“I knew you needed stitches.” He took the keys from my hand and opened the door. “Get that bandage off and I’ll put a clean one on.” He took off his jacket and started rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt. I started to protest, then decided I was just too emotionally drained to make the effort.
“So, what did you do today?” he asked again as he held my hand over the kitchen sink and poured peroxide over it.
I yelped and tried to pull back.
“Don’t be such a baby,” he said, gripping tighter. “Well?”
“Why don’t you take up jogging or something?”
He pushed me down on a kitchen chair and reached for the first-aid supplies over the refrigerator. It occurred to me that he was getting way too familiar with my place of residence.
“I do jog. I called the museum three times today. They said you never came in. Where were you?”
“Running errands.”
He exhaled sharply as he rebandaged my hand. “We found the truck driven by the person who shot at you.”
“You did? Who were they? Why were they shooting at me? How did you find them?”
“Apparently, your neighbor, Mr. Treton, has an excellent pair of binoculars.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Anyway, he keeps them right by the window, and while he was dialing 911, he wrote down a partial license plate of the truck. That’s why I was trying to get in touch with you all day.”
“Oh,” I said. “I just assumed you wanted to harass me as usual.” His annoyed look cheered me. “So who was it?”
“Good question. The truck was reported stolen out of a grocery store parking lot about a half hour before you were shot at.”
“Did you dust for fingerprints?”
“I know my job, Benni,” he said wryly. “Wiped clean.”
“Oh.” I propped my left elbow up on the kitchen table and rested my cheek on it. “So what happens now?”
“What happens now is we go get some dinner. Unless, of course, some food has miraculously appeared in your refrigerator.”
I was hungry, starving in fact. But the thought of spending an evening sitting across from Ortiz eluding his questions was not the least bit appealing. I was afraid he’d somehow worm out of me what I was doing tomorrow.
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“Well, I am.” He picked up the kitchen phone and started dialing.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I think I’m ordering a pizza.”
“What? You can’t ...”
He held up his palm and quickly ordered a large thick-crust mushroom and black-olive pizza and a six-pack of Cokes.
“You’re incredibly arrogant,” I said when he hung up the phone.
He smiled at me, unruffled. “In my line of work, that could be taken as a compliment.” He gathered up the first-aid supplies and stuck them back in the cupboard. “You really need to invest in some more first-aid supplies.”
“Who do you think you are? You walk in like you own the place ...” Then something dawned on me. “Oh, no, you are not spending the night here again. That’s final. No discussion, no argument, no way. I mean it.”
He loosened his tie further and laughed. “No, not tonight. I don’t think they’ll try again. Besides, my reputation couldn’t stand it.”
“Your reputation? What about mine?”
“A woman who’s found two bodies in less than two weeks? Sweetheart, your reputation is already suspect.”
I stared at him for a moment, trying to decide what I should do. Part of me wanted to tell him to get lost. Another part didn’t want to spend another evening with no one to talk to except the newscasters on TV.
“Look,” I said. “I’ll let you stay the evening if you promise one thing. No questions. For once, let’s just be like normal human beings. Can you do that? Just for tonight?”
“Are you holding anything back from me?”
I looked him straight in the eye. “Yes.”
He smiled slowly. “Well, looks like we’ve made some progress here. At least you’re telling the truth now. Okay, just for tonight then. I think it would be wiser if you told me what you’re hiding, but I’ll try not to mention it again.”
So for three hours we ate pizza, drank Cokes and laughed at the similarities of growing up in small towns in Kansas and California.
At one point, I asked him something that had been bugging me since this whole thing started.
“How did you know I was at Trigger’s the day after Marla’s murder?”
“Very complex police procedure. I had you tailed.”
“I didn’t see anyone following me,” I said in amazement.
“Good, that means it was done right. Now, I have a question for you.”
I looked at him suspiciously.
“Not about the case,” he said. “Tell me, did you really castrate a bull when you were ten?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, that. It didn’t seem to impress you much when I said it.”
“Cops learn early to hide their true feelings.” He picked an olive off his slice of pizza and popped it in his mouth. “I won’t tell you what went through my mind. Did you, or was that a lot of hot air?”
“In a manner of speaking. Actually, it was a calf, and my dad did help me. It was part of a 4-H project, so I had to do it rather than the ranch hands who usually castrated our calves. It’s not as hard as it sounds. You take this thing called an elastrator and fit them around the scrotum of the calf. Then when both testicles are through the rubber rings, you release the pressure and the ring constricts. It cuts off the blood supply and the testicles eventually fall off. Easy as pie. Doesn’t hurt except for the first hour or two.”
“Easy for you to say.” His face held a slightly pained look.
I laughed and picked up another piece of pizza. “C‘mon, Friday. I thought you said you
