Here Today, Gone Tamale

by Rebecca Adler

  I found my aunt standing in the hallway outside the door marked Niñas. “How’s she doing?” I asked, carrying a fresh cup of black coffee for our inebriated guest.

  Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she sighed. “She’s crying over some guy who deserted her for the Coast Guard during the peace movement.”

  With a bang, the bathroom door sprung open and the inebriated jewelry maker spilled out. Her eyes were red, but the tears had ceased. “I need a cigarette.”

  “Come on, sugar,” Aunt Linda soothed, taking her by the arm. “We’ll take you outside where you can smoke to your heart’s content.”

  I hurried to Dixie’s other side. “The cool air will feel nice, you’ll see.”

  “You mean it’ll sober me up.”

  Bingo.

  We lowered her to the bench just outside the back door. “Josie’s going to call your nephew to come and take you home.”

  Though Ty Honeycutt spent several weeks out of the year on tour with his country western band, Uncle Eddie had booked him to play during the festival, which meant he was currently bunking at his aunt’s place.

  “Good luck with that,” Dixie mumbled.

  “What’s his phone number?” I asked.

  Dixie eventually found the number on her phone, but Ty didn’t answer any of the five times I called. And forget about leaving a message, his voicemail was full. Finally, I sent him a text.

  “That boy’s not going to answer,” she said, leaning her head back against the concrete wall behind her, “not when he’s tomcatting around.”

  But she was wrong. The simple reply read, See you in fifteen.

  I was torn. Should I wait with her outside? Or join Aunt Linda inside to help her smooth the committee’s ruffled feathers.

  “Give me that coffee,” Dixie demanded with a hint of fun. After a long swig, she set the cup beside her and eased her head back again. “And get out of here, girl,” she muttered in a drowsy voice. “He’ll be here in a jiff.”

  “Alright,” I gave her a grateful smile and opened the door, “but I’m coming back in fifteen minutes, and you’d better be gone.”

  The kitchen was empty when I returned, except for Milagro’s petite taskmaster. “Where is everyone?”

  Mixing yet another, but smaller, batch of masa, the older woman gave me a look of disgust. “Flown the coop.” She sighed and added spiced chicken to the mixture. “How’s Dixie?”

  “Not so good.”

  Shaking her head, Senora Mari quickly rinsed her hands. “I’ll go talk to her. You stay here in case any birds return.”

  No sooner had she gone than Mayor Cogburn and Mrs. Mayor entered. “Is there anything left to do?”

  What was with these two? I wasn’t about to tell them that they were both wearing Mrs. Mayor’s coral lipstick. I’d learned that lesson earlier in the alley.

  Melanie strode in, swinging the kitchen doors aside. “What’s left to do?”

  “Hey, you’re back,” I said, trying to keep things light.

  With a glare that could have leveled the Alamo, Melanie gritted her teeth. “Not that I had any choice in the matter.”

  “Anyone want coffee or hot cocoa?” Suellen chirped as she and Ryan edged through the doors with trays of hot beverages.

  Thrusting her hands on her hips, Melanie gave her sister the once-over. “Since when did you become a team player?”

  Suellen giggled, flushed, and grinned from ear to ear. As she and Ryan arranged spoons, marshmallows, and other condiments, she snuck longing glances at the young coach. Another female fan in the making.

  Elaine Burnett paused in the doorway to give her daughters a look of loving approval. “Oh, I knew you’d do the right thing,” she said, giving Melanie a big hug. She satisfied herself by merely patting Suellen’s shoulder. “You too, sweetheart.”

  Picking up a cup of cocoa and a spoonful of mini marshmallows, Melanie smirked. “What else could we do after you laid one of your guilt trips on us?”

  A spasm of discomfort passed over Elaine’s countenance, and she pressed a hand to her stomach.

  “Are you all right?” Senora Mari asked as she entered from the back.

  With a sigh, the committee chairwoman gave her an uncomfortable smile. “I’m fine.” She hesitated. “I can’t always eat spicy food, no matter how delicious.”

  “Mother?” Suellen’s concern was apparent.

  “No, I’m fine.” Elaine dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Our family lives up to its commitments.” She caught the eye of her youngest. “We keep our word, and we don’t feel guilty.”

  As Elaine and Suellen served themselves, Senora Mari took me by the arm and pulled me aside from the group. “Dixie’s gone.”

  I reached up and smoothed her wind-ruffled hair. “Thank goodness.”

  Senora Mari pulled my head down closer to her mouth. “When do the rest of them leave?”

  “As soon as you finish the last tamale,” I said with a chuckle. We both understood who was doing the lion’s share of the work. Elaine was chatting quietly with the Cogburns in one corner while her daughters checked their smartphones in the other.

  Talk about commitment.

  “How is your little friend?” Senora Mari asked.

  “Quiet as a mouse,” I answered with a wink.

  “Bueno.”

  “Hey,” Ryan called from across the room, “something’s wrong with the tamales. They’re soggy.”

  Senora Mari shot across the kitchen like a hornet from its nest and grabbed the rest of the tamale out of Ryan’s hand. “It’s not soggy, you idiot. You have to let it cool.” With a groan, she grabbed her hair with both hands.

  After retrieving Aunt Linda from the office to help calm her mother-in-law, I escaped to give Lenny a well-deserved doggie bagel.

  * * *

  Guests gone? Check. Tamales stored? Check. Lights off? All but the light behind the bar. “Lenny, let’s hit the stairs, little man.” He blinked and snuggled into my arms. Our first community tamalada was behind us, and we lived to tell the tale. And I had no doubt the tale would be flying around town by tomorrow’s lunch. I flipped the switch, plunging the bar into darkness. The light from the upstairs landing trickled down the wooden stairs. My breath caught in my throat, I squeezed Lenny until he yipped, and I vowed for the umpteenth time to stop watching television dramas about serial killers.

  “Did you and Ryan find things to talk about?” I asked, thinking of my bed and a pint of Blue Bell mint chocolate chip awaiting me upstairs.

  My fierce protector growled low in his throat.

  An engine revved as a car raced through the alley, spewing gravel against the back door. Goosebumps rippled up my arms, and I forced myself to laugh. The high school students in this flea-sized town desperately needed to find something to do other than drag the deserted streets.

  “It’s okay.” I rubbed Lenny’s slender back, but he kicked his legs and jumped to the stairs, yapping. “Hey, come on!” I was tired and not in the mood to explain that the big, bad car was long gone.

  Without decelerating, he flew by the doors marked Niñas and Niños, and then ran through the storage room and toward the back door.

  “Slow down,” I muttered. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate his protective instincts but my own feet were barking from exhaustion. “Lenny, come on!” As I approached, I realized something was caught between the door and the frame. Lenny, the wee watchdog, had it in his teeth, tugging and growling.

  “Whatcha got?” I knelt to gently remove the cottony fabric from his mouth and the door swung open. Beyond the swirling storm of moths above my head, the alley yawned empty but redolent with the spicy remains of the evening’s delicacies. The office supply across the graveled road was cloaked in darkness due to the owner’s habit of procrastinating when it came to replacing his burned out bu
lbs, but four stores down the light from the resale store, Wear It Again, Sam, burned brightly.

  Lenny whined, and the strange, keening sound whipped my head in his direction. His feathery black tail jutted out from beneath a concrete bench to the left of the door that our staff used during breaks.

  “Come,” I ordered.

  Only the tail moved, swinging rapidly to and fro.

  “Lenny!”

  He circled and came out nose first. In his mouth, he carried a grisly bone covered with dirt and drool.

  “Let me see that.” I lowered my hand to his mouth. And, of course, he turned his head away. I had no choice but to grab the slimy thing. He wasn’t going to choke on a small piece of bone on my watch. “Gross.” It was a discarded chicken bone, just as I suspected. “How did this get here?”

  With a whine, Lenny took off again, this time for the Dumpster, the fount of fragrant garbage.

  “Forget it, buster.” I wasn’t about to let him stink up the apartment until I found the time to give him a bath.

  My six-pound wonder took off around the side of the huge metal can, with me fuming close behind. I lunged forward, determined to scoop him up, but he disappeared around the back. Unable to stop my forward momentum, I ended up in the dirt and decided to crawl to the back and surprise him.

  With great stealth, I rounded the corner and froze. Instead of a saucy, long-haired Chihuahua, a body lay before me hidden in the shadows. Just as my heart began to clog “The Yellow Rose of Texas” against my chest, I breathed a sigh of relief. Dixie lay on the ground before me, eyes wide open, smiling at the sky. Drunk as a skunk and too wasted to care.

  “Whoa, Nelly. You scared me to death.” Why hadn’t that blasted Ty taken her home?

  Lenny barked a question. “I know, I know,” I said to calm him while I tried to find a solution that wouldn’t throw my back out.

  How was I going to get her up, let alone walk her to my car? “Dixie,” I said loudly and patted her hand. She didn’t blink. “Time to go home.” Her flesh was cool from the mountain air, reminding me of times as a child when I’d caught a trout and tried to hold the wriggling, slimy creature in my hands. I grabbed her by the hand and upper arm to help her sit up, but she was too out of it. Her smile never wavered, and her eyes remained open in a permanent study of the stars.

  I backed away, scraping my knees, unearthing the truth.

  Dixie Honeycutt was dead.

  Chapter 3

  I watched the tie-dyed fabric of her skirt rise and fall until Lenny yipped for my attention. With a sudden surge of adrenaline, my brain flew into hyperdrive. Dixie was dead. Where was my phone?

  I grabbed Lenny, who immediately began wriggling like a greased pig at a county fair.

  “No!” I extracted my phone from my pocket and dialed. “Dixie Honeycutt is dead,” I blurted.

  “911. State your emergency.”

  A hundred horror movie scenes flashed through my amped up brain. “This is Josie Callahan. I just found Dixie Honeycutt on the ground, and I’m pretty sure she’s dead.”

  “What is your location?”

  “I’m at Milagro, 2500 Main Street in Broken Boot.”

  “Have you checked her pulse?”

  I bent over her body and raised two fingers, but I stopped myself when I spotted a deep furrow across her neck. Was it a heavy fold of skin or an abrasion from a necklace?

  “Gently place two fingers on her wrist.”

  “Okay.” I held my breath and did as the operator ordered.

  “Ma’am, did you find it?”

  I swallowed the panic clogging my throat. “I’m trying!”

  “Ma’am,” the operator interrupted in a firm voice, “I need you to stay calm.”

  I forced myself to take another deep breath. “Okay, I’m calm, but she’s still dead.”

  “Stay where you are. An ambulance is on its way.”

  As I disconnected, Lenny jumped into the weedy gravel. Before I knew what he was about, he placed his two front paws on her chest and barked.

  “Shush.” I knelt to brush him away, and my gaze edged upwards. In the concave place below Dixie’s trachea, there was an odd-shaped mark. And then I recognized what I had seen earlier in the bright light of Milagro’s kitchen, the shape of a horse. I glanced around, but found no sign of the horse necklace she’d worn.

  As chill bumps raced down my arms, I shoved to my feet, grabbed my canine friend, and held him close. The streetlight at the end of the alley hummed and moths danced in attendance. The three-quarter moon shone bright as a Christmas star.

  And Dixie lay dead. The same, but changed forever.

  I said a silent prayer of thanks that I had found her and not Aunt Linda or Senora Mari. During my college internship at the Dallas Morning News, I’d written obituaries for the very young, the very old, and every age in between, but I’d never actually seen a dead body. Not up close and personal. I stared, unable to blink or turn away, while her skin paled and the wind whipped her skirt around her ankles.

  Gradually, I became aware of my legs quivering like cactus flowers in a windstorm, so I coerced my mind into making observations about the scene before me. It would calm me down, and I would be able to respond to any questions with clarity.

  The first thing I noticed was the small dusty paw prints on Dixie’s dress. “Sorry, Lenster, but you’ve got to go.” I thrust him inside and closed the door, and he immediately began to whine and scratch.

  I forced memories of Dixie’s robust laugh away and concentrated on the scene before me. Someone had tossed the last of the trash and closed the Dumpster before leaving, but from where I stood, I could see that something dark and wet, probably grease, had leaked down the side of the metal container and pooled in the dirt. It wasn’t how we would’ve disposed of kitchen grease, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Unless that wayward gift horse was a member of our staff.

  While it didn’t take a heart specialist to figure out Dixie likely died from a heart attack, the surrounding area would be treated as a possible crime scene until the coroner determined no foul play was involved. With nothing else to do to pass the time, I decided to take a quick, but careful, look around. I removed my shoes and, keeping well away from the body, circled around for a closer look at the pool of slime. Stopping short, to avoid ruining my socks, I confirmed it was nothing but grease by the cloying smell. I removed my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans and turned on the flashlight. Whoever tossed the trash had stepped in the mess and left a boot print in the dirt.

  Perfect.

  Rooting in my pocket, I found a quarter and tossed it in the mud next to the print and snapped a picture to help me prove the culprit’s shoe size. The next time I was accused of taking lazy shortcuts around the state health codes, I would whip out my evidence to the contrary.

  With a flash of red and blue lights, the sheriff’s cruiser pulled up with two officers inside. One I knew—Sheriff Mack Wallace—but the other I couldn’t make out.

  “Josie, you okay?” The weathered sheriff had known me since I was a preteen. His daughter Emma and I had played softball together up and down West Texas as part of the Chisos Mountain League.

  An unknown deputy walked by his side, his khaki uniform perfectly pressed and tucked, in spite of the hour. An ebony ponytail hung below his collar, and his eyes were bits of coal, fathomless in the glow of the single bulb. Perhaps it was the fact we don’t see many Native Americans on this side of the New Mexico border, but the raw angles and shadows of his face formed a mask of exotic intensity.

  Holy cow.

  There was a moment of silence, and then Lenny’s whining and scratching morphed into angry barking.

  Sheriff Wallace spoke up. “Quint Lightfoot, meet Josie Callahan.”

  The young deputy gave me the full impact of his expressionless
stare for a moment, and then nodded. “Ma’am.”

  Wallace scanned the alley. “Where is she?”

  “Behind the Dumpster.”

  As we stared down at her lifeless body, we remained silent for a spell, giving her the respect she deserved.

  “How’d you find her?” Wallace asked the question, but Lightfoot removed a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket.

  “Lenny, my dog, found a piece of her skirt stuck in the back door.” I swallowed the sudden rise of emotion in my throat. It was as if now that I wasn’t alone, my bravery was threatening to leak out like dirty oil from a busted oil pan.

  Lightfoot spoke up in a quiet baritone. “What time was that?”

  A sudden gust of wind tossed my hair from my face. “Eleven thirty, I think.” As he made a note, tumbleweed rolled down the alley, across Dixie’s body and into the parking lot beyond. My knees clanged together like two cymbals.

  The sheriff took one look at my face and placed an arm around my shoulders. “Lightfoot, wait here for the ambulance and Ellis. I’m going to take Josie inside so she can be comfortable.”

  “Ellis?” I didn’t want to leave her body with some stranger. I wanted her to sit up and argue and piss me off.

  “The justice of the peace.” With a firm hand, the sheriff turned me toward the door. “She’s okay. Lightfoot will watch over her and find out what happened.”

  Over my shoulder, I saw the deputy kneel close to Dixie’s body. He leaned toward her and appeared to be studying her hands.

  “You mean the coroner, right? What about the ambulance?” My nerves were taut as barbed wire, and I pinched the flesh between my thumb and forefinger to keep me focused. “Where are they?”

  Sheriff Wallace opened the door. “At this time of night, the local JP is called to the scene.” Automatically, I stuck my foot between Lenny and the door before he could escape. “Last I heard,” Wallace said, leading me gently through the kitchen, “one ambulance delivered a baby at the rest stop on Highway 90, this side of Fort Davis. They’re driving the mother and child to the hospital as we speak. The other one should be here soon, God willing.”