The Devil Went Down to Austin (Tres Navarre #3)(37)

Ruby's eyes flicked uncomfortably across mine. "How much of the story do you know?

"

"I know Clara had a fallingout with the Doebler family, lost custody of Jimmy when he was young. She reunited with Jimmy when he was an adult. I know she died about five years ago. I know she never thought much of Garrett."

"Jimmy never told you anything else?"

"We were never close."

She shook her head, fascinated. "No wonder you don't mind staying at the dome.

Jimmy's family has a history of mental illness, Tres. Clara was diagnosed with severe depression as a young woman. After Jimmy's dad died, she really went off the deep end. She started disobeying the family's wishes, keeping company with men they didn't like. Believe me, I know what Clara went through. If I'd been born thirty years earlier, I would've been Clara. The Doeblers damn near owned the county justice system around here during the 1960s. The courts found Clara legally unfit to parent. I never met her, but from what Jimmy says, she was a very sad woman when they finally reunited. A broken woman."

"At least they reunited."

She studied my face. "Not happily. The Doebler family money covered it up well, Tres, but I figured you knew how she died. Jimmy's mom committed suicide."

"Suicide," I repeated. "How?"

But as soon as I asked, I had a pretty good idea what the answer would be.

"She parked her car by the water," Ruby told me. "Down at the shore of her property, just about where you found Jimmy. And then, Tres, she shot herself in the head."

I sat there for a long time, listening to the crickets. The meteors kept streaking above us—the beginnings of a fullfledged shower.

Ruby got up. "And now it's time I apologized to your brother, I suppose. If you'll excuse me."

She looked back over her shoulder and smiled at me on her way in.

At that moment, I could believe what my brother said. I could believe Ruby McBride was pretty f**king awesome at breaking things.

CHAPTER 15

When the alarm clock went off the next morning, I slapped at the sleep button and hit only pillow.

I opened my eyes, saw the curve of a whitedomed ceiling, a blacklight Beatles poster taped to it.

My apartment didn't have a curved ceiling. I was pretty sure it didn't have an overhead blacklight Beatles poster.

I patted around. Flannel sheets, a mattress firmer and wider than my futon. In my sleep I'd gone almost spreadeagled, trying to find the edges of the bed.

The only thing familiar was Robert Johnson, curled around my head like a coonskin cap.

I sat up. Robert Johnson murred in protest as he slid off my scalp.

Sunlight sliced across the floor of Jimmy Doebler's loft. On the nightstand, the alarm clock was flashing 6:02 A.M.

Teaching class today, I remembered. UT Austin. The big time.

And on five hours' sleep, too. What more could a man want?

I got up, turned off the alarm, fumbled around for clothes. I'd unpacked my suitcase the night before, but couldn't remember where I'd stashed anything. I rummaged through the oak bureau, pulled on workout clothes before realizing they weren't mine. I looked down at Jimmy Doebler's Coral Reefer tour shirt, decided against changing.

Somehow, tai chi in a dead man's clothes seemed fitting this morning. I laid out slacks, a dress shirt, and a tie for later. Those I knew were mine. Jimmy wouldn't have owned any.

I climbed down the ladder to the ground floor. The dome was country quiet.

I made coffee, scrambled some eggs, and fried some corn tortilla strips for mi gas. I made a Friskies breakfast taco for Robert Johnson. We ate together at the counter, me standing up, reading the Austin AmericanStatesman on my laptop.

I scrolled down to tech news and there it was—the first story, posted only a few minutes before: AccuShield of Cupertino to Acquire Techsan. Ruby and Matthew Pena had wasted no time getting the sellout rolling.

The article chronicled Techsan's betatest problems, the lawsuits, the bad press—all of which would now be handled directly by AccuShield. Matthew Pena promised his client would have Techsan's software problems fixed and an industrystandard encryption program to market by the end of summer.

"It's a matter of resources," Pena said. "AccuShield has them. Techsan didn't."

The article also quoted Ruby McBride. She said the deal would be good for all parties involved. Pena would pay four million in AccuShield stock, with a lockin period of ninety days.

I copied the article, composed a quick email to Lars Elder at the First Bank of Sabinal.

I tried to sound upbeat, promised that Garrett could work out a new payment schedule for the ranch's mortgage soon. I didn't mention anything about possible murder charges.

I closed my laptop, drank some coffee, and stared at the pink cake box—the memorabilia Ruby McBride had almost pilfered the day before. Finally, either my breakfast or the photo of Clara Doebler had to go. I muttered an apology to Jimmy, then turned his dead mother facedown.

I needed to work out, then get ready for my morning class. Instead, I found myself sorting through Jimmy's Family folder—the queries he'd been making into the Doebler past. There was one letter to a local hospital, requesting inpatient records of Clara Ann Doebler's stays for clinical depression. Jimmy had written the AmericanStatesman for information about obituary archives. He'd written the Travis County clerk for Clara's death certificate, her will, the original deed to the lake property. He'd also asked if it were possible to do a birth certificate search without knowing the baby's name. He was interested in