Ralphie's Wives

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“I can’t. You know that. Ralphie’s share belongs to Rio Navarro.”

Darla’s spoon clattered into the half-empty oatmeal bowl. She threw up both hands. “Rio Navarro was not supposed to get my half of that bar. It was all a big mistake that he got it, and you know it was—and you know what else? That Rio Navarro, he couldn’t even be bothered to come to our wedding, you know that? We invited him, and he didn’t show. Ralphie said he could never talk that guy into coming to Oklahoma. He’ll probably never come. The time will go by and he’ll never show up and it won’t even matter, if you give Ralphie’s half to me. Nobody’s gonna care. And I’ll have something to get by on, me and the baby. I’ll—”

“Darla—”

“Uh-uh. Don’t say different. You know I’m right. That Navarro guy is never even coming around.” She picked up her spoon again, flicked a hank of hair back over her shoulder and wheedled some more. “So come on. You can just split the till with me, at least until you hear from that Navarro guy and he—” Phoebe put up a hand. Darla stuck out her lower lip. “What?”

“Have I got your attention?”

“Stop ragging on me, okay? Just say it. What?”

“I’ve heard from Rio.”

Darla paused—but not for long. “Well, until he gets into town, you could—”

“He is here in town.”

“That bastard. No.”

“Yeah. You’re going to have to give up your plans for the bar, Darla. You’re going to have to accept the fact that Ralphie’s half went to Rio and move on.”

“Real easy for you to say. You got your half….”

Phoebe refused to reply to that. She sat very still and she looked at Darla in a steady, unblinking way.

Darla gave it up. “Okay. I’m sorry. That was a mean thing to say to you and you didn’t deserve it. I love you, Pheeb. You’re the best friend I ever had next to Ralphie and I’m grateful you’re lookin’ after me.”

Phoebe said softly, “Finish your breakfast.” Obediently, Darla scooped up another spoonful of oatmeal and poked it into her mouth. Phoebe waited until she’d eaten it all. Then Phoebe picked up the bowl and carried it to the sink. She ran water in it and put the can of milk in the fridge while Darla sat at the table, slumped over her big tummy, staring out the window beside the back door. Phoebe went to her and put her hands on those sad, sagging shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go sit on the sofa.”

Darla dragged herself upright and plodded along behind Phoebe into the other room, where she plopped down on the ugly brown corduroy sofa. Phoebe sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her. Drawing the younger woman close, Phoebe guided Darla’s still-damp head to rest on her shoulder. She stroked Darla’s arm.

Darla snuggled in. “Thanks for comin’ over. And you’re right, what you said. It looks like crap around here and I need to pull myself together.”

Phoebe made a low noise of agreement and then spoke gently, “Darla?”

“Umm?”

“The baby…”

“Umm?”

“It’s not Ralphie’s, is it?”

With a soft little sigh, Darla snuggled in closer still. “Oh, Pheeb…”

“Is it?”

Darla answered at last in a dreamy voice. “Strictly speakin’? No, it ain’t.”

CHAPTER FIVE

The gene pool could use a little chlorine.

—from The Prairie Queen’s Guide to Life by Goddess Jacks

DARLA KEPT HER HEAD on Phoebe’s shoulder and continued, in that same dreamy voice. “It was…a one-night thing, you know? I met this guy in a bar before I even came to the city. I never got his number and I ain’t seen him since and I never would’ve had sex with him if I’d’a known that in a few days I would be meeting the man I would love until death.” She rested her hand with its chewed-down nails on her bulging stomach. “Ralphie knew the baby wasn’t his. I told him. I always told him everything. He didn’t care. He said the baby would be our baby and that was that. He said we’d tell everyone he was the daddy—because he was going to be our baby’s daddy in all the ways that really count. And Pheeb?”

Phoebe rubbed Darla’s shoulder and stared blankly at their shadowed reflections in Ralphie’s big-screen TV across from the sofa. The last thing she’d expected was a straightforward confession. The baby was not Ralphie’s. Impossible—and apparently, true.

“Pheeb?” Darla asked again.

Phoebe smoothed Darla’s hair. “What, honey?”

“As far as I’m concerned, this is Ralphie’s baby.” A thread of steel had found its way into Darla’s voice. The sudden determination surprised Phoebe as much as the confession had. Darla might beg you or con you. She had a certain frail, needy charm about her, a charm that was sexy and innocent and too wise all at once, a charm that could knock certain types of men right off their feet. But determined? Uh-uh. No way, not ever. Darla lifted her head. Phoebe met those red-rimmed brown eyes. “I told you because I love you,” Darla said. “And Ralphie loved you. I know I can trust you to understand, and not to tell another soul.”

Phoebe nodded, keeping her expression fittingly solemn, knowing that she would betray Darla’s confidence to Rio the first chance she got.

“AND YOU BELIEVE HER about the real father being a one-night stand,” Rio said.

They were sitting in Phoebe’s kitchen. It was eleven-fifteen at night. “I do,” said Phoebe, thinking that those were the words a woman says on her wedding day, the words of a witness swearing an oath….

“¿Por qué?”

She blinked. “What?”

He gave her one of his patient looks, eyes soft, mouth firm. “Why do you believe her?”

“I just do.”

“Blind faith. It’s hardly an argument.”

“No. It’s more than blind faith.”

Rio eyed her sideways, clearly doubtful. “How?”

“It…makes sense, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“If there was some other guy in the picture, he would have come around by now.”

“Not necessarily. And maybe he has come around, but nobody told you about it. He’s come around—and killed Ralphie while he was at it.” Before she got a chance to argue, he asked, “Did Ralphie seem happy to you, about the baby?”

“Oh, yeah. Ecstatic. He built a crib, helped Darla fix up the baby’s bedroom. He was into it. And I wasn’t surprised. When he came home last August, he told me he was through with the footloose life. He only wanted to stay home and be happy. Then he met Darla, married her, settled down with her. And if he was shootin’ blanks, well, being the father of Darla’s kid would have been a way for him to have a baby he could call his own, to have it all—Darla and a kid and the settled-down life he’d finally realized he wanted.”

Rio leaned both big arms on the table. Sleek, hard muscles bulged beneath the sleeves of his black T-shirt. Gone were the cheap suit and geeky glasses of that morning. Tonight, he was all in black. Ready to creep around in the dark, snooping into other people’s secrets. “Okay,” he said. “For now.”

She eyed him sideways. “And by that you’re telling me…?”

“At this point I’ll buy Darla’s story.” Phoebe felt relieved for Darla’s sake. And yeah, she knew she was too protective of Darla. But so what? Ralphie would have wanted her to be. Rio added, “I ran into Boone this morning at the bar when I dropped off my bike.”

“So he told me. He said he thought you were ripping us off.”

“We got past that, Boone and me.”

“He said he took you in the bar and gave you some coffee and a microwaved cinnamon roll.”

“That’s right. I tried to get the guy talking about himself.”

“Learn anything?”

“Nothing you didn’t already tell me. He and Darla are from Arkansas. Boone moved to Texas a couple of years ago—and then came here for Darla’s wedding. He liked Oklahoma so much, he stayed on.”

“He knew you were pumping him for information.”

“The ones who are hiding things always do.”

In the center of the table stood a red napkin holder and red Fiestaware salt and pepper shakers. With great care, Phoebe straightened the napkin holder and lined up the salt and pepper beside it. “Boone also told me that he thought your glasses were fake and he had a sneaking suspicion you might be up to no good, nosing around into stuff that’s none of your business. He said you asked way too many questions.”

“Busted.” Rio chuckled low, an intimate sound, one that shivered down through Phoebe like a physical caress. “And what did you say to Boone when he told you all that?”

“I reminded him that, as of Ralphie’s death, you’re my business partner. I said I gave you a key and he should keep in mind that you’re now his boss as much Ralphie ever was.”

“How much is that?”

“Seriously? Not a lot. Over the years, Ralphie pretty much left the running of the bar to me. He was gone so much anyway and he always had some deal going that demanded all his attention. Whenever it was time to count up the cash, though, he’d get his hand out fast.”

“Nice work if you can get it.”

“So I told him, more than once.”

Those dark eyes held a teasing light. “Before Boone showed up, I was about to go inside and have a long, in-depth look around.”

“Why shouldn’t you? It’s half yours.”

“I’m glad you see it that way.”

“And what else did you do today, besides parking your bike and having coffee with Boone?”

“I got a car. I changed hotels.” He shoved one of his cards across the table, face down. On the back was the name of a residence hotel over on Northwest Expressway, including a room and phone number. “I hooked up with an associate who’ll help me go door to door, interviewing people around the area where Ralphie got hit.” He pushed another card her way, one for a local detective agency: Red Wolf Investigations. He pointed at the name in the lower right-hand corner. “Mac Tenkiller. In case he comes looking for me, you can trust him.”

“Thanks.” She glanced up from the card and into his eyes. They stared at each other, unspeaking. It was no hardship for Phoebe, staring at Rio. He looked good and she felt…what? The word came to her: safe. She felt safe around him. Safe and all shook up, both at the same time. Already she was getting used to seeing him at her kitchen table. Before you knew it, if she didn’t watch herself, she’d be offering to tie on an apron and whip him up a little something special.

He asked, “Did you have time to make that list of people who knew Ralphie?”

“I made a list. I can’t say it’s complete. Ralphie knew a lot of folks.”

“Give me what you’ve got.”

“Hold on.” She rose. “I’ll get it.”

Phoebe’s house had three bedrooms and a bath all in a row on the east side of the house. The living areas—front room, dining room and kitchen—were lined up on the west side. She used the middle bedroom, accessed through a bath and through the central dining area, as a home office. In the office, she scooped up the manila envelope she’d left on her desk and whirled to return to the kitchen.

Rio was right there, in the door to the dining room. She gasped at the sight of him.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He lounged against the door frame, hard arms crossed over his deep chest.

“I had a cat like you once,” she grumbled, whacking his chest with the envelope. “His name was Shadow. Big and black, with a real attitude. I never knew when he’d come creeping up on me. I’d turn around and there he’d be. Watching me with a smirk on his face.”

Rio took the envelope. “So I remind you of your gatito….”

Phoebe realized she liked it when he spoke Spanish. It was a beautiful language, soft and musical, and it sounded real nice coming out of that sexy mouth of his—not that she was telling him that. “My what?”

“Your kitten.”

“Shadow was no kitten.”

“Gato, then. That’s good, right? A woman loves her cat.”

“You wish. I finally had to tie a bell around that cat’s neck so I’d know when he was nearby. He died a little over a year ago. Now and then, I think I see him, in the corner of my eye. But he is gone, gone, gone.” Just like you’ll be, soon enough.

“Hey,” Rio said again, too gently. He touched her chin. The contact was electric, sending little bolts of excitement zipping all through her.

She met his eyes and tried to pretend he didn’t thrill her in the least. “I put copies of Darla’s and Boone’s employment applications in there. Bernard’s, too.”

“Great.”

She wanted him to understand…what? She wasn’t quite sure. She said quietly, “I do want to know, Rio. I want to know how Ralphie died. Since we talked this morning, I’m only more certain about my priorities here.”