by Randy Rawls
I stopped and stared after the couple, then said, “My horseshoe’s full of luck and carried a great Texas hero. That door’s full of termite eggs. Besides, I got a great buy—twenty-five dollars.”
“Sure you did,” Wanda replied with a derisive laugh.
I’d met someone who could match me quip for quip. In fact, she might be better at it. I realized she had become more than an attraction. I took her hand and turned her toward me. “You either knock off the criticism of my lucky horseshoe, or I’m going to kiss you right here. And while I’m doing it, I’ll be hoping the local Southern Baptist Deacons are watching.”
“Don’t you dare. After three marriages, I don’t need any more bad publicity. Besides, save it for later. You might get a reward.”
Her grin caused a testosterone surge that put to shame any adrenaline rush I ever had. I moved her along. I had to, or I’d have followed through on my threat. She was the queen of desirable women.
Terri Hart crept into my mind, causing a drop in my euphoria. I thought I heard her say, “It’s okay, Ace. I like her, too.”
NINETEEN
We crossed Route 64 into Dog Town, the animal section of First Monday Trade Days, a smaller area, but the same sized crowd. I saw chickens, puppies, bulls, canaries, pigs, horses, heifers, kittens, parrots…I could go on. But the most interesting animal I saw was a burro, a real, live, up close burro.
“So that’s what they look like.”
“You mean, you didn’t know?” Wanda said. “You took this case and didn’t know what Joseph looks like?”
“Wait a minute. Remember, I didn’t take this case knowing Joseph was a burro.”
“But you’ve never seen one?”
“Well, kinda. I’ve seen them in the movies. You know, with the old prospector searching for gold. But this is the first one I’ve gone eyeball to eyeball with.” I studied the specimen. “Ugly, aren’t they?”
“You best not let Chip hear you. He says Joseph’s the most beautiful animal he owns.”
I wanted to reply, a remark that would have been worthy of historical mention, I’m sure, but something from my left front distracted me. I snapped my head in that direction, but saw nothing of interest.
“What’s wrong?” Wanda asked. “You look strange.”
“I’m not sure. Something caught my attention, but I can’t identify it. I learned a long time ago to trust the right side of my brain. Let’s wander that way.”
I led Wanda in the direction that had attracted me, but everything appeared normal. We walked about twenty-five yards. “Okay, false alarm, I guess. I don’t—there, see that.” I pointed toward a man in a yellow shirt standing in a group. “Look at that shirt–the color.”
“Yellow. So what?” Wanda looked at me like I had a mouth full of loco weed. “I don’t get it.”
“Something about the shirt. Let’s move closer.” Even as I said it, the man got into a rusty pickup truck and drove off. I wasn’t close enough to get the tag number.
I rushed to cut the hypotenuse so I could see him when he came by on 64, but fate intervened. A family of six or more, each with a new puppy, walked out in front of me, and I ran over the smallest. The kid hit the ground, screaming. The puppy hit the ground, squealing, and took off. The rest of the group entertained themselves by screeching at me. By the time I helped the little one up, bribed him with a dollar bill, helped catch his puppy, and apologized many times, the pickup truck had long disappeared.
I was proud of Wanda, though. She was a big help. She held up a tree, one hand on its bark and the other holding her stomach, alternating between laughing uproariously and chortling uncontrollably. I picked up my hat, slapped the dirt off it and crammed it low on my ears. I had no idea when it hit the ground, but there were several small footprints on it.
“Wanda, will you marry me?”
“Huh, marry you?” she asked between giggles. “What are you talking about?”
“I figure if we were married, I’d have the pleasure of filing for divorce. No judge in the country would make me pay alimony. Why didn’t you help me out?”
“What, you wanted help? It looked like fun. I assumed you did it on purpose so you could meet the Overstock family. You didn’t get to meet them all, though. They only brought the oldest kids.”
I looked at her, then at the Overstocks as they walked away, each with a puppy. The youngest, the one I’d run over, looked to be about four years old. “There’s more and younger?”
“Yeah, at least one set of twins. There might be another one, too, I’m not sure. They don’t use birth control.”
Like I said earlier, Wanda’s pearls of wisdom match mine.
“Okay, enough for today,” I said. “Let’s find the car and get out of here. The sun is over the yardarm, and I want a Killian’s.”
“Well, Space Edwards, it looks like you’re leaving your mark everywhere. Wish I had time to take their case.”
The voice caused goose bumps to ripple my body. I knew trouble came with it. “Why, Judge Malady, how nice to see you,” I said as Candi approached us. “You’ve met Wanda, Chip’s sister, haven’t you?”
“I told you, it’s Maladay, not Malady, and I’m not a judge yet. Are you trying to be obtuse?”
That was an interesting question since her greeting had started this war of words. Today, she wore blue, a blue baggy dress hanging close to the ground over blue athletic shoes. A blue baseball cap topped the whole outfit. Even her sunglasses had blue lenses and frames. She didn’t look too frightening, at least in daylight, but I’d hate to have met her at night in a dark alley. “Why, of course not. In fact, I told Wanda how I hoped we’d bump into you. Isn’t that right, Wanda?”
Wanda glared at me. “Sure.”
I ignored her sarcasm. “I told Wanda it would be the perfect ending to a perfect day if I could chat with you. Would you care to join us? We were off to find a soda. I thought perhaps you’d bring us up to date on your suit. I know Chip would love a briefing.”
Candi’s green cat-eyes bored into me. “Edwards, you’re either the biggest wise-ass I’ve met, or just dumb. Why should I tell you anything?”
Good, I had her off-balance. “Because you know you don’t have a case, and you need me to help you save face.”
“Bullshit. My case is solid. I’m going to hit Chip where it’ll hurt the most, in that money belt he stretches around his big belly. Tell him not to transfer any assets. I already know what he’s worth.”
So much for having her off-balance.
“Besides, this is not a good time to talk,” she continued. “I might decide to catch up with the Overstocks. They have a good civil case of malicious assault.”
While this went on, Wanda looked from Candi to me and back. Candi’s last remarks woke her up, and she spit out, “I can’t imagine what my brother ever saw in you. You’re…you’re disgusting.” She turned to me. “Let’s get out of here. She makes me sick.” She walked away.
“Guess I gotta run,” I said to Candi. “It’s been a pleasure chatting with you.”
As I rushed to catch up with Wanda, I heard Candi laughing. “You’ll get yours, Space Edwards and you, too, Princess. I’m not finished with you yet.”
When I caught up with Wanda, the blotchy red of her face and the prominent veins on her neck revealed her disposition.
“She’s despicable. She doesn’t care about her client. All she wants is to hurt Chip. I wish, I wish…” Her voice trailed away, but her anger filled the air between us.
I decided silence was my best ally and fell in step beside her. After a bit, she took my hand and said, “Okay, you can speak, I’m all right.”
“Good. You’re beautiful when you’re angry, but you’re also intimidating. So be a good girl and stay quiet while I do some serious thinking.”
As we walked, I attempted to relax, hoping right brain would kick in and reveal what had piqued my curiosity about the shirt the cowboy wore. There had to be a reason, but the left side of
my brain was as lost as I was. Wanda did what any woman does when her man wants quiet—she chattered like a magpie, filling me in on every booth within view and attempting to introduce me to every local we passed.
We found the car and headed toward the ranch with the top down. I wanted to relax so right brain might contribute, but it didn’t work—nothing came. However, I did wake up enough to notice a black pickup following us—again.
When I turned into Chip’s driveway, the pickup went straight, apparently satisfied my day was finished. I circled in front of the main house and stopped.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Jamison, Mr. Edwards.”
“How’re you doing, Frank,” I said. Right brain took the opportunity to kick in with a news flash. The shirt, the yellow shirt. Frank wore one the same color.
Wanda must have noticed at the same time because she said, “Frank’s shirt—”
“Yeah. Let’s talk to Chip.” I jumped out of the car, almost smashing Frank’s hand as he reached to open the door, dashed up the steps, and into the house. Annie came close to being a casualty when she reached to open the front door as I shoved on it.
I raced down the hall with Wanda a step behind. The Texas Room was empty. I turned toward Annie.
Wanda was ahead of me again. “Annie, where’s Chip? We need him.”
“He went into Terrell with Matt—supplies of some kind. Did you find the rustler?”
I barged in, noting Annie wore one of the dude cowboy shirts in a light blue color. “No, but we may have a significant clue. That shirt you’re wearing, how many does Chip have?”
“How many?” She gave me a curious look. “Is it important?”
“It could be. Who keeps the inventory?”
“Nobody. After Chip shut down the dude ranch, he told me to get rid of the stuff. Frank and I thought the outfits would be good for laughs and keep us from ruining our own clothes, so we kept the ones that fit. Is that what you’re asking?”
“Yes,” Wanda chimed in. “What happened to the ones that didn’t fit? I remember when you got rid of them, but where did they go?”
“I took them to the Salvation Army in Fort Worth. Chip said I could donate them to charity, but he didn’t want to see them all over Van Zandt County.”
“Fort Worth?” I said, looking at Wanda. “How did one of them get back here?”
“Maybe it wasn’t one of the donated ones,” Wanda replied. “Annie, can you account for all the shirts you kept, especially the yellow ones?”
“Of course. Let me see. There were two yellows that fit me and four that fit Frank. I still wear mine, but Frank tore one of his splitting some mesquite branches, and I threw it away. Hmmm, he’s got two now. That can’t be right. I’m sure I kept four.”
I ran to the door. Frank pruned a rose bush in front of the house. “Can you come in here a minute?”
“Sure, Mr. Edwards. Be right there.”
I watched as he took one more snip, then stepped back to admire his handiwork. He must have been satisfied because he lay the clippers down and headed toward up the steps.
When he came through the front door, I asked, “Can you account for all the yellow shirts you kept from the dude ranch stuff?”
“Huh?”
Wanda saved me. “Ace is fired up. We thought we saw one of the CTC yellow shirts at First Monday. Do you know where all four of the ones you kept are?”
“Sure, I mean, kinda. One tore so I ripped it up for rags. I’ve still got two and one got stolen.” He turned toward Annie. “You remember? ’Bout two years ago somebody took it off the clothes line.”
“I’d forgotten,” Annie responded. “It was the strangest thing. They took nothing, but one yellow shirt.” She stopped and fixed Frank’s folded under collar allowing her hand to linger along his cheek. “That’s what happened to the fourth one. You still got the others, don’t you, Frank?”
“Yep, but they’re beginning to wear out. I been meaning to talk to Chip about getting some more, but he’s been so upset about Joseph.”
I was incredulous. I never dreamed Frank enjoyed those outfits. “Do you have any idea who might have taken it—the one off the line?”
“Could have been any of the hands,” Frank replied. “Ain’t too many other people would’ve had access to it.”
“Yeah, most any of’m could have done it and not been seen,” Annie added.
“Where is the clothes line?” I asked. “I don’t remember one.”
“It’s down behind the wash house,” Annie said. “When Chip started the dude ranch, he knew he’d have lots of laundry, so he built a wash house about fifty yards from the main house with an overhead pulley system to carry the laundry back and forth. On the other side of the laundry room, there’s a long triple drying line. I use it for stuff like our shirts. Air drying makes them smell fresher.”
“So, it’s in a pretty isolated area, is that it?”
“Yeah. It’s the other direction from the corrals and the roads leading out to the pastures,” Frank said. “You’d have to want to be there to be there, if you know what I mean.”
“Be there to be there? Okay, I think I understand. Who would have taken it and why?”
“Beats me,” Frank said. “Most of the hands wouldn’t be caught dead in one of these.” He fingered his shirt. “They kid me about them all the time.”
All of us stopped talking. I don’t know what they were doing, but I struggled to find a clue in this. The shirt I saw was the right color, but that didn’t make it a CTC shirt. It didn’t make it anything except a shirt worn by a man I couldn’t describe.
“I’m going to look over the list of everybody who worked here two years ago,” Wanda said. “Maybe we’ll recognize a name, or something. Chip had the old employment records in the Texas Room a couple of days ago. Do you know where he put them, Annie?”
“They’re in his desk,” Annie replied. “After he and Matt finished, I put them in order and filed them in his desk drawer. I’ll get them.”
“Look, Wanda, I need to check on the boys, and this seems like a good time to do it,” I said. “No name on the list will mean anything to me unless you find a Mel, and Chip’s already checked for that. While you go through it, I’ll head for the cottage and make sure they’re all right.”
I started toward the front door, but a thought stopped me. “Go back three years and prepare a list of names that got dropped. Maybe we’ll get lucky and our thief will be someone who quit or got canned after the theft. Write down their social security numbers, too. I’ll get my friend in Dallas to run a check on them. See you in a couple of hours.”
“Mr. Edwards,” Annie said. “Frank took a couple of miniature watermelons to the cottage for you. I thought you might like them for a snack. He left them in the kitchen when he fed your kitties. He didn’t put them in the refrigerator because we didn’t know if you like them cold.”
“Thanks, that sounds great,” I said. “I’ll be snacking while you two’re looking.”
TWENTY
I opened the front door of the cottage, looking forward to a slice of watermelon. I could picture the miniatures—round, about an eight inch diameter, cherry red and juicy on the inside. While watermelon is not something I go out of my way for, I never turn it down. I figured I’d cut one and put the other in the fridge. That way, I’d have a cold one for tomorrow, or, if I got lucky with Wanda, later tonight.
When I stepped into the foyer, my ears picked up an ominous sound. Cat owners hear things normal people never hear, such as objects rolling and bouncing off walls. And that’s what I heard—an object rolling across the floor and rebounding after a solid hit. I tiptoed toward the source of the noise, the kitchen. When I stepped into the doorway, the boys treated me to their favorite game, soccer. They play it with anything that will roll.
This time, much to my chagrin, they were practicing with the miniature watermelons. One of the melons rolled toward the refrigerator with Sweeper sitting on his haunch watching it. It must hav
e been an accurate pass. The other melon rested in a corner while Striker stared at it, puzzlement on his face. He appeared baffled by how to dig something out of the corner that was as big as him.
“Boys,” I said as Sweeper’s melon thumped into the refrigerator.
They looked my way, but only momentarily, then returned to their pursuit of the fruit.
Maybe I should have said, “Goal,” but, instead, I used, “Keep your paws off those melons.” I reached to retrieve the one Striker stalked. I had to lift him as he’d apparently decided to ride it out of the corner. “These are for humans to eat, not for cats to play with. They’re miniature watermelons, not soccer balls. If you’re good, I’ll let you sample—”
My right brain kicked in. Watermelons…melons. How dumb could I be? I had missed the obvious.
I tried to remember the exact conversation when the kidnapper let his name slip. My memory fuzzed so I decided to listen.
I picked up the two watermelons, washed them off and put both in the refrigerator, much to the irritation of the boys. “No more soccer for you today. We have some listening to do.”
I walked into the living room with the boys padding along behind. I had a copy of the tapes Chip and I made of the kidnapper’s calls. I pulled out the one I thought had the conversation I needed. I fast forwarded and listened, then went forward again. After going back and forth a few more times, I heard, “Name, name, ask his name.” My voice.
Chip’s voice on the tape said, “About delivery, Mr., uh, I don’t believe I know your name. Look, if we’re going to do business, I must know your name.”
“Yessir, everybody calls me Mel... Wait a minute, wise-ass. You gitting smart with me?”
“Talk. Keep him talking. He might slip up again,” my voice said.
I hit the stop button then replayed the section several times. By the time I turned the tape player off, I knew two things. One, he’d said Mel and two, it sounded like a first syllable. He had stopped himself before he gave the full name.
