by Dixie Cash
“Oooh, no, you don’t. You’re not doing anything but going out on that stage with me.”
“But Darla said it could be done by one person. So you can do it.”
She turned to walk away, but Debbie Sue stepped in front of her. “Edwina Perkins-Martin, now you listen to me. You are going out on that stage. With me.”
“I feel lightheaded. I think I’m gonna faint. Or throw up. Or worse yet, have diarrhea.”
“Then grab a trash can and a roll of TP, because you’re going onstage.”
“Ladies,” Bob whispered urgently, “get in place.”
Debbie Sue moved behind Edwina and pushed her one painstaking step at a time to their chairs behind the microphones. “Just sit still for a second,” she instructed. “I’ll go find a trash can in case you hurl.”
Debbie Sue moved as quickly as she could in the high heels, taking mincing steps so as not to land on her butt. She grabbed the first small trash basket she saw. She was within a couple of feet of Edwina when the curtain slowly started to rise. Edwina looked truly ill. Before Debbie Sue could reach her side, Edwina lay her forehead against the microphone and said into what was supposed to be a dead mike, “Hurry up, Debbie Sue. I really mean it. I think I’m gonna puke.”
The declaration bounced off the walls and hung in the air. The audience went silent, then began to murmur and titter. Bob came onstage smiling broadly, the consummate professional. “Spoken like a true professional, huh, ladies and gentleman? Let’s give a big West Texas welcome to your own friends and neighbors, Debbie Sue Overstreet and Edwina Perkins-Martin from Salt Lick, Texas! These two brave women have agreed to be Darla Denman’s backup singers this evening!”
The crowd erupted with whistling and hoots and rose to its feet, clapping and whistling more. Debbie Sue stopped, trash can still in hand and gave a little curtsy. Edwina managed a small smile that grew wider as her shoulders squared. Debbie Sue knew the outward signs. Edwina was going to be okay. Thank God. “Let’s get going before something else happens,” she whispered.
Bob completed his introductions and then said, “Let’s bring out the little lady you all came to see. Darla wants to introduce her opening act, a new talent she just discovered this year. A young lady meant to go places. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Darla Denman!”
The musicians started one of Darla’s signature swing hits and the crowd went crazy. Continuing to stand, they applauded for several minutes.
Bob re-approached the stage. “Have we got ourselves another case of stage fright?” The audience laughed. “Darla, honey, come on out. We’ve got some people here who want to see you. And our opening singer is waiting for an introduction.”
The band started again. The audience continued to stand, but Darla Denman didn’t appear.
Bob caught Debbie Sue’s eye and gave his head a jerk, indicating for her to go backstage and check on the performers.
Debbie Sue slipped out of her shoes and made a hasty exit. Tatts by Matt strode ahead of her and she followed close behind him. He went straight to a janitor’s closet and opened the door.
As if he had been shot, Tatts by Matt swayed and crumpled in the doorway.
“Matt!” Debbie Sue stopped, staring down at his supine form. She looked around her immediate area. “Hey, hey, somebody! We need some help over here! Somebody’s sick!” Then she remembered she had to get Roxie and Darla headed to the stage.
She stepped around Matt, peered into the tiny room and stopped in her tracks.
Darla Denman stood there all right, staring down at the floor, nail file in hand. At her feet in a pool of vivid blood lay the lovely Roxie, her eyes fixed in a permanent stare. Debbie Sue didn’t have to be an EMT to know Roxie Denman was not headed for the stage. The only place she was going was to the morgue.
Darla looked up, an eerie emptiness in her eyes, her mouth ajar.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Debbie Sue gasped, her mind gone blank.
Chapter Seventeen
Time stopped. The stench of blood and death filled the small windowless space. Debbie Sue’s stomach wobbled and she clutched at it. She felt weak in the knees and cold all over. Buddy, I need you! Help me!
She and Darla stared at each other. “Darla?” she said in a reedy voice. “What happened?”
“Hey, Debbie Sue,” the singer said with no tonal inflection, “are we on now?”
The woman must be, had to be, in shock. “Uh, no,” Debbie Sue answered feebly.
She glanced down at the long nail file clutched in Darla’s bloody hand. Was that item significant? Could a nail file have killed Roxie? If it looked like a stiletto, perhaps it could have. And the fact that Darla had it in her hand and both it and her hand were bloody spoke volumes. All of this was swirling inside Debbie Sue’s brain as she scanned the room, desperately hoping to see a plastic bag or something to put the nail file in. If fingerprints were on it, they needed to be preserved.
Spotting a plastic sack, Debbie Sue reached for it and opened it fully. “Darla, listen,” she said softly, “you’re getting your clothes messed up. Why don’t you drop that nail file in here.”
Darla blinked. “Oh, okay. Let me clean it first.”
“No, don’t—” But before Debbie Sue could make a move to stop her, Darla had folded the cuff of her shirt sleeve around the narrow metal file and wiped it clean. “Oh, no, Darla—”
An ear-piercing scream startled Debbie Sue and made her jump. She jerked around and saw an ashen-colored teenager standing in the doorway staring at Roxie’s lifeless body. All at once, people were everywhere, pressing to peer into the room and gasping and chattering.
The only thing that kept them from coming inside was Tatts by Matt’s collapsed form blocking the doorway.
“Darla, listen to me,” Debbie Sue said urgently. “Drop that nail file in this sack. Right now.”
Darla complied and Debbie Sue started to tie the top of the sack when Bob Denman’s voice pierced the noise of voices. “ ‘S’cuse me, ‘s’cuse me, please.” He was trying to part the throng of oglers. “Let me pass, please.”
Then he was there, his big physique filling the doorway and his face a mask of horror. “Oh, my God. Roxie.” He looked from Roxie to Darla, to Debbie Sue and then back to the floor. “Dear God in heaven, what has happened? Is she . . . she’s—” He faltered. His fingertips flew to his forehead.
“Dead, Bob.” Debbie Sue’s voice broke, but she fought back the tears that wanted to spring forth. True, she hadn’t liked Roxie, but that was different from finding her murdered. “Did someone call nine-one-one?”
“Oh, my God,” Bob said, a look of pure horror on his face. His upper body leaned forward as if to come into the room, but Tatts by Matt’s unconscious form stopped his feet. He glanced down. “What’s wrong with him? Is he dead, too?”
“I think he fainted,” Debbie Sue answered weakly.
Bob stooped and dragged Tatts by Matt inside the tiny room and closed the door against the looky-loos, his hands visibly shaking. Then he straightened and faced Darla. “Oh, God. Darla. Sweetheart. What happened?”
Darla’s head tilted to the side as if she were a rag doll. She looked up at him and blinked.
Bob stared at her. The dawning seemed to be hitting him that Darla Denman had lapsed into another world. He turned to Debbie Sue. “Are you the one who found her?”
His tone was so sharp Debbie Sue felt a need to defend herself. “Matt got here first. Then he fainted. I was behind him.”
“Oh, my God,” Bob said again and drew his hand down the side of his face.
“Listen, Bob,” Debbie Sue said. “If someone called nine-one-one, the police should be here any minute.” She grasped Darla’s forearm, striving to get her attention. “Darla, you’ve got to talk to me before they get here.”
“Wait a minute,” Bob said. “Why does she have to talk to you?” He stepped between Debbie Sue and Darla.
Debbie Sue raised the plastic sack and opened it wide. “Because she was
standing here holding this when I came in.”
Bob stared down into the sack, now bloody inside from the nail file. “No, no, that’s not true,” he said with finality. He turned around and gripped Darla’s shoulders. She looked up at him with a dreamlike light in her eyes. “Darla, sweetheart,” he said, “tell me what you saw. Did you see someone leaving the room? Did you hear something?”
Darla touched his cheek, leaving a smudge of red on his face. “We need to get in place, Bob. Roxie isn’t going to be able to sing tonight.”
A loud, madder-than-hell female voice overrode the din emanating from the throng of people who had gathered outside the door. Debbie Sue had no trouble recognizing it. “You short-shit sonofabitch,” Edwina shouted. “If you shove me back one more time, the next thing you’ll be doing is pushing up daisies! Let me in there! I’m part of the act!”
Debbie Sue yanked open the door and Edwina was catapulted into the room. Debbie Sue slammed the door behind her. The brunette’s eyes bugged at Roxie’s body, and then with equal horror she reacted to Matt’s apparently lifeless body at her feet. She screamed like a banshee and started to run in place, her knees pumping up and down, her arms sawing.
The scene was growing more bizarre by the second and now all Debbie Sue could think was, Where are the cops? Where are the cops? C’mon. C’mon. Oh, dear Lord, Buddy, where are you when I need you?
A man’s gruff voice brought her around. “Get back. All you people get back. And by get back, I mean get all the way back and out of the way. Take a seat along this wall. No one is to leave this building. Sergeant, put a man on every door, every exit, no one leaves until we talk to everyone here tonight.”
The door opened and the entrance was filled by a large man dressed in the dark blue of the Midland Police Department. Debbie Sue could tell from his uniform that he was a captain. She could also see that he was very unhappy at the sight of a small, cramped murder scene butt-to-butt with people and with one in particular running in place.
He did a quick assessment of the deceased. “I’m Captain J. D. Fuller,” he said and placed a hand on Edwina’s arm. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to stop that.”
Edwina slowed her pace and finally stopped altogether. “I’m sorry. It’s a nervous response. I get a little crazy when my mind gets blown.”
He looked her up and down suspiciously. “Just what blew your mind, ma’am?”
“That,” she said, pointing shakily at Roxie’s body. “And that.” She pointed at Matt, who still had not revived. “I’ve never seen two people murdered at the same time.”
The captain squatted next to Matt and tapped his cheeks a couple of times with the back of his hand. “Matt, Matt. You all right?”
Tatts by Matt’s eyelids fluttered open. Recognition came into his eyes. “Captain Fuller, did you see?”
“Yes, I did, Matt. Let me help you to your feet.” Captain Fuller got to his feet, pulling Matt up by the arm. “Who found the body?”
“I think I did,” Matt said.
“Matt did,” Debbie Sue said at the same time. Always ready and looking out to learn new detecting methods, she asked the captain softly, “How did you know Matt wasn’t dead?”
“ ’Cause I’ve sent officers out to his parlor about a dozen times when he’s keeled over. I know he can’t handle needles and the sight of blood and whatever went on in that room must have spooked him pretty good.”
“But he’s a tattoo artist,” Debbie Sue said, puzzled. “Or at least he said he was.” She wanted to ask more questions, but now wasn’t the time. She reined in her curiosity and held her tongue.
Captain Fuller gave orders to a swarm of police officers to question everyone sitting along the wall in the hallway. Then he turned to the group. “The detectives will want to question all of you.”
No sooner had he said the words than another giant of a man stepped through the doorway. He had on starched Wranglers, a starched pale blue shirt and a silver-belly, Gus crease hat.
“This is Detective Finley,” the captain said.
“Let’s get these people out of here,” the new arrival firmly ordered, fixing all of them with a no-nonsense blue-eyed gaze.
He motioned for a young police officer, who quickly stepped up. “Yessir.”
“Stay with these folks, Brian,” the detective said, “until I tell you different. Don’t let them speak to each other and you don’t converse with them.”
Brian herded the group into a vacant room next door. Everyone stood by anxiously waiting for what might happen next.
“Who the hell is that guy?” Edwina whispered.
Debbie Sue knew many in area law enforcement from the days when Buddy was a sheriff, and those she didn’t know, she had heard him mention. But she didn’t know Detective Finley. “The one in charge I’m guessing,” she answered.
“How the hell could somebody that good-looking live within a hundred miles of me and me not know it?”
“Ed, shut up. You’re not supposed to talk.”
“What the hell happened in there, Debbie Sue?”
“Ed, shh.”
Before Edwina could ignore instructions further, Detective Finley and Captain Fuller came into the room. “I want to speak to each of you separately,” the detective said, “so I’m going to ask you to wait in the hallway and don’t leave until we tell you you’re free to go.” He called in a younger beat cop and at the same time grasped Tatts by Matt’s arm and held him back. “Matt, we’ll start with you.”
The group filed out to the hallway and waited in heavy silence. Soon Tatts by Matt came out, ashen-faced and shaken. “Don’t speak to anyone about this,” the captain told him.
Matt only nodded and disappeared up the hallway.
Captain Fuller addressed Edwina. “You, Running Man. Detective Finley wants to hear your part in this.” He took her by the elbow, guided her into the room and closed the door.
Debbie Sue’s heart had been beating at a rapid pace ever since she had walked into the janitor’s room behind Tatts by Matt. Adrenaline—she recognized it. Seeing Edwina led away by a police captain made it beat a little faster. Having the woman questioned by the police was a scary proposition.
It seemed Edwina was gone forever, and with each passing moment, Debbie Sue’s worry was amplified. God, what would Edwina tell? She was so high strung that for all Debbie Sue knew, her partner might have gotten caught up in the high drama and might have confessed.
Debbie Sue glanced over at Darla, who stood quietly and unmoving, leaning against the wall with her head down, not making eye contact with anyone. Bob stood beside her and picked up her hand. She looked up at him tenderly. “It’ll be all right, Bobby.”
“Quiet, please,” Brian said.
Bob released her hand and Brian moved to stand between them. Still, Bob occasionally stole glances at Darla.
Edwina soon came out of the room and took a place beside Debbie Sue. She said nothing, so Debbie Sue made no attempt to talk to her. When the captain motioned for Bob, he defied the police order, reached over and squeezed Darla’s hand.
Bob returned after what felt like forever and stood beside Darla again. Captain Fuller motioned to Debbie Sue. “Ma’am, you’re next.”
Debbie Sue felt a strong protective surge for Darla and didn’t want to leave her. “Sir, I don’t want to . . .” She waggled a finger between herself and Darla “ . . . Couldn’t he talk to both of us? My husband is James Russell Overstreet, Junior. He’s a Texas Ranger and—”
“Mrs. Overstreet,” the captain said politely, “I’ve known your husband for a number of years. I respect him as much as I do anyone in law enforcement. But I can’t let that sway the way you’re treated. Now, if you’ll just come with me.”
Reluctantly, Debbie Sue walked to the doorway. Before passing through it, she looked across her shoulder and smiled wanly at the woman who had planned to make this night her big comeback performance. “Darla, will you be okay?”
A long momen
t passed and Debbie Sue wondered if Darla was going to answer her at all. Suddenly she raised her head and smiled. “I’ll be fine, Debbie Sue, really. Go on. When it’s my turn I’ll tell him all about how I killed Roxie.”
“Darla!” Debbie Sue cried. “You don’t mean that!”
“Darla!” Bob cried, his face a mask of stunned disbelief.
“Mrs. Denman, don’t say another word,” the captain said. “Sergeant, please escort Mrs. Overstreet to one of the patrol cars outside. We’ll talk to her at the station.” He gestured for Darla to turn around. Drawing her hands behind her, he removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Mrs. Denman, I’m placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent—”
Debbie Sue shot a can’t-you-do-something look at Bob.
He stepped toward the captain. “But officer—”
“Wait,” Debbie Sue protested. “She’s in shock. She can’t be Mirandized. Why, she doesn’t know if you’re reading her her rights or a cookie recipe.”
“That’s not my concern, ma’am. It’s my duty to inform her of her rights. We’ll let the lawyers fight over her state of mind.”
As the captain led Darla away, he resumed the familiar warning, “Anything you say can and will . . .”
Debbie Sue had never felt so helpless. “Darla,” she called out, “don’t say anything else. I’ll be right behind you.”
No way in hell had Darla committed murder. But someone had and maybe with good reason. Roxie practically wore a sign that said KICK MY BUTT. But Darla hadn’t done it. Debbie Sue was sure of that much. Why, she was counting too much on her big comeback. She was excited. She had plans. She had a new future. No one would commit murder minutes before those plans came to fruition.
As Debbie Sue left the room with the uniform, she saw both Mike and Eddie in the hallway looking grim. Eddie was smoking. Mike had a bandaged hand. What had he done to his hand? The two musicians quickly turned away. Debbie Sue thought she saw Mike’s shoulders shaking, thought she heard him break into sobs as he rubbed his bandaged hand. Again Debbie Sue wondered, What has he done to his hand?
