by Teresa Trent
Die a Yellow Ribbon
by Teresa Trent
Copyright 2020
All Rights Reserved
ISBN:
978-1-7329468-2-8
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Diane Krause for her beautiful editing and for literally being my partner in fictional crime. Cover Design by 100 Covers. As always, thank you to my family, for listening to my endless rehashing of the book. I couldn’t do this without your patience and love.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Helpful Hints from the Happy Hinter
About the Author
Other Books by Teresa Trent
Chapter 1
My head was full of tidying tips, and I had complete, albeit misguided, confidence that I could tidy any place. ~Marie Kondo
“Wait a minute, wait a minute! You can’t do that. I have press immunity.” Rocky stood toe-to-toe with Belinda Donaldson, Pecan Bayou’s formidable meter maid. I suppose these days she’s known as a parking attendant, but in a little town like Pecan Bayou, Texas, she’s still a meter maid to us.
Belinda looked up from her ticket book and raised an eyebrow. “Press immunity? Did you just make that up? You never cease to amaze me with your creative mind, Rocky. Especially when I read that so-called newspaper of yours.”
“You, my lady, are only here because Mayor Obermeyer is too stubborn to install parking meters. You and your tire marking are antiquated.”
“Sticks and stones, paper man. You didn’t just move here yesterday. You know you’re allowed one-hour parking in the downtown area, and it doesn’t matter if a machine tells you or I do. You, Ruby Green, and especially that dude from the vitamin store—you all act like you have carte blanche with your parking space around here.”
“This is where we work. We should be able to park for free.”
“Tell it to the judge.” She ripped off a ticket and handed it to Rocky in a crisp fashion. “Press immunity, my foot. Have a nice day.”
Belinda turned with a whirl. Her long ponytail was secured with a beautiful custom-knitted scrunchie made of various colors of yarn and accented with beads that clicked as she made her rather dramatic exit. I had never seen anything like it.
Rocky grumbled and entered the offices of the Pecan Bayou Gazette. I had watched and heard the entire scene through the window instead of working on my latest helpful hints article that was due shortly.
“She got you again,” I said as Rocky continued to fume.
“Mayor Obermeyer is out of his head. Doesn’t he know we’re trying to encourage people to shop in the downtown area, not discourage them? I’m telling you, his stubbornness will be the death of retail in Pecan Bayou.” Rocky slapped his hand down on the ad section of the Gazette. “I barely have enough ads to fill the page. That mall outside of Andersonville is killing us. Next thing we know the shops will be closing down and Pecan Bayou will become a ghost town.”
“But doesn’t the mall advertise?” I asked. Rocky had always seemed like a glass-half-full kind of guy. He had to be, seeing as he had endured running a small-town newspaper for years and still kept it afloat in an age where people reached for their morning news online instead of from under the bush where the newsboy throws it.
“Betsy, you may be the world’s smartest helpful hints columnist, but when it comes to advertising, you’re out of your league. Most of the mall’s advertising dollars are going to the Andersonville weekly paper or the web. We’ve been cut out. Pecan Bayou is full of wonderful shopping treasures, and yet people are willing to drive twenty miles to get a piece of greasy food-court pizza and mill around overpriced stores.”
A wave of guilt rushed through me. I loved to shop at the mall, although it could get expensive with three children to outfit. “We were just there this weekend. The boys needed new shoes. It seems we buy a pair, and before we know it, they’ve outgrown them. I planned to do some shopping for myself, but do you know how much they want for a handbag over there?”
“Exactly. Handbags, shoes, greasy pizza. You should keep your loyalty and your shopping dollars right here in Pecan Bayou. There’s absolutely no reason to be taking your money there—you can find everything you need right here.” Rocky settled himself behind his cluttered desk, tossing the ticket onto a pile of other unpaid tickets.
As much as I wanted to agree with him, I knew I couldn’t. Pecan Bayou’s clothing stores were a little dated. If my style was vintage 1995 or the latest in hunter camouflage, sure, I’d keep my shopping dollars here. But I do enjoy an occasional up-to-date fashion. “Come on, Rocky. Be serious. Have you tried to get advertising from the mall?”
“Of course, but they think we’re too small and our ad rates too high. Can you believe that? People look to this paper for the latest news catered to them and their community. Those needle-nosed millennials at the mall know nothing at all about the power of good, old-fashioned advertising.”
“That’s too bad, but you have to admit, relative to the size of the state, we’re tiny.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but this year I’m looking forward to the unabated greed of the Golden Pecan Treasure Hunt. At least we’ll have people walking around downtown again. Some days it feels like people only use downtown as the landing strip for the coffee shop while they’re on their way to something better.”
“Yeah, well, if they ever put a Starbucks in this town, Earl Brown can kiss his monopoly on coffee goodbye.”
“Not exactly a monopoly,” Rocky argued. “Birdie’s Diner makes a decent cup of joe. I can’t believe she’s decided to close during the treasure hunt. Why she would take a gamble on the golden pecan and give up the money she could make from a large crowd of hungry, thirsty people is beyond me.”
I glanced out at the main street of Pecan Bayou. “I guess Benny’s Barbecue will be at capacity.”
“He sure will be.” Rocky stared out the window, his brow furrowing. “What if people don’t consider the treasure hunt a worthwhile pursuit this year? What if they’re too busy ordering stuff online and traveling to bigger towns?”
“That’ll never happen, Rocky. Nobody turns away free money.”
“I guess you’re right. This gold-crazed day has been going on since the 1930s as a cure to the depression.”
I remembered learning the story in elementary school. It almost sounded like a fairy tale at the time, what with golden pecans and hidden treasure. “The mayor back then…oh, what was his name?”
“Phinneus Lincoln,” Rocky responded sounding as if I had been studying for a test.
“Right. Do I remember the story correctly? Phinneaus Lincoln made a speech in front of the city council wishing the yearly pecan crop could be of gold and after that famous speech, his wife, a beloved elementary school teacher, had her third graders make the first golden pecan? Wasn’t it made of paper mache and gold paint?”
“Yep, one of the Pecan Bayou traditions people are still loyal to although now we make it out of an oversized plastic Easter egg,” Rocky said.
The sound of metal crunching on concrete hit our ears—someone was outside. Rocky and I were the only ones at the office today, his son being smart en
ough to get out of town before the golden pecan hunt kicked off. “Is Nicholas here?” I asked. “I thought he was off visiting his girlfriend.”
We went out the back door that opened onto an alley to find Bunny Donaldson with her hand in a dented metal trashcan. Bunny was the sister of Belinda the meter maid. She too wore her long hair pulled back, and at the moment, Bunny’s long, blonde braid dipped dangerously close to a sticky mess left from a paper plate covered in red barbecue sauce.
“What the hell are you doing, Bunny?” Rocky shouted. “Can’t you see this is private property? Those things don’t belong to you. I should call the police.”
“These things are no longer yours once you deposit them in an outside waste can. Read the law, Rocky. Read the law.” As the owner of Sprouting Serenity, Bunny called herself an environmentalist, which to her meant if it was in her environment, she was free to take it and “recycle” it as she saw fit. She was the town dumpster diver, turning everyone else’s trash into her treasure.
Bunny pointed at us, her bony finger protruding from a fingerless white lace glove, her braid swinging out from under her sun hat. “This is a discard receptacle, which makes it public domain. I can dig all I want. Look at all the aluminum cans in here. Why aren’t you recycling these? Do you think this planet is going to last forever?”
“As a matter of fact, I do, but in the interest of sustaining the planet, I’ll be happy to share my cans with you if you clean up this mess then get out of here. Do you hear?” Rocky harrumphed.
“I hear you. Hold on. I have a little more shopping to do.”
“You’re not shopping. You’re dumpster diving.”
“I beg your pardon. You’re too cheap to get a dumpster. What’s the date stamp on this can? 1955? No one has metal trash cans anymore. I’ll give you credit, though, at least it’s not made of plastic. Mark my words, plastic will surely be the end of us all. It’s from the devil, I tell you.”
“Then you should congratulate me for not polluting the planet with yet another green plastic trash receptacle.” Rocky took a bow.
“Hmm,” Bunny mumbled as she pulled out a piece of discarded paper. “You people only print on one side of the paper? That is so irresponsible. Reuse. Recycle!”
Rocky’s mouth hung open. Bunny was on a roll. I felt like I needed to step in before this turned into an alley brawl. “Bunny,” I said, “I’m sure you’re looking forward to the treasure hunt. You’re obviously very good at searching out things.”
“Oh, you mean that chemical-filled plastic pecan, made all pretty and shiny with toxic paints, that the chamber of commerce drags out every year? Now that Vic Butler is the head of the chamber with that bimbo wife of his, you can bet the whole thing is even more shady. That man is too smooth.”
Rocky tipped his head back. “What do you have against Vic and Sarah?”
Bunny stiffened. “She might have been in the running for Miss Texas, but Sarah Butler is evil. Oh, she looks all beautiful on the outside, thanks to all that fake plastic. But on the inside that girl is a rotted piece of fruit. Someday she’ll pay for what she’s done.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Bunny? Did you eat some of that old potato salad from the diner?” Rocky asked.
“None of your business. If you don’t mind, I choose to refrain from talking to the media.”
Rocky shrugged. “Whatever. Just clean up this mess before you leave.”
Bunny turned away and started transferring the crumpled soda cans into a burlap bag.
“What was that all about?” I asked as we re-entered the newspaper office.
“Who knows. Better yet, who cares? Now about that article you’re supposed to be writing on turning plastic bags into throw rugs. Bunny’s sure to love that one.” Rocky winked.
“I’m getting to it, boss. First, I want to finish my series on organization.”
“More articles on sorting the sock drawer? Really, Betsy. This town can only take so many ‘roll your socks’ articles. Change it up a little bit.”
How could he not understand how much Marie Kondo and her book, Tidying Up, had changed my life? My home used to be chaotic and a revolving pile of dirty laundry. With three kids, I was finding it almost impossible to keep things in order. Marie restored my sanity. I needed to shout her message from the highest mountaintop, and luckily, I had a platform to do just that!
Rocky still stood at my desk, expecting an answer.
“Okay. This article is the last one. I promise.”
“Good.”
As I turned back to my computer, I heard Bunny still clanking cans in the alley. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much Bunny’s face changed the minute we mentioned Sarah Butler. She was beautiful, but I’d never seen anything in her that hinted at evil.
“Excuse me.” Mark Valencia, a new store owner in Pecan Bayou, stood at the front counter. Mark’s muscles bulged impressively under a royal blue polo emblazoned with the words “Maximum Muscle” on the chest.
“Yes, can I help you?” I asked.
Mark took a folder from under his arm. “Yes, I’d like to buy an ad in your paper.”
Rocky rose from his desk and greeted Mark with an enthusiastic smile. Small-town newspapers didn’t survive on subscriptions alone. Advertising was an angel from heaven.
“Of course, what did you have in mind?” Rocky said.
“I’m the owner of Maximum Muscle. Maybe you’ve seen it?”
I’d certainly seen it. Both of my boys had been bugging us to take them there. Maximum Muscle sold powdered mixes and supplements that claimed the user would turn into a weightlifter with large biceps and six-pack abs. His little store was quite busy, especially after the high school wrestling team got wind of it.
“Yes, and I should have stopped by sooner to say welcome to the community.” Rocky extended his hand. “I’m Rocky Whitson, editor of the Pecan Bayou Gazette.”
Mark flashed a winning smile toward Rocky. “Mark Valencia, nice to meet you. No big deal. I find most of the real men in town get over to my store eventually. I have a complete line of senior supplements.”
Rocky’s expression soured. “Great. When I find a senior, I’ll send them on over.”
Mark gave him a wink. “Don’t wait too long. Muscles can atrophy in just a few years.” He looked back at the street. “Was that Bunny Donaldson coming from the alley? Does she come dig through your trash cans? I can’t keep that woman out of the can behind my store. What is the deal with her? She called me the devil the other day. That Donaldson woman could use a mental health check.”
“She probably called you a devil because you’re both in the same business.”
“She sells bodybuilding supplements?” He put a hand on his chin and glanced out at the street.
“She owns our local health food store. Unless you have organic, free-range, and pure stamped on those vitamins you sell, she wouldn’t touch them.” I had never thought about it before now, but Rocky was right. Bunny and Mark were competing for the business of people wanting to lead healthier lives, but their ideologies were at odds.
“Great. Just what I needed. Next time Bunny calls me names, I’ll make sure she thinks twice. No wo… No person has the right to treat me like that.”
Three strikes for Bunny. Not only did he dislike her because she was in the natural foods business and digging through his trashcans, but he wasn’t all that crazy about the fact she was a woman. “Well, Bunny has had a hard time of it lately. She had a death in the family.”
Mark nodded. “That’s too bad, but that doesn’t mean she can take it out on me. Do you know she threw eggs at my window last week?”
“No doubt, cage-free,” Rocky said.
“I don’t care what they are, she needs to back off. I haven’t called the police yet, but one more stunt and I’m going to the cops. The woman’s a menace. As far as I’m concerned, she can take her herbs and eggs and stuff them up her—”
Rocky cleared his throat, cutting Mark off. �
��What kind of ad are you interested in?”
Mark regained his composure. “I’m not sure. Do you have a rate sheet?”
“We sure do,” Rocky said, glee in his voice. “Let me get a copy for you from the back. Stay right there!”
Mark smiled at me, and then the grinding of heavy metal music filled the room. He fished a phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen.
“Mark here. Yes…no. I said I wanted it today. Get me? Today or maybe somebody would like to know what you’re up to…get me?” The anger in his voice was escalating, but he toned it down when his gaze came back to me.
“Uh…thank you for calling.” He clicked off the phone.
I smiled back a little uncomfortably. “Business problems?”
“Yeah. You know…” He shrugged and glanced away.
Rocky returned with a laminated rate sheet in his hand. “Now, let’s get you an ad in the paper, Mark.”
As Mark and Rocky started working on the ad, I decided Bunny’s cause had inspired me, and I would switch to my article on recycling plastic grocery bags. I started to type at my computer, explaining the process of converting bags into strips when Rocky finished up with Mark and returned to his desk.
“Have you ever thought of Sarah Butler as evil?” I asked.
“No. How could a beauty queen be evil? I don’t think she ever won Miss Congeniality. I mean, she keeps to herself, but I don’t see her as evil. If anything, she brightens up a room. Now I’m sure other people in town have different opinions about her. It’s hard to be so perfect around here.”
“First of all, yes, beauty queens can be bad. Beauty pageants are a competition like any other, which can bring out the worst in some people. She always seemed friendly enough to me, though.”
“Who knows. People talk. And I wouldn’t put too much stock in what our resident eco-terrorist is saying. Bunny has always had what my grandmother would have called flights of fancy. I think she’s a clear victim of too much granola. All that fiber can kill a person. That’s why God invented bacon and eggs.”