Free Goose in the Pond by Earlene Fowler Page A

feet almost one inches, reddish-blond hair, hazel eyes, and a hundred and five some-odd pounds—we could be sisters. Except hers is packaged a lot more glittery than mine. Sort of like the difference between Las Vegas and Cheyenne.
    She had played a significant offstage role in the crime where Gabe and I met a little less than a year ago. She was a witness and possible suspect, and I hid her whereabouts from the law—that is, Gabe—while trying to find the murderer. He heard a lot about her during the investigation, but before they met, she ran off with Skeeter Gluck, bullrider ordinaire.
    “My new cousin-in-law,” Rita purred, shimmying up to Gabe. She held out one Pinch Me Pink-nailed hand while fluffing her starched Reba McEntire curls with the other. “I’m just tickled to finally meet you. A real-life police chief. Tell me, is it true what all my girlfriends say about cops?”
    He grinned. “Depends on what they’re saying.”
    Her shameless once-over down the length of him made it clear that her girlfriends weren’t talking about their ability to fill out crime reports.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice not a little ungracious. Then our other guest popped into my mind. I turned back to Gabe. “Gabe, there’s something else—”
    The front door opened again. We all turned and watched Sam step out on the front porch.
    “Hi, Dad,” he said, his face as calm and casual as if he’d just seen his father ten minutes before. “Catch any bad guys today?”
    Gabe’s face shifted into that blank, absolutely still expression that always reminded me of those dogs who don’t give any warning before they bite. His eyes turned from an amused blue gray to hard flint. Even Rita had the good sense to step back and clamp her mouth shut. He looked down at me and asked in a frosty voice, “How long has he been here?”
    “A couple of hours, but—”
    He strode past me toward his son. I held my breath, not sure what he would do when he reached the front porch. Without a word, he walked right by Sam, through the front door, and slammed it behind him.
    “My, my,” Rita said. “I bet if I’d’ve touched him right then, he’d’ve just burned my little fingertips right to the bone.” Her thin eyebrows shot up. “Repressed passion. I like that in a man.”
    Ignoring her, I walked over to Sam. His big hand rested on the adobe arch, a blank expression similar to Gabe’s on his face. He’d gotten what I think he wanted, surprising his father, but I wasn’t sure the result was what he’d anticipated.
    “Sam,” I said. “You and Rita put the groceries away. I’ll talk to your father and see if we can’t get this straightened out.” Though how I was going to do that was a mystery to me.
    Sam gave a sharp sarcastic laugh. “Don’t sweat it, Benni. Believe me, he’s happiest when he’s pissed at me.”
    “Sam, that’s not true.”
    He ignored my reply and went out to the truck. He picked up the bags, making a low comment to Rita that caused her to erupt with a squeaky giggle.
    Inside, I stood in front of our closed bedroom door for a moment, thinking, This is all I need this week, then chided myself for being so self-centered. This had to be tough on Gabe. Maybe I made the wrong decision in not calling him immediately about Sam, but the scenario hadn’t worked out quite the way I planned. Who would have ever expected Rita to show up? Why was she here, and what in the world was I going to do with her? Well, that little problem was going to have to wait. I straightened my shoulders and opened the door.
    Gabe stood next to the bedroom window looking out at the yellow rosebushes along the side fence. His hands were relaxed at his side, but the stiffness of his posture said his anger was still in full bloom. He turned and faced me. “How long has he been here?” he asked again.
    “Only a couple of hours—”
    “Why didn’t you call me? I don’t appreciate—”
    I held up my hand to silence