“Baby girl, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes,” Mitzi cried, raising her voice over the noise of the crowd. Next to her, Tim acknowledged me with a wink as he flipped bottles and mixed drinks. He was a baby-faced bruiser with a soft, squishy heart that beat for Taylor Swift and Mitzi. He didn’t seem to care that his girl was fifteen years his senior as long as she dressed like a country music princess.
I laughed at Mitzi’s heavy drawl, thick and sweet as peach cobbler with cinnamon ice cream. “How’s it going?” I asked, hugging her around the neck.
Some impatient guy at the bar leaned in to give her his drink order, but she pointed one finger, cocked her thumb, and narrowed her eyes at him as if taking aim. He raised both hands, in mock surrender, and backed away.
She grabbed me in a one-armed hug as she continued to pour what looked like a dirty martini, heavy on the vermouth. “How you holding up?” she asked, giving me a quick once-over before handing the drink to a waitress at the end of the bar. Mitzi wore the Two Boots uniform: plaid shirt tied at the waist, denim skirt with leather fringe around the bottom, and brown leather vest festooned with rhinestones. Only I didn’t think Uncle Eddie intended for her to wear it a size too small.
“Can’t complain,” I said, projecting my voice over the applause as the band finished their number.
She raised an eyebrow.
“I could . . .”
“But I won’t,” she said, finishing a quip I’d learned from her many moons before. “So, what brings you out this way?”
“Ty Honeycutt.”
Grabbing me by the shoulders, she spun me toward her. “Tell me you’re not mixed up with that horndog.”
I laughed and pulled away. “Not if he was the last cowboy in Texas.”
“Good thing.” She patted me on the shoulder. “That man’ll chew you up, spit you out, and make you curse your momma.” Even though she delivered the line with a chuckle, I could see an old heartache in her eyes.
Leaning close, I asked, “How’s he doing since Dixie died?”
She delivered a couple of strawberry daiquiris, and I could see she was choosing her words with care. “We didn’t see him for a day or two, and then last night he was back, telling some tall tale about saving some woman’s life over at Milagro.”
“He’s a liar!”
“I’m kidding, sugar. I heard how you saved the day.” She grinned and jabbed me in the side with her elbow.
For a moment, there were no drinks to make or orders to fill. “Do you think Dixie left everything to Ty?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t surprise me none. She always treated him like a son.”
“How did he treat her?”
“Like a dear old aunt.” She glanced around to confirm that no one was listening except Tim. “When she was paying attention.”
I wouldn’t put it beyond Ty to have stayed with Dixie without paying his share of rent, utilities, or groceries. Would he have truly killed her for her ancient van and the rest of her worldly possessions?
I rose to my tiptoes, but it was difficult to see through the crowd around the bar stools. “He’s not playing tonight?”
“Oh, he’s playing alright, just not up on stage.”
“So they do have a game going here? Does Uncle Eddie know?”
“Nah, they know Eddie’d blow a gasket.” She turned away to grab four frosty beer glasses, and began filling them with drafts from the tap. “But Ty’s so desperate he’s running a game out in the parking lot in Trigger Finger’s van.”
“Thanks,” I said and patted her on the shoulder for good-bye.
She leaned in close. “Don’t go out there.” Her eyes went wide. “You’ll be as welcome as a rattlesnake, and I’d hate for you to get your tail stepped on.”
Standing here in my own backyard, so to speak, I had no fear. Ty Honeycutt had a soft spot for women. He’d nearly cried over Dixie’s death and Elaine’s close call. I didn’t think he’d do me any harm.
“They’ll be fine.” I gave her a big wink. “I’m only poisonous on Sundays.”
The band went on break to thunderous applause. In its place, canned music swelled from either Tim McGraw or Brad Paisley, one of those guys with a big hat. Couples swayed onto the dance floor, looking for an excuse to hold each other close. I located the exit and tried to maneuver my way to the back parking lot through a moving sea of bobbing heads.
“Would you like to dance?”
I turned with a polite smile and found Lightfoot way too close. “What are you doing here?” He’d abandoned his uniform for jeans and a plaid cotton shirt of the skin-hugging variety.
“Trying to relax. Won’t you help a guy out?” His mouth was saying one thing, but the laser intensity of his stare was saying something else. I didn’t believe for one minute he was here to two-step.
“Uh, not tonight.” I turned away and he followed. “Look,” I said, adding what I hoped was a hint of embarrassment and frustration. “I’ve got to go to the little girls’ room.”
“Then you’re headed in the wrong direction.” His grin said he didn’t believe me as far as he could throw me.
He was correct, but my family didn’t own this place for nothing. “I’m headed to the employee bathroom. Please, I wouldn’t go in the public restroom if you gave me a trip to Vegas.” I wasn’t lying, I hated casinos.
Placing a hand on my forearm, he prevented my escape. “You don’t work here.”
What happened to stoic and silent? “Listen, you should do your homework. My family owns this place.” I wanted to stamp my foot.
“You should lighten up,” he said, placing his hand at the small of my back and forcing me into the throng of slow dancers.
I could have dragged my heels, but I figured why not? It wouldn’t hurt my reputation to be seen dancing with a handsome man, even if he was merely trying to pump me for information. I could discover his plan of attack without him being any the wiser. “Have you ever been here before?”
“Sure. Everybody’s been to Two Boots at least once.”
“I’d bet my money you’re not here to relax.” He continued to glance around the room. “You look like you’re onto something, and it’s not a hookup.”
“Why do you say that?” He smiled a dazzling toothpaste ad smile, acknowledging he hadn’t hidden his professional interest in the customers.
“Just a hunch. What’s up?”
“Looking for an old friend of mine.”
“Maybe I can help. What’s his name?”
“You wouldn’t know him.”
“Let me guess,” I smirked, “Ty Honeycutt.”
The dazzling smile disappeared.
“If you’re Ty’s friend you know he’s probably playing cards out in Presidio tonight,” I said.
He tried to stare me down and nearly drove us into another couple, Texas two-stepping around the throng. “How about we trade information?”
“What makes you think I’m interested?” I held my breath, praying he’d give me a fresh lead.
“’Cause you think you can solve this murder.”
How’d he know? “I think crime belongs in the hands of the sheriff’s department.” I pretended to study the dancers on either side of us until my thoughts were hidden.
We turned, which brought us closer than before. “I hear you used to work for the Austin Gazette. You’re a big-time reporter.”
I forced a laugh. “I was a reporter who reported on community events, not murder, not by a long shot.” When would this stupid song ever end? I was tired of this dance, his questioning, and some male singer crooning over and over about how his truck was gone.
Instead of me ditching him, something or someone across the room caught his eye and he turned the tables on me. “Thanks for the dance. See you later.”
“If you’re lucky,” I called after his
retreating figure.
Where was Ty? If Mitzi was right and he was outside, I had to find him before Lightfoot, undercover deputy.
The stalwart deputy would question Ty, take notes, nod his head, and decide to question eight other people. And once he questioned Dixie’s slippery nephew, I would no longer have the element of surprise. Ty would either leave town or fill the holes in his alibi.
Determined to lift the stench of this crime from Milagro, I headed outside. I searched the parking lot without any luck, checked out the picnic tables just in case Ty was stretching his legs, and ended up circling the building. The second time around, I spotted it, a red minivan with a business sign on the side that read, Ready Cash! Don’t worry. We’ve got your number!
I bet they did . . . at one hundred percent interest.
After seeing Ty again at the tamale-eating contest, I wasn’t afraid of him. He reminded me of those jocks in high school. Back then they’d sauntered down the halls as if they were all that and a bag of chips, but now they slaved all day digging ditches for the county or draining oil pans at the Ten Minute Quick Lube. I approached the van with caution and found that what had appeared dark from far away was actually lit up inside. Like a custom van from the seventies, a curtain separated the driver and passenger seat from the rear.
Suddenly a gunshot exploded inside the van. I squealed, hit the ground, and started to roll as if my hair was on fire.
The side door slid open, and barrels of laughter and smoke spilled out along with a curly-headed man. “Well, hello,” he said, brushing off his too-tight jeans as he rose from the dirt.
“Hi,” I said, feeling twelve times a fool. The dim light prevented me from identifying him, and his slur wasn’t helping. Whoever he was didn’t appear too surprised or concerned about my discovery of their clandestine card game. “Did I hear a gunshot?” I asked, toddling to my feet. “Does someone, uh, need medical attention?”
He laughed and I recognized him as Dixie’s nephew. “Hey fellas, some gal wants to nurse the hole in the ceiling.” A sea of male voices howled.
“Ty,” a male voice with a Hispanic accent called out from the backseat of the van, “what’s her name?”
Another fellow of indeterminate age, sitting closest to the door, stuck his head out. “You look familiar.” He pulled on his long, straggly beard and smiled, revealing a few missing teeth.
“I’m Josie Callahan, from Milagro.” I gave Ty my best smile, as if we were old friends. “Remember me?”
“You s-saved that woman’s life.” Dixie’s nephew stuck out his hand, swaying back and forth as if standing on the bow of a ship.
I slipped my hand in and out of his as quickly as possible, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Eddie Martinez sent me out here to talk to you.” So far, no one else had stepped out of the van. I peeked inside and saw the game was still in motion, but no one appeared too worried about my presence, quite the opposite.
The young man on the other side of Scraggly Beard straightened up and repositioned his cowboy hat. “What’s Martinez want with us?”
“He heard about your poker game and wants you to know it ain’t allowed on his property.” I inwardly grimaced. When had I ever said ain’t?
Through smoke as dense as a spring fog, a dark-haired guy in the back peered over the seat in front of him. “Since when?” He narrowed his gaze and I backed away.
In spite of his comment, I found it impossible to believe that Uncle Eddie knew these guys were out here. “Since Deputy Lightfoot arrived looking for Ty.”
A clownish look of concern came over Honeycutt’s face. He gave me a hard stare and hitched his belt. “Boys, we’ve got to call it quits.”
On the far side of the middle seat, a wiry guy wearing a camouflage hunting cap held a deck of cards and a hungry look. “I’m in for three hundred,” he complained. “I say we take our chances.”
Drunk or not, Ty swung his head toward me, back to the guy in the hunting cap, and back to me again on a neck as wobbly as a newborn’s. Beneath his straw Stetson, his wavy hair fell over his ears and flipped up in the back. Probably around thirty, he was a temptation gone to seed. “What do you think?” he asked me.
“I think if my aunt were found dead, I’d stay home and mourn for at least three or four days.”
Their hoots of laughter hit me like a giant wave on the Gulf. Scraggly Beard said, “Yeah, why don’t you go home and find her will, Ty? She might have left you a reason to celebrate.”
“Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.” Ty yanked Scraggly Beard out of the van by his flannel shirt and shot a fierce look my way as if gauging my reaction. Maybe Ty had money to gamble because he’d searched Dixie’s house and found a hidden nest egg.
The van full of men fell silent. Suddenly I realized all the fellas were giving me appraising looks, and my knees started to shake.
I dipped my chin and gave Ty a coy smile. “Could you and I speak in private?”
He answered with a leer. “Sure, sweetheart.”
They hooted and whistled as we walked away, and then the van door slammed and all was quiet but the faint sound of honky-tonk music drifting through the dance hall’s open windows.
“Where we goin’?” he asked, trying to put an arm around me.
I slipped away. “Let’s sit out over here.” The patio nearby was inhabited only by the smell of stale beer and a man and woman engaged in a mouth-to-mouth discussion in a far corner.
“What’s this all about?” he asked as he flipped around a chair and dropped into it backwards. He threw his hat on the table and ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair. “You don’t strike me as the amorous type.”
“You don’t strike me as the affectionate nephew type.”
“You a cop?”
“No, I’m worried about Milagro.”
“The restaurant?”
“It belongs to my family.”
He took his head in his hands and turned his face to one side and then the other, cracking his neck. “So?”
“Your aunt’s body was found in the alley behind our restaurant.” By me, I could have added, but I didn’t want to reveal that tidbit. In fact, my knees were still shaking as if I’d run five miles uphill.
His Mr. Nice Guy presentation slipped. “What’s that got to do with me?” he demanded.
I wanted to shout, She was your aunt! Instead I decided to reason with him.
“I was hoping you could tell me who might have had it in for Dixie.”
He studied me for a moment, narrowing his eyes. Finally he relaxed and reached for my hand with a small smile. “That’s it?”
Resisting the urge to pull my hand away, I swallowed. “That’s what the sheriff’s wondering. That, and why you didn’t come inside to find her.” I gathered my courage. “If she were my aunt, I’d have at least gotten out of the El Camino.”
He squeezed my hand hard and then relaxed. “How do you know so much about what the sheriff’s thinking?”
“He and Uncle Eddie are old friends.”
“Why do you care?”
“Dixie and I were friendly, but that doesn’t mean I want the district attorney to send Anthony to prison if he didn’t do it. If I help find the killer, Anthony will be released, Milagro’s reputation will be restored, and things will get back to normal around here.”
Blowing out his breath, he dropped my hand. “I don’t know who wouldn’t have it in for her. Everybody hated her.” He pulled a cigarette and a lighter from his shirt pocket.
“I didn’t.”
“You were one of the few.”
All was silent but the drone of a mosquito.
He lit the cigarette and studied me through a cloud of smoke. “When I didn’t see her on the bench at the back door, I drove by the front. I didn’t figure on someone just leaving her alone back there.”
; My stomach roiled. I needed to turn my pointing finger of judgment back on myself. “Could I ask you something else?”
“No,” he said, his voice sleepy.
“The festival committee needs the necklace Dixie created for the silent auction.” I slapped at a mosquito on my upper arm. “You wouldn’t happen to know where it is, would you?”
“Why do you care?” He tilted his head back and blew a smoke ring into the evening sky.
The door to the dance floor swung open, delivering a gut punch of electric guitar, but no one came out and it swung closed again. “A lot of folks have worked real hard to promote the sale of that necklace. Auctioning it off for the good of those kids is what Dixie wanted.”
He touched my shoulder, and then slowly drew his hand down my arm until he held my left wrist. “You sure you’re not working for the cops?”
My mind was racing, and my old friend adrenaline was back. “I swear, but if you gave me that necklace I wouldn’t mention where I found it.”
He squeezed my left wrist until it hurt. “Why not?”
Concentrating hard on changing my expression, I fisted my free hand. “You haven’t done anything wrong by taking your own aunt’s necklace, but neither have those orphans. They’re needs are more important.”
With a tilt of his head, he ran his eyes down my body. “I don’t know.”
I placed my hand over my heart. “You can trust me.”
In a slick move, he released my wrist and linked the fingers of his hands with both of mine. “I might know where to find it, but I ain’t going to look because that’s what she would have wanted. She was ornery and mean and self-centered.”
“Can’t you say something kind, for God’s sake?”
My tone knocked his head back. “Well, let’s see. She let me stay at her place, and she was an okay cook, most days.” He rested our joined hands on my knee.
Would he stop talking if I dropped his hand like the proverbial hot potato and scooted away? I didn’t want to chance it. “Where do you think it is?”
“Her studio.” He grunted and dropped my hand as if unhappy with the conversation. “Or maybe that witch Melanie Burnett has it.” Ty was growing sleepier, his head falling toward the table.
Here Today, Gone Tamale Page 18
