Tumbleweed Logic

by ZaneDoe

Lila and a group from the campground often gathered for dinner at Elena’s, a small local restaurant that carried as much history within its walls as the town itself. Micki, a former Broken Arrow long-term and a town intrigue, waited tables there. Micki’s story was a constant tale with a little color added to each version when told to a newcomer. One only needed to ask Estancia to get the facts; she did not elaborate nor add a personal slant to a story. Estancia knew the town of Pista like a mother knows her child. Scout found the facts far more colorful than the elaborated upon versions told at the game tables in the office.

  According to Estancia, Micki was involved with a well-known and financially powerful “somewhat local” politician while married to a ranch hand. One cold morning her husband’s body was discovered drown in a shallow agricultural ditch containing a minimal flow of water. “Those are the facts,” says Estancia. However, such a story lends itself to a variety of speculations and suspicions by the townspeople. The town’s law enforcement did not view the matter as suspicious, just an accident. Or if they did, they never acted upon those suspicions. After the loss of her husband, Micki moved from their house immediately and into Broken Arrow’s long-term section at the campground adding another character to the flock. Eventually Micki left Broken Arrow and moved into a house she purchased outside of town. The fact that she had the funds to purchase a nice adobe house coupled with the regular visits by a late model car with a high-gloss finish and darkened windows (the car intended to be incognito but may as well have had red flags waving from its hood) only added fuel to the fire of suspicion. Among all the gossip and suspicion, Micki continued to work at Elena's.

  Lila, Jose, Estancia, Mary, Rod, Manny, Burt, Bella, Eric, Jarred, and a few newcomers, including Scout, arranged themselves in talking order at the table. Scout sat as far away from Burt and his chew as she could get. Jose was of course next to Scout for effective harassment position. Estancia chose to sit next to Bella because Bella’s nonstop chatter relieved her from her social conversational obligations. She also made sure she was not directly across from Manny, whose sultry Mexican good looks made her uncomfortable. He possessed the looks Hollywood sought to play the outlaw Latin lover. Manny was pure seduction to Estancia, which she would not or could not let show.

  Two tables away Micki was serving a group from the Senior Center, the DHC as Lila liked to refer to them--Dead Husbands Club. Tight curls and loose lips, they spoke openly of others’ lives from the past sixty years to present and Micki’s life was no exception, in fact, Micki had been the headliner for some time. The cook’s announcement that Micki had a telephone call brought the DHC to silence. They strained their ears and shifted their eyes as they silently confirmed to each other that the call was from her lover in the fancy car. Micki was not oblivious to the gossip and that she was an infamous character to the DHC. She still served the ladies with grace and a smile. In turn, the judgmental seniors reached deep into their pockets and always tipped Micki well.

  The topics at the Broken Arrow table were mostly on the light side until the dreaded subject inevitably arose--Burt’s war stories, always with Burt insisting Jose swap stories of his experience in Vietnam. Burt was a proud WW II veteran eager to talk about his war experiences at any opportunity. He came home from the war a hero, victorious with impressive tales that captured the attention and admiration of his listeners. Jose ignored Burt’s requests and Burt remedied the silence from Jose with more of his own stories. Though Jose would not acknowledge much less give-in to Burt’s request, Burt’s reminiscing always stirred unwanted recollections. He kept them to himself. As Burt detailed a story of his own, Jose thought back on the scared sweaty faces of the new arrivals, a familiar expression seen before the Vietnam veneer set in. Jose told war stories then, he told them to prepare the young men drenching their feet in Vietnam for the first time; he refused to tell these stories for dinner table entertainment.

  Lila gave Jose the can’t-stop-him look, a look everyone knew well if they knew Burt. Saved by Lester’s entrance, Lila exclaimed loudly to overshadow Burt’s oratory limelight, “Why there’s Lester!”

  “Always a pleasure at the dinner table,” mumbled Mary.

  Lester was, in his own words, “a big city” coroner. He claimed to have had his fill of big city crime and dead bodies, hence the move to the little town of Pista for a new start on a new life. He wanted to leave the past behind him. The problem was he never did. He still lived and breathed the dead bodies and unsolved mysteries that others managed to let rest.

  “Howdy!” Lester’s attempt at southwestern lingo was almost humorous. “So, what’s the occasion?”

  “Sit down, Lester. Have dinner with us, or have a drink,” welcomed Manny. “Here, man, have a chair.”

  Though Lester is an appealing man, he inevitably finds a way to tie in some on-the-slab experience to the current topic. In anticipation of Lester’s likely dead-body talk, and in unison, Mary and Rod held their stomachs and made pre-vomit expressions. Lester gave no indication that he was aware of the negative effect his subject matter has on others. To Lester, it seemed like shoptalk, like a mechanic referring to an engine or transmission he pulled apart, referring to the pieces and their condition. No one knew if he was just trying to impress and entertain or if these thoughts are inevitable for Lester. He could make some morbid comparison to most any topic at hand, and almost always ends with his manifesto, “…but, that’s in my past; I’ve gotten away from all that now. Damn glad I did, it was killing me!” The only thing it was killing now was the appetites and cheery conversations of Pista, and his ability to find a lady friend. He blamed his lack of female companionship on the small town condition claiming, “There aren’t that many single women in a small town, ya know.” There were women, plenty of single women in the area just none that wanted to listen to Lester’s Corpse Chronicles. It was hard for anyone who spent much time with Lester to see him and not recall and envision some previously described corpse. That was Lester. Most everybody liked him, at least for a while.

  Lester’s lack of a date condition usurped Burt’s dinner theme. The subject of Lester finding a date got everyone talking, and joking again. In the midst of the lively conversations, Scout noticed Micki holding her purse and saying goodnight to a coworker. She excused herself from the table as if she were off to use the restroom. She quickly made her way to the hall with the window hoping for the opportunity at a glimpse of Micki’s controversial and elusive lover. The only physical description she heard about the mystery lover was “The Old Goat.” Scout imagined him a dignified man with a stoic presence that donned a blocked Stetson proudly on a full head of thick silver hair. Scout had this image secured in her imagination and the disparaging remarks from the Broken Arrow crew did not taint it though she was curious to see whose was more accurate. Besides, Micki was pretty and it was hard to imagine her being attracted to a man in the old goat category. Scout managed only to see the taillights of the grand shiny car as they disappeared down the road.

  “Scout!” Burt called out from the table, waving his hand. “Come on, Lester has a good one.”

  “Morning!”

  Morning greetings ricocheted through the office among the early risers gathering for coffee and donuts. Lila stood by the counter, waiting for a lull in the hive to make announcements.

  “The Dead Husbands Club is having a crafts sale today. Come on everyone, they need to raise money so try and get over there if you can.” She wasn’t just the campground owner, she was the town organizer of sorts. Estancia held the town’s secrets but Lila was the spokesperson for Pista’s current events. The group of widowed women from the senior center sold their crafts from time to time and put on other small events to raise money for the center. Lila always referred to them as The Dead Husbands Club, if the name offended them, they had yet to express their objection to Lila. The success of their events was due mostly to Lila’s help and they were grateful.

  “And, they decided to hold the talen
t show in the corral house so if you have any talent sign up.” She set a piece of paper and pen on the counter. “Right here. Just put down your name and your talent….” The Dead Husbands Club made the sudden decision to hold a talent show and counted on Lila to make it happen. She was rushed and determined. Lila proceeded to probe each donut eater for hidden talents to be exposed come Saturday night. She applied the necessary pressure--cushioned with a bit of confidence boosting--in effort to get each to sign up. She caught Jose as he passed through the office door. “Jose!” He cautiously turned in her direction. He knew that tone and it meant something other than good morning. “You’re going to be in our talent show, aren’t you?” The question was verging on an order.

  Scout smiled; the mere thought of the perpetual harassment she could impose, as he would upon her, was too joyous to keep concealed. She added, “And what talent do you possess, Jose?”

  “Jose can dance!” Bella cheerfully exclaimed. “He’s a good dancer. Have you seen him dance, Scout?”

  “Only with a broom, Bella, and I’m pretty sure the broom was leading,” she responded still grinning at Jose.

  Jose lifted his eyebrows and grinned back; he anticipated what response would follow Scout’s sarcastic commentary on his talents. He leaned back against the counter, took a breath with the corners of his mouth slowly rising as the seniors exalted Jose’s gamut of talents.

  “He can play the guitar too,” added Martha.

  “He sings nicely,” Edith said from her new electric wheelchair.

  Lila shook her head as the women sang praise to the vast array of Jose-talent.

  “Well, Jose, your talents abound. Sign up.” Lila pointed to the sign-up sheet on the counter.

  “Yes, such a talented man. I’m looking forward to seeing your act Saturday evening.” Scout looked forward to the evening if she could succeed in remaining in the audience as Lila continued to apply the pressure for sign ups. Fearing she would succumb to the pressure, Scout grabbed a chocolate donut and headed for the door.

  “Scout!” reprimanded Lila.

  “I need to walk Pepper, Lila. I’ll be back.” Scout made sure not to turn around and make eye contact; she scooted out the door in record time. Jose leaned forward to watch as Scout zigzagged through Eric’s still-wet cement walkway. Scout would return to offer help with decorations and set up but had no desire to be pressured into displaying some made up talent.

  “Can you line dance, Jose?” Edith asked.

  “Of course he can,” declared Bella.

  Jose turned from the window and returned his attention to his promoters, his surrogate gaggle of mothers.

  Besides good exercise and a necessity for the canine, walking your dog was a venue for casual socializing, and an acceptable way to snoop. Hellos and information were exchanged: what and who was new and from where, what was going on in town and who was leaving and where to. It was like gathering kindling to fuel the verbal fire around the table during the evening games consisting of Mexican dominos, train, poker, chess or whatever game a newcomer introduced. The games lasted for hours like the ageless and enduring hard candy sitting in the bowl on the table; gossip or “information” was something to twirl around their tongues for extended amounts of time with each sweet morsel drawn-out to capacity and savored until the next piece. Scout often joined in with the evening games but not this night.

  She needed to walk Pepper and Jarred accompanied her. She suspected their walk together would be the hard candy for that night at the game table. Little, if any, of this exchange at the game table was mean spirited, just topics to pass the time and fresh topics were always welcome. Estancia was the exception. She was an amazing source of accurate information, an encyclopedia of Pista, but only shared her knowledge when it was seriously wanted or needed, never for the sake of casual conversation or gossip. She was the kind of person people felt comfortable divulging their deepest secrets. Her gentle manner and discreet presence often caused her to be an unintended recipient of the most private information. With all the information and secrets she carried about the town and its people, Estancia was a Pandora’s Box no one wanted to rattle.

  “Hey Pepper!” Jarred exaggerated his enthusiasm in an attempt to get at least a wag out of Pepper. Pepper was more interested in getting on with his walk. He wanted to sniff the grounds, bark at the horses and play with Lila’s goat, Wiggie. Jarred held no interest nor purpose for Pepper and he let Jarred know with a muffled growl.

  “I’m thinking of getting a dog myself,” Jarred announced, “but, one that likes me.”

  “Let’s walk, he’ll get happy.”

  “Then let’s go.” Jarred put his arm through Scout’s and Pepper, straining the leash, led the way.

  “How’s business?” Scout’s question was not a conversational nicety since Jarred’s work fascinated her.

  “The deluge of degreed idiots keeps me in business, Scout.” He made no attempt to hide his contempt for those he worked with and for. Jarred spent time in prison for his superior skills as a hacker and those vulnerable to his expertise, those that relentlessly pursued and insisted on his prosecution, were there to greet him with open arms and checkbooks upon his release. His finely honed skills were in great demand when he re-entered the free world. Crimes to kudos, he became a highly paid computer security consultant. However, his loathing for the corporate world did not diminish with time and impressive paychecks.

  “The big players in the cyber world trust you. You’re paid well and you can live anywhere or anyhow you want. What’s wrong with that?” Scout admired his position.

  “Trust in the cyber world?” Jarred shook his head. “They need me; they have to trust me--next subject, Scout. You know that’s why I’m on vacation--to get away from all that for a couple of months or so. Next topic?” Though they came from opposite sides of the country, they came from a similar environment and enjoyed conversation and each other’s company. Scout did her time in Silicon Valley and could relate to the world Jarred worked within and resisted. She felt comfortable with Jarred, as did Jarred with her.

  After walking Pepper, Jarred and Scout sat on the bench and watched the sunset then headed off to Jarred’s wobbly trailer for a bite to eat. As a rule, like Scout, Jarred tended not to speak of his past. However, that night he threw back a few shots of tequila and talked openly of the activity that occupied the majority of his time and paid for his every whim. He talked of his travels, of Ireland, of the cat he had for twelve years. He even talked about his time in prison. Scout talked openly as well. The dismal shadows that hovered over their lives were brought to light for that one night. Exposing the past was emotionally liberating, for both of them, and created a particular bond that extended beyond the metal walls from that moment on. It was a night of revelation, true confessions. Scout shared her reasons for leaving California and told about her time in Pennsylvania. They also managed to find mutual humor in how they came to find Broken Arrow, Pista, New Mexico.

  Scout was very impressed with Jarred; he was a well-traveled man, particularly for his age. She had no problem visualizing him in such exotic places: the Iguazu Falls, the Great Pyramids of South America and Egypt, and the Taj Mahal. It was seeing Jarred with his meticulously kept Mercedes Benz parked next to the trailer to give all trailers a bad name that was such an inconceivable sight.

  He arrived at Broken Arrow without even a tent. He slept in the back seat of his car, which was against the campground rules. Instead of leaving Broken Arrow, he offered to buy the old falling-apart trailer Lila had hidden behind the barn. It looked like it had scantily survived a tornado and declared totaled by an insurance company--something best hauled to the dump. Jarred promised Lila that he would make the necessary improvements on the eyesore. Everyone watched--certain it would fall apart before it reached its destination--as Eric and Jose helped Jarred move the monstrosity to his rented space. There it sat without even a screw tightened. The door looked as if it was going to fal
l off the hinges every time it opened. If Lila weren’t so fond of Jarred, she would have insisted it be removed.

  That shabby trailer was home to an array of high priced, high-tech equipment--all that Jarred was able to stuff into the Mercedes Benz—and most any incidental piece was far more valuable than the trailer. Jarred was unvigilant about his material belongings, except for his car. He was generous and easygoing, except for when it came to his car. Do not lean on or leave your fingerprints on the Mercedes Benz. The contrast of the upscale and immaculate Mercedes parked in front of the trailer from hell was striking and humorous, not unlike Jarred himself. He was an interesting man and Scout appreciated being privy to his unusual and secreted world

 

  Cameras clicked, capturing the awestruck swirls of illuminated colors, as the sun set on another night at Broken Arrow. Campers went for walks or prepared dinner and talked to each other through the screens of cranked open windows. Some commune at the showers and others gathered for nightly games in the office.

  Scout sat in front of her camper with Pepper and waited for Penny. Penny parked three spaces down from Scout, the same place she parks every year. Penny was in her mid-sixties, on her own and proud of it. Across from Penny, parked in the same space as last year, was the RV housing Penny’s least favorite person, Myra. Penny had no problem with Sam, Myra’s husband, other than understanding why, that of all the women in the world, he would choose Myra. Penny and Myra got on each other’s nerves for reasons only truly known to them. Sam was neutral; the volume control on his hearing aid helped in that endeavor. He paid a long-lasting price for having once laughed at an insult Penny shot Myra’s way and from that time on he made a point not to--or pretend not to--hear the feuding duo. Penny derived some kind of perverse pleasure from agitating Myra, which wasn’t hard to do; Myra upset easily. After observing the two, Scout concluded that each represented what the other did not want to be. Instead of avoiding the close proximity, they both defiantly held tight to their same campsites each year.

  Penny passed Sam setting up the awning on his RV on her way to visit with Scout. She shouted, “Hi Sam!” He cautiously looked her way. “Haven’t seen Myra, is she still in her crypt?” Sam continued with his task without responding.

  “I heard you, Penny!” shouted Myra from the RV window in an angry voice.

  Sam ignored the banter.

  Penny kept on walking and loudly called out to Scout, “Hello Miss Scout,” primarily to dwarf the sound of Myra. The sight of Penny coming his way set Pepper’s tail wagging. “Hey there Pepper, you good dog. You’re a good dog. You’re a good boy.” Scout met Penny when Penny was setting up her campsite and eating cookies--Pepper found the cookies and Scout found a friend.

  “You set Myra off again, didn’t you?” Penny’s tenacity amused Scout and she hoped she could claim the same at Penny’s age.

  Penny smiled, mission accomplished.

  Scout clipped on Pepper’s leash and left with Penny for the bench by the showers. As they passed Myra’s RV they could hear her, still upset, complaining to Sam about Penny. Penny grinned ear to ear.

  Each grabbed a cup of coffee from the office then sat on the bench to watch the sunset. Penny talked of her plans for the future and Scout shared a few of her own: she hoped to reopen Dead People’s Stuff. Penny loved the name, as Scout knew she would; they seemed to have a lot in common. The sun set and the two called it an evening. Penny disappeared into her RV with Myra watching from across the way. Scout, led by Pepper, disappeared into her camper. The nights were quiet at Broken Arrow. The lights in the RVs and campers shut off and everyone fell safely asleep in their metal cocoons. Lena slept well, for the first time in a long time.

  A fire started in the two garbage dumpsters that were fenced off at the far end of the campground and a group of elderly men stood around observing, commenting, while they waited for someone to come to the rescue. Likewise, Jose stood on the back porch to the office with his arms crossed and his head shaking as he watched in amused disbelief. He stood alone observing the crowd grow along with the smoke, and the smell. The fire was a social gathering and not one in the gathering was lifting a hose or calling for help.

  “Is Lester cremating someone?” Scout joked as she stepped up next to the obviously annoyed Jose.

  “Can you believe this? Not one of them has come to the office to report the fire.”

  “Well, it appears as though you’re not doing much different. They’re watching the fire and you’re watching them,” she remarked as she watched the billowing smoke and crowd herself.

  “It’s entertainment.”

  “For them and for you. Maybe refreshments are in order.”

  “Look, Lester’s out there.” Jose gave a quick laugh. “Imagine what story he’s telling.”

  “Oh geez, burned bodies on the slab stuff.” She looked up at Jose, “Well…are you going to go put it out?”

  “Look!” Jose laughed again. “People are moving away from Lester.”

  “Broken Arrow! Campground, Recreation Park and Crematorium. Necropolis of the Southwest. You can park it here permanently. Enjoy stories around the campfire with Cowhand Coroner, Lester---“ Scout was interrupted by Marianne flying out the office back door yelling at Jose to put the fire out, referring to him as “Mr. Jose.”

  “I’m waiting for them to drop off one by one from smoke inhalation,” Jose calmly retorted.

  Scout laughed aloud, and wondered just how long the crowd about the fire would stand there inhaling smoke.

  “Very funny, Mr. Jose,” the high-haired office help screeched from behind them.

  “Wanna get your bet in, Marianne, on who goes first?”

  Since the beginning of her employment at Broken Arrow, Marianne made it an integral part of her job to point out inadequacies, from the lack of appropriate change in the cash register to Tom using the wrong broom. Her desire to make her presence and importance known by announcing shortcomings tried the patience of more than one at Broken Arrow. Jose and Scout were enjoying the minor payback while Marianne’s gray roots seemed to grow another inch beneath her dyed coal-black hair. She clenched her fists at her hips and threatened to report Jose to Lila and “have his job terminated!” then stomped off the porch in search of Lila. This made Jose’s day.

  “Ya happy now?” Scout said with a huge smile.

  “Ecstatic.” He smiled and added, “I guess I should go over there and join the party.” Jose headed for the contained fire. Scout followed.

  “Jose!” Arthur yelled. “We have a fire here.”

  Jose’s eyes shifted to Scout, both amused by Arthur’s keen observation.

  Onlookers swapped lively fire stories while Jose hooked up the hose to the closest working faucet. The fire had engulfed some plastic material that produced an awful smell. The toxic inferno sparked Lester’s morbid memory as expected. He reminisced for all to hear about the old days when he worked on charcoal bodies. The burning body episodes may have held some horror story appeal late at night around a campfire but Lester didn’t build on the events leading to the tragedy, which makes the story, he only elaborated on the effects after the fact from a coroner’s point of view. A few weak-in-the-stomach onlookers departed immediately while others moved out of earshot, as most did when Lester told his cadaverous tales of days gone by--except the local adolescent males. He was a big hit with them; Lester was like a matinee show and they hung on his every gory word. Lester was off in a world of his own as the teens exclaimed, “cool!” But there were no eager adolescents desiring ensanguined memories of Lester so by the time Jose had the fire extinguished he stood alone, aside from Scout.

  “You know, Lester, your stories may not have the social appeal you think they do. I mean, they may be a bit too much for most people.” She was wasting her time. Lester was in deep thought and not paying attention to her advice on social graces.

  Lila waved Jose and Scout to return. Jose tossed the hose aside
and joined Scout for the walk back to the porch.

  “A bit more interesting than the how-to’s of successful RV cookery, wouldn’t you say?” Though they bantered constantly, mostly with insults, Scout enjoyed Jose’s company. “Lester really needs to get a hobby or something. He can really clear a gathering when all he wants is to be a part of what’s going on.”

  “If you like Lester’s stories then I can entertain you all night with mine,” Jose replied.

  “Hmmm, you’ve charcoaled a few in your day?” She caught herself before she commented further. She remembered that Jose was a veteran of a war known for the use of napalm and quickly added, “Anyway, I am not entertained by his stories. But, up all night listening to you talk, that would be interesting since you hardly say anything to me other than a grunt here and there, or an insult.” She gave a twisted smile. “Or, are you just trying to find a way to lure me into your breadbox.”

  “Wasn’t that you scratching at my door the other night, late, begging me to let you in?”

  “Wrong direction, Jose. That was one of your transient dates trying to scratch her way out.”

  “Would you two stop the pubescent exchange,” Lila scolded, impatient; she wanted to know about the fire. Jose explained that he had no idea how the fire got started, he could look into it if she wanted him to, but that it was completely out and nothing was damaged--just more room in the dumpster. She interrupted Jose when she saw Lester walking towards the porch.

  “Find Lester a girlfriend, Jose. That’s what he needs. Get his mind on a live body.” She waved to Lester then turned toward the office. Before closing the door behind her she made a final request, “Keep Lester away from the potluck tonight, okay.” She looked directly at Jose, “Okay?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you two to talk dead bodies. By the way, why don’t you ask him to do an autopsy for the talent show?” Scout nodded to Lester and walked off.

  “Only if you’re offering to be the model,” Jose shouted before she was out of hearing range.

  “You can really part the seas, can’t ya Lester?” Jose scowled his comment to Lester.

  Lester was oblivious.

  Without warning, Marianne appeared on the porch and promptly asked Lester if he was going to be in the talent show. Lester had to think about it. Jose kept his word to Lila and invited Lester to go out drinking, which would make them both absent from the campground potluck however Jose’s absence would not make Lila happy. Jose set the time to meet and left Lester to the charms of Marianne.

  Jose rode his bicycle to meet Lester, which meant he intended on doing some heavy drinking that night. Jose would not drink and drive nor would he get into a vehicle with someone who had been drinking. ( If Jose’s bike was gone in the evening, it meant he was more than likely inebriated somewhere in Pista.) And everyone at the potluck was grateful to Jose, so very pleased Lester wasn’t there to do a professional correlation with the variety of dishes being served.

  Saturday arrived and it was time for the Dead Husbands Club Fundraiser Talent Show. The talent show went as most small town shows go. No one drove too far to attend. No one displayed an abundance of talent, except for Lila who played ragtime on the poorly tuned piano--the piano that doubled as a table, a plant stand, a Christmas tree stand or a platform for whatever needed one. She was able to persuade Jose and Scout to dance in an attempt to get others to join in. “Act like you’re enjoying yourselves,” she demanded. They both held Lila in the highest regard so they obliged. They let their insulting banter rest, grabbed each other’s hand and spun around the floor encouraging others to join in. Once the floor was full, they dropped their clasp like a hot rock.

  The first act was Marianne dressed in rhinestones and sparkles singing a country western ballad she wrote herself. It consisted of four minutes of limited chords on a dime-store guitar and whining that had more than one finding a distraction to keep from laughing. There was a magic show straight from a cereal box that would have been endearing if done by a child. Myra gave a demonstration on how to use a pasta-making device that was like an infomercial where she happily took questions from the audience. The anticipation of Penny’s appearance during Myra’s demonstration had Scout and Sam on pins and needles. Burt twitched a log of chew under his lip while holding a red cape for his granddaughter as she performed a toreador ballet. Last, but not least, the Dead Husbands Club did country western line dancing. The southwest garb wore them as they danced as if their feet were stuck in flowerpots instead of cowboy boots. In true espirit de corp, the audience cheered and applauded every act and had a great time.

  There wasn’t enough talent or acts to take up the time allotted for the evening so Lila compensated with lively tunes and sing-a-longs. She played between acts and as attendees mingled and sampled from the buffet table.

  Lila went about taking portions from dishes no one touched so that the owner of the dish would not be offended. At evening’s end, the performers were celebrities and all were pleased with the show. The minor cover charge raised enough money to make the Dead Husbands Club happy--another Lila success story. People said their good-byes then walked to their vehicle or campsite. Jose hopped onto his bicycle to meet Lester at a local bar. Scout met up with Penny on her way back to the camper.

  “Oh, did I miss the whole event!” Penny threw her hands up.

  “You missed Myra giving a demonstration on how to use a pasta thingy,” Scout informed. That bit of information got Penny started, and Scout laughing all the way back to her campsite. They said goodnight and Scout sat outside the camper for a short while. She watched the stars and thought about where she was, how she loved living at Broken Arrow, how alive she felt, and grateful. Broken Arrow was a stopover that was now becoming hard to fathom leaving.

  Chapter Six

  Map of Fate