by E M Kaplan
With a vague, apologetic thought to the other patrons who might be embarrassed witnessing her private moment, she stuffed a bunch of it into her mouth. Sweet, sour, bitter, salty, and savory—five of the basic taste sensations—stampeded across her tongue. How could one bite encompass all of those kinds of flavor? Josie felt her grumpy, black heart crack open a just a little, thanks to the heavenly ambrosia sliding its way into her stomach.
“In about 1982, Billy Blake left his family ranch outside of Waco to go to college up at SMU in Dallas. All of them Blakes were Baylor graduates, so there was a little bit of a kerfuffle with him going away from home.” Georgia interrupted herself, grasping a squeeze bottle out of the caddy with her plump fingers and pushing it toward Josie. “Try this one if you got a sweet tooth. It’s my favorite, but I’m not biased or anything.”
Josie was already on her next bite of baby backs, but she squirted a dab of the sweet sauce on her plate. Then she added a dollop of each of the other sauces in the caddy on her wax paper, making an array of them from sweet to blow-the-top-of-your-head-off. Her plate became a chili and tomato-based artist’s palette. She was going to perform due diligence even though she already suspected garrulous Georgia’s favorite flavor would be hers as well.
“So anyway, Billy did his bachelor’s degree, and just like his family feared, he didn’t come home afterward. It might not seem like a big distance to some folks. From here to Dallas is only a couple hundred miles with Waco smack dab between, but for people used to keeping their loved ones close, it’s a very big deal.”
The majority of Josie’s family was either dead, trapped in the la-la-land of dementia, or far away in Arizona, yet she nodded. Despite her early isolation, Josie had managed to find a group of close-knit friends, a boss who gave her free reign to write her food blog remotely, and even a benefactor-slash-puppetmaster, Greta Williams, who popped in and out of her life at the oddest times. It seemed to Josie that no matter how far away she was, the ties to certain people stayed just as strong as the connections to those close by.
She took another mouthful and came away with nearly all of the meat, biting off more than she could chew. Literally, this time.
“That’s some good stuff right there.” Georgia grinned through her pink lipstick. “But getting back to Billy, the worst thing those Blakes could have imagined came true. He fell in love with a girl in the Big D.”
When Josie raised an eyebrow, Georgia said, “Girl, not that D. I’m talking about the ‘Big D’ as in Dallas. I know what it means when the kids say it with their urban slang, but I’m not referring to a fella’s privates. I’m talking about the city of Dallas. Because while Billy was up there at college, he got engaged to a big city girl named Mary Clare, one of them socialites. This was the late 1980’s by then, so think raccoon eyeliner and Aqua Net. Big blonde hair.” She gestured like she had a swarm of bees circling her head. “The works, if you know what I’m saying.”
“She really must have caught Billy’s eye,” Josie said. She hoped she didn’t sound sarcastic. Different time, different beauty standards. Plus, they were in Texas, after all. Everything was bigger. Especially 1980’s hair.
“Oh, she was a beauty, no doubt about it. Along came the 90’s and her hair calmed down. When that Marie Osmond slapped-cheeks look and glossy lips went away, you could really tell just how gorgeous she was. You know, stripped clean of all that paint.”
The irony did not escape Josie that Georgia herself seemed to be an avid fan of hot pink cosmetics. If Josie had to name that particular shade, she’d call it BBQ Barbie in honor of her new acquaintance.
“So how did they end up in Austin running a barbecue restaurant?” Josie tore a wad of paper towels off the roll and swabbed her face. She probably wasn’t getting all the mess off her face, just smearing it around more. But the flavor had made the mess totally worth it.
Georgia gave a rueful shake of her head. “All the cockamamie things people do for love… Billy didn’t want to live in Dallas. Mary Clare didn’t want to live out in the country by his people. So they settled here, bought a piece of land in the Bee Caves area west of Austin—this was before the town was overrun with tech companies and millionaires. Mary Clare had a stack of her own money, so the place they got was darn near palatial. I haven’t been there myself, but it’s been featured in a couple of architectural type magazines. You know, the ones where the couches are white and fluffy and not fit for the backsides of normal human beings.”
Josie pushed back from her plate, belatedly realizing she’d Hoovered all the meat off the bones faster than a back alley street dog. She took a couple of shallow breaths to test the vindictiveness of her stomach, but it seemed to be holding steady. Spice was good for the tongue, but not always the best thing for her testy tank. Luckily, she didn’t feel any abdominal lurches or weird pressure, so she settled back on her old bleacher seat for the rest of the saga about the local barbecue dynasty.
“What about the ghost?”
“Getting to that,” Georgia assured her. “See, Billy wasn’t the type to sit around and do nothing. He had a Business degree and a good knowledge of ranching. With some family recipes, he and his cousin, Levar, opened up Smiley’s. And they did real well—it’s still doing great despite the, you know, murder rumors. But ‘round about 1995 or so, Mary Clare disappeared.”
Chapter 2
“She went missing?”
In Josie’s experience, a person didn’t just dissipate like a puff of smoke. Usually there was violence, often fueled by one of the seven deadly sins. Lust. Pride. Envy. Avarice. Anger. Not usually gluttony or sloth, though. Those two sins were the more stay at home, play bongos, and smoke pot kinds of trespasses—not against others, but “against ourselves” kind of transgressions and self-harm.
“Vanished. Into thin air,” Georgia said with a dramatic snap of her fuchsia-tipped fingers. “But the prevailing rumor has it that Billy killed her right there at the smokehouse.”
In the restaurant? That was horrible and…kind of gross. But people often got passionate about their food—herself included. Why wouldn’t there be a crossover into love gone sour? It was natural. It was also just so unsanitary.
“Why would he kill his wife?”
Josie was careful to reserve judgment as to whether this story might be the seedy tale of romance gone wrong. After all, there was gossip, and then there was gossip rooted in truth. Often a person couldn’t tell one from the other without the benefit of hindsight.
Or getting clonked on the head with a shovel in the Arizona desert. Talk about a wakeup call. Josie hoped to avoid such violent epiphanies in the future. Some people had brain cells to spare, but she’d needed every last one of them to get out of the dumbass situations she’d gotten herself into previously. And there was no telling what the future held.
“She wanted to leave him to go back to Dallas, but he wasn’t having any part of that. He loved her so much that he wouldn’t let her go. Here’s where the stories diverge. Some people say he shot her with an antique pistol. Others think he strangled her. You know, strangling is a sure sign that it’s a crime of passion, when the killer gets all up-close and personal, right up in the victim’s business.”
Josie was intrigued but skeptical. Rumor and innuendo didn’t amount to much when it came to solving old, mothballed mysteries. Hearsay didn’t light the fires and stir the pots of cold cases. Not like a good old fashioned confession, anyway. And if Mary Clare’s body had never been discovered, that made it a million times harder to solve. And yet…maybe she could help.
“What about the police—did they get involved?”
“Oh yeah they did. There were billboards and flyers. Her face was on every telephone pole and highway from Amarillo to Brownsville. The family hired some private detective fellow, but all he did was harass poor Billy near to death. Suspicion fell on Levar, too, but nothing came of that either. All it did was break up their relationship—they couldn’t work together anymore after that. Levar
went down to San Antonio right after Mary Clare vanished. He got a job at some fancy nightclub or hotel, and the two cousins aren’t speaking anymore.
“Now remember, in the mid-90’s, not everyone was all wired up with technology. Not everyone had a cell phone or GPS or what have you. All seriousness aside, Texans are not exactly early adopters when it comes to technology. I mean, Austin is different. It’s the Silicon Prairie, as they say, but when you get farther out into the boondocks, you still have your people who are afraid of fax machines.”
Josie suspected she might have an increased heart rate if she were confronted with one as well, never mind changing the ink for her printer. Her cell phone still gave her the cold sweats when it did something she wasn’t expecting, like take a picture of a murderer without her knowing it.
Waitaminute, did Georgia just say “all seriousness aside”?
Josie’s mind went off into lala-land for a minute, thinking about Georgia’s crazy wordplay, thanks to her full belly and a distinct need for caffeine.
Georgia is the Texan equivalent of the great Reverend Spooner. Or is that Mrs. Malaprop? I think that’s using the wrong word in place of another, like having a short stack of panic cakes for breakfast. But a spoonerism is accidentally saying “lack of pies” instead of a “pack of lies.” Or a “pretty fart smeller” instead of a “pretty smart feller.”
Focus, Josie, focus.
“And, like a lot of us, Mary Clare was a cash or check kind of lady, so no AMEX or Visa card to trace. If she had wanted to empty her bank account and go to Mexico and disappear, she darn well could have. Her mama may want to imagine she’s living out her life eating mangoes on the beach, just for peace of mind. But we all know she didn’t do that.”
Josie had begun to fray a section of brown paper towel between her fingers. She creased it like an accordion, worrying it into smaller and smaller folds. All of her silly word pondering and mental gymnastics were a lame attempt to avoid the issue. Her nosy little self, that interior instinctive part of her brain that longed to insert itself into other people’s problems, was waking up. Nothing like a good puzzle to make her focus on something other than her stomach, bad dreams, and other issues, like, oh, intermittent panic attacks…
“You know this how? Because of the ghost?”
As if a spiritual sighting was proof of murder. Casper CSI. Bloody Mary, the vanishing hitchhiker, the Flying Dutchman, and the creepy twins from The Shining all banding together to form a supernatural Our Gang? Yeah, right.
“Yes, ma’am.”
#
Josie was not an expert on paranormal matters. She wasn’t sure if she could call herself imminently qualified on anything. Talking, thinking, and writing about food was instinctive as breathing…as was meddling in other people’s business. But ghosts and things that went bump in the night? She didn’t believe in them.
Sure, a lot of cultures—from charismatic Christians who spoke in tongues and could be possessed by holy spirits, to the East Asian practice of honoring ancestors through altars and offerings like paper money and oranges—believed in voices and beings from the afterlife. She believed in karma, but not coincidence. Good luck and definitely bad luck. But did she believe in ghosts? Meh. The jury was still out. In fact, the hypothetical jury was so far out, they were having smokes and smoothies at a diner five miles away from the courthouse.
“Why do people think Smiley’s is haunted?”
Thunder boomed, and Georgia leaned closer, smashing her abundant bosom on the table, her garish lips mesmerizing Josie. The sky grew darker, throwing her face into shadow. She looked like Vincent Price thanks to the bright overhead hanging pendant lights made from brown glass Shiner bottles with the bottoms sliced off.
“First, there are the strange noises. Crying and fussing, like a weeping woman. And they only happen when Billy is not there.”
Woman done wrong. Check.
“Then there’s the walls. Water has been known to leak down the walls—but it’s not rainwater or a broken air conditioner. It’s been serviced again and again by professional plumbers and HVAC guys. There’s no damage to the roof or walls. And here’s the kicker: it tastes like saltwater—like tears.”
Dripping bodily fluids. Check. And if Georgia mentions anything about blood or barf or hands caught in garbage disposals, I’m outta here.
“Waitaminute. Someone tasted it?” Josie made an eww face. That was disgusting. Why would a person go around tasting strange liquids dripping down the walls? Frankly, someone’s mother had done a terrible job.
“Ghost hunters have been through the place. They tested everything.” Including licking foreign substances off walls, apparently. “I don’t remember what else they found. Ectoplasm or what-have-you. They had the little machines with the lights and the beeping noises. Full-blown, 100 percent Ghostbusters. Experts or expert scammers. Six dozen in one, half in the other, if you ask me.”
Josie frowned, mentally trying to catch her flailing comprehension and falling flat, like tripping on the sidewalk and face-planting. She backtracked and replayed Georgia’s phrasing. Six in one, half-dozen in the other? Maybe Josie had just misheard her.
Is this a Texas thing? Or a Georgia thing?
“What do you think about all this?” she asked Georgia.
“Well, being is how Billy is a relation of mine, though not by blood, I can say with a clear conscience I think he did it. He’s got a face like a murderer, and I’ve seen him have fits of temper—well, not me directly. I haven’t witnessed it, but I’ve heard about it from his employees. I know a couple of them have actually quit over it. I think he flat-out scared them.”
“Really?”
Enter suspect number one.
“During a bad electrical storm, we had a city-wide power outage one year. Just about every block of the city was in the dark. His whole freezer of meat spoiled because someone had forgotten to get gas for the back-up generator. When Billy found out about it, he went on the rampage. He had a big shipment of bread and pies that he destroyed, smashing them like he was the Hulk. Strawberry pie torn apart and splattered everywhere like it was a slaughterhouse. Everyone went running until he cooled off, which wasn’t for several hours. Or so the story goes.”
Mr. Barbecue Blake had anger management issues? Josie was personally familiar with self-control issues—her big mouth often got her in trouble and she had trouble not eating things she was supposed to avoid. She was aware of people with a tendency toward deviousness, like her benefactor, Greta Williams. However, she hadn’t been around many men with anger problems. Drew was so even-keeled it took a great effort on her part to rile him up. She didn’t mean to do it, but managed to on a regular basis anyway. She’d never been attracted to bad boys with mean streaks and anger issues. Because she was a petite person who was intimidated by big men, she shivered now thinking about Billy Blake.
“Yep,” Georgia said. “That’s why I think he did it. Because of his raging temper.”
Chapter 3
The wide-open Austin skies cleared up and unveiled a flamboyant pink November sunset that took away Josie’s breath—and her need for a jacket. She was intrigued enough by the ghost tale that she wanted to hop on the road and seek out Smiley’s BBQ right away, but her newfound buddy Georgia had warned her against it.
“Avoid the roads this time of day. I-35, Mo-Pac, 360. Avoid everything. It’s all bad. Just go back to where you’re staying and park your car for a while. Get out and walk when the rain stops. We’ve got over two million people in this area now, and it ain’t getting any better. We’re not the sleepy, ‘Keepin’-It-Weird’ town we used to be. It’s hard to find a hippie these days. They’re buried under high tech fiber optic wire and refugees from California. So you’d best not risk any road rage situations if you don’t have to.”
Josie took Georgia’s word for it—as well as her phone number, when it was pressed on her, to text the woman later if she had questions about “barbecue, Billy Blake, or life”—and return
ed downtown to the high-rise glass hotel where she and Drew were staying for the week. Maybe she could find other people who would talk with her about Billy Blake. She parked her rented Hyundai in the underground lot beneath the hotel and rode the elevator up to the lobby. She was on a mission…of sorts. She had a secondary, hidden agenda for coming on this trip with Drew, and it wasn’t to stick her nose into someone else’s business and get herself in trouble. Again.
She checked the time on her phone. Drew had a cocktail hour to mingle with other physicians and medical people attending the conference. He’d probably been back to the hotel and left while she was gone. She was invited to join him as a plus-one every night this week, but she’d agreed, in her typical asocial manner, to attend just one night later in the week. Prolonged exposure to crowds, especially ones who said things like “titrate the dosage” or “retest in three weeks,” gave her the hives. The good news was, her boyfriend already knew this about her and didn’t seem to mind.
Just one of the many reasons he’s the perfect guy. He puts up with me.
Life with her wasn’t exactly a cup of tea. She knew she was lucky to have him, and she was realistic about toning down her foibles so she didn’t eventually drive him away. At least, that was the plan. Some couples refused to let each other into the bathroom. She felt the same about her weird mental states. No one needed to know the exact amount of her Crazy with a capital C.
Instead of returning to the room, she changed directions and headed out the hotel’s front doors, peering up at the building above her as she exited. The entire front was encased in glass, but totally transparent so she could see the steel struts and tresses that comprised its skeleton. That’s what she needed to emulate in her life and relationship with Drew— transparency. Well, to a certain extent. At least the good stuff, the useful things. Better communication. She needed to attempt to have one of those Always Kiss Me Before Bedtime relationships that were the stuff of self-help articles and mass-produced wall hangings in big box stores.