by Elise Sax
Silas stopped typing, opened a desk drawer, and pulled out a box of cigars. “How about we celebrate a little early? Come on, everyone. Grab a stogie. Let’s celebrate our scoop. It’s not every day that we take down corporate America. You okay, over there, Jimmy? Any permanent damage?”
Jimmy moaned and sat up, rubbing his head. The cigars were passed around, and everyone started lighting up. The smell of cigars made me nauseated, so I left the office. I took a deep breath outside, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was breathing better. I still wasn’t normal, but at least I wasn’t gasping for air. Abbott circled me, and Costello stood in place, looking up at me with his sad doggie eyes.
“Fine. I’ll take you for a walk. Let me change my shoes first.”
I changed into my sneakers, and when I came back into the courtyard, Jimmy was standing there, staring at me, as if he had been waiting for me.
“Hi, Jimmy. Do you need something?” He tugged at his tie and let it drop to the ground. “What are you doing?”
He ripped open his shirt, sending buttons flying. Taking a step toward me, he began to pant.
Uh-oh.
What was it with men and their naked torsos, lately? Was I wearing a sign saying that I wanted to be attacked by half-naked men? I thought about what Rocco said about the men in town drawing lots to see who would court me. Had Jimmy won?
“Jimmy, you’re a nice guy,” I lied. “But I’m going through a divorce, and I’m not ready to date. Or to watch a man strip in my courtyard.”
He stepped forward, again and panted harder. I stepped back and wagged my finger at him. “What on earth, Jimmy? This is not the way to ask a woman out.”
He slapped at his naked chest, and his pants turned to gasps. His eyes were wild, searching my face for something. For answers? No, for help. He wanted me to help him.
“Jimmy?” I asked. Whatever I had thought he was doing, I was wrong. He was in distress. I put my arm around him. He convulsed against me and dropped to the ground. “Help!” I yelled.
Abbott howled and ran away, and Costello licked Jimmy’s face. Boone opened his door, and seeing Jimmy on the ground, flew into action. “Call 911!” he ordered me. I ran into the house and made the call. When I returned, Boone was giving Jimmy CPR, but Jimmy’s face had lost all color.
I had seen this before. I knew what it was.
“He’s gone,” I said, kneeling next to Boone.
“No, he’s not,” Boone insisted and continued the CPR.
There was a siren in the distance, and it was coming closer. I put my hand on Boone’s strong back. “He’s gone. He’s not coming back.”
But then I wondered if maybe he would come back. I had touched a woman the month before and brought her back to life. It was worth a try. Ever so gently, I touched Jimmy’s leg and waited.
But Jimmy didn’t come back. Poor Jimmy Sanchez was dead, cut down in his youth. And that made me wonder.
Part II: Matilda Helps Silas and Asks Questions
Potluck Memorial Planned for Goodnight Diner
by Silas Miller
The Goodnight Diner will host an informal memorial for Jimmy Sanchez Friday at 8 PM. Mr. Sanchez was the junior reporter of the Goodnight Gazette and dreamed of one day working for The Washington Post.
“Tell the folks it’s potluck,” Adele Dees, owner of the Diner, said. “But please no lasagna. When Fred died last year, we had twenty lasagnas. Would it hurt to make a tuna casserole for a change? Or a pot roast?”
Mr. Sanchez died Tuesday morning after announcing he had a new source for the Gazette’s expose on the New Sun Petroleum company. Sheriff Goodnight refused to comment about the ongoing investigation into Mr. Sanchez’s death, but according to Doc Greenberg, “It doesn’t take a genius to see he was murdered. A boy doesn’t just drop dead at nine in the morning.”
Officials from New Sun Petroleum have made it clear in the past that they would stop at nothing to prevent the publication of the Gazette’s startling story about their practices. This reporter isn’t claiming that they’re responsible, though.
Not yet.
The new owner of the Gazette, Matilda Dare, reaffirmed her desire to keep the paper running and to help the authorities in any way they need.
“I tried to un-dead him,” she explained. “But it didn’t work this time. He stayed dead. I’m so sorry.”
Ms. Dare later explained that she had not confessed to the murder. The newcomer to Goodnight is suffering from altitude sickness and saw a blond girl in her courtyard who wasn’t there. She will bring chocolate chip cookies to the memorial. Rumors that Mr. Sanchez died while performing sex acts with Ms. Dare in her courtyard are so far, unfounded.
Chapter 4
“Damn it!” Boone shouted, as the paramedics pronounced Jimmy dead. I walked him into my kitchen and sat him down at the table. “It’s not right. A kid shouldn’t die,” he said.
I put the kettle on for tea, and I sat next to him, taking his hand. “Maybe he had some kind of seizure,” I said. “He was just there, panting, and then he was on the ground.”
“You’re comforting me, but I should be comforting you.” Our eyes locked, and I felt my face go hot. It wasn’t a blush. It was something more. His thumb lightly caressed my palm, and an electrical current ran through my body. “We got off to a bad start, not counting poor Jimmy,” Boone said. “Maybe we can change that. Would you like to…”
He was cut off when Sheriff Goodnight walked into the kitchen. He took his hat off, and his eyes went to Boone’s hand touching mine. The tea kettle began to whistle, and I jumped up to get it.
“Boone.” The sheriff dragged out the word slowly, like he had eaten something bad, and he couldn’t believe that it had been in his mouth.
“Amos,” Boone said back to him, like he had eaten the same thing.
“Would you like some tea?” I asked the sheriff, and I blushed like an idiot. Sheesh. I just saw a young man die in front of me. The least my hormones could do was to give me a break.
“No bologna?” he asked, looking down at me, and for the first time, he flashed me a brilliant, hotter-than-hell smile.
“Okay,” Boone announced, standing. “Enough of this. I’m not a moron.”
And he walked out.
“Boone is a hard man to like,” the sheriff told me.
“Would you like some face?” I asked. “I mean, tea! Tea. Would you like some tea?”
“I wouldn’t pass on a cup of coffee, if you got it.”
“I have a lot of coffeemakers, for some reason. Do you want cream and sugar?”
“Yes.” He sat at the table and slapped a notebook down on it. “I need your statement.”
I was happy to be busy with making him coffee, so I didn’t have to face him while I gave him the rundown. I didn’t have much to tell, however. The whole incident hadn’t taken two minutes.
“Poor Jimmy,” I said, handing him the coffee. “Would you like a cookie, Sheriff Goodnight?”
“Call me Amos. Everyone does.”
His dark eyes were framed with long eyelashes. He had high cheekbones, and his hands were large. I took all this in as I watched him stir his coffee, but I was gripped with a strong desire to run my fingers through his thick, dark blond hair.
Amos was as sexy as sexy got.
“Amos,” I started. “Did Jimmy have a seizure? A heart attack? He was so young.”
“We’re sending his body down to Albuquerque for an autopsy. His family wants it back in a hurry. The funeral is going to be family only, in case you were wondering. Did you see Gloria hit Jimmy with a burrito?”
“Yes. Wait a minute. Did Jimmy die from burrito-related injuries?” It was hard to imagine that a person could die from a burrito blow to the head, but Gloria’s burritos were dense and generously portioned.
Amos shrugged, his muscular shoulders reaching his perfect ears. Lately, I had been seeing a lot of naked men torsos, but I would have paid to see his. “We don’t know yet. Anything’s possible.”
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He downed half of his coffee and drew a line under his notes. “Anything to add?” he asked.
“No. Did you find the girl?”
He smiled again. “No girl.”
“Do you think the girl and Jimmy’s death were related?”
“Who’s interviewing who? The journalism bug has bit you.”
“I feel responsible. Jimmy was my employee.” As the words left my mouth, I realized they were true. He was my employee. I was his boss. On some level, I was responsible for him. “When will we get the autopsy results?”
“We? I ordered a rush. They’re bumping an overdose for him. I should know more tonight.” He stood and picked up his hat. “Matilda, do me a favor. Don’t get in any more trouble. Let me do my job. You can report on it after.”
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. Something in me knew that I couldn’t mind my own business. I couldn’t let Amos do his job. I had to stick my nose in where it didn’t belong.
Amos studied my face and sighed. “That’s what I thought. Trouble has come to town.” He put his hat on, and tipped it toward me. “Miss Trouble, you have a nice day.”
He left, and I dunked my head under the tap.
“You’ve got it bad. I watched the whole thing.” Faye walked in and leaned against the stove. She was wearing cutoffs again, and her usual boots and utility belt. Her t-shirt announced the thirty-percent sale at the UFO shop.
“What did you watch?” I asked, turning off the tap and wrapping my hair in a kitchen towel.
“You and Amos. He hasn’t smiled at another woman since his wife died.”
“I’m sure he was trying to comfort me after what happened with Jimmy.”
“Adele shot her husband in the head by accident, and Amos didn’t smile at her. Nora’s son got hit by a drunk driver and was in the ICU for a week, and Amos didn’t smile at her.”
“I’m still married, and a man just died in my courtyard,” I said.
“That’s what I thought. You didn’t actually deny the thing between you and Amos. I guess I should tell the guys in town to forget about drawing lots to see who gets a shot at you.”
I was secretly thrilled that she thought Amos was interested in me, but my new journalism bug was biting me. “I need to give my condolences to Jimmy’s family. You think they’ll like a casserole?”
“Sure. You want me to go with you?”
“You’d do that?”
“I have a banana bread I could bring. Would you mind picking it up at home with me?”
We stopped at the Gazette office on our way out. Silas and Klee were in shock over Jimmy. They were also on the rampage. Silas was convinced that Jimmy had been murdered by the New Sun Petroleum company, who were hell-bent on putting the kibosh on his article.
“You’re going to have to pick up the slack, boss,” Silas informed me, while I held two pounds of macaroni and cheese in a disposable metal pan. “I’m going to be 24/7 on nailing those environment-raping, kid-killing bastards. So, you’ll have to write the other stories.”
“The other stories?”
“You know. Everything else. You have to write everything else.”
“I’ve only ever written one story, and you hacked it to pieces.”
“Don’t worry,” Silas said. “I’ll edit whatever you write. You won’t have to be embarrassed about publishing something stupid.”
“That means you need to get the UFO shop story done today,” Klee announced. “And the fish pedicures. We need four hundred words on those. But it should write itself. I mean c’mon…fish pedicures.”
“I didn’t know fish had feet,” I said.
I followed Faye’s truck to the Goodnight UFOs shop, which turned out to be owned by her and her husband, Norton, and they lived on the second floor. Norton ran the place, and if I were honest with myself, I would have had to admit that I was nervous about seeing Norton again after squeezing his man-boobs. Faye didn’t seem upset at all, however.
The shop was down the hill from my house, located on a corner, three streets away from the Plaza. It was hard to miss the shop. It took up half of a city block, and the roof was a huge flying saucer, which made a whirring noise and spun around, as if it were taking off or landing. It must have cost a fortune. “30% Off Entire Stock! All Your Alien Favorites!” was written on the windows in thick blue and pink lettering.
I parked on the street in front of the store and left the macaroni and cheese on the front seat. Faye drove her truck into the alley, and I assumed she parked behind the store. I opened the door and walked inside.
Norton greeted me as I entered. Fortunately, he was dressed. Still a huge man, he looked happy as a lark, dressed in a pyramid hat, an “I Want to Believe” t-shirt, and pants with pictures of alien heads on them.
“Crazy girl!” he said, and slapped my back. “I’m so happy to see you, again. Are you here to stock up on your extraterrestrial supplies?”
“Strictly speaking, I’m not crazy. That was just my husband who said that, but it wasn’t true.”
“I heard you saw an invisible woman. Would you like an alien divining rod? It comes with a ten-year guarantee. It saved two of Harry Hayes’ prized cows.”
“Matilda and I are here to pick up a banana bread to take to the Sanchez’s,” Faye explained, walking up behind Norton with a foil-wrapped loaf.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Norton said. “Jimmy was a pinhead, but his parents are good people. They must be in shock. Is it true that he died having sex with you in the courtyard?” he asked me.
“No! He just dropped dead.”
“But he was sort of naked, right? That’s what I heard,” Norton said.
“I heard that, too,” Faye said.
“He took off his clothes, but that had nothing to do with me.”
Norton and Faye nodded.
“I promise,” I added.
“I missed you,” Norton told Faye. They kissed, and he gave her a light pinch on her butt. They weren’t the most obvious couple, but they were obviously in love.
“I’m coming back, though,” I said. “I’m writing a story about the sale.”
Norton clapped his hands together. “Wonderful. I have a lot to show you. When will you come back?”
“We’ll be back in about an hour,” Faye said.
“I’ll prepare for you, crazy girl. I’ve got a piece of one of the original UFOs from the close encounters in the fifties to show you. I’ve got it in my safe in the back.”
“I look forward to it,” I said. “But I’m not crazy. That was just something that my husband…oh, forget it.”
We weren’t the only ones visiting the Sanchez family. At least half of the town was there. I was glad that I was giving my condolences and not there to write a story. Faye and I took separate cars, again, because she had a ceiling fan to fix after, while I was going to go back to Goodnight UFOs.
The front door was open and we walked in, holding our food out in front of us like we were using it as a buffer. The Sanchez family lived in a small adobe house on a short street. The front door opened to a living room, next to a kitchen.
“How nice that you’ve come,” an old woman greeted us. “You’re Jimmy’s kind, unbalanced boss, the one he had a dalliance with right before he died.”
I sighed. “Matilda. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
She turned out to be the neighbor. Jimmy’s parents and siblings were in Albuquerque with his body and weren’t going to return until he was cremated and they could return with his ashes. Person after person came up to me to meet the crazy lady who owned the Gazette.
“I hate this so much,” Faye whispered to me.
“Death? Grieving?”
“No. Socializing. I’m not good at parties. We’ll give it another ten minutes and leave. Okay?”
“Sounds good to me.”
There was a sign-in book, and I left a condolence message in it. “Matilda, right?” a man in an expensive suit asked me. He was about forty years old and good-look
ing. “Goodnight Gazette? I’m Wade from New Sun Petroleum.”
Silas’s arch enemy. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. There was a possibility I was standing face-to-face with Jimmy’s killer. Should I run for my life? Should I kick him in the shins? Should I get the story? Silas would have beaten him up, but I didn’t think that was the way to go. Besides, for now there wasn’t any proof that Jimmy had been murdered.
“You seem more reasonable than your reporter. He’s been very irresponsible, and he’s determined to write a poorly researched pack of lies. Can I assume that you will put a stop to his so-called story?”
“Silas is an excellent reporter,” I said.
“Let’s be clear. You need to act responsibly. Your health depends on it.”
Faye walked between us and removed her hammer from her utility belt. She held it up, like she was going to pound a nail in Wade’s forehead. “What’re you saying to my friend, Wade?”
“We’re just getting to know each other.”
“Well, don’t. She’s with me, and I’m watching you.”
Wade walked away. “Thank you, Faye,” I said.
“Stay away from him. He’s trouble. Is that ambrosia on the table? I love ambrosia.”
She went to get some ambrosia, and I watched Wade walk to the other side of the room and fall into a deep conversation with Rocco Humphrey, the ice cream baron who wanted to revitalize the town. They were in a huddle, whispering, and I would have paid a million dollars to know what they were talking about. I pretended to look at the photos on the wall and got closer to them, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
It wasn’t a long conversation. Wade said goodbye to Rocco and made his way out of the house. In a moment of clarity, I knew what I was going to do.
“Faye, I’m going to follow Wade,” I told her.
“It’s not safe, Matilda,” she said with her mouth full of ambrosia.
“I have to tell you something. I’m not scared of anything.”
“Not even spiders?”
“Well, of course spiders. Isn’t everyone afraid of spiders?”
