Ralphie's Wives. Christine Rimmer
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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