by Dixie Cash
But exactly how pretty was that, in Dime Box, Texas, population 381?
She poured the last of her coffee down the drain, rinsed the cup and placed it on the drain board exactly where she would find it tomorrow morning. Her life was predictable, free of stress.
And dull as a toothache.
“Granny Dee,” she called out in the direction of the hallway, “I’m leaving.”
Darlene “Granny Dee” Phillips appeared in the kitchen doorway. A pink silk scarf, wrapped around her head like a turban, held her silver hair in place. In front it was tied in a perfect bow. She was rubbing cream onto her hands and diligently massaging each perfectly manicured cuticle. “Sweetheart, you be careful, now, and watch out for traffic.”
She said the same thing every morning.
Celina was always careful. And in Dime Box any prospect of traffic had long ago relocated to the larger cities of Houston and Austin. She mumbled under her breath as she let the screen door slam behind her. “Traffic? Heck, I’ll be lucky if I don’t die of boredom or if the phlegm of tedium doesn’t stop my breathing.”
A bit melodramatic, but she didn’t care. She loved melodrama. It was better than being dull and easier than comedy.
She fished her car keys from her jeans pocket and yanked open the rusted door of her ancient Volkswagen bug. As she cranked the engine, she looked through the kitchen window and watched her grandmother, the only true parent figure Celina had ever known. Her own mother had run off soon after Celina’s birth, never to be heard from again. Not ready for “this motherhood gig,” she had said in her note.
Celina’s dad had left too, but returned for brief stints to fill the house with delight. Then he would pack up and leave again. Celina had learned to live with the highs and lows of his comings and goings, sort of like the circus arriving in the still of the night, setting up tents, entertaining with clowns and animals, then disappearing in the morning light. Ten years back, after a bout with too much booze and too much speed, a late-night collision with a highway road sign had ended his visits. After that, Celina’s grandparents became her family, her world.
The words of wisdom Granny Dee had tried to pound into her head or whispered into her ear as sleep overtook her on more nights than she could count came back to her again: Don’t waste your life being ordinary. Celina realized now with some measure of despair that she hadn’t heard her grandmother say those words in a while. Had she given up on her only grandchild? Had she settled on the notion that ordinary was what Celina was?
Five dull and uninterrupted miles later, Celina parked in front of Mansfield’s Grain and Feed. Beneath the feed store’s sign hung a smaller, newer sign that read DIME BOX PUBLIC LIBRARY.
The library was Celina’s contribution to the town. For four years she had driven the beat-up VW the round trip of sixty-six miles to and from the town of Brenham, getting her degree in library science from Blinn College.
Sheepskin in hand, she had somehow talked Dime Box’s three-member city council into not only purchasing three hundred books and a used computer for a town library, but into hiring her as the librarian as well. When Dewey Mansfield stepped forward and announced that Celina could use the entire east wall of his feed store at no charge, she was in business. Now, customers buying horse liniment, bird feed or pet supplies could stop and check out a book or two.
With a great sense of pride, she had brought the most beloved thing in her life, books, to her community family. She dutifully logged the precious books—paperback and hardcover alike—into the computer and organized them on the shelves using the Dewey decimal system. When she told patrons the name of the system and how to find a book by looking at the numbers on the spines, of course they thought she referred to Dewey Mansfield and remarked that they had always known Dewey was smart. She didn’t bother to try and explain.
Celina had been raised with a book in her hand. Before she could read for herself, she pestered anyone older than she to read the magic words to her. When she was old enough to read on her own, she escaped to her choice of worlds every night.
As a girl, she had especially loved the Nancy Drew and Robin Kane mysteries, had even dreamed of being a private investigator. But that wasn’t what nice girls in Texas did. Nice girls made their families proud, nice girls followed the rules of etiquette, nice girls died a long, agonizing death by boredom. She was a nice girl and rigor mortis was setting in.
“Mornin’ Dew,” she said when she saw Dewey—it was the same greeting she gave him every morning.
She heard his deep chuckle. The play on words seemed to please him. He, too, thought the Dewey decimal system referred to him.
She didn’t have the heart to tell him the difference, either.
“Mornin’, little miss. Sam was in earlier. He was on his way out of town, said he’d call you later.”
Mental sigh. And Sam Crenshaw was perfectly safe in assuming that she would be here. Another reminder of the mind-numbing predictability of her life.
“Okay, thanks,” she said to Dewey, her mind now on Sam Crenshaw.
He was an engineer with a computer hardware manufacturing company in Austin. She had known him forever. They had dated off and on since high school. Well, it couldn’t really be called dating. It was more like just going somewhere together because there was no one else to go with. Because Sam and she were seen together often, most people in town had concluded that someday she and Sam would marry.
Not once had Celina ever considered that happy ending. Sam was like her life in Dime Box—comfortable and predictable. And boring. He saw everything in black-and-white and had the imagination of a pancake. She didn’t doubt that he felt some sort of affection for her. She felt something for him, too, but it wasn’t that white-hot passion she had read about in romance novels. Something could be said for loyalty and dependability, but Lord, what wouldn’t she give for a connection across a crowded room. Desire and wild abandon. A part of her refused to give up hope.
She walked past the store’s front counter, then the length of the building, to her desk. Well, it wasn’t a real desk. It was actually a folding card table on which her computer and a phone sat.
“How’s that pretty grandma of yours?” Dewey called after her.
Celina smiled. She knew of the romance growing between Dewey and her grandmother. That was just fine. She was glad her grandmother had found someone. It was cute that both of them thought their big secret was safe. Celina had suspected from the beginning that Dewey had donated the use of his feed-store wall to establish a link to Granny Dee. “Okay, Dew.”
As soon as she had taken care of her morning chores, Celina sat down to surf the Internet, as she always did when the library traffic was slow. And let’s face it, she told herself. When was traffic not slow?
She scanned two news Web sites, catching up on national news, stopped off at a few shopping sites and ended up on the site of the National Association of Private Investigators. The real-life cases, posted for viewers to read, held her as captivated as the Nancy Drew stories had. But the NAPI cases were better. They were true.
It was here, on this day of extreme restiveness, that Celina was hit with an epiphany. In the bottom left-hand corner of her monitor screen was a link inviting her to see more details on the upcoming NAPI convention being held in New York City. Among all the tempting topics were seminars explaining how to start your own investigation service.
Celina shot upright in the chair and squealed. New York City. Her entire life, Granny Dee had spoken about her first great love, the place of her upbringing, New York City. She had been a performer with the Radio City Rockettes when she fell for a handsome Texas cowboy competing in a rodeo in Madison Square Garden. When the cowboy left New York, returning to the Lone Star State, a leggy Rockette was on his arm.
Still, as much as she loved the Texas cowboy, Granny Dee never lost her love for the Big Apple. She talked of it so often Celina felt as if it were her second home. The opportunity to learn how to be a detective, in the city to wh
ich she felt a kinship, had to be kismet.
Dewey leaned over the counter, craning his neck. “You all right back there?”
“I’m fine,” she answered. “Dewey, have you ever been to New York City?”
The storeowner ambled toward her, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “I’ve never been out of Texas. I joined the Air Force when I was a kid. Intended to see the world. But I never got farther than Dyess Air Force Base in Abilene. Always regretted that, too.”
Celina looked at him with renewed interest. “Really? You do regret it?”
“You bet. I plan on doing some traveling one day, before I get too old.” His face took on a plaintive expression. “If I was your age, I wouldn’t let anything stop me. I’d like to see New York. I’ve wished many a time that I had seen them two towers before they came down.”
Celina looked at Dewey a few seconds more, a plan of action taking root. “How’d you like to come to supper at the house this evening, Dewey?”
His mouth tipped into a shy grin. “Why, that’d be just fine, Celina.”
“Good. You know what a good cook Granny Dee is. Come at seven o’clock.”
He grinned bigger. “Okay. I’ll be there.”
Celina couldn’t wait to call Granny Dee and tell her. As Dewey ambled up to the front of the store whistling, she picked up the phone receiver and keyed in her home number.
“Celina, honey,” her grandmother said when Celina told her about their guest, “you know I don’t mind you asking Mr. Mansfield for supper. Or any of your friends. It’s just that you should have given me more time.”
Granny Dee sounded anxious and out of breath. Celina pictured her scurrying about, wiping imaginary dust from the mantel. She knew the invitation posed no imposition on her grandmother, who had recently lost her job of thirty years as teller in the town’s only bank. The bank had closed its doors forever. Now Granny Dee cleaned her home, cooked and gardened.
“Granny Dee, it’s only eleven o’clock. He isn’t coming over until seven. That’s eight hours. What in the world do you need to do that would take more than eight hours?”
“I don’t have anything laid out of the freezer, my hair is a mess and the house needs a good cleaning.”
Celina lowered her voice. “Granny, Dewey lives in a trailer with two old dogs. He eats pork and beans with Fritos every day for lunch. I’ll bet he’s lucky to get one home-cooked meal a year, on Christmas. But if you want me to tell him it’s not a good time—”
“No, no. That isn’t necessary. I’ll just throw something together.”
Celina relaxed into a big smile. Granny Dee never “threw” anything together. By seven o’clock, the dining table would be loaded with delicious home cooking that she would serve with the flair of a four-star restaurant. The house would be spotless and Granny Dee would be beautiful. Celina had figured out long ago that for her grandmother, the protestation was almost as much fun as the preparation and the presentation.
“When I get home, I’ll help,” Celina promised.
“Is Sam coming, too?”
“No, not this evening.” The last thing Celina wanted was Sam’s voice of reason and good sense interfering with her conversation with her grandmother.
The remainder of Celina’s day passed briskly. Dime Box’s only beauty salon had started a book club. Each member was to read and report on a different book every Saturday evening. Half a dozen women had been in and out of the library picking up books—except that in Dime Box no one ever simply came in and went out. Gossip was exchanged, weather was discussed and family photos were shown.
Someone usually had a son, nephew or grandson he or she wanted Celina to meet. In the past, she had accepted a few of those “fix-ups,” but nowadays, she politely declined. The men had never lived up to their loved ones’ hype, and it was too awkward explaining later why she and the fix-up weren’t becoming a couple.
Finding heroes in books had always been less complicated. Living vicariously through the pages had been enough. But no longer. She needed a life, she needed an adventure. Dear God, she needed something.
At five o’clock, she logged off her computer, grabbed her purse and started for the door. She had walked only a couple of steps when her cell phone rang. A glance at caller ID brought an involuntary sigh. Sam. She didn’t know if she was ready for a conversation with him. She was excited about a trip to New York, but if anyone could throw cold water on her enthusiasm, it would be Sam.
They almost always had a weekend outing together, so she couldn’t just disappear for a week. She wished she could, but she wasn’t brought up that way. She had to tell him her plans. She returned to her chair and flipped open the phone. “Hi, Sam.”
“Hey. Have you got dinner plans?”
“Granny Dee and I are entertaining Dewey this evening at the house.”
“Dewey. You mean the old guy who owns the feed store?”
A ripple of annoyance brought a frown to her brow. “He isn’t old,” she whispered, lest Dewey hear her. “He’s Granny Dee’s age.”
“Whatever you say,” Sam said in an appeasing tone. “Don’t you think your grandmother would rather be alone with him? Why would you want to be underfoot?”
Celina tried not to be irritable, but Sam and his condescending attitude were leaning on her last patience nerve.
“I’m sure she would, but dinner was my idea. I want to talk to Granny Dee and Dewey together.”
Sam chuckled and spoke to her again in his “tolerant” voice. “Is this a birds-and-bees conversation? Did you catch them making out?”
Celina gasped. “Honestly, Sam.”
“You’re the one being all secretive. Why do you have to talk to them together?”
Celina wanted to shout, “It’s none of your business!” If she wanted to perform a striptease for the two of them, she would, and it still wouldn’t be any of Sam’s concern. But knowing him as she did, the truth might be more shocking than the idea of her doing a striptease. “I’m going to New York City to a private investigators convention,” she said in a rush, “and I want Dewey to help me persuade Granny Dee to go with me or convince her she doesn’t have to worry about me going alone.”
Long silence. For a minute she wondered if they had lost their connection. Then she heard his laughter. She could also hear the creaking of his expensive leather chair and she secretly hoped it would topple and land him on his butt.
“I swear, Celina, for an intelligent woman, you come up with the most ridiculous ideas.”
“It isn’t ridiculous. It’s something worth doing. And furthermore, Sam Crenshaw, I don’t remember a single time in my life when I’ve done something ridiculous.”
“You don’t call working hard for four years at getting a degree, then using it to open a library in Dime Box a ridiculous idea?”
Now it was Celina’s turn to be silent as she attempted to tamp down the anger his attitude had spurred.
He broke the silence. “Oh, come on, now. I’ve made you mad. You know I didn’t mean to. But you have to admit, Celina, there were many places you could have gone and gotten a job and made something of yourself.”
She made a mental gasp. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you, Sam,” she said in an even tone. “It’s been my lifelong desire to make you proud of me. And as for making something of myself, I think I’ll make myself absent from your life.”
You elitist, pompous, chauvinistic, over-educated frat rat!
She snapped the phone shut, threw it into her purse and headed for the feed store’s front door, passing the open doorway to Dewey’s office. “See you at the house, Dewey.”
“I sure hope I’m not putting you and your grandmother out,” Dewey said, rising from his desk chair. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal since Christmas. My sister over in Austin always puts on a big spread.”
Celina mentally patted herself on her back for her astute observation. She would be a great detective. “Our evenings are pretty uneventful. Granny Dee loves com
pany. Having someone over for supper will be nice for her and me both.”
“Lord, I know how that is. My nights are less busy than my days, and well”—he looked down and grinned—“you’ve seen my days.”
He was leaning against the doorway, his legs crossed at the ankle, thumbs hooked casually in his belt loops. Though he was in his sixties, he was a handsome man in a rugged way. She could see how her grandmother might feel an attraction.
Bidding him one final good-bye, she strode to the rusty VW and tossed her purse on the passenger seat. Inside it, she had stuffed printouts detailing the NAPI conference in New York. Celina was hoping her grandmother would want to go, too, but whether she did or not, Celina was determined to attend.
It wasn’t that she needed her grandmother’s permission. She wasn’t a child. But it would be hard to leave without her blessing. She was hoping Dewey could help. She didn’t win a lot of debates with her grandmother, and using Dewey to help tip the scale in her favor wasn’t unsportsmanlike. It was more like leveling the playing field.
She wouldn’t mind if Granny Dee went, either. She had a niggling fear in the back of her mind about going alone and being alone in such a huge city. Being in the company of a former New Yorker would definitely make the whole experience more interesting and more fun.
Less than fifteen minutes later she parked at the side of Granny Dee’s brick home.
“I’m home,” Celina called as she went through the back door into the kitchen. The strong aroma of pot roast and Pine-Sol greeted her.
“Something sure smells good.” She noted that the dining table had been set with the best linen, silverware and crystal glasses. Usually, when she and her grandmother dined, they ate in the kitchen with the TV on.
“It’s just a roast with some vegetables thrown in. I made a salad and those individual little loaves of bread you like so much.” Granny Dee’s face was flushed, her voice filled with excitement. “Oh, and I made a chocolate layer cake and a cobbler from those peaches we canned last summer. I really didn’t go to a lot of trouble.”
“Well, it looks beautiful and so do you. Now, I’m going to change clothes. What can I do to help you before I shower?”
