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3
“Tell me a little more about this tattoo.” Sheriff Enquist sat in the chair across from me. “What exactly did it look like, Ruthie?”
I brushed a lock of hair off Brandy’s forehead and forced myself to remember. I could clearly picture the man’s face and the gun, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember the details of the tattoo.
“You said it looked like a bird,” the sheriff prompted. “Could it have been an airplane, maybe?”
“I don’t think so.”
“No?”
I shook my head. “I just remember that it was dark, without any color. I don’t think it was an airplane, although maybe it was.”
“Okay.” The sheriff sat back in his seat. “I know you and Cheryl had been going through a rough patch, but did she ever mention that she was unhappy in her marriage or seeing someone else?”
“What?”
Sheriff Enquist nodded. “We found a letter in the kitchen.”
“What did it say?”
“Just that she loved her husband and needed to call things off with this other guy.”
I sat there, stunned. There were rumors that our mother left us because she’d fallen in love with someone else. Had Cheryl done the same thing? Had this been the reason for her murder?
“Let’s keep that part between us for now, okay? We’ll check it out.”
“Do you know this guy she was seeing?”
“I do, but I don’t think it was him who harmed her. We already checked out his alibi. He had back surgery two days ago and is still in the hospital.”
“Oh, okay.”
My stomach churned. Last night, Cheryl barely talked about her husband. She’d shown me one photo, but that was it. When I asked to see her wedding album, she said she’d show me tomorrow. Still, I couldn’t believe she was seeing another man.
“Is there anything else you remember or need to tell us?” the detective asked.
I hesitated. There was something else, but how could I tell them? I bit the inside of my cheek, afraid. “I think I’ve told you everything I remember.”
The sheriff offered a kind smile. “It’s okay, Ruthie. You’ve been through a lot. Maybe you’ll remember more in the morning. Sometimes that happens after a traumatic event.”
The detective closed his notebook and came to his feet. “You’ve been very helpful, Mrs. Hermosa. I’d like you to come down to the station and look at some pictures tonight.”
“No, not tonight,” the sheriff said, rescuing me. “Just come in the morning after you’ve had some time to sleep.”
In my arms, Brandy nestled deeper against me. I pulled her closer, grateful for her presence. She was a great comfort. I hoped when she woke up and learned about her mother, I could be a comfort for her as well. Losing your mother when you were just three years old was heartbreaking.
The front door opened, and a uniformed deputy entered the living room. Behind him, my father followed, looking even older than when he picked me up from the airport.
The sheriff rose and went to him. “I’m so sorry, Albert.”
My father lifted bloodshot eyes. “Who would do this to her?”
“We don’t know yet. But we’re going to find him.”
My dad gave a firm nod but said nothing.
“Grandpa?” Rubbing her eyes, Brandy scooted off my lap and padded over to my father. Despite his weakened state, he lifted her into his arms.
