by Cindy Myers
His face relaxed some. “That’s going to be a short book. It’s not like you’ve been up to anything scandalous or anything.”
“She and this reporter will probably find a way to make it sound that way.” She hugged her arms across her chest and hunched her shoulders. “I know how these people are. They’ll do everything they can to twist things around and sensationalize—anything to make money off the legend of Baby Shelly.”
“So tell her to leave.” He set his jaw. “Or I’ll tell her.” He looked around. “Where is she?”
“She left to meet that reporter, but she’ll be back later. Her things are up in the guest room.”
“Then I’ll talk to her when she gets back. I don’t want her upsetting you.”
He started toward the kitchen with the fish, but she hurried after him. “Don’t say anything to her,” she said. “At least, not yet.”
“You want her to stay?”
“I don’t know what I want.” She gave him a pleading look, as if he might have an answer for all the questions bombarding her. “I was so shocked to see her, after all this time. She looks so much like our mother, but also like the little girl who was practically my best friend when we were growing up. And . . . and even though I hate why she’s here, I . . . I’ve really missed her.”
Charlie reached out his arm and she went to him and buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m a mess,” she murmured.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re my mess. And your sister can stay here as long as you like.”
She looked up at him, into his calm brown eyes and features that looked like they’d been chiseled out of some rock. His steadiness anchored her, like the mountains that backed up to their house. “Are you sure? She can be . . . kind of hard to take.”
“She can stay for a little while. Until we both agree she should go.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
He patted her arm and moved away. “I’d better clean these fish. You sure you don’t want me to freeze them for some other time? We could go out for dinner.”
“It’s okay.” She smiled. “Besides, I still have plenty of cake.” And two sons and a husband who added so much sweetness to her life. How could she complain about the little bit of bitterness that came with her sister’s unexpected arrival?
Mindy didn’t see anything special about the Dirty Sally Saloon. It looked like a typical neighborhood hangout, though maybe a little more old-fashioned, with the long, mahogany bar at one end of the room, and wooden tables and chairs scattered out front. There was a raised platform, like a stage, in one corner, but no band played on it, and in any case, there wasn’t any room on the floor to dance. It was cleaner than some of the dives she’d seen in Texas, she’d give it that. But it sure wasn’t anything special. She stopped in the doorway and surveyed the place, looking for an empty table, but no such luck. People probably didn’t have anything to do in this town in the evenings, except drink.
She sashayed up to the bar, aware of more than one set of male eyes following her. She put a little extra wiggle into her hips for their benefit and slid onto a stool next to a grizzled old guy who was focused on draining a glass of beer. Not her first choice for companionship, but this was the only empty seat. The geezer set down the empty glass and frowned at her. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“What’s it to you, old man?” she asked.
“Don’t mind Bob. His bark is worse than his bite.”
She looked behind the bar to the man who had addressed her. Well hello, handsome! Here was someone interesting, at last. She turned up the wattage of her smile for the bartender, a dark-haired, dark-eyed hottie with a neat goatee and muscular shoulders. “Hi, I’m Mindy,” she cooed.
“Welcome to Eureka, Mindy. I’m Jameso. What can I get you?”
“Tanqueray and tonic, please.” It was the most sophisticated cocktail she could think of at the moment.
He turned his back to mix the drink, giving her a chance to admire the rest of him. Mmmm-hmmm. Very nice. Who knew checked flannel and faded jeans could look so good? When he turned around, she made a point of brushing her hand across his as he handed her the drink. “Thank you,” she said. “What did you say your name was again? James?”
“It’s Jameso. Short for Jameson.”
“So nice to meet you.” She sipped the drink, but kept her eyes locked to his. “I’m here visiting my sister,” she said. “Maybe you know her—Shelly Frazier.”
“You’re Shelly’s sister? No kidding?”
“I know.” Mindy waved her hand. “We don’t look a thing alike. People used to say she was the brains and I was the beauty.” People never said anything like that, but she liked the way it sounded.
“Well, I hope you enjoy your visit.” He started to move down the bar, but she reclaimed his attention.
“What is there to do around here in the evenings?” she said. “You know, for fun?”
“Oh, people manage to find ways to amuse themselves.”
“I’ll just bet they do.” She licked her lips. “Maybe you could show me around some time.”
He apparently didn’t hear her suggestion; something behind her had attracted his attention. His smile broadened. “Hello there, gorgeous,” he said, and reached out his arms.
A redheaded woman handed a swaddled infant across the bar, then leaned forward to kiss Jameso on the lips, a performance that sent Mindy’s spirits plummeting. Still grinning, Jameso rocked the baby. “How’s my two favorite girls?”
“Thrilled that the road commissioner’s meeting this evening was short.” The woman settled onto the stool beside Mindy that had miraculously opened up on her arrival. “I’d love a cup of tea.”
“Coming right up.” He started to turn away, then paused. “Maggie, this is Mindy. She’s Shelly Frazier’s sister, in town for a visit. Mindy, this is my wife, Maggie.”
Shelly frowned at the redhead. Good hair. Decent body, but the fine lines around her eyes and the faintest sagging along her jaw proved she had to be forty if she was a day. How did she end up married to the hottest guy in town? “Nice to meet you,” she mumbled.
“I had no idea Shelly had a sister,” Maggie said. “Where are you from?”
“Texas. A little town you probably never heard of.”
“Maggie’s from Texas.” Jameso returned with a steaming cup, the tag of a tea bag dangling over the side.
“Houston,” Maggie said. “Thanks, sweetie.”
Mindy turned away. It was either that or gag. Sweetie. Unfortunately, that put her facing the old geezer again. “Struck out, did you?” he said.
She started to tell him to stuff it, but the arrival of another man distracted her. “Can I get a Fat Tire?” the guy asked. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with the dark, brooding looks she went for. A little long in the tooth, judging by the gray at his temples, but still very sexy.
“Hello,” she said.
He glanced at her. “Hi.” He looked up to accept the beer from Jameso, who still cradled the baby in one hand. “Thanks. Cute baby.”
“Meet Angela, my daughter. I’m Jameso.” He offered his hand.
“Duke Breman.” They shook.
“I’m Mindy.” She leaned between the two. Honestly, what did it take for a girl to get noticed around here?
“Hello, Mindy,” Duke said. But he said it the same way he might say “Hello, Aunt Martha.” Zero interest. What was wrong with men around here?
“What brings you to town, Duke?” Jameso asked.
“I’m trying to find out some information about a guy who spent some time here,” he said. “Did you know Gerald Pershing? Somebody told me he used to hang out here.”
“I wouldn’t say he ‘hung out’ here,” Jameso said. “But it’s the only bar in town. Everybody ends up here sooner or later.”
“What do you want with that old crook?” The geezer, who was nursing another beer, spoke up.
Duke turned his back on Mindy to face the old man. “Did you know h
im?”
“You could say that.” The old guy stuck out his hand. “Bob Prescott. I manage the Lucky Lady Mine.”
“I understand Gerald owned a half interest in that mine,” Duke said.
“He did, until he sold out to me and left town. Good riddance to the old son of a bitch, I say.”
“Any idea where he was headed when he left Eureka?” Duke leaned an elbow on the bar. Never mind that he was crowding her.
“He could have gone to hell, for all I care.” Bob’s scowl deepened. “Why are you so interested? Did he steal from you, too?”
“I’m a private detective.” He took a card case from his back pocket and handed business cards to Bob and Jameso. “A client has hired me to track him down. If you think of anything that might help me, give me a call.”
“He always said he was from Dallas,” Jameso said.
“He didn’t go back there after he left here,” Duke said. “At least not that I can determine. He seems to have just disappeared.”
“Good riddance to him,” Bob said.
“Good riddance to who?” Yet another hot guy joined them. Mindy sat up straighter. Now this one had real possibilities—he was the clean-cut, lean and muscular military type—definitely closer to her age. “Hello?” she said, giving him her warmest smile.
“Hi there.” He returned the smile and she felt encouraged. A quick check of his left hand showed no ring.
“I’m Mindy,” he said.
“Josh Miller.”
“What can I get you, Josh?” Jameso asked.
“Avalanche Pale Ale.” Josh turned back to Mindy. “Are you new in town, or just visiting?”
“I’m visiting my sister, but I’m thinking about making the stay more permanent.” Really, she couldn’t wait to get out of the place, but she might as well let him think she was at least thinking of sticking around.
“Welcome to Eureka. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
He accepted the beer from Jameso and she opened her mouth to suggest that they get together so he could show her around when a dark-haired woman hurried up to him. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, her cheeks flushed. “I had to drop Alina off at a friend’s house and they live farther out than I thought.”
“Sharon, this is Mindy. She’s new in town, visiting her sister.”
“Hi, Mindy.”
“What can I get you, Sis?” Jameso interrupted again.
“Diet Coke.” Sharon turned back to Mindy. “Who’s your sister?”
“Shelly Frazier.”
“Oh, Shelly’s really sweet.” She took the soft drink from Jameso. “Well, I hope you enjoy your visit.”
She and Josh turned away, his hand possessively on her back.
Mindy gave up on the men. She spotted an empty table and headed toward it, drink in hand. The door opened and Travis came in. Relief washed over her. Finally, a friendly face. Not that he was anything special to look at—all that frizzy hair and those wire-rimmed glasses made him look like every geek who’d populated her high school. But he was her ticket to the big payoff the publisher had promised, and she had to admire the way he hadn’t let Shelly cow him. So she pasted a big smile on her face and waved to him.
“Looks like this is a pretty popular place,” he said, settling into the chair across from her.
“A town this small, there’s nothing else to do in the evenings but drink, I guess.” She looked around at the crowd of people of all ages. “I can’t believe my sister settled here. I mean, this makes our hometown look like a regular metropolis.”
“A small town is perfect for our purposes,” Travis said.
“How do you figure that?”
“Everybody knows everybody else’s business in a small town. We’ll learn loads of stuff about your sister without even talking to her.”
“But the editor wants direct quotes. Saint Shelly’s own precious words.” Mindy made a face. “I’d just make everything up, but knowing Shelly, she’d sue.”
“So you’d say she’s the vindictive type? Wants to get back at her perceived enemies?”
“I know what vindictive means. And Shelly’s not like that. Not exactly.” She sipped her drink, trying to think how to describe her sister. “Shelly has a very clear idea—a fantasy, really—of how she wants things to be. And when real life doesn’t match up with that fantasy, she gets very put out. Oh, and she has this real persecution complex. Everyone is out to get her.” She rolled her eyes. “So yeah, I think she’d sue, then say I was only using her.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got a plan.” He raised his hand to flag down the waitress. “Can I get a Bud Light?”
“Sure thing.” The waitress looked at Mindy. “You want a refill?”
“Why not?” She handed over her empty glass. “Tanqueray and tonic. Put it on his tab.”
Travis frowned, but didn’t object. “What did Shelly say after I left?” he asked.
“Not much. She told me again that she didn’t want anything to do with our book project, and that I could stay with her as long as I didn’t do anything to upset her husband and kids.”
“What’s he like—Mr. Frazier?”
“He’s a loser just like her. Drives a road grader for the county and races snowmobiles and ATVs in his spare time. He and my dad would probably get along real well. After all the time she spent with her nose in the air, looking down on us rednecks, I can’t believe she married one.”
“Does he know she was Baby Shelly?”
“She says he does, but they don’t talk about it. The biggest thing that happened in her life—the thing that made her famous—and she wants to pretend it never happened. I just don’t get it.”
Travis shrugged. “Some people don’t like to be in the limelight.”
“Some people are stupid.”
The waitress returned with their drinks. Travis pulled out his wallet. “Do you know Shelly Frazier?” he asked.
“She works at the bank, right?”
“That’s her. Her birthday’s coming up and my friend and I are trying to think of the perfect gift, but we’re not sure what she’d like. Does she have any hobbies or anything?”
“I don’t know her that well, but I know she’s involved with the historical society.”
Mindy rolled her eyes. The historical society? For real?
“Are you in the historical society, too?”
The woman laughed. “No way. I’m too scared of Cassie.”
“Who’s Cassie?” Travis asked.
“Cassie Wynock, the librarian. Vicious old dragon. She’s the president of the historical society. But I guess she and Shelly get along okay.” She pocketed the bills he handed over. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Not right now. Thanks.”
When she was gone, Travis pulled out a little notebook and wrote something in it. “I’ll talk to this librarian tomorrow. Old women often like to gossip. We might get something good. Meanwhile, you can go to the bank and chat up her coworkers.”
“How do I do that?”
“I don’t know. Tell them you want to open an account. Ask where to get your hair done. You’ll think of something.”
“You’re the reporter here. I’m supposed to concentrate on my sister and the whole family thing.”
“Says who?” He tucked the notebook back in his pockets.
“Says me. After all, it was my idea to write this book. And if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even be able to talk to my sister.”
“If it wasn’t for the private detective I hired, neither one of us would be talking to her.” He propped his elbows on the table and studied her. “What’s with that, anyway? How come Shelly hasn’t spoken to her family for years? You sold the publisher on this line that the two of you used to be so close.”
“We were sisters. Of course we were close.” She forced herself not to fidget, a dead giveaway that she wasn’t exactly telling the whole truth. She’d learned that in the acting c
lasses she’d taken back at Sweetwater Community College. Her teacher had been real big on psychology and character motivation. Fat lot of good that did her when they put on Oklahoma! Mindy had been sure she could act her way to Hollywood and fame, but turned out big-chested blondes were everywhere in L.A. It was like being back home, where Mindy was nothing special.
“So what happened?” Travis asked. “How come you aren’t close now?”
She traced a line of moisture down the side of her glass. “When I was little, I looked up to Shelly and followed her around like a little puppy dog,” she said. When the Lord had handed out maternal instinct, Sandy must have been in the ladies’ room. Shelly did most of the mothering, at least when Mindy was small. Shelly carried her little sister everywhere, until she got too big to balance on a hip, and told her stories, and secrets, and let her share her bed when Mindy was scared of thunderstorms or bad dreams.
Mindy pushed down the knot of sentimental tears that tried to clog her throat. She was getting to be as bad as Shelly, idealizing the past. “The older I got, the more I realized what a raw deal I was getting, compared to my famous, sainted big sister. No one else stood a chance in the shadow of darling Baby Shelly.”
“Was there a fight? A big disagreement?” Travis hunched forward, pencil poised over his little notebook, ready to record all the sordid details. If only she had any to give him.
“She went off the rails one day and ran away. Maybe she had a nervous breakdown or something. It certainly wasn’t anything we did. Everyone in my family worshipped the ground she walked on. She was my mother’s whole reason for being. Her full-time job was and still is preserving the memory of and promoting the image of Baby Shelly.”
“Interesting.” He nodded and scribbled some notes.
“What are you writing?” she asked. He reminded her of a shrink she’d seen once—he had made notes and little comments like that, too. She got the impression he thought she was nutso, so she never went back to see him again.
“Just some notes.”
“I get final approval of the manuscript, you know.”