Here Today, Gone Tamale

by Rebecca Adler

  My breath caught as I recognized the bow tie.

  “And that ain’t all. There’s a near perfect shoe impression as well.”

  Didn’t he mean boot impression? That was old news. Hadn’t I, a mere civilian, seen the boot impression in the dimly lit alley? The Big Bend County Sheriff’s Department didn’t have anything on me.

  Unaware of my reaction, the sheriff and his deputies hurried out the back.

  Anthony bolted out the front door and I was right on his heels. “Wait!” With all the immigration issues throughout the state, I wasn’t surprised he wanted to avoid law officers, but Broken Boot was different. He didn’t need to be afraid.

  As soon as it became apparent that I wasn’t giving up, he stopped and slowly turned. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Try telling me why you’re on the run.”

  As if longing to leave me and my question in the dust, he glanced down the street toward the Broken Boot depot. “It’s mine.”

  He didn’t have to tell me, I already suspected. Though all of our employees wore a red bowtie, his was the only one with fringe at the bottom in the Mexican style.

  “The sheriff won’t assume the worst if you’re straightforward with him.” I waited for Anthony to say something, but he merely shook his head and kept his gaze on the sidewalk. “Just tell him how it came to be in the Dumpster.” If there was ever a public official with integrity, it was Wallace.

  * * *

  Frustrated beyond belief at the continued delay, Aunt Linda sent our employees home. “We’ll have to clean it ourselves. After losing both lunch and dinner, I’m not paying a single solitary cent for anyone to clean up after the Big Bend County Sheriff’s Department.”

  My first impulse was to complain, but I immediately sucked it up. If my aunt said we could do it ourselves, she actually meant we had to do it ourselves. Money was that tight.

  With each of us carrying a bucket of sudsy water and a rag, we began to wash away all traces of fingerprint powder in the bar.

  “It is good,” Senora Mari gave me a stern nod, “to clean all fingerprints.”

  “Powder,” I corrected. “We’re washing away the fingerprint powder.”

  “Humph,” she muttered, her frown deepening. “I’m getting rid of all the germs the sheriff and his posse left behind.”

  Either way, we had hours of work ahead of us, but still no word as to whether or not we’d even be open for business the next day.

  Boots stomped down the hall and into the entranceway. “Linda,” Sheriff Wallace called out.

  Something about the tone of his voice pulled us up short. We traipsed into the other room without bothering to put down our buckets.

  Like a third-world leader on vacation in New York City, Anthony stood surrounded by a circle of officers on high alert. No guns were drawn, but Wallace’s crew had their chests out and their hands on their holsters.

  “What’s going on, sheriff?” I hugged my bucket to my chest, sloshing soap on my blouse.

  “Nothing to get riled up about, ladies. We’re only taking Anthony in for further questioning.”

  With her usual swagger, Aunt Linda went nose to nose with Wallace. “Does he need a lawyer?”

  The older deputy butted in. “We’re about to find out.”

  “Keep your smart comments to yourself.” The sheriff leveled the other man with a narrow-eyed glare. With a sigh, he met my aunt’s worried gaze. “If he needs one, he’ll get one.”

  As the entourage herded out the side door to their cruisers, Lightfoot caught my eye. He shot a quick glance at Wallace’s retreating back before giving me a level look.

  I lifted a brow. What was he trying to tell me?

  Under his breath he murmured, “Get the best money can buy.”

  * * *

  By eight o’clock the next morning, my family had developed a plan of attack. Uncle Eddie would meet Carlos, our cook, at Milagro to unlock the doors. After briefing our most experienced employee, Eddie would then drive to Two Boots to unlock the dance hall for his head bartender. Finally, he would meet us at the sheriff’s department to find out why Wallace was still holding Anthony for questioning. The fact that Eddie might get better results from the good ole boys down at city hall irritated my independent side, but I’d lived in Broken Boot long enough to recognize the truth: we were merely women, not former West Texas football stars.

  My cell rang as we piled into Aunt Linda’s truck. “Hi, Elaine,” I said, rolling my eyes as I hit the speaker button.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to bother you so early, but we have an emergency.”

  Aunt Linda hit the brakes. “What?”

  Elaine’s voice flooded with regret. “Oh, I’m so sorry. That poor woman. No, no, it’s nothing like that grisly business, thank God.”

  Shooting me a look of frustration, my aunt took her foot off the brake and started to reverse once again.

  “What kind of emergency?” I asked, trying to hide my frustration. Why did I always miss breakfast?

  “We’ve had one of our talent show judges just up and quit.”

  Coffee. If I’d had a cup of coffee I’d understand why the committee chairwoman was sharing her woes with me so early in the morning. “Uh, are you asking for a recommendation?”

  “No, I’m asking you to take her place.”

  “Well,” I flung a desperate look at Aunt Linda, who refused to look my way, “I’m already working the tamale-eating contest.”

  “Yes, honey. I know.”

  “Why don’t you ask Ryan? He’d love to work side by side with Hillary.” Though I couldn’t fathom why.

  “That’s just the thing,” the chairwoman said in a patient voice, “he’s too busy judging the chili cook-off, not to mention . . . what was it he said?”

  It didn’t take a football fan to know Ryan’s favorite excuse for avoiding anything he didn’t want to do. “Scouting for players?” I offered.

  “Exactly!”

  By now, we were only minutes from the sheriff’s department. Anthony needed our help to maneuver the justice system, and we weren’t going to disappoint him.

  “Did you ask Hillary? She knows lots of judges.”

  “She recommended you. Said you had a real talent for picking winners after living all those years in Austin.”

  The little witch.

  Before I could protest, Aunt Linda shook her head as if to say, “You’re a Callahan. Don’t you dare back down.”

  I looked to Senora Mari for support, but she only shrugged.

  “You win,” I said.

  “No, darling. Once this is all over, the citizens of Broken Boot will be the winners.”

  * * *

  The pedestrian and downright ugly sand-colored, brick building housed the Big Bend County Sheriff’s Department, the mayor’s office, and all the city services necessary to run a town of this size. Whose bright idea was it to bring Anthony in for questioning? I led the way inside, followed by Aunt Linda, with Senora Mari trailing like a forlorn caboose.

  As I studied the bowels of the circa 1970 building, I realized the upside of this whole, stinking business. During the night, I’d tossed and kicked as all my frustration came to a boil until a plausible explanation for the marks around Dixie’s neck had risen to the top. This would be the perfect opportunity to present my deduction to the sheriff.

  I crossed to the information counter. “Excuse me. Which way to Sheriff Wallace’s office?”

  Before the fresh-faced volunteer could answer, the familiar bass voice of Deputy Lightfoot answered. “Shouldn’t you ladies be preparing lunch at Milagro?”

  “Depends,” said Senora Mari.

  “Are you going to shut us down again today for no decent reason?” Aunt Linda’s voice echoed down the hall, turning heads in our direction. Maybe it wasn’t exactly Lightfo
ot’s fault, but he’d searched the place all the same.

  “We’re heading that way as soon as we see the sheriff,” I said. Our eyes met and my pulse jumped into hyperdrive, embarrassing me half to death.

  Lightfoot didn’t look to the left or to the right, obviously recognizing the sane one of the bunch. “You need to come with me.” He was trying to communicate something with those black eyes of his, but darned if I could make it out.

  “She’s not going anywhere without us!” Senora Mari said, grabbing me by one arm while Aunt Linda grabbed the other.

  “Shh!” I hissed. Rational behavior was slipping downhill faster than a flash flood during a spring rain. “That’s what he meant.” I wriggled free. “Everyone just calm down.”

  And like magic, they did, their paranoia disappearing into thin air.

  Lightfoot waited a beat, eyeing all three of us with caution. “Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll find Sheriff Wallace together?”

  Without waiting for an argument, I took the bull by the horns. “Sounds like the best plan yet.” We followed him and his neat ponytail across the lobby and past an authentic buffalo head that hung over an enormous stone hearth. At a tall bronze sculpture of a western boot with a broken heel, he made a sharp left.

  We followed him down a narrow hall and ran into Elaine Burnett coming out of the county tax collector’s office. “Oh my, are you all right?” She grabbed Aunt Linda by the arms. “We could have all been killed!” Over Elaine’s shoulder, I could see that my aunt was aggravated, but she managed to untangle herself from the other woman without being rude.

  Before I could maneuver away, Elaine grabbed me in her lavender-perfumed arms, “Josie, you could have been killed.” I wasn’t sure why she hadn’t expressed such concern over the phone earlier, but much to my relief, she released me after a brief squeeze.

  My eyes started to tear in spite of my command for them not to do so. “I’m fine. I was never in any danger.”

  “No one’s dead except Dixie.” Senora Mari stiff-armed Elaine, preventing the other woman from hugging her as well.

  While Elaine uttered comforting platitudes, I caught Lightfoot’s eye and delivered a silent plea for help.

  “Let’s get a move on, ladies.”

  I adopted a put-out expression. “I’m sorry Mrs. Burnett, but we have to meet with Sheriff Wallace.”

  “Oh, of course you do, and I’ll say a prayer for all of you.” She pulled me to one side as if Lightfoot couldn’t see or hear her. “Don’t let that deputy get the better of you. You’re innocent until proven guilty.”

  Where she had whispered, I almost shouted. “I’m not guilty of anything.”

  Senora Mari chimed in, “Me neither!”

  Elaine’s gaze flew swiftly over my shoulder.

  “Don’t you stare at me,” Aunt Linda cried. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  Elaine’s jaw dropped as if she’d been sucker-punched. Folks in Broken Boot did not raise their voice to the Wild Wild West Festival committee chairwoman.

  Before she could gather herself, Lightfoot interrupted. “For Pete’s sake, let’s go.” He strode off down the hall.

  Insulted at Elaine’s insinuations, we marched after him, fuming but no longer frustrated with the deputy who’d helped ruin a perfectly good lunch and dinner service only the day before.

  We followed him down the narrow hall, passing cubicles and county workers, until we reached a wall plaque that read The Office of Sheriff Mack E. Wallace.

  “Have a seat,” Lightfoot ordered, gesturing to a seating area composed of taupe walls and gray metal chairs with lumpy gray padding. The only way the designer, if that was the correct word, could have made this room more depressing would have been to add a huge flat screen TV that played a loop of used car commercials.

  We followed his command without argument while he checked in with the middle-aged secretary behind the desk.

  With a frown, Lightfoot walked over. “Wallace is out to lunch.”

  Aunt Linda checked her watch. “It’s a bit early, don’t you think?”

  “So he’s out to breakfast.”

  “Is he coming back soon?”

  “She says he’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.” He tipped his head toward the secretary, who was glaring at us over the rim of her glasses.

  Senora Mari glared right back. “We wait.”

  Lightfoot looked a question at me, and I shrugged. “You heard her. We’ll wait.”

  For a few minutes, no one spoke while the three of us with smartphones checked our messages.

  Senora Mari tapped me on the leg. “You tell him.”

  “What?”

  After a dramatic exhale, she whispered, “You know.”

  “I don’t.”

  Aunt Linda leaned toward me and muttered, “Tell him what Dixie said.”

  Immediately interested, Lightfoot sat up straight. “What’d she say to you?”

  Oh, boy. This could get out of hand faster than a jackrabbit on speed. “Senora Mari,” I said, with an expansive gesture, “had a dream about Dixie.”

  “And?”

  “Well . . . in the dream . . . Dixie, um, said, um, she wanted revenge.”

  Silence. Like a statue, he didn’t blink for a full thirty seconds.

  “And what else?” he finally asked.

  Senora Mari spoke up. “She didn’t speak, but she told me that when she died she was cold and out of air.”

  Another pregnant pause. He stared at Aunt Linda and he stared at me. “Is that it?”

  With Senora Mari giving me a narrow-eyed glare, I didn’t dare roll my eyes. “Pretty much.”

  His mouth twisted for a second, and I could have sworn Mr. Silent and Stoic would laugh. Instead he blew out his breath and shook his head. “Thanks for telling me,” he said, his mask firmly in place.

  “Who are your parents, Indian?”

  Aunt Linda and I gasped. No one I knew would have dared use the word Indian instead of Native American. If we weren’t waiting for the sheriff on behalf of my favorite employee, I swear I would’ve run for the ladies’ room. Senora Mari was many things, but politically correct wasn’t one of them.

  Lightfoot snapped his head toward the elderly woman, eyes narrowed. “Tuti and Eric Lightfoot from New Mexico.” His lips thinned. “Why? You planning a trip to Albuquerque?”

  “I’ve gone out West.” Her remark made me smile. I wondered if she knew that for most people Broken Boot was as far west as they wanted to go. She sized him up from toe to sternum. “Have you ever been to that UFO museum in Roswell?” Uncle Eddie had taken us on a vacation to see the Grand Canyon the summer before my senior year in high school. Senora Mari had insisted on choosing one of our stops.

  “Hah,” he barked, which meant, I assumed, he wasn’t going to put her in cuffs or read her the riot act for not being politically correct. “Once, but that place was a joke.”

  She leaned closer. “Oh, yeah? I bet you spend your Saturday nights in Marfa, staring at a bunch of giant fireflies.”

  Who would have guessed the handsome deputy and the powerhouse tamale cook would share an interest in extraterrestrials?

  Twenty miles southwest of Broken Boot stood the Marfa Lights Viewing Area, the perfect diversion for tourists on their trek to Big Bend National Park on the southwest Texas border. People of all ages came to stand in the dark to watch the red, blue, and sometimes white lights appear in the night sky. The cynics said this so-called paranormal phenomenon was just the reflection of cars and campfires at night. The believers said that was hooey.

  Senora Mari chuckled. “I didn’t see any UFOs when I was there.”

  The smile he flashed her could have warmed the cold canyons of the moon. “Me neither, but I’ve seen the Marfa lights dance on the horizon dozens of times. We’re old friends.” They beam
ed at each other, and then just as suddenly his smile disappeared as he checked his phone again.

  “Who are you dating?” This time Senora Mari’s inquisition was met with silence. The air fairly quivered with anticipation as all three of us leaned toward him just a smidge.

  “Is she an Indian too?”

  Oh, boy. The older woman might not have meant any harm, but I was embarrassed for the both of them.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I don’t blame you. Best to stick with your own kind, though my son, Eddie, never listened to me. No offense, Linda.”

  Next to me, Aunt Linda pulled a face. “None taken,” she turned her head toward me and muttered, “Now that you live with us.”

  “Of course,” Senora Mari continued, “if you decide you want to try something new before you settle down and have babies, you could ask Josie. She’d give you a run for your money.”

  Great. Now I was a racehorse.

  He glanced at me. One side of his mouth kicked up. “Hmm . . . I’ll take that under advisement.”

  “She’s not a good cook, but she’s smart.”

  And now we were back in the 1800s. “You know I can hear you, right?”

  Lowering her voice, Senora Mari continued, “She acts high and mighty, but she’s not, when you know her.”

  He leveled a glance at me. “You sure?”

  “Por supuesto,” she said, patting my head. “I am never wrong.”

  * * *

  I talked Aunt Linda into staying with Senora Mari in the waiting area. She readily agreed that there was no need to henpeck the sheriff with an overabundance of female advice.

  Humming a lonesome tune, Sheriff Wallace looked out his office window to the cloud-shadowed Chisos Mountain ridge. In the distance, a small herd of cattle grazed in the sparse grass. The sheriff turned to me with a sad smile. “I don’t see you in a month of Sundays, and now it’s two days in a row.”

  We’d met when I was ten, freckled and reddish blond from the desert summer sun. I tried to chuckle, but his remark brought me back to Dixie’s cold, pasty skin. “I wish it were for far better reasons.”

  “I’m glad you’re home. We need more young folks like you in Broken Boot.”