed and opened the envelope. What was inside made me gasp. It was a photo of me leaving my house just days earlier. There was nothing else in the envelope. Perhaps I hadn’t been paranoid. What was going on? I carefully put the envelope and photo in the side pocket of my purse. I would see what Stephen thought. Surely it was some sort of prank.

"Kids, it’s time to go," yelled Mom as I heard the back door slam shut. It made me jump.

"Coming," I called out as I grabbed sweaters just in case.

Mom was dressed in a simple navy blue dress, and Dad wore the same dark blue suit he’d worn for years, though it looked new. I suspected he just kept buying the exact same suit every time. It reminded me of an old favorite family show, Matlock. Matlock always wore the same suit, too.

Tommy was as dressed up as he ever got — in black slacks, a white cotton shirt and a black leather vest. His hair was pulled back into a tidy ponytail.

We piled into the van and headed for the Masters to pick up Aunt Clarisse and Uncle Chuck, who hadn’t been ready when my parents left. Mom jumped out, while Dad kept the van running, and went inside to see if they wanted to ride with us to the ceremony.

Dad turned to face us in the back. "So, Tommy how’s the band?"

"Fine, Dad," he lied. It wasn’t like Tommy to lie. What was really going on here? I gave him a sisterly glare.

Before he could be questioned further, we were invaded by family. Mom returned not with Chuck and Clarisse, but with Aunt Jeanine and Uncle Fred who I guessed were riding with us instead.

Jeanine ducked as she entered the van. She was almost a head taller than Fred, but he didn’t seem short. His muscles threatened to pop the buttons on his white cotton shirt. I had heard stories of his days on the track team in college. He had always been athletic.

We settled into the van before the chatter began.

"Where are Chuck and Clarisse?" asked Dad.

Mom settled into her seat. "They left a note at the desk saying they’d meet us at the park."

"So, Tommy, do we have wedding bells coming up anytime soon?" asked Jeanine, with a sparkle in her eyes. The one thing she had inherited from Edna was her directness. The difference was Jeanine’s came from love and concern. Edna just wanted to manipulate the world around her.

But Jeanine had no way of knowing that this was apparently a sore subject with Tommy. The frown that scrunched up his freckled nose told me he was taking this more seriously than usual, though his words belied it.

"There are just too many to pick from, Jeanine, and none of them are as perfect as you."

She giggled like a schoolgirl.

"What about you, Alex? When are you going to marry that PI of yours?"

Jess perked up and listened intently. "You know me, Jeanine. I like things just the way they are." I ruffled my baby’s hair and she smiled. "Us girls like it on our own."

This seemed to satisfy Jess, but not J