by K. M. Waller
Her cell phone rang with the music to I Can Only Imagine. Great song. Always made me tear up a little. She clicked the little button on her wireless receiver ear bud. I sat cross-legged behind her and hoped the conversation would be short.
“Whatcha got for me, Bessie Ann?” Her voice rang out loud over the road noise. “No, hon, I’m already on the road.” She paused while the other person spoke. “I know it’s hands-free in Georgia now and that’s why I’m using that wireless thing Dickie Ray got us all for Christmas last year. Uh, huh.”
Another long pause and if I strained I could make out words from the mouse-like squeak on the other end of Marlin’s phone call.
She started up again, “Well I can’t exactly write down the location while I’m driving can I? Text it to me.”
Marlin slammed her hand down on the steering wheel. “She ain’t getting away with nothing. Memaw left that recipe to me and she stole it right out of my recipe box like a snake with hands.”
I’d never known such frustration at listening to one side of a conversation.
“Yes, I know a snake with hands would practically be a lizard, but that don’t sound the same does it? I’ll call you tonight. Ricky Lynn is in for the surprise of her life.” She clicked the end button on her earpiece and wiggled in her seat.
“Marlin…” I started.
She startled and jerked the steering wheel to the right. I slid on the floor and bumped my head into a cabinet. My first prediction of doom come true.
After a second, she gained control of the vehicle and I assumed we hadn’t run an unsuspecting driver off the road.
“Girl, you can’t sneak up on me like that,” she placed one hand over her heart. “Get back there to your bungee restraint.”
I slapped my hand against the floor, my patience done. “You were supposed to take me home.”
“Oh. I didn’t think you meant that.”
“I can’t find my phone either,” I said and didn’t attempt to hide one ounce of my irritation.
“Alicia sent me a text right after we left. She’s got it so you don’t bug her and Jack a million times, she said. Those teens can be so dramatic. Although, I wouldn’t know from experience since the good Lord didn’t bless me and Earl with any little ones of our own.”
Alicia. That girl would know what it’s like to not have a cell phone after I got through with her.
Marlin clicked her tongue. “She knew you’d be mad, so she promised to text me every few hours with a status update. She said to remind you how often you tell her you didn’t have a cell phone when you were a teen and you survived. That might be the direct quote.”
I cradled my bumped head in my hands. A snuffle, grunt and retching pulled my attention to the back of the truck. Austin tucked his snout inside my open bag. Before I could think the words No! he closed his eyes and puked a brown, goopy mess all over my clean clothes.
“Uh oh,” Marlin said on a laugh. “Sounds like somebody’s car sick back there.”
I stared at her so hard my eyes stung. “He barfed in my bag.”
“Whew. At least we won’t have to pull over and wash off the floor.” She glanced over at me with the twinkle in her eyes I’d admired a few days ago but now understood to be the sign of complete madness. “Don’t worry, hon. I always pack extra underwear. You can borrow some of mine.”
My hands shook, my head hurt, and my confusion was massive. Not the best combination.
“Please tell me why we’re doing this.” I swirled a finger in the air to indicate the truck, and hated how my question came out on a whimper.
“It’s a complicated story of family betrayal.” Her voice took on a likeness of the guy who narrated 60 minutes. “My second cousin Delia called me Thursday night. Her brother Hank told her that his sister’s youngest daughter caught her mom with a secret invitation to a brisket barbeque competition in a little nothing town called Picante, Texas.”
I followed the family tree she outlined. “So, your cousin is going to a barbeque competition?”
“I don’t claim that pilferer and scrounger as family.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“My Memaw owned a roadhouse in the northern part of Texas. Famous for all kinds of yummy barbeque in those parts. She even had one of those eating competitions nobody could win. When she passed to the glory in the sky, she bequeathed each of us cousins a special recipe from her secret stash. Mine was the dry rub Texas brisket. Best brisket in the state.”
“And this Ricky Lynn stole the recipe.” How could one family have so many two-name first names?
“It ain’t my fault she got left with the whipped cream cold slaw. If she’d been nicer to Memaw she’d have gotten one of the meat specials. And, she didn’t just steal it from me. She plans to use it in a cooking competition and that is something this old girl will not let happen.” Marlin gripped the steering wheel and her knuckles turned white. “No sir. As my dear Memaw in heaven is my witness, Ricky Lynn will not use that brisket recipe to win any competition. If a blue ribbon belongs to anyone it belongs to me.”
“So you plan to run her over with a food truck?” I asked dryly, still unable to connect all the dots in the reason for our emergency trip to Texas.
She tossed her head back and let out a rancorous laugh. “No, sweetie. I plan to enter that competition myself. When I win, she’ll have no choice but to hand over the recipe and admit defeat.”
“Don’t you need a smoker or giant grill instead of a taco truck?” My head pounded with a fierceness that made my eyes close involuntarily. “I think I’m getting a migraine.”
“Hit the glove box, lil’ momma. I got something in there for migraines.” She twisted the knob on the radio and a swoony singer I didn’t recognize complained about man troubles.
I opened the glove box and found a plastic baggie with various assortments of colorful pills. I shook it at her. “Why aren’t these in the proper containers?”
“Always a rule follower, you are.” She squinted at the bag and then nodded. “The blue and white are the prescription migraine meds. Just take one and you’ll be right as summer rain in the desert within minutes.”
I couldn’t focus on how to get out of my current situation with the massive headache, so against my better judgment I downed the pill without the accompaniment of water. I rubbed my temples as if that would make the medication work faster.
“Why did you bring me?” I asked.
She reached over and gave the top of my head a soft pat. Something I’d done to Jackie many times to reassure him everything would be all right. “Because the other night when we all sat around my fire pit and the other choir gals were laughing it up, you stared into the darkness with the saddest of eyes. I thought that girl there needs an adventure to shake her from her widow funk and it was as if God were listening because He gave us the perfect adventure.”
Widow funk sounded like a harsh term for what I’d experienced. I liked to refer to it as sadness or grief. The pounding in my head dissipated but was replaced with fogginess. “You think it’s God’s will I ride to Texas with you on a food truck with a puking dog because I need an adventure?”
She winked or at least that’s what I thought her face did. “You’re here aren’t you?”
Everything blurred. My head felt too heavy for my neck. It lolled from the left to the right and I shook it hard to get a balance.
“Hon, did I mention those meds might make you drowsy? It’s best you crawl on back to your cord and strap in.” Her voice came at me as if she were in a tunnel. “I’ll wake you in a few for a potty break.”
Since it was the least crazy thing Marlin had said all morning, I obeyed and crawled past Austin, who’d taken up snoring by my smelly bag. I re-hooked myself to the stool and let my head drop back against the cabinet with a thump. At our first gas or rest stop, I’d find a phone and get out of this situation. Until then, a little rest couldn’t hurt.
3
I didn’t have to ope
n my eyes to know the tongue sliding over my cheek belonged to. His breath smelled of a trash can full of three-day-old egg salad. I cracked open one eye at a time to take in my surroundings. My upper body had folded over with my head resting on my knees.
Still on the food truck but at least we’d stopped. I glanced down at my bare feet. When had I taken off my shoes?
Voices came from just outside the truck and inch by inch I righted myself to find most of my left side unresponsive. I shook and stretched until the tingles provided feeling in my body. Marlin and I needed to have a conversation about that medication she’d given me because it acted more like a tranquilizer than headache remedy. I tapped my FitBit to see exactly how long I’d been asleep.
It read five p.m. I tapped again and again and again. That can’t be right. Maybe it hadn’t synced with the time zone change or some glitch like that because there was no way I’d slept the entire ten hours. I unhooked the bungee cord and stood, my foot squishing into something on the floor.
Ew. “Gracious me, Austin. Did you puke again?”
Marlin leaned her head in the door. “Oh hon, that’s not puke this time.”
I refused to inspect the brown glop further, but the smell drifting toward me confirmed her statement. Double ew. “You can’t be serious.”
Austin whined.
“I’m not mad at you, pup. You’re just as much a victim in this as I am.” I poked around in the cabinets and found old taco shells wrapped in saran wrap and an odd vase that looked familiar. At the base it read Earl, Loving Husband. I backed up a step and placed my hand over my heart. She’d brought her husband’s ashes on this adventure too. And she’d packed him with the taco shells.
I closed the cabinet and opened others until I found a roll of paper towels. I cringed with each swipe of my foot. “Don’t worry, pal. When I find a way out of this I’m taking you with me.”
For the first time since he’d gotten on the truck, his curly stub of a tail wiggled. I untied his leash, and we made our way to the front. “Why didn’t you take Austin for potty breaks?”
“I did, sweetie. Several times. He went too. I didn’t realize a tiny tyke of a pup could hold that much poo.”
I stepped down to the ground and jumped when the hot cement burned my feet. I hopped to a shaded area near the front of the truck. “Where are my shoes and why didn’t you wake me?”
She tsked three times. “Hon, you took them off and threw them at me when I tried to rouse you at the second stop. You were meaner than a Texan drunk on two-for-one tequila night.”
A deep chuckle erupted from behind me and I realized we had an audience. I turned to find a tall man with ice-cold blue eyes and a grey Stetson watching me. His white mustache matched the color of his hair. Alicia would have called him a silver fox.
He tipped his hat. “Howdy, ma’am.”
“Hi,” I gave him a small wave and refocused my attention on Marlin. “Where are my shoes now?”
“Well, I gave them back to you and while I was driving down the highway, you threw them at me again. This time they bounced off my back and out the window.”
Huh. I remembered none of this. “Did you stop and get them?”
“We were on a schedule, sweetie, and it wasn’t one of the scheduled stops.”
“I need a minute,” I said, closing my eyes and leaning against the side of the truck. After several deep breaths, I opened them again to find Marlin and the man staring at me, their expressions ones of concern. “At least tell me Alicia has been checking in?”
“Every two hours like we agreed.”
A glint off of the fading sun hit a shiny object on Marlin’s waist. A gun in a decorative holster connected to a belt with turquoise etchings. She wore it hung low around her hips.
“What is that?” My voice raised four octaves and ended on a high note.
Marlin twirled and made shooting fingers at me as if she were an Annie Oakley show girl. “You like it? Her name’s Tammy. It’s open carry in Texas, so she gets to breathe a little while we’re here.”
The last thing on earth Marlin needed was a pistol. “You still have to have a permit, right?”
Her eyes rounded. “Permit?”
“Well, not exactly in Picante,” said the man with the hat and Sam Elliot voice. “We’re an independent town and the charter gives citizens and passersby the right to own and carry without a permit.”
“Thank you for that Mr….” I rolled my hand waiting for him to answer.
“You can call me Craig, ma’am. I’m head of private security for Picante.”
“I’ve heard of private and corporate owned towns before but I’d never been in one.”
Austin yanked the leash and gave a small “aarroo” to let me know he needed yet another potty break. I tip-toed across the hot pavement to a patch of grass and took in our surroundings as he did his business. There was one main street down the middle of town with a grocer on one side and a shady-looking motel on the other. We had parked in a rectangle parking lot on the grocer side, but the lot didn’t connect to any buildings. If it weren’t for the other two cars parked in front of the grocer, on first inspection I might have considered it a ghost town.
A radio on Craig’s hip crackled, and he responded. “Okay, ladies. The boss says you can compete in the barbeque contest but it ends at six and he’s not giving any special treatment.”
I tugged on Austin’s leash to get his attention. “He said all that just now?” All I’d heard was static crackles.
“More or less.” Craig gave me a smile that lifted the ends of his mustache. “By the way, you have to police up after your dog or I’ll write you a ticket. We still have some laws here.”
Wow, Austin really did hold a lot of poop in that tiny body. I snapped my head toward Marlin and narrowed my eyes.
“I’ll grab a baggie,” she said and dashed inside the truck.
While Marlin cleaned up the most recent poop on the ground and the leftover in the truck, Craig crawled into his jacked-up 4 x 4 and set the engine to life with a roar.
When Marlin settled in the driver’s seat, I picked up Austin. “Austin and I are riding with Craig.”
No more stool and bungee cord for me.
“Seems like you gals are having one heck of an adventure,” Craig said as I buckled myself in and settled Austin on my lap.
I shook my head at the food truck which took three tries before the engine caught. “I’d call it more like a kidnapping.”
He glanced at my bare feet. “Hang on a sec.” He exited and rifled around in a metal toolbox on the back of the truck. When he returned, he held out a pair of boots. “These belonged to my ex. I’ve been meaning to take them over to Shreveport and donate ‘em, but it looks like they might be your size.”
“Thanks.” I slid the boots on and although they were about a half a size too big, they’d work much better than bare feet. “Shreveport’s the nearest city with an airport?”
“It is.” He guided his truck onto the main road and Marlin honked a few times to let us know she followed close behind. “You looking to fly back to Georgia instead of taking another ten-hour trip in that sweet ride?”
His sarcastic tone brought a smile to my lips. “I don’t really know how I got here. This entire day so far has been ridiculous.”
“Your situation reminds me a tornado slamming through a farm. A twister doesn’t really think it just picks things up and puts them back down. Ms. Marlin is a tornado.”
His analogy almost made sense. “And I’m the mangled house left behind?” I wiggled my toes in the boots. “I might just need FEMA assistance after this weekend.”
Within seconds we were outside of town and turning down a dusty dirt road—empty fields and barbwire fences as far as the eyes could see to the left and right. Maybe I could count fence posts for a few minutes and find my center again. One, two, three…
“So I take it you two don’t own a taco truck together?” Craig tapped his fingers on the steering
wheel.
“Oh no. Absolutely not. I’m a bookkeeper for a few churches in my area.” Austin snorted, and I scratched under his chin. “I work from home, mostly.”
From the corner of my eye I could see him nod and the Stetson bobbed up and down. Now that I’d missed counting from my starting point, I felt a need to fill the silence in the truck. “Are we still in Picante?”
“The town limits extend to the edge of the boss’s property.”
“So your boss owns a town. Is this guy some tech-made millionaire who cashed out early and has more money than common sense?”
“Far from it. Calvin Spudson Jr. is old money. As for his reasons for owning a town, I really can’t speculate. Rich people like to own things.”
The name sounded familiar. Even with the residual fogginess of the medicine I’d taken, I pieced together the conversation between Marlin and her cousin and what Craig had said about joining the competition. “Calvin Spudson Jr. is the billionaire who owns the C.S. BBQs franchise, isn’t he?”
“That’s the man.”
I’d seen something about him on one of the food network channels. That man loved his barbeque to a point it bordered on obsession. “And this secret competition is something he does often? Why?”
“He hosts it at least once a year. Mr. Spudson is always looking for fresh recipes to offer in his restaurants. The winner gets paid close to a million dollars.” He glanced at me and winked. “That’s after taxes.”
I’m sure my mouth formed an O. A million-dollar barbeque competition. Bless that obsessed man’s heart. The skin under my left eye twitched. Now, I had to stay. If nothing more than to see how Marlin planned to compete with no brisket or smoker and a recipe already claimed by her cousin.
Craig continued, “Mr. Spudson sends out tasters all over the country to state fairs and mom-and-pop places to look for the next big thing.”
“I’m almost speechless.” I glanced in the side mirror and caught Marlin in the reflection. She sang some song at the top of her lungs, the truck swerving back and forth with each dramatic tilt of her head.
