The Barefoot Summer(9)

“Who are you talkin’ to, Mommy?” Gracie plopped down beside her. She smelled faintly of cinnamon from the french toast they’d had for breakfast, but the rest was sweaty kid that had been playing jump rope in the backyard.

If anything could ease the feelings inside Jamie that day, it was love for Gracie. She hugged her up next to her side. “I was talking to myself, trying to get things figured out. How would you like to go to the cabin for a few weeks?”

Gracie jumped up and clapped her hands, her black ponytail flopping up and down in excitement. “Yes, yes, yes! We can swim and go to the snow-cone stand down by the store and will we be there for the festival? And Daddy can share cotton candy . . .” Gracie stopped and tears filled her eyes. “Daddy won’t be there, will he? Do you think he’s in heaven like the preacher said?”

Jamie pulled her down on her lap and buried her face in Gracie’s hair. “Only God knows that.”

“Maybe Mama Rita will know. She talks to God.”

“You’ll have to ask her.” Jamie smiled.

Gracie wiggled out of her mother’s embrace. “Can we go to the cabin today?”

“We’ve got some stuff to take care of first, and tonight we have to go see the fireworks display with Mama Rita. How about this weekend? That will give you time to get your toys packed and decide which outfits Barbie will need to take.” Jamie smiled.

There would be memories at the cabin, but they only spent a week there each summer. It would be a far better place to figure things out than sitting in the house all summer, and besides, Gracie loved it there.

“I think I left one of my Barbies there last time we went. I bet she’s lonely.” Gracie sighed. “I will miss Daddy. We never been there without him.”

“I know, sweetheart, but we’ll have a good time, and maybe you can turn some balloons loose when we leave. They can rise right up in the sky and he might even see them.” Jamie fought the desire to cross her fingers behind her back.

“Okay,” Gracie said with a serious nod. “Now I’m goin’ to start packin’ my Barbies and their clothes. They’ll need bathing suits and I’ll have to take Snugglies or I won’t be able to sleep.” She disappeared into the house in a blur, leaving the sound of a slamming screen door in her wake.

An official-looking black vehicle slowed down as it passed her house, then backed up and pulled into her driveway. She shaded her eyes with her hand and hoped to hell it wasn’t more bad news. That detective from the funeral got out, shook the legs of his jeans down over cowboy boots, and tipped his hat toward her. Tall and dark haired, he shot a winning smile her way and swaggered over to lean on a porch post.

“Mrs. Jamie Steele?”

“That’s me,” she said.

“Could I come inside and ask you a few questions?”

“No, but you can sit on my porch with me and ask anything you want,” she said.

The hat and clothes might make him look like an innocent cowboy, but she’d been conned by a professional for seven years. Detective Waylon could barely be classified as an amateur in the field, even with his winning smile and those sexy eyes.

“Hot one, ain’t it?” He sat down on the top step and rested his back against a porch post.

“I’ve never expected snow in July,” she said. “Let’s cut to the chase. What do you want to know?”

He pulled out a notebook and a pen. “You are a schoolteacher, right?”

She nodded.

“Are you angry right now?”

“Not that it’s a bit of your business, but hell, yes, I’m mad. I just found out my husband is a polygamist and he’s got at least two other wives. Have you found more?”

“Not yet, but I’m still investigating.” Waylon smiled.

Might as well pack that grin up in your shirt pocket, because it’s not going to win you any favors in my court.

“Then why are you here?”

“I want to know where you were on the day he died, from early morning until after three,” he said.

“Why until then? Why not until midnight?”

He looked up from the notepad. “He died instantly at three o’clock in the flower shop.”

“And who were the flowers sent to? They damn sure didn’t come here,” Jamie said.

“It’s an ongoing investigation, so I can’t tell you that.”

A new rush of pure old mad flowed through Jamie. Conrad never sent flowers to her, not one time. When they were courting, he’d brought her a bouquet of wildflowers in a quart jar, and on their first anniversary he showed up with a box of chocolates that he’d bought on the half-price after-Christmas sale shelf. At the time she’d thought it was sentimental. Now that she knew he was shopping at an expensive florist, it was just downright cheap.

“Did that son of a bitch spend money for flowers on those other two hussies? He never sent me a damn thing, or Gracie, either, for that matter,” Jamie fumed.

The detective poised his pen over the notebook. “I told you I can’t answer that. But it will help if you can tell me where you were all day.”

“Thursday, I spent the morning with my grandmother. We went to a farmer’s market and bought vegetables. At noon we stopped by a burger joint down near Desoto, and then we went came home and put away the produce, had waffles for supper, and I heard about the murder on the television that evening. My grandmother and Gracie were with me all day. Do you think I killed him?”