Trudy emerged from what appeared to be the staff lounge. She offered a beneficent smile. "Mrs. Ingels, you look as if you could use some assistance."
"Why, yes, I probably could. You see, I've got this humongous headache."
"Dairy."
"Excuse me?"
"Dairy, you need to stop eatin' dairy immediately, and probably should avoid anythin' with gluten."
I gave a solemn nod. "Oh, yes, I'm sure you're absolutely correct, but right now what I need is an Excedrin."
She wriggled her delicately pugged nose. "We don't have Excedrin here, but you can get organic aspirin at the front desk."
"Oh, yes, thank you. That sounds like a plan." And the last place I intended to go.
She shuffled her feet. "Um... Mrs. Ingels, I never got a chance to say how sorry I am for your loss."
It was a simple statement, but her sincerity touched me. "Thank you, Trudy, that's very kind."
"I'm sure it's difficult, not to mention bein' in a strange place and all." Her gaze conveyed concern.
"I'm managing."
"It takes time. I know from when my pa passed."
"I'm sure it does. I'm touched by your concern." This was the first time anyone at the spa had attempted to connect with me on such a personal level.
"Yes, ma'am… um... the reception desk is that way." She pointed down a short hallway and I took off as if I was heading for the front. After several long strides, I snuck a look over my shoulder. She'd disappeared. Then I made an about face.
I got halfway down the hall and slipped into an empty massage room when a swelling of muffled sounds freaked me out and had me fearing I'd be spotted.
After a few minutes, I took a chance, stuck my noggin out for a brief moment, and then withdrew it.
Reece Morgan, in the massage room next to where I hid, had himself pressed against a lithe young thing with a shocking-pink pixie haircut. His hand had slid down the back of her yoga pants and massaged her rump.
When I inched my way out to see if I could get clear of them, they were so engrossed in mouth-to-mouth I was able to flee unnoticed.
After showering and changing as quickly as we could, we got out of there. Bertha directed me toward Louie's Taco Station where we shared a nacho platter as an appetizer and both of us ordered the beef soft-taco platter as our entrée.
Bertha punctuated the air with a nacho. "There's sure a whole lot more goin' on there than a healthy lifestyle."
"Maybe when we take the yoga class we can find out who the pink haired one is." I scooped some guacamole up with a nacho and popped the whole thing into my mouth.
"You know, girlie. One thing I sure do like about you is you can hold your own at the table."
My husband had dumped me for a southern femme fatale and humiliated me in public. But Bertha appreciated me because I ate like Miss Piggy. I shrugged, and popped a nacho loaded with refried beans into my mouth. You gotta take your good where you find it.
After lunch, I raced back to the Chuck Wagon and dropped Bertha off so she could get ready for the church social. She said she wanted to take a long bubble bath before getting dressed. Though how anyone could relax in that short claw-footed jobbie was beyond me.
I ran up to my room, whipped off my pale-pink big shirt and donned a black cotton tee and an apron. Then I rushed back down so I'd be on the floor at the start of dinner shift and could waitress for her.
Hoot was in the kitchen with the senior college-student we'd gotten for the night from the Star Academy Culinary in Abilene. "Now, it's pretty simple here. Y'all'll run the kitchen. The busboy busses. Ronnie handles the dining room. You got it?"
I paused at the door.
The fellow nearly shouted, "Yes, chef."
"Aw, shucks, I ain't no chef. I'm Hoot."
"Yes, Hoot."
When I walked into the kitchen, Hoot winked at me. "They must run this Star Academy like the military."
A thin black fellow with big ears, in a white chef's jacket and a Baltimore Orioles baseball cap stepped forward and offered his hand, tattooed with an onion at the wrist. "Chet Jenkins." A carrot had been etched into his forearm.
I shook hands. "Ronnie Ingels, nice to meet you."
"Chet, you need to know anythin' -- ask Ronnie." Hoot gave me a two-finger salute and left the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later, when Hoot came back down, he sported pressed Levis, a green and blue plaid shirt with a yellow bandana around his neck. He'd replaced his battered prospector's hat with a tan Stetson. All spruced up with his beard neatly trimmed, a few years seemed to fall off him. He carried a corsage box.
Bertha emerged, a country vision in a yellow gingham frock.
Hoot handed her the box. "Flowers for the purdy lady. Y'all told me you was wearin' yeller."
She lifted out three yellow roses with baby's breath on a wristband.
I was thrilled for Bertha. She deserved true romance in her life. However, it only accentuated what a dismal failure my marriage had been. One small positive... I was working her shift. I wouldn't have to spend another night alone in my room.
Chapter Eight
Arroyo
Day Five, Night
Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI
Pete waltzed in to the Chuck Wagon around ten o'clock and ordered a full dinner. Late for him. Hughes sidled in soon after and ordered everything from soup to nuts. What was up with that?
I walked toward the kitchen shaking my head, and Chet's running monologue interrupted my musing. He declared to himself, "Son, there's sure gonna be some cookin' up in here tonight."
I laughed. What a bunch of characters.
Chet smacked the bell twice. "One pulled pork dinner, up."
I brought Pete the pork with two sides. "This kid makes his chili and coleslaw a bit different from Hoot. Everyone's liked them so far."
Pete nodded. "I'll let you know."
The bell twanged again. "Half a rack baby backs, up."
I brought the ribs to Hughes and gave him the same spiel about the chili and coleslaw."
He nodded. "Looks good."
"You're in here late. Have the day off tomorrow?"
"Nope. Why?" He picked up a rib and bit into it.
I shrugged one shoulder. "Just wondering."
He pointed a clean bone at me. "This is Hoot's sauce."
"Yeah, he left plenty of that all made up. How's the chili and the slaw?"
He swallowed some slaw, nodded, and took a drink of his Coke. Then he downed a spoonful of chili. "Different, but real good, both of 'em."
"That's the consensus." I leaned a hip against his table. "You got a minute?"
His brows furrowed. "Sure, Ronnie."
I sat opposite him and mentioned I'd been sleuthing with Bertha at the spa, leaving out the randy activity I'd come upon.
He rolled his eyes. "Won't do any good tellin' a PI to stay out of police business, will it?"
I scrunched my nose. "Probably not. I'm licensed to carry and snoop in Texas. Well, Jack is and that covers me."
He swallowed another bite. "I agree the spa's connected to the case. How remains to be seen. Still, at this point, all leads are good."
I gave a sigh that came out more like a huff. "Now that Cassidy's getting chummy with the yoga instructor, it could move her closer to the suspect number one spot."
"You have reason to dislike her. But at this point, there's no way to see her in that number one position."
"Yeah, well, it's all in the details." And I meant to get up close and personal with those details, one way or another. I stood and glanced around the room checking on my few remaining customers.
The front door opened and Hoot waltzed in with Bertha on his arm.
She glowed.
A piece of silverware hit the floor in the back of the dining room.
I raced back to get Pete a clean utensil.
"Sorry," he murmured as he craned his neck around me. "Gar, whadda he do to his beard?"
I plunked a
new fork directly in front of him.
He leaned around me again.
"Just be careful you don't hurt yourself. Those things have tongs." My voice dripped sarcasm.
"Un-huh," he mumbled, not hearing a word I'd said.
Hughes finished his meal and paid his bill without further comment. Random muttering accompanied by head shaking occasionally came from Pete's booth until he finally left.
After closing, Hoot paid Chet, then took Rascal for a long walk out back where man and dog could ruminate. As they walked out, the coonhound's long, wagging-tail slapped the doorframe twice, once on each side, and then the door closed behind them.
Bertha came down in her jammies and bathrobe to help me fill the condiment jars.
I waved a coffee carafe at her. "Still some hot java. Want a cup?"
"Okay, honey. Don't mind if I do."
I brought two cups to the table where she filled the last of the red-squirt ketchup dispensers. "Are the mustards done?"
"Yeah, take a load off and let's us girls set a spell."
I sat and took a sip of coffee. "So, did you have a good time?" I didn't have to ask. Her eyes still glistened.
"I thought I'd never feel this way again."
"Oh, really?" I took a quick sip and gazed into my cup.
"After Walt died, I rattled around for a bit in the house we'd shared. It was lonely. I missed him so. Almost couldn't bear to sell it, but finally did."
"I see."
"I've known Hoot since childhood. He offered me a job and a place to live. I wanted to keep busy, so I accepted. I've been here almost five years and never expected this to..."
The back door opened and nails scratched on the stairs as Rascal ascended to Hoot's room.
Hoot closed the door, adjusted the holster that carried his Smith and Wesson, and tipped his old prospector's hat. "Good night, ladies. I'm gonna hit the sack."
"Nite, Hoot." We echoed back at him.
Bertha helped me put away the condiments and washed our cups. "He's a good man, honey. Fine as they come."
Maybe there could be a second chance at love. Perhaps starting out friends wouldn't be a bad idea. I'd never really been bosom-buddies with Mark... pals. It was like he created this intimate, warm bubble for us, and when I entered it, I fell head over heels for him. Madly in love, and trusted him blindly. Yeah, and look how that turned out. Friends first might not be a bad idea.
Bertha started up the stairs. "Good night, hon."
"I'll be up in a minute. Just want to make sure everything's set for tomorrow." My gaze traveled down the line of booths. All the napkin dispensers on the tables were filled. Likewise for the glass salt and peppershakers, so I headed for the back and turned off the lights.
After climbing the steps, I knocked on Bertha's door. One more glimpse of her happiness to give me hope. She was reading her Bible. "Come on in and take a load off. I'm lookin' at one of the promises."
I sat. "There are promises in there?"
"Yep, for those in a relationship with the Lord, there are."
I shrugged, "So, those promises are just for you guys?"
She laughed, leaned over and hugged me. "They're for anybody who wants 'em."
"It just seems sometimes like it's an exclusive club."
She patted my cheek. "What puzzles me is why folks who deny the Lord get mad thinkin' His promises might not include them. That don't make a lick of sense to me."
I stood. "I don't deny the Lord."
She gazed up at me with a mother's kindness. "Then there's more for you than you know in this book."
I couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm glad you had a good time tonight."
She beamed, then bounced on the bed twice like a teenager. "I had a humdinger of a time." Pink rose to her cheeks. She quickly settled and cleared her throat. "Chet work out all right?"
I nodded. "He did fine."
"Good. He better if he wants to keep makin' extra money for school. Hoot wants to take me dancin' the next time we go out."
"Gee, in that case, I think we'd better hurry up and take that yoga class to whip you into shape."
"Ain't you the sweetest thing, thinkin' of my welfare that way?"
I laughed and slipped out the door before she threw something at me.
Chapter Nine
Arroyo
Day Six, Early Morning
Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI
The aroma of fresh baked cornbread aroused me. Bertha's baking could sure sabotage a gal's diet. Then again the lynchpin of my diet plan was if it smells good eat it. I kicked off the sheet, lurched to my feet, yawned, and did twenty squats to get the blood circulating.
After throwing my super lightweight travel bathrobe over the companion shorty-pajamas I'd slept in, I made a beeline for the bathroom. When ablutions were completed, I slipped on a pair of biker's shorts, a tank top, running shoes, then trotted down the stairs.
I breathed in deeply. The oven door squeaked open, followed by a blast of aroma that had to be apple pie. There was also another delectable smell I couldn't quite identify.
I headed for the back door, stopped and took another deep sniff, then called over my shoulder. "Bertha, you've outdone yourself this morning. I identified the apple, but something else smells really great too. What is it?"
"Strawberry rhubarb pie. I'm leavin' it in just a tad longer so the lattice-work crust turns golden. Hoot likes it served warm with vanilla ice cream. I think I'll cut him a slice for his breakfast this mornin'." The oven door opened again and a pan grated against the rack.
"I'm gonna run a couple miles. When I get back, I'll eat," I yelled to her.
"Eat us outta house and home is more like it." Her voice rang out, clear and cheery.
I had removed the clip from my banker's special .22 and put away the gun in its holster along with the ammo in a secure place in my room. Didn't want to run with that thing on my ankle. Hoot had cautioned me never to go out back without a weapon.
Snakes and all manner of varmint, he'd warned… and I'm not particularly fond of snakes.
So, I holstered my Glock behind my back and headed for the dirt lane that ran behind the Chuck Wagon for several miles into a kind of no-man's land.
About a sixteenth of a mile down the lane, I did a slow warm up, bending and stretching my hams and quads.
I followed the rutted dirt road until it forked at a dry creek bed circling the town. I took the right fork onto the poor excuse for a road following the nonexistent creek.
My breathing came in an easy rhythm the next half-mile, until a sheriff's cruiser pulled alongside me, lights flashing.
"What now?" Was I violating some local environmental edict? I spun around.
The cruiser's passenger window lowered and Hughes leaned across the front seat. "You're goin' below the speed limit. Pick it up there, girl."
I thrust my head back and my ponytail whipped from side to side. "So, you think you can do better?"
"Yep."
Pure stupidity wouldn't let me stop myself while I was on a roll. "Oh, really?"
"Tell you what, little lady. You pick the challenge, runnin', shootin', arm wrestlin'."
"Shooting."
He winked. "You're on."
The cruiser pulled away.
As I approached the Chuck Wagon on my return, I spotted Hoot riding his tan mule, Henry, with Rascal loping at the side of the mixed-breed equine. Hoot dismounted and led Henry into the paddock next to the one-stall stable behind the restaurant. Everyone was finishing up their morning routines.
I raced up the back stairs, took a quick shower, and made it onto the floor of the restaurant in time to seat the first customer of the day.
"Morning, Doug." I took the savings bank manager's order and filled his cup with coffee.
Five minutes later, Hoot hit the bell. "Over easy with bacon and white toast, up."
Balancing a large plate with eggs over easy, bacon, and home fries in the crook of my arm and a smaller plate with buttered to
ast in the palm of my hand, I fell into that kind of rushing walk I'd picked up waiting tables years ago. It had stayed with me.
Knees bent and taking long strides, I arrived at Doug's table, with the aroma of bacon tantalizing me. Coffee carafe in my other hand, I refilled Doug's cup, spun, and made my way to the counter where I refilled the cups of my three regulars at the counter… a trio of old-timers. Then I hustled to the back table where I topped off Bertha's cup. "Did Hoot enjoy his pie?"
"Yep. He ate it standin' over the stove as usual."
"Bertha, can I ask you something without you thinking I'm totally crazy?"
"I know you're not nuts. You're... how do they say it... outside the box. Shucks, girl, you liven the place up. I haven't had this much fun in a long time." Her eyes danced with mischief.
"Well, see... um, I was thinking we could visit Cassidy's bridal salon and kinda look at a few gowns. I'd have to buy a wig somewhere, so my so-called former best friend won't recognize me."
Bertha raised an eyebrow. "You sure like livin' dangerously don't you?"
"Maybe we can look for gowns for you."
"I don't know. Hoot hasn't asked me proper yet."
I could've kicked myself. "Sorry, I understand. You don't want to jinx it."
She shook her head vehemently. "Oh, honey, I don't believe in any old jinx. It's just I want to give Hoot all the respect he deserves and not jump the gun."
"You wouldn't have to try any dresses on. I don't want to bring you bad luck."
She took my hand in hers. "I don't believe in luck neither. I'll go with you, Ronnie, if it means that much to you."
*****
Abilene, TX
Day Six, Morning
Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes
If I was hogtied and dragged in, I still wouldn't drink a cup of Starbuck's coffee. I carried my paper-cup from Mad Merv Java into the station house. Now this was coffee. Hand blended Hawaiian Kona roasted in small batches with a splash of half 'n half. Complex flavor, heady aroma, medium-bodied, slightly acidic.
I stopped by the bullpen and spoke to Deputy Dixie Watts, animated strawberry-blond, peaches and cream complexion, now six months pregnant. "How're you doin' with the leadership series roster and registration forms?"
Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense Page 110
