If only he were a little a more approachable.
Losing her nerve, Dymphna went to plan B. She’d go into the store to buy something. She racked her brain, trying to think of what items Dodge kept for sale near the post office wall. She’d already been snooping—would it compound the crime if she tried to see what was in Wally’s post office box?
As she climbed the stairs, she saw Dodge come out of the building and hand Wally Wasabi an envelope. She was close enough to see the black rose on the label.
So much for plan B.
Did the black rose have anything to do with the writing? What kind of correspondence couldn’t be accomplished by e-mail? Granted, when they first got to Fat Chance, they didn’t know they could communicate with the outside world, but that was eons ago. Whatever was up with Wally had been going on since they first came to Spoonerville and he’d ordered a post office box. Perhaps there was something more threatening going on than she suspected. Was the passionate prose some sort of code? One thing was clear: If he wanted her to know, he would have told her. Wally slid the envelope into his back pocket and Dymphna slid back down the stairs.
As the residents of Fat Chance headed down the road in the wagon and on foot, back to Fat Chance, Dodge pulled up in a cloud of smoke. He leaned his head out of his big pickup.
“Anybody want a ride back to Fat Chance?” he asked, looking directly at Cleo.
“We’ve got the animals,” Powderkeg said from the road, where he was walking with Jerry Lee.
“What about you, ma’am?” Dodge asked Cleo.
“Don’t mind if I do!” Cleo pulled open the passenger door and hopped in.
The pickup roared away, leaving a startled Powderkeg, Professor Johnson, Titan, Wally, and Dymphna in its wake.
“I would have taken a ride,” Titan said.
Dymphna shot a glance at Powderkeg, who looked stormily after the pickup truck.
“What was that about?” Powderkeg said.
Wally snorted. “Dude, looks like you got some competition.”
There is no way Wally Wasabi wrote about “drop earrings and spaghetti straps,” Dymphna thought to herself.
An hour later, as Fat Chance came into view, Dymphna caught her breath. The place looked like a real town. In the time it took her and the others to walk back, the rest of the group had carted box after box down the trail and were piling everything on the boardwalk.
We haven’t even had the festival, and we’ve already brought this crazy place back to life.
Powderkeg broke into her thoughts. “I guess Dodge only took Cleo as far as the turnout,” he groused, noting Dodge’s absence. “Probably didn’t want to haul his fat ass down the trail.”
“That’s the spirit,” Titan said. “It’s important to look on the bright side.”
Dymphna smiled. She loved how Titan saw the positive in every situation.
Dymphna watched Pappy cover his eyes to block the sun. He was on the lookout for the group heading into town with the animals. Dymphna knew Pappy played the tough guy, but she also knew he always wanted to make sure Jerry Lee was all right.
“About time you got here,” Pappy said. “Get those saddlebags unloaded. It’s gonna take all of us to get Titan’s trunks down here.”
Old Bertha put her foot down at making one more trip up the trail.
“You can get those trunks without me,” she said, heading back to the Creakside. “I’m done.”
“You going to bail on us, too, Cleo?” Powderkeg asked. “You must be worn out from your road trip with Dodge.”
Cleo let out a throaty laugh as the group headed up toward the Covered Volkswagen. “I just wanted to make sure I’ve still got it,” she said.
“You need a man like Dodge to prove that to you?”
“I don’t see a lot of options around here. Besides, you know that old saying, ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.’”
“I don’t get it,” Powderkeg said.
“If we don’t pull this off,” Cleo said seriously, “we’re going to owe that man a lot of money.”
“What’s it to you?” Wally asked, not even pretending they all weren’t listening. “You’re gonna be a gazillionaire.”
“It’s not about me,” Cleo said. “It’s about us—all of us. Don’t forget this little experiment is my father’s idea. I need this to work!”
“You do?” Professor Johnson sounded surprised.
Dymphna was glad he asked. As Cleo’s nephew, he was the only one who could pose the question. Cleo did seem to be making the best of things since she got here, but Dymphna never thought she really cared.
“Yes, I do,” Cleo said. “I don’t . . . I don’t want Daddy to have misplaced his faith in us.”
Dymphna wanted to hug her. While this was the most personal statement Cleo had made the entire time they had been in Fat Chance, she was still not giving off any indication she’d like to be comforted. Titan obviously didn’t pick up on this, because he swept Cleo into a bear hug, lifting her off her feet.
“Fandango-Up is going to be the greatest party ever,” Titan said. “Don’t you worry.”
“All right, all right,” Cleo said rigidly, as Titan put her back on her feet. “I’ll try. Thank you, Titan.”
As the group made their way to the VW, Dymphna stood back and watched them. Cleo was not the only one worried about Fandango-Up in Fat Chance. It had been her idea, but they had all gone 100 percent into this endeavor. None of them had looked back and she knew none of them would blame her if the festivities didn’t come off as planned. But Cleo was right. If they didn’t succeed, it would be a failure not only financially, but a failure of the heart.
Of all their hearts.
Could that many broken hearts ever be repaired?
Dymphna shook herself out of her contemplation. While Wally, Rodney, and Rock struggled to yank one trunk from the van, Titan pulled the other one out by himself.
“How are you going to get these down the hill?” Polly asked. “They weigh a ton.”
“Maybe Jerry Lee can take them down?” Professor Johnson offered.
“That would be too much for him,” Pappy said, shaking his head. “That much weight would really piss him off, and I don’t like to piss off my mule.”
“Words to live by, Pappy,” Powderkeg said.
“What about dragging them with the ATVs?” Rock suggested.
“One of the reasons we drive ATVs is because we’ve got to drive up and down the hills around here—we’ve never been able to navigate that trail,” Rodney said. “So there’s no way we could haul trunks.”
“Besides, the trunks would be beat to shit if you dragged them down the trail,” Wally said.
“Maurice wouldn’t like that,” Titan said quietly.
“Maybe some sort of pulley system would work,” Powderkeg suggested.
“Like the ancient Egyptians?” Professor Johnson asked.
“Whatever,” Wally said.
“I have an idea,” Titan said.
“Lay it on us, big guy,” Rock said. “We got nothing so far.”
“Why don’t we just unpack them up here?”
The group stared at the trunks. The suggestion was so beautifully simple, it was almost impossible to comprehend. Titan positioned the first one in the dirt in front of him, creating a monster dust cloud. The trunks opened in the middle, more like a book than a suitcase. When the dust settled, Titan knelt and rattled the combination lock. Everyone groaned.
“I forgot about this,” Titan said.
“I got a hacksaw in the bus,” Pappy said.
“None of you, by any chance, would know how to pick a lock, would you?” Professor Johnson asked Rock, Rodney, and Wally Wasabi.
Dymphna winced. This was not going to go well.
“No, man,” Rock answered hotly. “Why would we?”
“Because you’re—”
“Young,” Dymphna cut in, hoping nobody called her on this, since she was not even a decade ol
der. “You know, gym lockers, skating rink lockers, that sort of thing.”
“Sorry,” Rodney said. “We don’t.”
Wally shrugged. “Me neither.”
“Actually,” Polly said, “I do.”
Dymphna blinked in surprise. Now that Polly wasn’t hiding behind layers of paint, it was easy to forget the tough façade Polly wore when she first came into town. Polly had changed. While it was impossible to credit this current Polly with a casual knowledge of basic larceny, Dymphna wondered if the mask would go back on once they left Fat Chance, or if the world might have somehow gotten kinder in the months they’d been away. Dymphna realized that everyone was staring at Polly.
“I can’t tell you how many combinations to my skating rink locker I lost,” Polly said with a sly smile.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Titan said, reaching in his pocket and retrieving a scrap of paper. “Maurice sent me the combination.”
“Damn,” Rodney said. “I really wanted to see Polly spring that baby.”
The group waited patiently as Titan rotated the dial on the lock, to no avail. Dymphna saw Powderkeg make an impatient move toward him, but Cleo put her hand on his arm and shook her head—very slightly—no.
We’ve all changed.
The group was so intent on watching the combination dial move back and forth, that when it finally sprang open with a whisper, it startled everyone. They leapt back, as if Big John had darted out of the bushes.
Titan opened the trunk and pulled the sides apart. It stood there, openmouthed, like a book on steroids. The inside of the trunk was lined with drawers. Titan opened one and pulled out what looked like a beaded bikini bottom.
“What’s that?” Rock asked.
“It’s part of a costume,” Titan said, handing it over to him.
“A very small part, I hope,” Rodney said, looking at the thong over his brother’s shoulder.
“Oh yes!” Titan said, struggling with the combination of the other trunk. “The chaps and hats are the showstoppers. They must be in here!”
Titan snapped open the other trunk, which looked like it had been stuffed with feathers. Titan reverently removed an enormous black hat. The headband was brilliantly beaded in orange, white, and gold and had at least six perfectly matched white feathers, studded with gold flashing stones on the side.
Polly couldn’t resist—she reached for it. Titan handed it over and Polly placed it on Rodney’s head. Everyone regarded Rodney, standing there in his T-shirt, jeans, and boots. The wind rippled the feathers slightly. With his tanned skin and soulful eyes, Rodney looked as if he had stepped out of the pages of history.
“You’re gorgeous,” Polly said.
“Whatever,” Wally said, annoyed.
“No,” Dymphna added. “It’s true, Rodney. You look amazing.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Rodney said. “But I’m not attacking Fat Chance in a swanky hat and a thong.”
“Yeah,” Powderkeg said. “Those thongs on the ATVs would be a killer.”
“Let’s get everything down the hill and take inventory,” Polly said.
“I’m pretty sure we have room for everything at the forge,” Titan said.
“I think it would be better to keep everything at Tops, Hats & Tails,” Polly said. “Don’t you? The forge gets pretty smoky.”
“Plus, you don’t want Fancy to think it’s a family reunion with all these feathers,” Rock said.
“Titan,” Cleo said. “Why don’t you start handing us costumes?”
Titan started with the hats. There were five of them, one more lavish than the next. Rodney, Rock, Polly, Titan, and Wally each put one on their heads . . . it was more practical to wear them than to try to carry them down the trail. Next he distributed jewelry, embroidered leggings, chaps, and boots. They headed down the hill, each festooned with the best faux-outlaw gear Las Vegas had to offer.
“These are totally awesome,” Rodney said, adjusting his hat. “We should definitely invite Mom to Fandango-Up.”
“Not if we’re wearing thongs,” Rock said.
CHAPTER 38
The inhabitants of Fat Chance got ’er done. With only two days until Fandango-Up in Fat Chance, everyone’s checklists were complete. Cleo, the self-appointed chairman of the nonexistent committee to oversee the festival, issued the order for a full dress rehearsal of the parade in twenty-four hours.
Titan wasn’t the only person in town with connections. Cleo called in a favor from one of her father’s friends, a retired costumer from the golden age of movies. She was now wearing a beaded black dance-hall girl outfit with a jet black choker and high button shoes.
Cleo was just putting a few bobby pins in her hair to hold a plume of feathers and ribbons Polly had made for her, when Powderkeg came into the café. All the men who were assigned the roles of “the townies” had grown handlebar mustaches, but Powderkeg’s was the most impressive. It was lush, auburn, and neatly skimmed his full upper lip. Powderkeg looked every inch the dandy in his silk shirt and vest, sleeve garters, and shiny black boots. His belt was one of his own creations. It was dark leather, hand-tooled and attached to a small work of art that was a buckle made by Titan.
“You look good, cowboy,” Cleo said.
“I’m not a cowboy,” Powderkeg said. “I’m a gambler. No self-respecting cow would be seen with the likes of me, little lady.”
“All right, then.” Cleo returned her attention to the feathers.
“So, Cleo,” Powderkeg said.
Cleo shook her head to make sure the feathers would hold. “So, Cleo, what?” she asked absently.
“Have you thought about what’s going to happen when this is over?”
“Well, if Fandango-Up is successful, there’ll be a lot of cleanup,” Cleo said. “I’ve made a chart that outlines everyone’s responsibilities.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Powderkeg said.
Cleo sensed the seriousness of his tone. She stopped fussing with her hair and took a seat at one of the café tables. “Then what do you mean?”
“In a few days, we’ll all leave Fat Chance,” Powderkeg said. “Everybody going their separate ways. I was just wondering—if you’ve given any thought to that.”
“Of course I have,” Cleo said. She put her hand over Powderkeg’s. “Marshall, we can’t really have a serious conversation about this dressed as Miss Kitty and Wyatt Earp. Let’s just leave it alone. Everything will work out, I promise.”
“If you say so.” He walked to the front of the café and looked out the window. “It’s funny. I know your dad meant for us to do something important here. I just thought of the whole thing as a big joke. I came because I had nothing better to do and I knew my being here would make you crazy,” he said, his back to her. “But I think we really did something important after all.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Cleo said. “The festival is still two days away.”
“I wasn’t talking about that.” He turned to face her.
Cleo stood up as he rushed to hold her. He kissed her with a passion she had not felt since—she couldn’t remember when. Then she did remember. She hadn’t felt passion like this since she’d been married to him.
“Stop! I already can’t breathe in this damn corset,” Cleo said. “Besides, I have work to do before the rehearsal—and if I checked my list right now, I bet I’d find out you do, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Powderkeg saluted. “But there is one more thing on my mind.”
“And that would be?”
“Dodge.”
“Oh please, Marshall,” Cleo said, all flirtation gone from her voice. “You haven’t grown up at all, have you? You always were jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Powderkeg protested. “Well, I am, but that’s not what’s bothering me.”
“Then what is bothering you?”
He pulled up a chair. “It just seems a little too neat, don’t you think?”
“What are you talking about?” Cleo returned to her own seat
, crossing her arms.
“When we first got here, everybody in Spoonerville was suspicious of us—Dodge especially. Add to that, the twins had taken a powder on their bowling team and took up with us. Then suddenly the twins are welcomed back, no hard feelings, no questions asked, and Dodge is Mr. Goodwill Ambassador, doing everything he can to make sure we have enough credit to buy everything we need, making sure we get all our deliveries—no small feat out here—and rounding up everybody he can. And there’s that little stunt of offering you a ride.”
“A stunt?” Cleo gasped. “What is wrong with you? If it weren’t for Dodge Durham, this whole weekend would be a fiasco.”
“It doesn’t add up,” Powderkeg said. “Just ask yourself—why?”
“Because it’s good business,” Cleo said. “Even the little stunt of being nice, if you can’t imagine that he’s attracted to me, is good business. You wouldn’t understand, because you have no business sense. Or any sense.”
“But you do?”
“I am my father’s daughter.”
“Yes, you are.” Powderkeg stood up, knocking over the chair on his way out the door.
Cleo felt hot tears forming and she pushed on her lower eyelids to keep them at bay. She had to admit, it was a pretty good trick Polly had taught them. She put her head in her hands and breathed deeply.
Damn jealous fool.
CHAPTER 39
Polly had worked hard on the little hats for the goats, but as soon as Dymphna took her eyes off Down Diego, he ate them all. Dymphna brought her goats down the hill and installed them in their pen, a home away from home, compliments of Professor Johnson.
Dymphna wore a plain white blouse and checkered skirt, with an apron made from an old sheet. She loved seeing her friends in their fantastic costumes, but she was a simple girl running a farm, and this outfit suited her. Polly had insisted on making an authentic-looking bonnet for her. Dymphna had to admit, those prairie women knew their stuff. The floppy brim took some getting used to, but there was no denying, the cotton bonnet worked as well as any space-age fiber to keep the sun off.
Welcome to Fat Chance, Texas Page 22
