by Peggy Dulle
“Dad, you’ve got to stop them.”
“Honey, I have no idea what they’re planning and they stopped listening to me when they decided to come up here without my permission.”
“We’ve got to stop them, Dad,” I repeated.
“I wish I could but I don’t even know where they are at this point.”
“We’ve got to get the Feds over to the Lagoon and stop them.”
“You want me to call them or you?” my dad asked sarcastically.
I thought about the number on the card in my back pocket, but said, “I think I’ll call Tom. He can let Agent Souza know what’s going on. Maybe he can stop them.”
I dialed Tom’s number and he answered on the first ring. I told him what my dad had said and he relayed the information to Agent Souza.
“Agent Souza wants to know what these men’s specialty is.”
I relayed the information to my dad.
“It’s not enough that I’m telling them where it’s going to happen, they want me to snitch on my own people?” Dad asked.
I put my hand over the mouthpiece. “You said it yourself, Dad, these guys are going to get people hurt, probably teenagers. That’s not your group’s style.”
I heard Tom talking through my phone, so I picked it up and said, “What?”
“You’ve got to get him to talk to you, Liza. We’ve got to know if we’re looking for one man or ten and whether they’re explosive experts, arsonists, or kidnappers.”
“Dad?”
“Tell Tom I want to talk to the Fed and then I want you to go down and get me something to drink.”
“What?”
“Do it, Liza.”
“Tom, Dad wants to talk to Agent Souza.”
“Really?” Tom asked.
“Yes, just hand him the phone and I’ll give mine to Dad.”
“Okay, honey.”
“Agent Souza,” a man’s voice answered.
“Here’s my dad,” I told him, gathered up our empty plates and walked out of the bedroom.
My dad didn’t want me to hear what kind of people he spent his days with instead of me or Jordan. I didn’t want to know them either.
Downstairs the party was moving out. I felt like a salmon trying to fight its way back to its breeding ground.
“Where is everyone going?” I asked when I was jostled for the third time, almost dropping my plates.
“If you eat at Sheryl Ann’s for free you have to go to the dance. All the money from the tickets goes to support our school’s music and art programs. So we’re all headed home to get on our dancing clothes and out of these cowboy boots. The dance starts at 8:00 pm at the Saddle Club,” a woman said, then made her way back into the moving crowd.
I found Sheryl Ann in the kitchen putting dishes into the dishwasher.
“You want some help?” I said, as I added my two plates.
“Nope, go to the dance,” she said, closing the door.
“Tom’s out doing cop stuff,” I said, hoping it was a good enough excuse. I’m a terrible dancer and with Tom, it’s worse. I’m always trying to lead and it’s a frustrating experience for both of us.
“They do lots of line dancing, so you won’t need him much.”
“I don’t have a thing to wear,” I tried excuse number two.
“No problem, I’ve got a closet full. We’re about the same size, so you should be able to find something that suits you.” She glanced down at my feet and asked, “What size shoe do you wear?”
This should do it, I thought. “A five and a half or six.”
“Perfect, that’s the same size as my feet. Help yourself,”
“But I don’t want to take something you might want to wear,” I tried excuse number three.
“I’m not going,” she blew out a raspberry at me. “I cook, you eat, and then you dance. I get to rest. Now get out of here.”
I went upstairs and back into my room. Dad was lying on my bed with his eyes closed but he opened them as soon as I took a step into the room.
“What are we doing tonight, Liza? I can’t lie on your bed all night.”
“How’d your conversation with Agent Souza go?” I asked.
“He’s an okay guy. I’m bored, Liza.”
My dad could never sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. Every family vacation was the same. My mother would have stayed on the beach or by a pool to read a book, but she let him drag her, my sister, and me to every museum, exhibit, national monument, and excursion.
“There’s a dance at the Saddle Club tonight. It’s a fundraiser for their school’s art and music programs.”
Dad jumped up. “That’s great. You and I could always dance up a storm.”
“That’s because you let me lead,” I said.
“It’s the teacher in you, Liza. Your mom was the same way. She always led, too.”
“You’re okay with going out in public?” I asked.
“Sure. The Feds are going to be tied up at the power plant and Lagoon for several more hours. Let’s go.”
“Okay, I’ll go and get something to wear from Sheryl Ann’s closet.”
“Why? What’s wrong with your jeans and those damn red boats?” He frowned at my feet.
I turned my boots back and forth and said, “I love these boots.”
“Some poor alligator lost his life so you could have red boots.”
“And I am thankful he did but they’re not good for dancing.”
Dad brushed off his own boots. “I’m wearing mine.”
“I’ll be back,” I told him and made my way into Sheryl Ann’s room.
She had a closet full of clothes, all western design, and several racks of shoes to match. I had only seen her in rather ordinary clothes. Who would have known she was a clothes horse?
About halfway through the rack, I found a stunning white ruffled skirt adorned with pieced lace. The asymmetrical cut made it unique and a little flirty. It would look great with a western T-shirt or paired with a belt, so I set it aside and kept browsing the closet. I found a beautiful rodeo blouse – a cowgirl flair with a feminine touch. The top’s yoke was embroidered with red, pink and orange floral embroidery and outlined with stitching. The cap sleeves and floral print bodice were accented by its placket front enhanced with jewel-tone snaps.
I decided against a belt, so went directly to Sheryl Ann’s massive shoe rack that took up the entire right wall of the closet. I’m a pretty big klutz when it comes to shoes with heels higher than an inch, so I ignored an entire section of stilettos. It was still hard to imagine Sheryl Ann wearing any of these clothes, let alone the four inch jewel high heeled shoes. Towards the bottom of the rack, I found a simple pair of white sandals with sensible heels and small red flowers across the straps.
I dressed quickly and using the vanity in the bathroom, added a little makeup from my cosmetic bag I left in the bathroom earlier in the day, combed and pulled my hair back into a French braid. As I walked out of the bedroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror. Not bad!
When I walked into my bedroom, my dad let out a whistle. “You look gorgeous, Bobby.”
I frowned at him. He always slipped into calling me my childhood nickname. It always made me feel like a boy, so I had asked him to stop using it many years ago.
He rolled his eyes and said, “You really do look wonderful, Liza.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I put my dirty clothes into a plastic bag. When I went to stuff in the jeans, I felt the Fed’s business card. I took it out and slipped it into my purse next to my cell phone. My back was to my dad so he hadn’t seen me do it.
I tucked my purse under my arm and grabbed my white sweater, just in case the weather changed. I hated to be cold. “Let’s go kick up our heels, Dad!”
Dad took my arm and led me out of the house. As we walked down Main Street, it was like everyone was going to the same place, just like it had been earlier in the day when the crowd had been going to Sheryl
Ann’s to eat. This town had a routine and they were all sticking to it and pulling the tourists along with them. The only exception was the bar. It still had a line around the building with cowboys and scantly dressed girls trying to get in to get a drink and pick up a date. Maybe they would go to the dance after they all hooked up, but somehow, I doubted it.
When we stepped into the Saddle Club, I was amazed. The plainly decorated building had been transformed. The interior was romantically lit with cascading scallops of twinkling lights that covered the ceiling. The white-clothed tables were set on the edges of the room, leaving the center for a dance floor where over a hundred couples swayed to The River by Garth Brooks. The right side of the room was set up as the bar area and it was filled with more cowboys and girls. How many young people came to the rodeo looking for love?
I glanced up at my dad who smiled and hummed along with the tune. I set my purse and sweater at an empty table and Dad led me directly to the dance floor, swung me around and we joined the oscillating mob.
I spotted Doc in a corner talking to Henry Mullins and they seemed to be arguing about something, so I led Dad toward them, deliberately looking in the other direction.
“I don’t care how but just get it done,” Henry said.
“I’m doing my best,” Doc said.
“It’s taking too long. I’ve done my part and you need to do the rest.”
“But what if I can’t?”
“You don’t want to even think like that, Doc. You’re in too deep and you’ve got too much to lose.”
They finally noticed me and stopped talking even though I never made eye contact, just kept my attention on my dad.
What was going on? Was Doc gambling again or did this have something to do with the cancer, the non-existent road, or Blue Stripe Enterprise’s mystery partner? Were all three related? Too many questions without answers. And I still had no idea which family was going to be murdered!
CHAPTER 19
After three more dances, I told my dad. “Okay, my feet are hurting from these shoes. How about we go back to the table and sit out a few songs?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Dad said. “You’re right about these boots, they weren’t designed for dancing.”
When we sat down, Dad went to get us a drink at the bar. Hopefully, they had more than just beer and Jack Daniels, which were the two neon signs over the bar.
Jackson and his little sister walked by and his sister asked, “Is Tom here?”
Jackson signed something at her. She rolled her eyes.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He told me I was a pest. But if I wasn’t I wouldn’t have this great belt buckle.” She stuck out her stomach to show me Tom’s buckle.
Jackson stomped his foot and she put up her hand to ignore him.
“What is he signing now?” I asked.
“He thinks I should give the buckle back. I told him Tom gave it to me.”
“Tom actually gave it to you because you wanted his autograph for your dad.”
“Well, it’s mine and I’m not giving it back.” She ran from the table.
I knew Jackson could read my lips so I turned and, “Little sisters are a pain sometimes, aren’t they?”
Jackson nodded and laughed. He took a pad of paper from his pocket and wrote: She should give the buckle back.
“No, Tom gave it to her and doesn’t want it back. He’s got another one anyway,” I added on my own.
He wrote: Too valuable to just give away. If he doesn’t want it he should sell it.
I shrugged and wondered exactly how much the buckle might be worth.
Jackson tapped on the paper where he had written: What’s going on with Doc?
“Why?”
He’s arguing with another man in the corner. I wasn’t listening, but it’s hard not to look when people seem upset.
“What were they talking about?” I asked.
Hydrocarbon levels and some kind of truck, I couldn’t understand the word. It sounded like vipers, Jackson wrote.
“What does that mean?”
Jackson shrugged.
His sister came running by and grabbed his arm. “Come quick. Mom and Dad are dancing.”
Jackson laughed and let his sister drag him closer to the dance floor.
Did you measure hydrocarbon levels when you tested for toxins that might cause cancer? And what was a viper truck? When I glanced toward the bar, looking for my dad, I noticed that Henry Mullins stood near enough to my table to have heard Jackson’s and my conversation. If he had been listening he would have only heard half the conversation, but had that been enough to figure out what we were talking about?
“Hi Henry,” I said congenially, toward him. “Where’s Grace?”
Henry walked closer and said, “She’s dancing with some of her friends.”
“That’s nice.”
“Where’s your fiancé?” he asked.
“You know Tom?” I asked.
“No, but everyone is talking about him since he used to be a PBR World Champion bull rider. If that little girl shows me the buckle one more time, I’m going to scream.”
“He’s a cop now and he’s out with the FBI checking into a few things in the area,” I said. I wanted him to know if he was doing something illegal there were lots of law enforcement agents around.
“Really? What things?”
I shrugged.
Just then Dad came back with two cups. I glanced toward Henry and said, “Dad, this is Henry Mullins. He runs a small ranch a few miles from town.”
Dad reached out his hand and said, “I’m Billy Wilcox. Glad to meet you.”
Henry shook my dad’s hand and wandered away.
Dad watched him go, then sat down and said, “He was a pretty unfriendly guy.”
I leaned toward Dad and said, “I think he’s up to something.”
Dad turned his head and watched him walk away. Then Henry turned, seemingly to sense our attention, made eye contact with my dad, then glared at me, turned back around and stomped away.
“Touchy, too.” Dad laughed and sipped his drink.
“Guilty people usually are,” I told him as I raised my glass to my lips.
Before I could drink it, my dad said, “They didn’t have any Diet Coke, so I brought you some unsweetened tea.”
“Tea?” I wrinkled my nose.
“It was the only thing they had besides beer and hard liquor.”
I took a sip and frowned.
He handed me a packet of brown raw sugar.
“I’m not drinking unsweetened tea and putting sugar in it. I might as well have a Coke.”
“This sugar is healthy and it won’t add that many calories to the tea. Coke will rot your teeth.”
After adding the sugar, I took another sip, frowned and handed it back to him. “I’ll just go thirsty!”
Dad shrugged and handed me several pink packets out of his front pocket. “I knew you’d say that, but I tried. This fake sugar has more chemicals in it than anyone should put in their body.”
“Sugar substitute?” I frowned. My favorite drink was Diet Coke and tea wouldn’t have been my second choice. Water would have been better.
“It’s not the same kind of imitation sugar that’s in your Diet Coke but it’s the only kind they had at the bar. It’s basically the same thing – just a bunch of chemicals,” he offered.
I nodded, then added two packets to my drink and took a tentative taste. I had to admit – it was pretty good, very different from the carbonation and taste of my Diet Coke, but sweet and refreshing. Sometimes with soda, no matter how much you drink, it never quenches your thirst.
“Not bad,” I told him, taking another sip.
“It’s better for you than all that soda, Liza. But it would be even better without the fake sugar.”
I ignored his comment, just like I had done for years. Having parents that were ecology freaks and vegetarians had been a strange upbringing. Our garbage can a
t home was always empty because we recycled and composted everything. I had my first piece of meat when I was eighteen. It was a bacon cheeseburger and I still remember how good it tasted. Now, I try to consume as much meat as possible to make up for the years without it.
“So what do you suspect that Mullins guy of doing?” Dad asked.
“I don’t know. He just hits me wrong.”
“Could it be that he’s dating a woman younger than you?”
“That’s part of it, I suppose. But I wouldn’t call it dating, more like controlling. The three of us were having a conversation over at Sheryl Ann’s and Grace’s attention would wander, usually to the butt of a young cowboy, and he’d clear his throat and she’d jerk her attention back to us. It was weird.”
Dad laughed and said, “It is hard for us old guys to compete with a rodeo cowboy.”
I rolled my eyes, but would have to agree with Grace’s taste. I liked the way Tom looked in his cowboy gear, too. “I also think he’s up to something with Doc Sanders. I just saw them arguing over in the corner and Jackson overheard them talking about hydrocarbons and viper trucks. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Hydrocarbons are a simple organic compound consisting only of hydrogen and carbon but there are lots of different kinds of hydrocarbons.”
“Really?”
“Yes. The propane in your BBQ and cooking oil in your kitchen are hydrocarbons. Hydrocarbons are found in oil rich ground and if gasoline, oil, charcoal, or garbage is burned they release polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons which can cause cancer.”
“So hydrocarbons are bad?”
“Not all. Fish oil, which is also a hydrocarbon, is believed to have health benefits ranging from reducing the risk of heart attack and coronary heart disease to combating depression, bipolar disorder and schizophrenia.”
“That’s not too helpful, Dad.”
He shrugged and said, “It’s just too big of a category. Put together a different number of hydrogen and carbon molecules and you’ve got a totally different substance. I think they’re even using some hydrocarbon molecules to help mutate cells to make them resistant to diphtheria. I read that somewhere on the Internet.”
