Cat's Claw (A Pecan Springs Mystery)

although the resemblance ended there. She was short and as round as a dumpling, where Ruby was tall and string-bean slender. She was wearing a whiteshort-sleeved blouse with a silky purple scarf and gray pants. But one knee of her pants was shredded, her face was tear-stained and blotchy, and she was gulping back sobs.
    “Everybody okay?” Sheila asked, glancing at Ramona but directing her question to China. “What happened here, China?”
    China, a former criminal attorney, was the logical one to ask. Not that Sheila had any love for defense lawyers—cops didn’t, generally speaking. The justice system was adversarial, with law enforcement on one side, defense lawyers on the other, and a big empty field in between where the facts were always in dispute, like a soccer ball kicked back and forth by two competing teams. China Bayles, however, was not your average defense lawyer. She was smart and observant and quick-witted, but she was also sympathetic to cops. She was married to one—a former cop, anyway—and she understood how they worked. Sheila knew that she’d get a more organized story from China than Ramona.
    China answered the question tersely. “This is the Kirks’ house. Larry Kirk and his wife Dana. Ramona found Larry dead in the kitchen, about an hour ago. Gunshot wound. She phoned the shop. Ruby and I told her to call nine-one-one and wait here until somebody came.”
    “I see.” Sheila glanced at Ramona. “Hello, Ramona. Has somebody taken your statement yet?”
    “Yes,” Ruby answered for her sister. She lifted her butterfly arms and let them fall with a whoosh. “China and I were right here when she did it. Took the statement, I mean.”
    “It was a policewoman,” Ramona said. “Sergeant Clarke.”
    “A police officer,” Ruby corrected her. “They’re not called policewomen these days.”
    “Whatever,” Ramona said testily. “She wrote everything down, justthe way I said it. I’m supposed to go to the station to sign the statement tomorrow.” She whimpered. “My knee hurts. I fell down the back steps.”
    “I’m sorry,” Sheila said. “Would you like one of the medics to take a look at it?”
    Ramona shook her head. “It’ll be all right,” she muttered. “But thanks.”
    “Tell her how you happened to find the body,” Ruby said, nudging her sister.
    Ramona sucked in a deep breath. “I… I was on my way to an appointment. I stopped to return a dish that Larry left at Ruby’s house the night of the picnic. I was thinking I’d just put it on the back steps, where he would see it when he got home from work. But then I noticed the kitchen door standing open, so I decided I’d just go in and put the dish on the counter. That’s when I saw him. On the kitchen floor. I never imagined—” She closed her eyes and swallowed whatever she was about to say.
    Sheila understood and sympathized. People saw death in the movies and on television all the time, but that was remote, staged, unreal. Up close, death—easy death or violent death, accident, suicide, homicide—was something else altogether. It was final, absolute, unconditional. Nobody, not even the most experienced cop, could be completely blasé about it.
    “Did you notice anything else?” she asked. “A gun, a note? Did you touch anything?”
    “There’s a gun in his hand.” Ramona opened her eyes. “There’s blood and beer all over the floor. I think he’d been sitting at the table. The chair had fallen over. There’s a laptop on the table. If there was a note, I didn’t see it—but I didn’t look. I touched the door knob, I guess, to push thedoor open wider.” With another little whimper, she retreated to the comfort of her sister’s shoulder. “I just don’t understand how a person could do that to himself.”
    “Thanks, Ramona,” Sheila said. “We appreciate your help. You’ll be around if we have any more questions?”
    “Yes,” Ramona said, her voice muffled. “I’m staying with Ruby for a while longer.”
    “For another week,” Ruby put in. “Maybe two.” She added, “Ramona has started looking for her own apartment. And a business opportunity.” She smoothed her sister’s hair. “It’s taking longer than she thought to get over… well, things. But she’ll be back on her feet in no time.”
    “I’m sure she will,” Sheila said, although she thought a week or two was optimistic. Ramona looked like a whipped puppy, and Ruby was a comforting, reliable refuge. Too