Ralphie's Wives

“And you named your band after the music hall.”

She fell back a step. “Ralphie told you about the band.” Rio nodded. Her dark brows drew together. “Did he also tell you he was our manager?”

“Yeah.”

She gave him a long look and then huffed out a breath. “Well, the band had a shorter lifespan than the music hall.”

“Ralphie’s fault.”

She glared. “You want that coffee or not?” She turned away again, started walking.

“Wait,” Rio said. She stopped, but didn’t face him. He spoke to her back. “Ralphie told me. How he screwed around on you. He always said when he lost you, he lost one of the best.”

She did turn then. Slowly. “He didn’t lose me. I’m still right here.”

Rio held to his point. “You know what I’m saying. He lost you…as a woman. And he always regretted that.”

She folded her arms across her middle. Classic body language: listening, maybe. Receptive? Not in the least. “It doesn’t matter. That was a long time ago—and Ralphie was who he was.”

“So true. Just when you’d think he couldn’t make things any worse, leave it to Ralphie. He’d find a way. Take your friends. First he betrays you. And then he marries your friends, one right after the other.”

“I was long over him by then. And he loved them both.”

“Like I said. One right after the other.”

If looks could kill, he’d have been fried to a cinder. She demanded, “What are you getting at?”

“That Ralphie trusted me. Maybe you should, too.”

“I haven’t even figured out who you are yet. Yesterday you came in on a Harley. Today you’re Clark Kent. Which one’s the real you?”

“Both. Neither.”

“Thank you for clarifyin’.”

Before she could whirl away again, he said, “I was a kid when I met Ralphie. He…loved my mother and she loved him. He was the father I never had, took an interest when no one else gave a damn. Yeah, he screwed up a lot. I know what he was. I’ve always known. Where I grew up, you face the truth or you don’t last too long. But he had heart. He taught me to respect myself and how to get along. I loved him. I owe him. In spite of all the crap he put you through, I think you loved him, too. Work with me.”

She pressed those soft lips together—and let her arms drop to her sides. He was making progress. She wasn’t ready to throw in with him yet—but she wasn’t saying no anymore, either. She turned.

He didn’t try to stop her that time. Instead, he followed her to a sunny sea-blue kitchen at the back of the house, where she flung out a hand in the direction of the red chrome and Formica dinette. “Have a seat.”

He 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?”