Don't Mess with Texas

by Christie Craig

  “I’d take a clown over a spider any day of the week,” said Jamie. Like Zoe, she was in her mid-twenties.

  “I can step on a spider,” Zoe said looking from Jamie to Beth and Melinda. “Clowns are too big for my size sixes.” She held up her foot. “I don’t know what it is, but I see one and it’s like I hear scary music and my mind starts flashing Friday the 13th images.” In truth, clowns weren’t her biggest fear. Small, dark places scared Zoe more than anything. Not that she’d ever share that with the ladies at Cookie’s, or anyone else for that matter. Some things Zoe didn’t talk about. Especially the things she didn’t understand. And lately her life was filled with a lot of those things. Crazy how watching an episode of the TV series Unsolved Mystery Hunters had turned her life upside down, and sent her from Alabama to Texas in search of… the truth.

  “Roaches. The kind that fly. I hate ’em,” Dixie Talbot said, joining in on the conversation. In her early sixties, Dixie was the matriarchal cook, waitress, and part-owner of Cookie’s Café. “Years ago, I was standing right over there by booth two and one of those nasty creatures flew into my shirt.”

  Zoe stopped counting her money and laughed. “Yeah, Fred told me about the little striptease you pulled, too.”

  “Honey, he’d better be glad that roach flew off my right boob once the top came off or I swear to everything holy I’d have been standing there naked as a jaybird.”

  “Was that the day he proposed to you?” Zoe asked.

  They all laughed. It was the laughter, the camaraderie of Dixie and the other diner employees that kept Zoe from looking for a higher-paying gig while in Texas. God knew she could use the money. Kindergarten teachers in Alabama didn’t rake in the big bucks.

  Oh, it was enough to get by, but not enough to fund this research trip to Miller, Texas, when she now had to pay for two apartments. Not to mention the entire month off from work—a month she only got because the principal had been friends with her mom. But truthfully, more than money, she needed companionship. Since her mama died two years ago, and especially for the last year since, Chris, her live-in boyfriend had decided he’d rather date a stripper than a kindergarten teacher, Zoe had spent way too much time alone.

  And lonely.

  Hey, maybe she should get Dixie to teach her a few moves. Not that Zoe wanted Chris back. Nope. For four years, she’d given her heart and soul to that man. She’d already had names picked out for the two kids she was sure they’d give life to, thinking any day he’d pop the big question. And he had popped a big one. It just wasn’t the question she’d expected. Do you mind if I bring home my stripper girlfriend to live here until you can find another place?

  Okay, he hadn’t actually worded it like that, but he might as well have. He’d taken Zoe’s heart, and returned it, along with her self-esteem, in a big mangled mess. Not so much of a mess that she hadn’t reminded him that she’d been the one to rent the apartment, and he could just grab his stuff and get the hell out. Nor had he been so shocked at her suddenly found backbone that he hadn’t called her a bitch for not being understanding. Didn’t she understand it wasn’t his fault he’d fallen in love with someone else?

  What she understood was that she’d been played for a fool—paying most of the bills, being his personal house cleaner, trying to be the perfect little Alabama housewife. Even a year later, it still stung like a paper cut right across her heart.

  Zoe’s cell rang. Considering she’d gotten all of two calls in the four weeks she’d been in Texas—one from her principal back in Alabama confirming she’d be at work on September 25, and the other a wrong number—a call was a big thing. Zoe checked the number. Unknown caller.

  “Hello?” Zoe answered. And while she hated it, there was a tiny part of her that hoped it would be Chris, wanting her back, telling her he’d screwed up. Not that she would ever take him back, but it would still be nice to know he missed her.

  She heard someone breathing, but nothing else. “Hello?” A click sounded. Stashing her phone back in her apron, a tad disappointed, she looked up at Dixie. “Can I use your computer for a bit?”

  “You betcha. Just stay off those porn sites,” Dixie teased.

  “Just can’t help myself,” Zoe shot back as she scooted her butt off the stool. “I haven’t had any in a month of Sundays.”

  “I could remedy that,” offered Peter, the new fry cook who couldn’t be more than seventeen.

  “I’ll consider it as soon as you get written permission from your mama,” Zoe said and while all the employees snickered, she grabbed her canvas bag with a change of clothes, and went back to the office.

  Five minutes later, Dixie brought two big bowls of chicken and dumplings into the office and set one down in front of Zoe on the oversized and timeworn oak desk. “Eat lunch before you go.”

  Zoe looked up and smiled. It had been a long time since she’d had anyone looking out for her. She was going to miss Dixie when she went back home.

  “Thanks. I’ve been smelling these cooking all morning.” She dished a big spoonful into her mouth and moaned as the savory taste exploded on her tongue. “My mama used to make these.”

  “Mine are better,” Dixie teased and dropped down into the worn desk chair beside Zoe and started eating. After a few minutes of silence, Dixie asked, “You miss her—your mama, I mean?”

  “Like the dickens. She was special.” But if what Zoe suspected was the truth, her mama had a side of her Zoe never knew. In the pro-con list Zoe had made before she decided to actually come here, uncovering her parents’ ugly secrets had been the only con.

  Dixie’s gaze shifted to the computer monitor.

  Zoe felt the need to grab the mouse and delete the screen. But, realizing it would be rude she forced herself to just keep eating. Besides, Dixie had already gotten a peek at what Zoe was researching last week when she’d stepped out of the office for a potty break and forgotten to close the screen. When she’d returned, Dixie was reading the article Zoe had found at the library and had download onto a flash drive.

  “The Bradfords again?” Dixie asked. “Is there a reason you’re intrigued with that rich family?”

  Zoe glanced at the screen. She couldn’t divulge everything. People would think she was crazy—hell, sometimes she considered the possibility herself—but she could tell Dixie part of it. “There was a story about them on that Unsolved Mystery Hunters show a couple months back. I guess I just love a good puzzle.”

  “About the murder of that kid?” Dixie asked.

  Zoe nodded and her chest constricted.

  “I remember when it happened. They never did find out who killed her. Sad stuff.”

  “Yeah.” Zoe spooned another bite into her mouth and stared at the picture of Thomas Bradford. It was as if Zoe felt by staring at the man, she could discover the truth. But no such discovery came.

  “I heard that the old man isn’t doing so well. The kids and grandkids are already fighting over his inheritance. Lucky for me, all I’ve got is this run-down café, and neither of my kids want anything to do with it.”

  “It’s not so run-down,” Zoe said. “Best food in town.” She spooned another dumpling and a big chunk of stewed chicken into her mouth.

  Dixie chuckled. “That’s because you’re not a citified gal like my kids. My son ran off to California to learn to talk like they do on the six o’clock news. Works for a radio station out there. Boy’s ashamed of his southern roots. And my daughter—you wouldn’t catch a dumpling within six feet of her lips. Says she’s allergic to carbs.”

  Zoe frowned. “I haven’t met a carb I haven’t loved. Guess it shows, too. I’ll bet I’ve gained five pounds since I started working here.”

  “And you’re wearing it well, too, honey. You should see the guys checking out your butt when you walk away.” Dixie looked back at the computer screen. “If you’re real curious about the Bradfords, you should ask those PIs who come in for my chili cheeseburgers on Tuesdays. They do something for the Bradfords.” />
  Zoe’s interest peaked. “What PIs?” She surely didn’t have money to hire a private investigator, but if they had knowledge of the Bradfords, she could at least ask them some questions. How much would they charge just to talk to her? Nothing, she hoped.

  “Those three hunk-a-hunk men, two dark haired and one blond. All of them drool worthy, especially that Tyler Lopez. They own that PI agency, same name as the litter campaign, Don’t Mess with Texas.” Dixie shook her head. “Are you seriously telling me you haven’t noticed them?”

  Zoe tried to think. “They only come in on Tuesdays?” While she didn’t recall them, she mentally stored away the title of the agency.

  Dixie dropped her spoon in her bowl. “Girl, you are either blind or a lesbian not to have noticed them.”

  “Neither. Self-preservation. Just mending a broken heart,” Zoe said honestly. “I’m not sure men are worth the risk so I’ve trained myself not to notice things like sexy bedroom eyes or wide shoulders.” But she was getting a little breathless just thinking about it. Maybe she should reconsider dating again. If for no other reason than to have someone call her every now and then, and make her cell phone worth its monthly charge.

  “Oh, honey, these would be worth it. Then again, ’cause I like ya, if you noticed them too much I’d reel you in so fast you’d leave skid marks on my linoleum.”

  “What’s wrong with them?” Zoe tried to feign only a mild curiosity while she pushed another dumpling around her bowl. But on the inside she was chomping at the bit and felt her excitement growing by leaps and bounds. This might be her one big break. The one that answered the questions Zoe had been looking for all her life—questions that had exploded after seeing the special on the unsolved mystery on the Bradford kidnapping and murder.

  God knew all her other plans had seemed to fail. Phone calls to the Bradford businesses, a visit to their lawyer, and even a couple of drop-in visits to the mansion—not that she’d gotten past the security gate. The last time she’d been told by one security guard that if he saw her there again, he was calling the cops.

  Heck, she’d even tried following the limo when they’d left the house, and got herself a nice little ticket for running a red light that she didn’t run. The cop who gave her the ticket suggested she go find another old fart to attempt to seduce because Mr. Bradford wasn’t in the market for an Anna Nicole.

  “Nothing wrong with them if you like suspected murderers.” Dixie arched her painted brow.

  “They’re murderers?” Zoe asked.

  “I said suspected. They used to be cops. Supposedly they got involved in some seedy drug deals, and then they got arrested for brutally murdering this couple. Practically decapitated the woman.” She ran a finger across her neck. “It was big news in town. Then they got convicted and went to jail.”

  Zoe reached up to touch her neck and felt her jaw fall open a bit. “And what? They escape every Tuesday just for your chili cheeseburgers?”

  Dixie laughed. “Hey, my cooking’s that good. But actually, they got let go.”

  “So they’re not guilty?” Zoe really hoped that was the case. If she was going to look them up, and you could bet she was, she’d like it if they weren’t really murderers.

  “Well, that depends on who you talk to. You know small towns, folks around here get one thing in their mind and changing it is about as easy as chewing glass. My neighbor has a son-in-law who works for the Glencoe Police Department where they worked. According to him, they had those three down and dirty. But then they got themselves… What you call that when the governor lets someone go?”

  “Pardoned?” Zoe asked.

  “No, the other word. Oh, yeah. Exonerated. That’s what they got.”

  “Dixie,” Jamie called from out front. “Lunch crowd is dripping in.”

  “Guess I’m on again.” Dixie stood up and pressed a hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “I like you, kid. I really wish you’d stick around here.”

  Emotion filled Zoe’s chest. Reaching back, Zoe put her hand on top of Dixie’s. “I like you, too. But I’ve a job waiting for me in Alabama.”

  As soon as Dixie disappeared, Zoe sat there a few minutes letting that wonderful feeling of hearing Dixie’s words stir in her chest. Nothing like feeling someone actually cared about you.

  Then she shifted her thinking gears and wondered if she should wait until Tuesday and hope the PI threesome showed up, or if she should take matters into her own hands. A surge of impatience stirred inside her and she hit the Google search engine. Typing in the agency name, she whispered, “Come to Mama.” Then she reached up and touched her neck again, hoping her impatience didn’t lead to her losing her head. Figuratively, of course.

  Less than thirty minutes later, Zoe parked in front of the Don’t Mess with Texas building. The sign in the window read they were open. The fact that her little Google search informed her that until recently the place of business had housed a funeral home almost seemed absurd. Convicted—albeit exonerated—murderers had bought an old funeral home to house their business. Was there not something slightly off about that? Maybe three angry ex-cops making a point to the townsfolk who’d judged them unfairly?

  But slightly off, or angry men or not, she wanted answers. So she grabbed her purse, climbed out of her dependable silver Chevy Cobalt and went to see if she could find them. Stopping at the door of the large red brick building, she released her shoulder-length auburn hair from her ponytail and shook it out. Her hair, a tad too thick and too curly for her tastes, usually caught a man’s eye and if it took letting her hair down for a bit to encourage one of these men to talk with her, she wasn’t above doing it.

  All she had to figure out was how much to tell the PIs. She knew sooner or later, she was going to have to trust someone. She just wasn’t sure who or when. Stepping inside the business, leaving the bright sunshine for a dark room, she allowed her eyes a few seconds to adjust. And when they did, her gaze caught on the only piece of “furniture”—if you could call it that—in the room. She took a quick step back. A coffin, yup, an honest to goodness coffin with a raised lid, bracketed the back wall.

  “Hello?” she muttered in the dead silence. And it did feel dead. Like a funeral home felt. She’d been in too many already in her life. First her dad at age sixteen, her best friend who’d been killed in a car accident their senior year of high school, and then her mom. Personally, she preferred not to ever have to visit another one.

  A noise, a slight moan, echoed from the room. No wait… not from the room, but from the casket. Shit! Her heart started racing. Her eyes shot back to the casket, and her hands jerked behind her, feeling for the doorknob. Then another snortlike noise came from the coffin. Suddenly a big canine face popped up and rested its round head on the coffin’s wooden edge.

  Zoe let go of a nervous chuckle. “A vampire dog, huh?”

  The dog stretched its neck—what little neck it had—and then leapt out of the casket and came sniffing around her feet.

  “So, you’re the official door greeter?” She knelt to pet the English bulldog as it started sniffing her up and down. “You smell Lucky on me? Or is it the Slam Dunk, Three-Egg Dollar Ninety-Nine special you smell?” It usually took two or three shampoos to get the smell of bacon from her hair. After a couple of seconds of giving the animal attention, she stood back up.

  “Hello?” she called again.

  And again no one answered. She walked down the hall. The dog followed at her feet, his paws clicking on the wood floor, but the lack of noise filtering into the building seemed louder than the clickity-clack of his paws. The first door to the left was a large office. Three unmanned desks filled the room. She stepped inside.

  A sign hanging from the front desk said, “If no one is here, press the button.”

  Zoe looked for a button to press. The desk was covered with various files and papers. Was the button under those? Moving in, she looked around the desk. She started to raise a big pile of files when a name on one of the files caught her
eye. Bradford.

  Was this the same Bradford?

  Zoe reached for the file then pulled her hand back as if it might bite. Then she reached for it again and pulled back again. Yanking her purse higher on her shoulder, she stood there while her conscience played tug-of-war with her desire for answers. She gave the room a good look-see for anyone who might tattle if she… took a small peek.

  Looking down at the dog, she asked, “You wouldn’t tell on me, would you?”

  When he shook his head back and forth, she laughed.

  Finally, her desire for answers won over. She reached down and flipped open the file. Less than a dozen sheets of paper took up residence there. The first one looked like a résumé. She picked it up to read it when the sound of a door opening filled the quiet office.

  The dog barked and took off running.

  Feeling as if she’d been caught doing something really bad, she dropped the papers back on the desk, and slapped the file closed. She stepped away from behind the desk, but in her haste to move quickly, her purse knocked the folder off, and the file and all dozen or so papers scattered on the floor.

  “Damn,” she muttered and dropped to the floor on her hands and knees to gather the evidence of her wrongdoing. She heard footsteps moving closer and her heart pounded.

  Snagging the folder and papers, she threw them on the desk. She was about to stand up when she heard the footsteps enter the room, followed by the sounds of clicking paws.

  Friggin’ great.

  Now all she had to explain was why she was down on all fours behind someone’s desk. Her heart did another flip-flop when she remembered she was possibly dealing with angry ex-cops, now ex-cons who’d been accused of murder.