Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis Maria Swan (best affordable ebook reader .TXT) 📖

soul that whatever was going on in the Dumonts’ household couldn’t be good.

ELEVEN

THE WEEKEND HAD sneaked up on me while I wondered about the lack of news concerning Greg Coste’s contract—that and the death of Silvia De Aguilar. Better keep myself occupied on other things instead of obsessing over the absence of progress on both subjects. And I did miss my old buddy Dior. A good run with him and—poof—stress would have disappeared.

All that heavy thinking before nine a.m. on a Saturday morning? Ouch.

I could make some calls, but not yet. Better start by making coffee. Would Tristan be having breakfast with Angelique? Their spacious white kitchen must be lovely with the morning sun filtering through the shutters. I closed my eyes trying to remember if there was a breakfast room, but I couldn’t think of one. All I could think about was Silvia De Aguilar’s body on the den floor. What kind of monster would leave a human being to die alone in the dark? Could she had been saved?

I had just replaced the filter in my Mr. Coffee machine when my cell chimed. Oh, good, maybe the listing agent had a signed contract or a counteroffer? Nope, neither.

“Tristan? Good morning.” Best part of waking up, is Tristan on my phone. I hummed quietly. The jingle would now stick in my mind for hours.

“Oh, you’re up, good morning.”

“Already made coffee,” I lied then waited.

“Well, Ross, the detective who spent the whole day here at the house, has determined the dead woman, De Aguilar, is definitely the person who came by when you were picking up the mail. Such a strange coincidence. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes. Detective Reid, who is Ross’s partner said the same thing, well, more or less. Does Silvia De Aguilar sound familiar to you?”

“No, not at all. Have absolutely no idea who the poor woman was.”

“She’s the one who wrote that message for you, on the back of the ripped business card. Uh, by the way, I’m really, really sorry about the card, I meant to give it to you at the airport, then forgot and now, uh, Detective Reid took it. She said something about evidence. You should demand it’s returned to you. I feel terrible.”

“Fiat, you had told me about it. It’s not a big deal. All it had on was a phone number, apparently belonging to the dead woman’s cell and then Tristan’s father. But since I have no idea who this woman was, I also don’t know if she meant my adoptive or my biological father. Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter now. So please, don’t stress over it. It’s not your fault. None of this is. Anyway, I called to see if you’d care to join me for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Breakfast—tomorrow?” What had just happened here? “Wait. Tomorrow is Sunday, right? I guess it’s okay. Do you want me to meet you somewhere?” Something felt odd, rehearsed. Fingers crossed Tristan didn’t ask me to have breakfast at his house. There was no way I could sit there and eat while pretending everything was fine. I could never unsee that body on the floor. Except, for the rest of the world, I had not seen the body on the floor. This was just so weird.

“Fiat, are you okay? You don’t have to go if you don’t feel like it. I thought it was nice of Jessie to...”

“Jessie? Jessie from the airport Jessie?” What the hell?

He chuckled. “Relax, it’s a joint invitation—Jessie and Alexander. They asked me and suggested I bring you along since you know Jessie. I think it’s her way of thanking you for giving her a lift.”

For all his cheerful conversation I still couldn’t see why I would be invited. Something wasn’t right unless... unless Jessie and her boss, this Alexander dude, knew about Tristan and me. Knew what?

“It’s at Alexander’s place. We are probably going to catch up on old times, and I thought if you are free, afterward we could all drive down to the ranch and bring Tache home. I cleared all that with the detective in charge. They don’t need to go tramping around anymore. They are sure everything that happened was contained downstairs between the entrance and the den. They didn’t find anything connected to the victim anywhere else.” He stopped and seemed to be waiting for my answer. “Well this isn’t going how I had hoped. I didn’t mean to upset you, Fiat. You know that, don’t you?”

“Oh, Tristan, it’s not you.” I sighed. “Actually I think it’s a great idea, sitting here all alone is getting under my skin. I miss walking Dior and having dinner with Brenda. Yes, I would love to meet this Alexander. I bet he’ll share some pretty interesting college stories.”

Tristan laughed. “Not if I can help it. How about if I pick you up, around... I don’t know... ten o’clock? We can eat and then get into Alexander’s Jag and go down to Tucson. That way I can drive back the horse trailer and Tache. Is your Aunt Brenda still down there?”

“She is. I’m pretty sure she mentioned something about some guy—Leo—a newcomer who I thought was supposed to drive Tache to your house. No?” Why did I say that? I knew very well Leo didn’t.

“Oh, no, no. You know how I feel about my horse. We’ll talk tomorrow then. See you around ten or so. Hope you have a pleasant day.” He let that linger.

I mumbled, “Huh.”

So formal. I just knew he fully assumed someone to be monitoring our calls. Who? The cops? What for? Neither of us knew the dead woman. Although it was weird that she would be killed in Tristan’s home. By whom? A silver Escalade, screamed my subconscious mind.

The smell of fresh coffee trumped my conscience, and I went to toast a bagel and pour some milk and sugar in my cup while counting how many hours until I’d see Tristan.

I was spreading cream cheese on my bagel when an email showed up on