Ralphie's Wives. Christine Rimmer
pulled out one of the red vinyl chairs and dropped into it. She served him in silence, pouring his coffee into a big yellow-green mug, setting out the sugar and a little red pitcher of milk. Then she got herself a mug, too, and sat down opposite him.
More silence. Outside, he heard a lawn mower start up. They both sipped, eyes meeting, then shifting away.
Eventually, he tried a compliment. “Nice place.”
She doled out a grudging, “Thanks.” There was more sipping. She set down her mug. “You really think you could find out what happened?”
“No promises. I could work my ass off on this and still come up blank. But it’s possible—and that it is possible is enough for me. I need to know I did everything I could.”
“Yeah,” she said, resting her forearms on the table, wrapping her hands around her mug, her expression both grim and determined. She stared down into the mug for a moment, as if looking for the answer to a question she didn’t know how to ask. Then she glanced up. “What would I have to do, if I helped you?”
“You could start with a list—everyone you know who knew Ralphie. And how they knew him. Special focus on anyone who had issues with him, anyone he cheated or messed over, anyone he owed money to.”
She tapped the mug on the table and a low sound escaped her. “That’s a long list. My own name would be on it.”
He allowed a soft chuckle. “Hell. Mine, too.”
“So I’d give you this list…”
“And we’d take it from there. You’d answer my questions. All of them, to the best of your knowledge. Provide addresses and phone numbers if you have them, so I don’t have to waste time tracking people down. Back me up, say you know me and I can be trusted, if someone wants to know why I showed up on their doorstep and started asking about things they didn’t want to go into.”
The silence stretched long again. At last, she said, “All right. I can do that.” She got up, topped off her mug and held out the pot to him.
He shoved his cup her way. “Thanks.” She gave him more and then carried the pot to the counter. When she slipped back into her seat, he said, “Tell me about Darla Jo.”
She stiffened right up on him. “I thought I was supposed to start with a list.”
“That’s right. You also agreed to answer my questions.”
She slumped in her chair, looked down at her lap, then slanted a suspicious glance up at him. “Why the big interest in Darla?”
“You’re protective of her. Why?”
There was some huffing, but in the end, she answered him. “I just know she would never do anything to hurt Ralphie. She loved him. Truly.”
“You sound pretty sure about that.”
“I am sure. You should have seen them together. They were crazy about each other. She made him quit smoking. A woman who would run a man down wouldn’t make him stop smoking first. And there were times, especially lately, in the past two or three months, when I would see her looking at him—when he wasn’t looking at her. Pure adoration. No woman could fake that kind of a look. And why would she bother to try, if the guy wasn’t even looking her way?”
Rio was thinking that what she’d just told him was probably more about Phoebe than it was about Ralphie and Darla Jo. Against his own better judgment, he found himself taking a stab at helping her see that. “It’s important to you, is that it? To believe that Ralphie Styles was finally in love for real and forever? That Darla Jo loved him back? That they were having a baby, making themselves a happy little family?”
She sat up straighter. “You go ahead. Put it down, what they had. Tell yourself it wasn’t real. But it was real. He loved her and she loved him. I know it.” She speared her fingers through her tangled brown hair, raking it back off her flushed face. Then she grabbed her mug again—and plunked it down without drinking from it. “No. I’m never going to believe that Darla had anything to do with Ralphie getting run over in the middle of the night. Never. Not in a hundred million years.”
Rio saw there was a point he hadn’t quite made clear to her. He said, keeping it low and even, “You don’t have to believe it. You don’t have to do anything. You can run your bar and wait. Get together with Ralphie’s other ex-wives and argue about what might have happened. Maybe someone will talk who hasn’t yet. Maybe the OCPD will come up with something. Maybe I will. And maybe we’ll just never know.” Taking care not to let the chair scrape the floor, he pushed it back and stood. “Thanks for the coffee.”
He knew he had her when she stopped him before he could take a single step. “Sit back down.”
He allowed a solid five seconds to elapse before obeying. Then he dropped to his seat again and laid out the ground rules. “You’ll have to talk to me. Nothing held back. About anyone.” The demand was a little over the top. He’d take less, if that was all he could get. A lot less. But there was no reason Phoebe Jacks had to know that—at least, not at the moment.
“Fine. Okay.”
“About Darla…”
“Okay.”
“How did Ralphie meet her?”
“She came in the bar looking for work last September.”
“Ralphie met her at the bar?”
Phoebe nodded. “Darla was just twenty-one, fresh out of some tiny town in Arkansas. She met Ralphie the night she started working. He was gone on her at first sight. It took her longer. But not that long. Within a few weeks, she’d moved in with him. They got married last December, though I guess you know that, since he invited you to the wedding.”
Rio took a small spiral notebook and a pen out of his breast pocket. He flipped the notebook open and jotted down the major points. “The brother?”
“Boone’s twenty-six. He’s Darla’s half brother. Same mom, different dads.”
“Last name?”
“Gallagher.” She spelled it out for him. “Darla’s name was Snider—with an i.”
Rio nodded. “Go ahead. About the brother.”
“He’d been living down in Texas. Came up for the wedding and decided to stay in town. I hired him. He’s a good worker, dependable.”
“Did they fill out applications before they went to work for you?”
“Yeah.”
“They give you social security numbers?”
“Of course.”
“That’ll help. A lot. I’ll want to have a look at those.”
“An employment application is strictly confidential.”
“Think of it this way….”
Her sweet mouth turned down at the corners. “I don’t like the sound of this.”
He almost smiled. But not quite. “You use the information on an application to check your people out, right?”
She qualified, “I can check them out, if I think checking them out is necessary.”
“Because you’re their employer.”
She put it together. “Oh. And now, so are you.”
“Which means I have every right to run a few checks on Darla Jo and her half brother Boone.”
She leaned in, craning that smooth white neck across the table, her sleep-wild hair swinging forward, brushing the tabletop. “I just want to know. Why are you after them?”
He set down the notebook. “I’m not after them.”
“You know what I mean. Why are you