Here Today, Gone Tamale (13 page)

Santa announced the winners of the traditional, the hotter than hell, the vegetarian, and finally the nontraditional chili categories.

Uncle Eddie gripped my hand.

“In third place, Number Twelve.”

Uncle Eddie whooped, grabbed my hands, and lifted both of us to our feet. “That's me!” Holding on tight, he led me in an improvised two-step around the center tables.

“Come and get your ribbon, Number Twelve.”

With pride, my uncle preened his way to the microphone,
pinned the white ribbon to his suede vest, and proceeded to shake the man's hand off.

When he returned to the table, I gave him a big hug.

“You did it!”

“Wait until Linda hears! She said the coconut was too fruity!”

He pulled out his phone and started walking, pointing out his ribbon to folks as he passed by them. He stopped at least eight or nine people on the way to the parking lot to brag. They took it with good humor, as he intended, and laughingly congratulated him. One couple, a bit too buttoned up for a Wild Wild West Festival, merely stared, and refrained from shaking his hand.

“She's not answering.”

“Her loss,” I said.

“I'm going to go home and surprise her,” he said, sliding into the seat of his pickup. “Tell her I told you so.” With a toot of his horn, he slammed the door and drove away.

I couldn't wait to walk over to the Feed and Supply to get Patti's opinion on my boot print. I tried Aunt Linda on my cell, and she answered on the first ring. Hmm, funny how she always picked up for me. Resisting the urge to tell her about her husband's win, I stuck to my plan. “Are you covered for dinner?”

“Yeah, I really am. Everyone's here today, hoping I'll use them since they missed some shifts on Tuesday.”

“So you wouldn't mind if I took the night off?”

“No, sugar. You go and relax, you've worked hard.”

“So have you.”

She sighed with resignation. “True, but I'm going to sit here in this office with my feet up until another crisis arises.”

Before I could hang up, she called out with a sudden thought. “Hold up! There's someone here dying to see you.”

“Yip.”

My heart soared. “You tell him I'm on my way.” My plans could wait.

*   *   *

Brazos Road was a parking lot, filled with cars coming and going from the festival, and though Patti's store was a mere half mile around the corner on Miller's Brook Road, I chose instead to pop in on my four-legged friend. Needing the exercise, I decided to walk to Main Street and fill my lungs with the cool, clean air. I might not miss Austin's traffic and exhaust fumes, but I longed for a dozen other things. Nowhere else had I found the same cornucopia of live music, a dozen local coffee shops without the symbol of a mermaid, and people from all over the country with different views of the world.

I needed an Austin fix, and as soon as I had some maintenance done on the Prius, I'd be headed that way. Funny how I hadn't thought about my ex-fiancé, only the city itself. Well, obviously I was thinking about how I wasn't thinking about Brooks, but I hadn't thought about him since the murder, at least not where I wanted to roll into a fetal ball, the way I had only months ago.

Folks were parking up and down both sides of the streets as I passed one small business and adobe house after another. Our yards were mostly dirt with natural grasses and wild flowers, succulents and cacti, live oaks and mesquites. Many of the houses close to downtown were adobe casitas built around 1900, their pale colors as beautiful as the wildflowers that grew in the desert. My heart filled with pride for the people of my adopted town, for the grit that helped them thrive amidst the rough elements that surrounded them.

When I opened the front door of Milagro, I was met with tired glances from our staff. And though it was three o'clock, two tables were still occupied.

I found Aunt Linda, as promised, with her feet on her desk and her head resting on her chest.

“Hello,” I whispered.

“What?” she cried, jerking upright. “Oh, it's you.”

“Looks like you had a busy lunch. That's great!”

Wearing a wide smile, she nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

“Sorry to interrupt. I'll see you later.” The sooner I left, the less likely she'd think of something for me to do.

She swiveled her chair back toward her computer screen. “He'll be excited to see you.”

Lenny. I ran up the steps to our apartment, but there was no sign of him.

I popped my head back into my aunt's lair. “Did someone take him out for a walk?”

Her eyebrows rose above her reading glasses. “He's had his lunch, but I thought he could wait for you.”

We scrambled from her office as if our hair was on fire. Lenny in the restaurant for the customers to see was a great way to violate the health code and lose our license. Once, he'd escaped from our upstairs apartment and hid under a table. We'd almost lost our license after a customer reported we had giant rats instead of one small, but feisty, Chihuahua.

No sign of him upstairs, even after we both searched. No sign of him in the kitchen, the bar, or the pantry. I even checked the bathroom.

Lenny was gone.

I left a message for Aunt Linda's neighbors just in case he made it all the way back to her house. Before I could find the number of the nearest animal shelter, a hipster couple covered in colorful tattoos walked in. As the door started to swing closed, I spotted him. I rushed outside and found my darling boy tied to a lamppost out front, where I'd checked only minutes ago.

“What are you doing down there, Lenster?” Stepping onto the sidewalk, I glanced up, down, and across the street, but no one appeared to be acting out of the ordinary. I untied the makeshift piece of rope that someone had attached to his collar and snuggled him under my chin. “How did you get out?” He was trembling more than usual. “What if Jesse Sweetwater had hit you with his new car, hmm?” Jesse was sweet sixteen, and his new Camaro was at least that old.

Apparently, one of the staff had inadvertently let Lenny out the back when they'd stepped into the alley for a break. I cradled him close and carried him upstairs.

As we entered my living room, Aunt Linda ran up the stairs behind us. “Where did you—” Her smile morphed into a mask of horror. “Oh, my sweet Jesus,” she cried, pointing to Lenny. I turned and caught a glimpse of him in my arms in the mirror. Someone had shaved his side and written on it in bright red lipstick:

MAN'S DEAD FRIEND

I began to shake. Who would have dared do such a thing, and had the nerve to deliver him to the door? I wanted to believe this was just a prank, but what if the killer somehow knew I was asking questions. Had this message come from him?

“Yip,” Lenny complained, making me aware I was squeezing his frail body. “Sorry, Lenster.” What if they'd hurt him and left him for dead on the doorstep . . . or on Uncle Eddie and Aunt Linda's front porch?

“Oh, my goodness,” my aunt said as she bounced on her toes. “Oh, my goodness.”

My mind was racing. “Here, take him, but don't smear it.” I handed him to her and raced for the bathroom. Under the cabinet I found a pair of plastic gloves left over from the last time I'd highlighted my hair. I ran back into the living room and slipped them on. “Aha,” I cried, remembering what might help. This time I located the hairspray in the basket near the sink and strode back into the living room. “Cover his eyes, nose, and mouth.”

Aunt Linda quickly complied.

Careful not to smear the ghastly message, I coated the lipstick with a layer of mist, again and again.

“What's all that about?”

“It works when I use nail polish on my pantyhose,” I said, returning the hairspray to the bathroom. “Once it dries we'll take some pictures.”

“You could've taken the pictures while you were running around like a chicken with your head cut off.”

Lenny sneezed on her arm.

“Whatever,” I said, dialing the sheriff's department.

After a quick transfer by the switchboard operator, Wallace's receptionist answered. “Sheriff Mack Wallace is not in the office at this time,” she said in a brisk tone. “May I take a message or would you prefer to call again?”

“I need to talk to your boss. It's urgent.”

“Uh-huh.” She heaved a deep sigh. “Please hold.”

After a few seconds, the sheriff came on the line. He listened while I gave him the details about what had happened to my poor baby.

“Now, Josie, I'm sorry about what happened to your dog, but you know the person who did this didn't kill Dixie. This was some delinquent's idea of a sick joke.”

“A joke!” My heart started pumping like a steam locomotive. “Someone other than Anthony was behind the restaurant on the night of the murder,” I cried. “I have vital evidence.”

There was a long pause. “Why didn't you come forward sooner?”

I swallowed and calmed myself. “I was going to once I proved it meant something.”

He sighed. “Why don't you tell me what you think you've got?”

“I have a picture of a boot print near the body.”

“We already have Anthony's print, which I'm sure he told you.” I hadn't discussed my visit to the jail with anyone. The tamale-loving guard must have spilled the beans.

“Yes, sir, he did. I have a boot print, not an impression of an athletic shoe.”

“Which could belong to anyone.”

“Or the killer.”

“Why are you so sure Anthony isn't the murderer?”

Even an amateur could figure that out.

“He had no motive.” I lowered my voice. “And he wouldn't want to create any more hardships for his family. They've struggled enough.”

“What if I were to tell you that we have a solid case?” he asked, with a touch of pity.

I bit the inside of my cheek in an attempt to hold my temper. Finally I managed, “Please don't stop looking for another suspect, sheriff. That boy isn't the one you want.”

“Listen,” Wallace said, back to business as usual. “Bring us what you've got after the festival is over. Right now, our department is stretched so thin you could pick your teeth with it.”

“Alright, I will.” My gaze fell to where Aunt Linda scratched behind Lenny's ears. Wallace might bury his head in the yucca bushes, but I was going to treat this travesty like the crime it was.

A phone rang in the background, and I heard the sheriff say something on another line about a security meeting.

“Does that meet with your approval?” I said, sarcasm slipping out.

Aunt Linda pulled a face and mouthed,
Hush
.

“Sounds good. Drop off your pictures whenever you're out this way.” The line went dead.

I kept right on talking. “I'll be sure and do that. Thanks for your
help
, sheriff.” I lifted my hand, one impulse away from throwing the phone against the wall. “He said to bring by my pictures after the festival. No rush.”

“Oh, honey,” Aunt Linda said, wrapping one arm around my shoulders.

Now wasn't the time for sympathy. I strode to the kitchen door, spun around, and strode back to the far window. “What if they'd killed him?”

Lenny whimpered.

“What if they'd spray-painted the restaurant or our house? Would Wallace pay attention then?”

“Lord, help us.” Gently, my aunt reached out to pet the small dog's head.

“Someone doesn't want us asking questions.”

She turned worried eyes to me. “Then let's give them what they want.”

I wanted to rip their head off. “None of us will let Dixie's name pass our lips in front of the customers.” I marched to the window and back.

“We won't talk about her murder on the street or at church,” Aunt Linda added.

“And you can't let Senora Mari breathe a word about her dream and Dixie's need for revenge,” I said.

Aunt Linda's eyes filled with fear. “It's for the best, sweetie. It really is.”

I returned to the window, spun on my heel, and paced back. “I'll act is if I've forgotten all about it.” I threw a hand up in frustration. “But what else can I do to make this . . .” I pointed to Lenny's temporary tattoo. “. . . this criminal think I'm suddenly too busy to ask questions? Everyone in this town knows I'm an out-of-work journalist.”

Tapping her chin, my aunt thought for a minute. “You need a cover. How about that article on Hillary the
Bugle
offered you?”

I gave her my blackest look. “Even if I did decide to waste my time writing such drivel it would only give me an excuse to question the blond bimbo.”

Shaking her head, my aunt said, “Girl, you know what the good book says about judging other people.”

Dang it, she was right.

“What about a cookbook? It would give you an excellent reason to ask everyone for their favorite recipes.”

Not my cup of queso. “I don't think so, not unless I'm desperate.”

She frowned. “We'd help you with it.”

All of a sudden, Lenny growled and jumped into the chair under the window. A gecko was sunning itself on the ledge, and the small dog was having none of it. “Yip, yip, yip,” he warned. The silver gecko didn't move. Lenny jumped onto the end table, planted his front paws on the screen, and barked.

In slow motion, I turned to Aunt Linda, a smile creeping across my face. “Not a cookbook . . . a blog.”

“Oh, sure,” a frown creased her forehead. “Lots of people turn their blogs into full-time jobs.”

My mind was racing with possibilities. “There would be anecdotes about our neighbors.” I gestured expansively with both hands. “And there would be everyone's favorite recipes.”

“You could get sponsors. Bloggers do that, right?”

“Oh, I'm not going to write it.”

Her look of confusion was priceless.

“Lenny will.”

She dropped to the bed. “Go ahead. Hit me with it.”

“If the sheriff isn't going to take Anthony's plight seriously, I'm going to prove to Wallace he's innocent.”

Lenny whimpered.

I walked over to the window and disengaged his toenails from the window screen.

“How are you going to do that?” she asked, shaking her head.

“If we can't get any support, Lenny's going to write a blog,” I said, lifting him up for a kiss on the nose. “I'll give him a little help, but it'll be under his byline.” Even though reading blogs and writing one were two different things, I could do it. I looked her square in the eyes. “This new project will make whoever did this think I've given up, but I'll
continue to investigate under the guise of interviewing folks for Lenny's blog.” I made a gesture that included both of us.

“You leave the investigating to Sheriff Wallace and his deputies.”

Lenny jumped onto the bed and into my aunt's arms. “He's dry.” She rubbed a finger across the message on his side. “No smudging.”

“Yip,” he agreed.

Casting a worried glance my way, Aunt Linda sighed. “Josie, what if something happens to you?”

“Don't baby her.” Senora Mari walked into the room. “She's a Martinez.”

Had she heard our entire conversation? And since when had she referred to me as a Martinez?

“I am?” I already thought of myself as part Martinez, but there was always a rushing river of distance between her family tree and mine that I couldn't ford.

“
Sí
, of course.”

I bit my lip, overwhelmed by her answer.

“You listen to me. I'm going to teach you something you don't know.” The older woman thrust her finger close to my face, issuing me a challenge. She leaned so close I could smell her Chanel lotion. “I am a tough customer.”

I kicked off my shoes and joined Aunt Linda on the bed, crossing my legs in what we used to call Indian-style. Lenny jumped into my lap and I held him tight.

“Arp!”

Too tightly. “Sorry,” I whispered.

Senora Mari frowned in his direction, “Ssh!”

“Go ahead,” Aunt Linda urged.

My mind was spinning. What yarn was she about to spin now?

Before I could ask, she shook off whatever dark memories she was about to share. She spread her lips into a grim smile. “First we find Dixie's killer.” She raised her index finger to the sky. “And then Dixie will have her revenge.”

*   *   *

“Lenny, you're getting a good soaking.” I'd already taken pictures of the nasty message and erased the lipstick with an oil-based remover, but an oily Chihuahua was a stinky Chihuahua. I ran a bath, added his doggie bubbles, and studied his ragged appearance. I didn't see any nicks in his skin. Whoever the culprit was, they'd been careful. “I'm sorry, my friend. There's nothing for it, but to shave off the rest of your hair.”

“Yip.” He trembled and whined as I scrubbed him gently with a bath mitt, but whether it was because of the bath or the idea of the groomer shaving his hair, I couldn't guess.

After drying Lenny with a loving hand, I wrapped him in a towel and placed him on the bed to rest. All of the lipstick had come off, and other than looking like a mangled shag carpet, he was good to go. I hung out my living room window, and it did my heart good to watch the couples strolling down Main Street in the late afternoon sun. I grinned as kids dragged their older siblings and parents into Barnum and Hailey's, an emporium filled with toys, magic tricks, and college team novelty gifts.

One week after the death of my parents, Aunt Linda and Uncle Eddie had walked me down the street below and pointed out every shop, restaurant, eatery, and nail salon. We'd stopped at Barnum and Hailey's, and Mr. Hailey had taken great care to point out all of his wonders and jokes as if I were visiting royalty. The crème de la crème was a flea circus, which he presented with great fanfare as a gift for being Broken Boot's newest citizen. Perhaps he sensed, even then, how many fleas I'd have to contend with once Lenny came along.

I called Furever Chic
,
the pet boutique on Second Street, but they couldn't get him in for the much needed haircut until the next day. Anger at Lenny's attacker still rippled under my skin. I had to get out.

“Buck up, Lenster, we're off to the feed store.” I clipped his purple leash to his matching collar and ventured out to join the tourists. Lenny was in a dapper mood, holding his head high, wagging his tail briskly, and greeting each gecko and cat he spotted on the street with a friendly yip.

If anyone noticed the cute long-haired Chihuahua with half of his hair missing, I didn't see their reaction. I'm afraid I was too busy remembering Senora Mari's dramatic revelation.

No wonder she was as tough as week-old tortillas.

Would she ever get around to telling the whole story? I found it a bit suspicious she'd never mentioned her stay in prison until Anthony was thrown in jail, and from what I'd witnessed of her past maneuverings, it'd be just like her to embellish her story for dramatic effect.

After walking five long blocks, we'd passed the businesses that catered to the tourists. In the distance, I could just make out the Broken Boot Feed and Supply. Two cars drove by, tooting their horns. I smiled and waved only to realize that they were waving at each other. Their tags read
Arkansas Razorbacks
, which explained why the young men hanging out the windows wore camouflage caps and red jerseys.