The Magician Murders (The Art of Murder 3)

“Not anymore.” Ruby began to whisk the gravy using juice from the meat, honey, and a lot of whisky. She said after a moment, “I wasn’t like the other moms in the PTA.” Her chuckle was derisive. “It used to make him mad that people thought they were better than us. Better than me.” She smiled. “Back then he thought being rich would change that.”

It got to Jason in a funny way. The idea of that little, long-ago Sam feeling humiliated and scorned by a bunch of small-minded hicks, wanting to defend and protect his young mother by getting rich and…well, however the rest of that childhood fantasy played out.

“It seems like you’ve done okay for yourself.”

“Oh yeah,” Ruby said, still smiling. “You’re damned right I did. And Sam did too.”

They chatted briefly about Jason’s day—Jason leaving out the more interesting parts—while Ruby finished preparing the meal, then moved to the dining room and the nicely set table.

Fine china and crystal stemware. Jason was flattered. Plus, the food was very good. He saw where Sam got his knack for cooking.

Jason listened to Ruby talk about her involvement in various community projects and participation in clubs and committees. Clearly, she was a wealth of information, but it was innocuous stuff. He realized she was not as indiscreet as he’d originally thought.

“Sam likes me to stay involved,” she said a little sardonically—yet again reminding Jason of Sam. “He thinks I need to stay busy so I won’t get lonely.”

“Well…”

“Like I don’t have enough to keep me busy.” She shook her head.

Ruby drank quite a bit. She wasn’t drunk, but she was always talkative, and the alcohol made her more so. Sam liked to drink too, but drunk or sober, he had not inherited Ruby’s loquacious streak.

Although Ethan’s name was mentioned in passing, there were no revelations over dinner, and Jason relaxed. Nothing was said that Sam would care about, and Jason was now sure that Ruby had not been trying to make some point when she had first spoke to him about Ethan.

Jason was drinking too, though, because when they finally reached the stage of freshly baked cowboy cookies and coffee (spiked, naturally, with still more booze), he heard himself asking, “When did Sam and Ethan meet?”

It was as though she’d been waiting for him to bring up the topic. Ruby said at once, “Second to last year of high school.”

He immediately regretted opening that line of conversation. He sincerely believed it would be a mistake to know too much about Ethan. He wanted to understand how losing Ethan had affected Sam, but he did not want to become preoccupied with Ethan himself—and that would be all too easy to do.

“They were the original odd couple.”

“Ah.” Jason tried to think of a way to change the subject.

“Sam always knew where he was going and what he wanted. Ethan was a dreamer. He tended to let things drift. It used to drive Sam crazy.”

“I bet.”

“Maybe it’s the artistic temperament.”

“Maybe.”

“He just always figured everything would work out. And things did mostly work out for him. Until that last summer.”

No, he really did not want to hear this. Did not want to know. “Does Sam have other frien

ds still living in Cheyenne?”

“One or two, I guess. Charlie Reynolds. They go back a ways. Sawyer Hunt. Sam was always, well, choosy about his buddies.”

Was that a nice way of saying Sam had always been a loner? But then, he hadn’t been a loner. He’d had Ethan. And one or two friends who still lived locally.

When they finished dinner it was nearly ten. Ruby insisted on leaving the dishes, and Jason tactfully avoided yet another final drink, and walked back to the guest house.

The floodlit stretch of yard between the main and guest house seemed a long, windy walk. The shadows were deep, the silence profound. Common sense told him he was a lot safer in the middle of nowhere than his own high-crime neighborhood, but he still had a creepy-crawly feeling down his spine as he let himself into the guest house.

He’d left the lamps on in his hurry to shower and change, and the bright light and warmth were welcome. He slipped off his jacket and went into the kitchen for a drink of water. The stars outside the window over the sink were dazzlingly large and bright. Beyond the stars there didn’t seem to be another light for as far as he could see.

He drank his water, set the glass in the sink.