Here Today, Gone Tamale (21 page)

She left a curt message for Frank to call and turned to me with a tight smile. “Let's wrap up the questions about the university. What the
Bugle
's readers would love to know is that I've got The Kitchen booked for a four o'clock session on Monday.”

I hated to bite, but I was dying of curiosity. “What's that? A cooking class or a hair salon?”

Her response was delayed while an eight-year-old sang “Your Cheatin' Heart.” Once more we listened with earmuffs of kindness and marked our ballots accordingly.

Hillary picked up the conversation right where we left off. “I'm recording a CD.”

Of course she was. “Country?”

“I've sung so many country songs,” she said with a groan, “I should own stock in the Grand Ole Opry.” She dropped her gaze pointedly to where my hands lay idle on my phone. I typed a few random sentences, making sure to include her words:
I should own stock in the Grand Ole Opry.

I pitched Hillary a nice, fat softball. “What kind of music then?”

“Rhythm and blues.”

“Like Beyoncé?”

“Exactly.”

If I gave the slightest hint of my story angle, she'd edit what she was saying. And I didn't want her to change a thing. “Are you doing Beyoncé covers?”

“One or two, but I'm also covering Lena Horne, Roberta Flack, and Gladys Knight and the Pips.”

The Pips. “Huh. Who's going to sing the Pips part?”

She frowned.

“So how do you like living back in Broken Boot?”

She shrugged, her mouth twisted in disdain. “It's nice and all. The scenery's gorgeous.” Beyond the stage lay the mountains and desert and the big Texas sky.

“So you like to hike, rock climb, and those kinds of things?”

Wrinkling her nose, she corrected me. “I'm more of an art connoisseur, but Ryan and I do enjoy driving to Austin regularly for live music.”

Her shot bounced off my skin like a drop of water on a hot iron skillet. Ryan and I were simply friends. “Isn't he on the road a lot scouting next year's team?”

“He's hired a scout this year so he can spend more time at home.” She smiled sweetly.

“Right. What would you say is the thing you like most about Broken Boot?”

She screwed up her mouth. “The people, the food . . .” Her face brightened. “And the football.”

Maybe they were the perfect couple, or maybe she was full of it.

She leaned forward in her chair. “What's going on at the crime scene restaurant?” She made quotation marks in the air as she said this.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don't know. Someone was murdered in your parking lot.”

I played it cool. “You almost sound as if you know something worth telling.” I met her eyes, pretending to be skeptical.

“Ha,” she said triumphantly. “I know I saw Ty Honeycutt's black truck squeal out of the parking lot that night as we were leaving.”

“You need to get your eyes checked. Ty was driving an El Camino that night.” I shook my head in disgust. “What you probably saw was Bubba's Tacoma.”

That shut her up for a good ten seconds. I didn't know what she'd seen, but I was secretly thankful for another bread crumb to follow. She reloaded. “What are you going to do when Elaine sues your family for nearly choking her to death?”

I shot to my feet. “That was an accident.”

With a glance at her watch, she continued as if she hadn't heard. “And Sheriff Wallace told me they're going to follow every lead.” If looks could kill, I would've been six feet under. “Like the fact that Senora Mari's done hard time.”

“I didn't know you and the sheriff were such good friends.” Why would Wallace give her the inside track unless he was enchanted by her so-called beauty?

“I know who's responsible for Dixie Honeycutt's death, and it wasn't a man.”

The emcee announced a ten-minute intermission.

“Oh, give it a rest,” I muttered.

“Were you or were you not trying to get Ty to pick up Dixie that night?”

“She was too drunk to drive,” I continued.

“Is that why you offered her another margarita when you knew she was clearly over the limit?”

Without warning, Ryan joined us. “Have you finished—uh, hi?”

My cheeks grew hot. He'd nearly walked in on me giving his girlfriend a bloody nose. I'd never punched anyone, but the urge to try was overwhelming.

“That drink was mostly water and lime juice,” I said. “I don't remember you and her speaking to each other that night.”

“Oh, we did. I followed her outside, and we had quite the chat before she passed out.”

“What about?”

Hillary raised her hands and gazed at Ryan with a perplexed look. “Why, about whether she was okay or not.” She stood up and took Ryan's arm. “I didn't want her dying of alcohol poisoning.”

“Did you see her outside?” I asked Ryan, my eyes dropping to his orange socks and blue Nikes. He might not be wearing boots now, but he'd worn them the night of the
tamalada
.

He looked away, clenching his jaw. “No. I went out front and started up the truck.”

“Guess you weren't concerned enough to say
no
, were you?” Hillary asked, clobbering me with another accusation. “Or did that call for too much
backbone?”

“That's enough,” Ryan said through clenched teeth.

“Nothing hurts worse than the truth.” Hillary nodded in mock sorrow.

“You have no right to talk to Josie that way.”

I placed a hand on his arm. “Don't worry. She'll get what's coming to her.” I cast my eyes toward heaven. “Now that you're here, I'm going to leave the judging to the dynamic duo. I have a million things to do to get ready for tonight.”

After my weak parting shot, I gathered my things and scurried away like a lizard that'd lost his tail. And as for that article for the
Bugle
, I would write that article on the beauty queen from h-e-double toothpicks when that same place froze over.

I took a quick shower, drank a banana and kale smoothie, and felt my resilient nature rise to the top. Hillary wasn't going to get my goat. I was going to solve this crime.

*   *   *

Discouraged, but not defeated, I arrived at Milagro and found Lily, Anthony's sister, seated in the dining room.

“That girl,” Aunt Linda gestured with her chin, “says she's Anthony's sister.”

“She's telling the truth.”

My aunt's eyes grew round. “She also said you offered her a job.”

I grabbed Aunt Linda by the arm and pulled her into her office. “I apologize for not discussing the matter with you first, but she's the only person left to take care of her three younger siblings.”

“We barely have the business for our current staff.”

“If this is the only way we can help Anthony, then we have to give her a job.” I held up my hand to stop her protest. “She'll have to work as hard as everyone else.”

“You're darn right she will.”

“But if we had enough business to hire Anthony, we have enough to hire Lily.”

Aunt Linda walked to the door and peered out to where the teen waited. “She's kind of rough around the edges.”

“Have her fill out an application. Maybe she has experience.”

With a snort, my aunt crossed to her desk and handed me Lily's application. “I already did that, of course. She does have experience, working at Elaine's Pies.”

That was news to me. “Why'd she leave?”

Aunt Linda shrugged. “I'm not sure she did. I think she still cleans up after the restaurant closes.”

Elaine's Pies closed at seven. Hopefully, Lily didn't return home later than ten o'clock. Even so, who was watching Anthony's younger siblings while she was out? I thought I knew the answer.

“Why not give her a chance?” I said, pleading with my eyes and tone.

“Okay, okay. How could I say no?”

“There's one last thing to do.” I marched into the dining room with Lily's application and sat down across from her in one of the booths.

“What took you so long?” she asked.

I frowned. “Were you in school today?”

She looked away. “Yes, but I think school's stupid.”

Leaning forward, I tapped on her hand. “We're going to give you a chance, but you stay in school. That was our deal.”

“What if I'm sick?” She lifted her chin.

“You better be running a fever, or else.”

With a nod, she stuck out her small, unblemished hand.

I shook it, fighting back a smile. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Aunt Linda tells me you're working at Elaine's?”

“Yeah, I clean on Monday nights for a few hours.”

“Why only one day a week?”

She rolled her eyes. “Some old woman cleans the other six nights.”

“What's her name?”

“I don't know, but my little sister cleans toilets better than she does. “

“Are you sure that's the reason?”

“Why else?” Before my eyes she'd transformed again into the angry teenager.

“Who puts your brother and sisters to bed when you're gone?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Our neighbor.”

“You trust her?”

With an almost imperceptible nod, she agreed.

I couldn't work miracles or raise money for a private defense attorney for her brother Anthony, but I could keep her in school, and we could help her place food on their table.

Wanting to lighten the mood, I slapped my hands to the tabletop. “Can you start today?”

Lily's eyes grew wide with excitement as if the cloud of despair that hung over her head had suddenly blown away. “Yes, oh yes!” she cried, slamming her fist to the table.

Sliding out of the booth, I grinned. “Come on, don't just
sit there. We've got a ton of work to do to get ready for the auction dinner tonight.”

She bounded from her seat. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Can you get someone to watch your brother and sisters this evening on short notice?”

“I'll call and fix it.”

Clapping her on the back, I brought her to Aunt Linda. “Okay, sweet aunt of mine, she's all yours.” My aunt and I exchanged a look full of understanding. We would make a place for this one, this teenager with the world on her narrow shoulders.

*   *   *

In spite of all the work before me, I made time to stop in at the Boot and Bag for my high heels. Though tomorrow my feet would pay back my foolishness with pain, today it was all about looking stylish for the silent auction. Hillary, Melanie, and every other society glamour girl that Big Bend County had to offer would not find anything lacking in my appearance at tonight's event if I had my way.

Mrs. Cho greeted me with a polite smile, took my claim ticket, and went in search of my heels. I followed only far enough to peek around the corner of the workroom door. Mr. Cho was not as his workbench, but his wife turned and caught me poking my head inside their inner sanctum.

“Please, you wait up front,” she said, waving her hands as if to brush me away like so much dust and grime.

I gave her a sunny smile. I had no real expectation that he had information to pass along. It was too soon. Heck, for all I knew he might decide to keep his observations to himself. He hadn't exactly promised to join me in my search.

A moment later, she returned with my shoes, rang up my repair, and handed over the source of tomorrow's torment.

I bade her good-bye, and she watched me go as if she thought I would sneak past her to rummage through the piles of stinky, well-worn shoes in their workroom.

She wasn't far off the mark.

As I opened my door to the Prius, a champagne-colored luxury car pulled in beside me. I turned, expecting to greet another person picking up shoes for the auction dinner. Instead I came face-to-face with Mr. Cho.

I hesitated. Should I ask him? Was it too soon?

His alarm chirped as he walked around the hood of the car.

“Hello, Mr. Cho. How are you today?”

Without acknowledging my greeting, he stopped to inspect the hood ornament on his car. He took a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped a bit of something from the metallic finish.

Had I really expected a clue to drop from his mouth like the proverbial pearl of wisdom? I sighed. Yes, I had.

I started my car, threw it into reverse, and saw Mr. Cho in my peripheral vision. He was standing outside my window, gesturing for me to roll it down.

“Yes?”

“Mrs. Callahan, there are too many boots in this town for you to find the ones you seek.”

“Uh,” I decided to ignore the married prefix. “I hadn't thought about it in exactly those terms.” Out of three thousand citizens, at least a thousand of them owned a pair of boots, and some of them owned two or three pairs. Yikes!

If eyes truly twinkled, his shone brighter than the stars over the Chihuahuan Desert on a cloudless night in October. “Today I received two pairs of boots, one size nine and a half and one size ten.”

“Men's or women's?” I demanded.

“Men's.”

Even though I was no stranger to the fact that most murderers were men, especially those who killed by strangulation, I was disappointed. In the back of my mind, I had begun to consider Melanie a viable suspect.

Now I was back to square one.

“Did either pair have a broken heel?” I asked.

He threw a hurried glance over his shoulder toward the shop window. “Both pairs need new heels.”

Who was I fooling? This whole boot print idea of mine was about as ridiculous as looking for a needle in a haystack.

“Thanks, anyway.”

“Wait,” he said, leaning closer. “One pair is worn on the outer edge, not both.”

It was all I could do not to whoop and holler. “Who was it? Who dropped them off?”

“No one dropped them off.” He frowned as if regretting his decision to help me in my campaign for justice.

“But—”

He held a white paper sack from a restaurant in his left hand. He held up a shopping bag in his right. It was a large to-go bag from Elaine's Pies
.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Cho called from the doorway.

“I don't understand.”

“When I picked up lunch, Mrs. Burnett gave me the boots to repair.”

“A man's pair of boots?” Did they belong to P.J.? Could he have strangled Dixie for some unknown reason?

“Yes, yes.” He turned to his wife. “Go away. I'll be there in a minute.”

She responded in a high, piercing voice. “You come now or you'll be in big trouble.” She went inside, but she continued to glare at us through the window.

“Did they belong to her husband?”

“I don't know. The soles were . . . grimy, slippery.”

“Greasy?”

He thought for a moment. “Yes, greasy, that's the word.”

A red pickup truck drove up on the other side of the Prius. An elderly woman made her way slowly to the Boot and Bag's front door.

“I tell you all I know.” Mr. Cho hurried away.

I pulled out, more than ready to escape Mrs. Cho's censure.
My adrenaline was pumping. I tried telling myself to calm down, to not treat this new information as a salient fact in the investigation.

All I could think of was Melanie and P.J. Which one was more likely to wear an old worn-out boot into a dark alley?

Perhaps she had seen Mr. Cho while having lunch at her mother's restaurant and given him the boots to save herself a trip.
Or
she wanted to give them to him at Elaine's to prevent anyone seeing her dropping them off at the Boot and Bag
.

My mind was racing. I told myself hundreds of people walked on the outside of their feet and hundreds more worked in environments where they wore out their heels. I swallowed. How many people in a town this size walked on the outside of their feet, broke their boot heels,
and
stepped in grease so thick it coated the soles of their shoes?

I didn't have enough to accuse Melanie and P.J. Pratt, but my gut told me one of them stepped in the grease next to Dixie's cold body. If one of them hadn't killed her, then they knew who had.

During tonight's auction dinner I could watch them unobserved during the dinner and dancing. Behind my role as caterer, I could question all the key players: Mayor Cogburn and his wife, Suellen and Elaine Burnett, Ryan and Hillary, and even Lightfoot and Sheriff Wallace. It was a tall order, and one I wasn't confident I had the finesse to pull off. Being a hostess and a community reporter had helped me hone my idle chit-chatting skills, and that would have to be enough.

*   *   *

“Lily, this way,” I cried. The teen had made a herculean effort to serve tonight, securing the neighbor as a babysitter, rustling up black pants and a white button-down shirt, and borrowing a bow tie from Aunt Linda. Now she carried yet another tray of bite-size braised beef tacos from the truck to the kitchen.

The festival committee had secured Mars Hall to add a genuine historical feel to their main event. Once a country
church, the simple wooden structure offered wide oak flooring and arched windows with panes of clear and stained glass. There was plenty of room inside for dining and for viewing auction items. Outside, a bandstand and wooden dance floor waited under a bower of live oaks festooned with twinkling lights.

Gingerly, I took the platter from her. “There should be only two more trays of grilled shrimp. If you prop the back door open, you can bring them both in at the same time. She stared as if processing what I'd said and then bolted for the door like a scared jackrabbit. I had to smile. From the ankles up, she wore the same outfit as the rest of our staff, but on her feet she sported black converse.

“We're set to go, Jo Jo.” Uncle Eddie raised his hand for a high five.

I slapped his hand but had to mention a potential fiasco. “Just how melted are the margaritas?” We'd brought two frozen margarita machines filled with traditional and strawberry-flavored deliciousness for tonight's event. Regrettably, the machines were loaded into the truck first and had to sit in the sun while the equipment, food items, and trays of appetizers were brought out and secured.