Kansas Troubles

by Earlene Fowler

  “You look great,” Gabe said, coming up behind me and taking the brush out of my hand. He brushed my hair for a few seconds, then lifted it and softly kissed the nape of my neck. “I wanted to do that the very first time I brushed your hair. Remember?”

  A lump lodged in my throat. How could we care so much about each other and still have this huge gulf between us? Then I got annoyed. Men. Instead of really trying to solve a problem, they trot out old memories to distract us. And invariably we fall for it. I moved away from his seductive lips and changed the conversation. “Did you and Dewey talk?”

  “Yes, I called him this afternoon. Don’t worry. He and I have been growling and snapping at each other since we were kids.” He rested his hands on my shoulders and gave me his most devastating smile. “How was the mall?”

  “I didn’t go to the mall. I went out to Miller to visit Hannah.”

  His genial look dissolved. “You said you were going to the mall.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “What business do you have with Tyler’s sister?”

  “When I visited her with Becky, she agreed to make a quilt for me, so I met her at the fabric store in Miller to pick out fabric. Then I went to her house to copy some quilting patterns her grandmother designed. She asked me and Becky to pack up Tyler’s things and store them at Becky’s until she could decide what to do with them. Tyler’s husband didn’t want them.” I still found that incredibly sad. I thought about the first six months after Jack died and how being surrounded by his possessions was the only thing that kept me sane. I remember picking up the last T-shirt he’d worn before he was killed. I folded it and set it on his side of the bed. Eventually I threw it out because I couldn’t bear to wash his scent away.

  Gabe tucked his burgundy polo shirt into his Levi’s, his jaw muscles tight, hard knots. “I assume the police have searched her place already.”

  “Yes, I stopped by the station on the way here and asked Dewey. He said it was okay.”

  “I’m glad he feels so free about giving my wife permission to get involved in his murder investigation.”

  “For cryin’ out loud, I’m not involved in the investigation. I’m just helping Hannah. What could you possibly find wrong with that?”

  He ran a hand over his face. “I just don’t like you being involved in this, even peripherally. I’m not crazy about the fact that you might be the only one who heard the person who murdered Tyler.”

  “The trees muffled the voices. I can’t really identify anyone.”

  “That person doesn’t know that.”

  “Gabe, we’ve only got a little more than a week left here. You know as well as I do they probably won’t solve her murder that quickly. Then we’ll fly back to San Celina, and this will just be a bad memory. I’m going to be okay.” I dug through my leather backpack and pulled out the essentials—keys, comb, wallet, lip gloss—to put into a compact leather-tooled purse that would be easier to carry at a club. I stuck John’s note in to show to Becky. “Really, Gabe, I’m going to be fine,” I repeated when he didn’t answer.

  He just gave me a skeptical look.

  Prairie City Nights was a square, monstrous building sandwiched between a Dollar-Rent-A-Car repair lot and a Wichita Holiday Inn that had seen better times. A little after eight o’clock, the parking lot was already teeming with trucks of all ages and colors with the brand names leaning toward Dodge, Ford, and Chevy. The barrelchested bouncers, dressed in black Wranglers, black cowboy shirts, and red bandannas were already guarding the double width doors taking tickets and checking ID’s. Gabe and I picked up the passes Lawrence had left for us at the ticket booth and squeezed our way into the gymnasium-style building. Lawrence and his silent business partner, one of the biggest cattle ranchers in eastern Kansas, had turned Prairie City Nights into Wichita’s most popular country-western nightclub. An oval bar dominated the center of the room with a dance floor circling it like a running track. At one end of the rectangular room, two big-screen televisions hung over a “pickup” bar made of an old red and white Chevy pickup truck cut in half horizontally; opposite the bar was the elevated stage where the band performed. Compared to the outside temperature, the air was icy cold and already pungent with the heady smell of beer, cigarettes, and the sweet cornucopia of women’s perfumes. Across the packed dance floor couples two-stepped and twirled to Vince Gill begging his lady to not let their love go slippin’ away.

  “Over there.” Gabe pointed to a roped-off group of tables next to the bandstand. Janet stood up and waved to us. Becky and Stan were already there, talking to an attractive young woman with wavy brown hair and thick eye makeup, who I assumed was Janet and Lawrence’s troublemaking daughter, Megan. Cordie June was on stage fiddling with some equipment while the band set up. She wore shiny black leggings with silver, black, and electric-blue cowboy boots and a spangly blue Western jacket. I scanned the five guys in Snake Poison Posse and wondered which one was Tyler’s friend T.K.

  After we ordered drinks—Coke for me and club soda for Gabe—Lawrence joined us, entering the club from a side door that was almost hidden in the wood paneling. “Everyone set up okay? Remember, everything’s on the house.”

  Within the next hour Dewey and Rob both arrived. Rob was pale, and I noticed his hand tremble slightly when the waitress handed him a bottle of Coors. Initially everyone was overly solicitous of him, especially when Cordie June requested donations for Tyler’s reward fund, but when the band started playing, attention was diverted from Rob, and I could see him start to relax. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he watched Cordie June sing the lead vocals on songs that only last week had been Tyler’s.

  “Has anybody out there ever been in love?” Cordie June cooed into the microphone. The red spotlight turned her hair to fire. A lusty cheer rose from the crowd. “Has anybody out there ever been in love and out in one night?” The crowd screamed their affirmation. “Then this one’s for you.” The band rolled into Highway 101’s “Love Walks.” She strutted across the stage, throwing everything she had into the performance, whining the words into the microphone, cradling it in her hands and sassing back to the electric guitars as if they were renegade lovers. Tonight she was getting what she’d always wanted—center stage. I scanned the crowd, wondering if the producer she’d mentioned last night was out there making a decision that could change her life forever. One little decision and her life takes another road, I thought. Just like the decision Tyler made leaving the Amish. Just like the decision the killer made when he or she took Tyler’s life.

  “Hey, sugar.” Dewey came up to me and held out his hand. “Think the old man there would care if I twirled you around the track a time or two?”

  I glanced over at Gabe, deep in conversation with Stan about the President’s latest crime bill. “Who cares what he thinks? Besides, he probably wouldn’t even notice.”

  “Oh, he’ll notice,” Dewey said, pulling me up and leading me to the dance floor. “But we’ll do it, anyway.” We caught the last minute of the Highway 101 song. The band started a slow dance, and the couples moved closer together while Cordie June and one of the band members harmonized on a Patsy Cline song—“I’ll Be Loving You Always.”

  “Hope Cordie June doesn’t get jealous,” I said as we danced in front of the stage. “I’m too old to get in a cat fight over a man.”

  Dewey’s soft laugh sounded double-edged. “Don’t worry about that. When the queen of country is on stage, she isn’t thinking of anything but herself.”

  “Well, cowboy,” I said, after we’d circled the dance floor twice. “You may not be able to sing, but you’re a darn good dancer.”

  “Thank my mother for that,” he said. “She always told me that women would flock to a guy who knew how to dance.”

  “Was she right?”

  “No.”

  “C’mon, women love men who can take them dancing.”

  “Let me ask you something. Did Gabe ever take you dancing?”

&
nbsp; “Gabe? Dance?” I laughed. “No way.”

  “And he’s never had trouble getting women.”

  “Are you trying to make me jealous?” I asked. “It won’t work.”

  “Just stating facts. You want to know what really attracts women?”

  “Wait, let me get my tape recorder. Can I quote you on this, Mr. Hugh Hefner of the High Plains?”

  “Don’t smart-mouth me. This here is the inside scoop on the male psyche.”

  “Hey, don’t stop. I’m making mental notes. Maybe I’ll write a book.”

  “What really attracts women is silence.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” The song ended, and he took my hand and led me over to the center bar. “One Coke and one Chivas Regal, straight,” he told the bartender. He leaned against the bar and gave me his lazy grin.

  “You’re wrong. Women hate that. We want men who will talk to us.”

  “Hah! That’s what you all say, but you all love those quiet, brooding types who won’t open up to you. Drives you crazy, but you can’t get enough.”

  “You’re full of baloney.”

  “Am I? What about you and Gabe? I bet he has you running in circles trying to figure out his innermost secret thoughts.”

  I grabbed my Coke and started back toward the tables. What had started out as a casual joking conversation about men and women in general had turned way too personal. And it hit way too close to home.

  “Don’t get your feathers all ruffled,” he said, following me. “Men are just as bad. We love the unattainable, too. Can’t resist the challenge.”

  I ignored him and kept walking.

  “Now, sugar, don’t be mad. I was just rattling on,” he wheedled.

  “What’s he rattling on about now?” Belinda asked when we reached the group. She and Chet had arrived while Dewey and I were on the dance floor. Everyone was making a fuss over their son, teasing him about past bull and bronc rides and making jokes about what would likely happen to certain parts of his anatomy tomorrow night at the Pretty Prairie Rodeo. He endured everyone’s kidding with a shy, good-natured grin.

  I sat next to Becky. “I went out to see Hannah today.”

  “You did?” She looked surprised. “Why?”

  I told her about the quilt pattern and material we picked out, then quickly told her about Tyler’s belongings and John’s not wanting them.

  “Poor Hannah,” Becky said, stirring her drink absently. “This is so hard for her.”

  “She wants us to clean out Tyler’s place and asked if you would store her stuff until she can decide what to do with it.” I pulled the note out of my purse and handed it to her.

  She read it, then looked up at me. “It’s okay with the police?”

  “Yes, I checked with Dewey.”

  “Let me think,” she said. “Tomorrow’s Thursday. The quilt show doesn’t open until Friday at four. We’re hanging the quilts Friday morning . . . going to the rodeo tomorrow night. How about tomorrow morning? I’ve got a bunch of empty boxes in my garage.”

  “Sounds fine to me,” I said. “As far as I know, my day is free.”

  Belinda and Janet walked up and set a couple of platters of nachos on our table. “What are you two cooking up over here?” Belinda asked.

  “We’re going to clean out Tyler’s room tomorrow,” Becky said, showing her the note. Janet and Belinda glanced over it quickly. For some reason, I wished no one knew we were doing this except Dewey, but since it didn’t seem to bother Becky, I shrugged off my uneasy feeling.

  “Glad it’s you and not me,” Janet said. “What a way to spend a day.”

  “I don’t know,” Belinda said, dipping her head back and drinking from her bottle of Coors. “Might be kind of interesting, playing detective. Maybe Becky and Benni will find something the cops have missed.”

  I looked at her curiously, wondering why she’d be thinking the exact same thing that had crossed my mind. She arched one eyebrow and gave me a small half-smile. I took the note back and slipped it into my purse. The conversation moved away from Tyler and focused on the upcoming rodeo. In the course of the conversation, I learned that Cordie June was taking Tyler’s place in yet one more thing—she would sing the national anthem on opening night. Belinda gave a disgusted snort when Janet brought it up.

  “Now, girls,” Becky said, trying to keep peace. I picked at the guacamole-and-sour-cream-covered nachos and listened without joining in.

  Gabe sat down next to me, snatching the tortilla chip en route to my mouth and popping it into his. “What’s the deal between you and Dewey?”

  I shrugged and reached for another chip. “What do you mean?”

  “Over at the bar. What was he saying that you didn’t like?”

  I looked at him coolly, still smarting from Dewey’s casual but accurate assessment of our relationship. “It wasn’t anything important.”

  “The look on your face said it was.”

  “Well, it wasn’t.” I flashed a big, phony smile. I could play the secrets game myself.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice concerned and a bit confused.

  “Just fine.” I turned back to Becky. “By the way, which guy in the band is T.K.?”

  She pointed to the man holding a bright red electric guitar. He was as lanky as a eucalyptus tree, with black waist-length hair pulled back in a braid. The scowling Yosemite Sam picture on his T-shirt matched the expression on his rangy face. Becky leaned over and whispered to me, “Lawrence said he’s taking Tyler’s death real hard. He’s thinking about leaving the band. Apparently he and Cordie June don’t get along that well.”

  When the set ended and the disc jockey took over for the band’s half-hour break, Cordie June and the rest of the band wandered over to our tables. After a quick round of introductions, I noticed T.K. go through the same door in the paneling that Lawrence had disappeared through earlier. I assumed it led to the club’s offices. I glanced at Gabe, now talking to Chet and Dewey, then got up and followed T.K. The door opened onto a long hallway that led to a couple of storage rooms and a door with a small metal sign that said “Office.” It opened, and Lawrence walked out.

  “Benni,” he said. “Is there something you need?” Up close, out of the softened amber lights of the bar, he looked harried and tired. Swollen purplish half-moons, enlarged by his glasses, framed the bottom of his eyes.

  “No,” I said quickly. “I’m just looking for a little fresh air.”

  He pointed down the long hallway. “Turn left at the end of this hall, the second door on your right is an exit. Be careful, though—that’s the back parking lot. Sometimes it gets a little rough back there.”

  “I’ll stick close by the door.”

  “Don’t let it close on you,” he cautioned. “It locks automatically.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” I started to walk away.

  “Hey.” He grabbed my arm, his face twitching with nervous tension. “I heard you and Becky are cleaning out Tyler’s room tomorrow.”

  Word does get around fast, I thought. “Yes, we are. Why?”

  “No reason.” His Adam’s apple moved up and down convulsively, belying his casual tone. “What are you going to do with her things?”

  I could have said, Why do you want to know? but I answered evenly, “Becky’s going to store them until Tyler’s sister decides what she wants to do with them. Apparently Tyler’s husband has no interest in any of her personal stuff.”

  He looked disgusted. “And people wonder why she left.”

  “I think there’s always two sides to every story,” I said carefully. Lawrence would naturally be on Tyler’s side, but he had no idea of the difficult position she’d left John in. I sympathized with Tyler but thought, after reading about the rules of the Amish, it would have been kinder if she’d made the decision to leave the community before she married John.

  “So, the police have already searched her place,” Lawrence went on. He pushed his sliding eyegl
asses up with a long finger.

  “Yes, that’s why they’re letting Becky and me pack up her stuff.”

  “Did they find anything that might point to who did it?” he asked casually. Too casually, it seemed to me.

  “If they did, they aren’t telling me. Why don’t you ask Dewey?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I was just curious.”

  Taking a stab in the dark, I asked, “Is there something specific you’re thinking about?”

  He looked at me sharply. “No. Why do you ask?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know—it just sounded as if you had something specific in mind. If there’s something you want us to look for . . .”

  “She sang in my club,” he said, his voice stiff. “She was a friend as well as an employee. That’s all there was to it, no matter what anyone says.”

  So far, except for some ambiguous remarks made by his wife, no one had said anything. Of course, he didn’t know that. It confirmed Gabe’s theory about interrogating people. The average, non-criminally-oriented person will tell you much more than he intended to if you simply lead him with a few well-chosen questions and then let him talk. Unfortunately Lawrence was not average, or had some experience at being interrogated. He abruptly changed the subject.

  “Like I said, better be careful. It can get real rowdy out there sometimes.” This time, his words came out almost harshly and sent a small shiver down my spine. Was there the tiniest hint of a threat in his words?

  “I’ll be okay,” I said, telling myself I was imagining things. “Gabe knows where I am,” I lied, just for good measure.

  “Good,” he said, his face mild again. He turned and went toward the door that led back to the nightclub.