Josie Tucker Mysteries Box Set 2

by E M Kaplan

  Yeah, right. Never mind that those wall words made her slightly nauseated.

  She found herself on Cesar Chavez Street, in walking distance of the state capitol building in one direction and, in the other, the Colorado River and something called “the bat bridge” under which the fuzzy creatures of the night congregated en masse. Spiky glass buildings intermingled with quaint, older brick structures. Willie Nelson Boulevard sprawled not too far from the monument to Confederate soldiers. A cluster of tie-dye wearing protesters stood across the street from a pair of tie-wearing missionaries.

  “Look where you’re going, pretty lady.” A bicycle whizzed by just as Josie was about to cross the street.

  “Oh, sorry…” She turned her head in time to catch cork high heels wedges pedal past, above which were scrawny legs attached to pale, flat butt cheeks in a pink thong bikini bottom. Josie wished her gaze hadn’t followed the legs up, but her eyes were on that train wreck of a journey, and she hadn’t been able to stop them at the torso, which was twisted toward her. A silver sequined bikini top stretched across a flat sun-weathered chest. Above that, a toothless grin beamed out at her from behind a stained gray beard.

  “…sir,” she finally finished.

  The bikini man waved at her and disappeared down the street. She blinked. Had she really seen him? Maybe her eyes were deceiving her. She shivered. It was downright balmy compared to the East Coast, but it was no bikini weather.

  Isn’t he freezing to death?

  “Okay, then.” Josie stepped off the curb, this time looking both ways first, just in case a pink elephant parade happened to be lurching up the boulevard as well.

  Across the street, she ducked into what she’d thought was a jeweler’s, but in fact was a bead shop. While it wasn’t what she expected, she was immediately entranced by the rows and rows of beads and baubles. Crystal, wood, glass, in different shapes and hues. This place would be a field day for a crow. And, wow, this place had good lighting, because everything sparkled.

  “Hi. Were you looking to sign up for a class today?” a woman asked her. Earrings made up from thousands of microscopic beads dangled from the woman’s earlobes all the way to her shoulders. Equally ornate beaded cuffs encircled her wrists, and a stick pin with a beaded lizard perched on her shirt collar.

  “Ah, no. I’m from out of town. Taking a tour of the local barbecue places for my blog.”

  “Awesome. Have you been to Smiley’s?” Apparently blogging was no big deal in this town. Maybe these were Josie’s people.

  “It’s on my list. I think I’ll go there tomorrow.”

  “They have the best beans.”

  “Really? You’re not a meat eater?”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. Ribs. Brisket. Chicken. Sausage. I’m an equal-opportunity eater, but their beans are amazing. Like, on a whole new level. But they’re definitely not vegetarian. They have big chunks of applewood smoked bacon in them. Like, in case you’re not getting enough meat with your order. But they are not to be missed, I promise you.”

  “Okay then, I’ll be sure to get some.”

  “You won’t be sorry,” the woman said. Her face was placid but her nimble fingers sorted through a rack of beads, jumping from one bin to the next, restoring order like some kind of fairy magic. “So is there something you’re looking for today?”

  “I was looking for a piece of jewelry, but I think I’m in the wrong place.”

  “We have a lot of finished pieces here as well. In the case right here, if you want to take a look,” the woman said. “Are you a beader?”

  “Uh…no.” Josie had never heard the term before, but she could figure out what it meant by her surroundings, that a beader meant one who beads, not a person with beady eyes. Or who was attracted to beads of moisture. Or something. “I’m not sure if I have the patience for it. But I can see how buying beads could be addictive.”

  The woman smiled. “That’s how the habit starts. You get a few different colors, some different types. Suddenly you’re spending your rent money on crystal seed beads, labradorite, and vintage glass cabochon—” At the blank look on Josie’s face, she explained, “That means antique gewgaws.”

  While Josie examined the necklaces and pendants in the display case and considered buying one for her mother, a class let out from the back of the store. A stream of two dozen or more cackling women exited. Josie thought a cottage industry like this could actually do pretty well in the right conditions—and Austin was the right kind of eclectic mix for that.

  “I hear Smiley’s has a resident ghost, too,” she told the woman.

  “You know, I’ve been there a million times, but I have yet to make her acquaintance.” The woman shrugged. “Maybe I’m just not lucky.”

  “Have you ever met the owner at Smiley’s?”

  “No, but I hear he’s a loner. Keeps to himself. And gosh, doesn’t that sound like every description of a murderer you’ve ever heard on the news?” The woman laughed.

  Ah well, Josie would keep digging.

  She selected a pendant she thought she might hang in her mother’s room at the nursing home, and also an all-black, iridescent bracelet—a series of circles beaded onto circles with some kind of silver coin in the middle of one the foremost circle—for herself that looked like a Victorian mourning piece. She tried it on and thought it didn’t clash too badly with her Joan Jett and The Runaways t-shirt.

  “Nice choice. The coin in the center of your bracelet has a lot of history. Supposedly it belonged to a local woman who died for love. And while that sounds a little grim, it’s actually a love charm. Or maybe, it means love can be a little harsh sometimes. I don’t know. What do you think? It’s open for interpretation. I got it at a flea market. I heard the story from the collector, so I wrote it down. In fact, I’m including a printed copy of the account in the bottom of your gift box if you want to read it sometime.” She pulled out the corner of a piece of paper under the box.

  Again with the ghost lore? This trip was headed down a rabbit hole. And fast.

  “Huh. A love charm? No kidding,” Josie said, sure the skepticism in her tone was ringing loud and clear. What the heck kind of coin was it? She peered at it more closely. Definitely not American currency. She could make out the letters R-O-M-A-N, but they were standard English letters. If it were a Roman coin, it certainly wouldn’t be in English. Romani, maybe? And while the lettering around the outside of the silver shape had been worn enough to lessen the value on its own, the center was a beautiful silhouette of a woman riding horseback over the clouds. Whatever coin it was, it looked convincing enough to be a love charm.

  And whatever the outcome of her current romantic situation with Drew was, she was going to have to make her own luck. Mostly by reigning in her tendency to get herself into trouble with her boneheaded moves.

  “You made this bracelet?” The beadwork was nothing short of exquisite. Josie ran a finger along the hundreds of tiny beads woven into the spirals around her wrist. The woman must have had the patience of a clockmaker, the eyesight of a third grader, and the fingers of a surgeon.

  “Yep. I did.” She gave a cheerful smile, a pink flush coming into her cheeks at Josie’s awestruck expression. “Anything else I can help you with?”

  “Actually, I was looking for a ring. Maybe silver or something. Not beaded or anything. I mean, I love the beads—so sparkly—but not for this particular ring.” She didn’t want to insult the woman, but Drew wouldn’t know what to do with a beaded engagement ring.

  “Go to Hell.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oops. Hell. It’s the name of the boutique next door. Cool stuff in Hell.”

  #

  The sign next door indeed said “Hell” in black painted letters on a placard covered in crystalline white rhinestones. She paused with her hand on the door, her new love charm bracelet dark and glinting from the streetlight overhead. In for a penny, in for a pound? She felt like she needed a more bracing battle cry before she entered
Hell. Curiouser and curiouser. Well, that motto wasn’t more macho, but at least it had an English devil-may-care flippancy.

  Straightening her shoulders, she pushed through the door, and citrus incense and the olfactory sting of the latest Calvin Klein unisex cologne assaulted her nose. The fragrance said youthful, trendy, and at least outwardly clean. Appearances could be deceiving.

  “Hey there. Let me know if I can help you find anything,” a voice called out in a tone that was overly warm and friendly for a denizen of the underworld. As Josie’s eyes adjusted, she located the source of the voice. A thin young man with dark hair in a t-shirt, black leather vest, and black jeans was bent over a display in the corner of the store. He had one of those heavy steel chains hanging out of his back pants pocket, securing his leather billfold wallet to his pants for all eternity. The emo manager of Hell.

  Moody synthetic music that softly thrummed oonst oonst oonst drifted in through Hell’s hidden speakers, and the store was chilly enough to have her wondering if the air conditioning was turned on even though it was late November. Black velvet drapery shut out the daylight and was pretty much how she pictured Hades—decor like a teen vampire movie on steroids. The whole setup reminded her of the living room of a web cam mathematics tutor of whom she’d recently made the acquaintance.

  What did the curtains hide? Industrial walls, scuffs and scratches in the paint, flowery fun decals from a daycare of years gone by? Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. She was mixing up her movie metaphors. She’d jumped from Alice in Wonderland to The Wizard of Oz when she was really in Dazed and Confused, searching for hidden motives, trying to be more transparent with her boyfriend in a world of lost love and mournful barbecue spirits.

  Whatever. Keep moving. You’re on a mission here. Find the ring. Toss it into Mordor.

  Thick shag carpet underfoot made her journey to the right side of the store somewhat arduous as she ventured toward a display of feather boas. Some kind of costuming—red, pink like Georgia’s Nails by Mattel, black, rainbow. But the feathers weren’t boas, they were tails. She poked one with her finger so it turned on the rack. Spinning, spinning, flaunting its feathers. Each fluffy tail was attached to a heavy silver arrowhead—not a sharp one, but with a blunt point? How would a person wear a tail like that…?

  What the actual heck?

  She scanned the merchandise on the surrounding shelves only to confirm her realization that she wouldn’t be finding a ring for Drew in this particular display. Toy after toy in lurid colors and outrageous shapes…and sizes.

  Oh my gawd. I can’t buy an engagement ring in a sex shop.

  “Do you need any help?”

  Josie almost jumped out of her skin when the denim-clad Millennial of Darkness appeared at her elbow. Apparently, shag carpet was good at muffling the slouched approach of fallen angels.

  “I’m looking for a man’s ring,” she said and clarified in the same breath, “for him to wear. On his finger.” Because she knew there were rings for other, more florid appendages. Her face felt like it might self-combust, her embarrassment fanning the flames. Skip the barbecue—she was flambéing herself.

  His mouth twisted in a lazy half-smile. “Go through the door in the back of the store. You probably want to try the other side of the shop.”

  It seemed she had come through the rear entry of Hell.

  Chapter 4

  The other side of the building was pleasant and well-lit, with pale green carpet and shabby chic, feminine decor. Who knew parts of the underworld could be so charming? Clothing racks with funky feathered hats and pale, faceless mannequins lined the store, along with several jewelry cases arranged in angled ranks, like fish bones. What kind of baubles and ornaments would she find on the flip side of Hell? Was it any more or less worse to buy a man an engagement ring on this side of the store?

  Yes, Josie was looking for a ring. A man’s engagement ring for Drew. To get married. Her stomach gave a nervous flutter. Or maybe it was the half-slab of ribs. Or the last few days of copious amounts of meat consumption. Why did she confuse the two sensations? And why did confronting anything serious or emotional make her dyspeptic? This was a deep, philosophical third-degree, but one she didn’t have time for right now. She had a bigger, more pressing question to think about.

  Was now the right time to get engaged? Was there ever a correct moment to take the next step in a relationship? Adopt a dog. Buy a house. Have a kid or two. That was the normal route, right?

  Not that she was normal by any stretch of the imagination.

  She’d turned 29 years old in May, and Drew was a year and a half older. Friends since college, they’d been dating for only a short time. Recent events, however, had made it clear to her that she didn’t want to waste any more time messing around without any reason or purpose—without making their relationship official and permanent. Maybe her sudden desire to get engaged had to do with a certain female doctor colleague who hadn’t been able to keep her greedy little lips to herself. Maybe it had to do with Josie’s repeated run-ins with death and incurable crazies that made her realize how short and precious life was. Or something.

  Josie peered through the shiny glass countertop into the display cases. Because this was a small, non-chain kind of boutique, the rings were an unusual assortment of Celtic knots, dragons with gemstone eyes, and multi-piece bands woven through with black and opal. Nothing that even remotely made her think of her man-slash-BFF who’d put up with her foolhardy and sometimes self-destructive shenanigans for years now.

  Toward the end of the second case, she found a few simpler rings, including a plain gold one. When she ducked down to look at the band from the side, through the front of the counter, she saw it had elvish scroll around it, like from The Lord of the Rings. She almost laughed out loud because she’d just been thinking it.

  But this is definitely not the one ring to bind us.

  At the very end of the case, just as she had stood up and turned to locate the door, another plain band caught her eye. Polished silver with a band of inky black running straight through stood out from the others because of its lovely simplicity.

  “That’s tungsten,” the shop clerk behind the counter said. “Well, a tungsten alloy.”

  The young woman’s high-contrast makeup riveted Josie. Too-dark hair parted in the center over a high forehead contrasted with her startling pale skin. A single diamond-studded piercing in her nose seemed conservative compared to what a lot of the other kids had been doing lately, based on Josie’s recent college-campus adventure. The light blue color contacts and plumped up lips—which could have been clinically enhanced for all Josie knew—obscured her ethnicity. But then, did it really matter? All that was clear was who the girl wanted to be now, which was a friendly and helpful, albeit highly painted person. Artifice or facade versus substance—what was underneath mattered. And really, that was the important thing, wasn’t it?

  “It’s what?”

  “Tungsten. One of the hardest rare metals there is. I think the name is Swedish or Norwegian. Something Scandinavian. I used to know.” The girl flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder. Josie gazed at her perfectly symmetrical painted-on eyebrows. “The military uses tungsten in missiles and bullets. And radiation shields. Stuff like that. It’s 19 times denser than water. More like gold or uranium, and it has the highest melting point of all the elements.”

  “No kidding.”

  The girl pointed a dark purple fingernail at her own abundant cleavage, pale and miraculously untouched by the harsh Texas sun, which was clad in a deeply V-neck fuzzy black sweater. “Double major in Chem and Geology. Hook ‘em, Horns.” She flashed the Longhorn hand gesture. So this was what happened when Goth kids grew up. They became double majors in STEM. Awesome.

  Josie nodded in appreciation. The girl knew her spiel. Whether it was true or not…well, who cared? “Basically, you’re saying this ring is almost indestructible?”

  “Yep. It should last a lifetime—more t
han a lifetime. And it’s affordable, too.”

  “Sold.”

  #

  “So tell me,” Josie said as the girl rang up the ring—The Ring, as she was coming to think of it in capital letters, despite trying not to be so nerdy about it and her anxiety—“where should I go for the best barbecue around town?”

  The girl’s sculpted eyebrows rose. She had to have used a stencil to apply them so precisely. Maybe they were tattooed on. Josie had heard that was a thing. Never again would a walk of shame include smeared mascara and pale, bloodless lips. Eyebrows stayed in place even after vigorous scrubbing. Funeral home artists would need only to cover up the wounds and realign anything out of place. Her mind tripped over that.

  If a façade is permanent, is it still just a façade?

  “That’s a controversial topic around this city. A lot of people have their favorites. Ruby’s is great if you want some place to hang with your friends and have a few beers. Kinda trendy. Very tasty food, don’t get me wrong. Their location at Lake Travis has some of the best views around and live music on the weekends. You can hear it even if you’re in a boat on the water.

  “If you’re into organic and all that, you might like Off The Bone. It’s not really authentic, but it’s good. My friends and I hang there when we have non-meat-eaters with us. I mean, when they’re with us and we’re not making fun of them.

  “There’s The Mineral Lick, of course, but if you’re going to go to all the trouble of driving out of town a little ways, you should go to Smiley’s. It’s totally authentic, from the building all the way down to the limestone it’s sitting on. I mean, it’s not the original building, but the sense of ambiance there is unbeatable.” She took the price tag off and nestled the tungsten ring into a blue gift box with a white satin cushion. The box snapped shut with a muffled clap. Then she wrapped the whole thing in about twenty layers of tissue paper, oblivious to Josie’s aborted protests.