Here Today, Gone Tamale

by Rebecca Adler

  Suddenly I remembered Patti’s discovery on the mayor’s computer. “Ty?” I whispered.

  “Hmm?” He folded his hands on the table and perched his chin on top.

  “Was Dixie blackmailing the mayor’s wife?”

  With a faint smile, he lifted my wrist to his nose and sniffed. “I don’t know nothin’ about that. I do know she was hoping to sell more jewelry, but her sources dried up.”

  He could sniff all he wanted, but I wasn’t wearing anything but Dove. “What kind of sources?”

  “Her rocks and gemstones. Somebody got to her seller, and all of a sudden they refused to do business with her.” Keeping his eyes on mine, he turned my wrist over and kissed the back of my hand. The collar of his shirt pulled open, and there, resting on his collarbone, was a necklace of horses, identical to the one Dixie had worn the day she died.

  With my heart beating out a boot-stomping rhythm, I fought to keep my voice level. “Who was her seller?” I was okay. I could still punch him with my right hand if he got fresh. But how had he come by Dixie’s necklace? I’d seen Lightfoot wrap it in foil and take it away after the disaster at the contest.

  “Some trader from the Four Corners Reservation who came through town every few months or so. I don’t know his name.” Most of the agate and amethyst in our area was found on private ranches, but Dixie had always maintained a good relationship with the owners, or so I thought.

  The door must have drifted back open for I could see through the screen door to the dance floor. Lightfoot was talking to a waitress, his head bent forward as if asking a question. I was standing in the middle of a moral dilemma. Did I warn Ty that the deputy was about to find him, hoping he’d give me more information at a later date? Or did I help Lightfoot do his job?

  He tugged my hand until his face was inches away from mine. “How about a kiss?”

  Chapter 15

  His breath stunk of beer and smoke. I blinked away the stench, trying to make out if the horses on his necklace were made from the same stones as the one Elaine had swallowed, but it was too dark.

  I yanked my hand from his and stood up. “Maybe next time.” I’d had enough of this snake in cowboy clothing, even if he had passed on priceless information.

  “Suit yourself, city gal,” he said, standing unsteadily. With a short bow, he replaced his hat on his head and strode off in the opposite direction of the van.

  “Ty Honeycutt?”

  Dixie’s nephew turned at the sound of his name. “Who wants to know?”

  Lightfoot strolled toward him as if he were an old friend Ty might have forgotten. Slowly, he reached into his back pocket and flashed his badge in the other man’s face. “Sit down, right there,” Lightfoot said, pointing to the same chair Ty had abandoned moments before, “and don’t move.”

  Across the parking lot, two deputies in uniform stepped up to the red van. The taller of the two banged on the door and shouted, “Everybody out.”

  “You two need some help?” Lightfoot called out.

  Before the deputies could answer, there was a loud metal screech as the sliding door on the other side of the van opened, followed by fervent cursing as the men scrambled out.

  “They’re getting away!” I cried. If the deputies didn’t hurry, the poker players would make for the trees.

  As the officers ran around the van, I heard one of them calling for backup on his radio. For a moment, all was silent until I heard what sounded like a herd of buffalo tramping through the scrub and Barnes shouting. In Austin and Dallas, the police had to concern themselves with whether or not the criminals would turn around and shoot. But the poker dudes, though they might conceal and carry, wouldn’t shoot an officer of the law over an illegal poker game.

  Ty tried to run, but he crashed into the table and fell to the ground. Before he could hop up, Lightfoot placed a boot on his back. “Get up real slow and I won’t cuff you,” he said, swinging a pair of metal bracelets into Ty’s field of vision.

  “I ain’t done nothin’.”

  “I want to ask you a few questions. We can do it here or back at the station, your choice.”

  Slowly, Ty tried to sit up as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. He stood slowly and made a sharp kick backwards with his boot.

  While Ty and Lightfoot faced off, sizing each other up, I slipped behind the musician and picked up the object he’d hoped to hide. I held it up to the light and recognized a substantial roll of bills. “He was trying to keep you from finding this.” I handed the money to the deputy.

  “Give me that!” Ty tried to snatch it from my hand, but Lightfoot was faster.

  Uncle Eddie flew out the side door, a white bar towel flung over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

  Ty didn’t respond, but he did sneak a glance in the direction of the scrub on the other side of the van where his friends had skedaddled.

  With one eye on the musician, Lightfoot opened his hand.

  Ty bowed out his chest. “That’s my money.”

  “I’m missing five hundred dollars.” Uncle Eddie’s hands were fisted and his shoulders hunched. Any second, his hair was going to stand on end. “Did you steal it?”

  “How could I have stolen it?”

  “Mitzi says you were flirting with her behind the bar before she ran you off.”

  Uncle Eddie counted the drawer four times a night to prevent the waitresses and bartenders from pocketing money. His persistence had come in handy this time.

  “I won that money, fair and square.”

  Barnes and another of the deputies returned, both dragging and wheezing like a leaky valve. “They’re long gone, but we might catch them where the trail ends out on Presidio Road.”

  “When you do, let’s ask them if Ty was winning tonight or if this money belongs to Two Boots,” Lightfoot said.

  Ty made a big show of shaking his head and thrusting his hands on his hips. “You can’t prove anything.”

  “Nope, not unless someone spills their guts,” Lightfoot said.

  The other deputy butted in, “Which they might be willing to do if you cheated them out of their money tonight.”

  Lightfoot stepped closer. “Bubba says you told him that you’d do whatever it took to get your aunt’s money.”

  Ty must have finally realized that Lightfoot, the deputies, and Uncle Eddie had him surrounded. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “That don’t mean I killed her.”

  “He’s wearing Dixie’s necklace.” I wanted Lightfoot to haul this guy in by his belt loops. If he’d steal money from a softie like my uncle, he was desperate enough to kill Dixie.

  Stepping even closer, Lightfoot reached for Ty’s collar. “That right?”

  Ty grabbed the necklace, his eyes skirting from one deputy to another. “Yeah, but it’s mine. She made it special for me.”

  Standing back from any fists that might start flying, I was doing a mental victory dance. They’d have to let Anthony go if they found even one jot of evidence that Ty might have been involved in Dixie’s murder.

  “Hey, man, I’m innocent,” Ty said, no longer bowed up and defensive. In an urgent whisper he pleaded, “Take me down to the station and question me if you want, but I didn’t kill Aunt Dixie.”

  * * *

  With a nod in my direction, Lightfoot and the other deputies led Ty out to the main parking lot while Uncle Eddie followed along behind, berating the luckless gambler.

  Ty was a piece of work, but I wasn’t convinced he was guilty. It was too neat, too pat, and I was too keyed up to head home. I cruised around the back of the building to the other side, making my way carefully past a metal toolshed, an abandoned deep freezer, and a rusted hulk of a GTO that Uncle Eddie had bought in an auction in Waco. Of course, he’d sworn on a stack of Bibles he was going to fix her up after the tourist season, and here she waited, six years later.


  As I approached the side door, I spotted a familiar figure. Mayor Cogburn was smoking a cigarette and watching my progress through my uncle’s minefield. No sign of the beautiful Felicia.

  “I was afraid you’d sprain an ankle out there, but you made it.” His gaze landed somewhere around my shoulder.

  Good night. Was the whole town on a bender? “Uncle Eddie could pay his bills if he’d sell off this junk,” I said playfully, hoping to avoid a discussion of any length.

  The mayor took a long draw on his cigarette. “Your uncle’s a good guy.” His succinct delivery confused me. Was he sober or just skilled at masking how much he’d had to drink?

  I had never seen the mayor anything but calculatingly upbeat, but tonight he was talking to me in a voice full of sorrow and regret. If I was lucky, that meant he would answer my questions no matter how rude.

  “And Dixie was a good woman.”

  He stared at me, and I knew I had gone too far. He was going to leave. Instead he leaned forward and looked me square in the eyes. “No, she worn’t.” I also had never heard our esteemed mayor venture into a hick dialect.

  “She created beautiful things.”

  “She created a load of bull crap that nearly ruined my life.” He wiped the back of his hand across his brow. “Meaner than a snake and twice as crafty.”

  I took the plunge. “What’d she do?” I asked in a sweet, and I hoped, an unthreatening voice. I held my breath.

  “She threatened me and my family.”

  “How could she do that? You’re the one in charge.”

  “She knew . . . things. Secrets she wanted to spread around town . . . about us.” He tossed his cigarette and ground it under his expensive boot heel.

  Through the emergency exit at his back, I could hear the beat of the music and over it the buzz of the crowd. I remained silent, nodding in sympathy even as I noted how isolated we were amongst the rusting castoffs. A cool breeze tickled the hair at the back of my neck and along my arms.

  “We have our hard times. Lord knows, her idiosyncrasies would force any man to drive his truck off a cliff.” He waited for me to respond.

  I stepped back. “Well—”

  Huffing out a sour breath he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I know. I can be a real pain in the ass myself.” He didn’t slur his words, but his breath could peel wallpaper.

  Why was he suddenly divulging his marital problems to me? And did it matter as long as it led me one step closer to figuring out who’d murdered Dixie? “What I know is that you two are still together, and there’s no other couple who represents the people in Broken Boot like you two.”

  “You got that right.” He cast a nervous glance at the darkened windows, but unless he had super powers, all he saw was swaying shadows. He propped back against the wooden siding. “Dixie saw us. Can you believe it?” After several seconds he continued. “We’d picked a place on the other side of El Paso. We walk out the door, and there she is, big as you please, getting out of her car.” He hitched at his leather belt where his pants had fallen below his beer belly. “She smiled and said hello like nothing was going on, and so did we.”

  Where were they? What had Dixie seen and why didn’t they want her to see them? I slowly let my gaze drift left and then right, praying that no one would materialize around the corner to interrupt him.

  I nodded again. “But she didn’t let it go, did she?”

  His fingers ran under his bolero tie, pulling it loose. “We were working on the silent auction so it didn’t seem strange, her calling to donate her necklace.”

  “Of course not, it’s the perfect thing.”

  “But she started insinuating that I needed to buy one of her other necklaces for Felicia. I told her no, that I’d have to wait for our anniversary.” He drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the back of his neck. “That’s when she threatened to tell everyone in town about seeing us at Dr. Valentine’s.”

  I wasn’t familiar with the good doctor or his establishment, but it didn’t require a rocket scientist to deduce that the photos Dixie had sent to the mayor’s office had most likely been taken as the couple left Dr. Valentine’s office. Patti was going to flip. Why was Cogburn so secretive? Was it an addiction? Plastic surgery? Dentures? What embarrassing secret had Dixie stumbled upon?

  “I bought the other necklace, and she promised me she’d never tell a soul.”

  “Was, um, Dixie a woman of her word?”

  “I thought so, I prayed so.” He grabbed his Stetson in both hands and covered his heart. “You can’t say a word, understand?”

  Taking a quick step out of reach, I answered with my hand over my own heart. “I’d never tell a soul. I don’t have any idea who Dr. Valentine is, and I don’t want to know.” I should’ve crossed my fingers because I was already itching to find him on the internet as soon as our conversation ended.

  “That’s music to my ears.” He patted my shoulder a few times, righted his hat, and tightened his tie. “Felicia will be wondering where I’ve gone.” He opened the door.

  “Mayor Cogburn, did you say you bought your wife one of Dixie’s necklaces?”

  He pierced me with a sharp glance. “You said you wouldn’t mention it.”

  “Um, Mayor, did you know the necklace Dixie made for tomorrow night’s auction is missing?”

  “Say what?” he demanded, lifting his eyebrows so high he resembled a Mr. Potato Head.

  “I don’t think Dixie ever turned it into the committee and now they’re scrambling.”

  He nodded. “You want me to donate the very necklace Dixie conned me into buying so that I get nothing in return for my money, not even a gift for my wife?”

  I hadn’t thought about it in quite those terms. “Uh, yes, sir.”

  “Josie Callahan, you are a pistol.” With that declaration, he headed inside as the band stepped onstage for their next set.

  Though my fingers itched to immediately search out Dr. Valentine on the Web, a quick glance at my cell confirmed I had no bars.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  I dropped my phone as Lightfoot stepped up behind me. Had he heard us? Had he seen Mayor Cogburn walk away? I jerked open the door, hoping to lose myself in the noise and crush of bodies, but he followed close. “Not much,” I shouted. “Just thinking about how tired I am, and how I need to head home.”

  “I’ll drive you,” he said in my ear.

  That sounded like an excuse for him to grill me about my own conversation with Ty. “Thanks, but I’ve had my license a few years.”

  “Maybe so, but the guy at the front said you marched in on your own steam.”

  Before I could slip through a row of boot-scooting line dancers, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back out the door. “You need to be cautious. Some drunken idiot might follow you home.” Still holding my arm, he started walking toward the parking lot.

  “Go ahead and admit it. You know you arrested the wrong man.” My pulse quickened. He would have to admit what I’d known all along.

  “We’ll see what’s what after we question Ty.”

  “If you admit I’m right, I’ll let you drive me home.”

  He stared at me for a good long time. “I’m not telling you a thing. That would be breaking the law.”

  “Shouldn’t you be heading back to the jail instead of fraternizing with the public?” I understood his ethics, but I didn’t have to show it. I spun toward the door. “I forgot to say good-bye to Uncle Eddie.”

  After twenty minutes of dragging my heels, including a pear cider at the bar, I started for home, only to find Lightfoot and his cruiser waiting for me by the door.

  “You took long enough.”

  “You didn’t have to wait.”

  “Yeah, I did.” He reached across and pushed open my door.

  I was e
xhausted, so I slid in and slammed the door. In the dim light of the dashboard and the moonless sky, I asked, “Do you think Ty did it?” I couldn’t read his expression in the silence that followed.

  “He’s got motive.”

  “But . . . ?”

  “Do I think he’s capable of great stupidity? Yeah, but I don’t think he’s dumb enough to do something that would put him away for life.”

  Without a word, we drove the five minutes to Aunt Linda’s. I glanced across at his expressionless face, wishing I knew what he refused to say.

  I sighed and pushed open the door. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  At the porch steps, I turned.

  He lifted a hand in response and drove away.

  Under a sky painted with stars, bright and twinkling like an ocean filled with glowing jellyfish, my skin prickled with the thought that I might not be safe in this town, my home.

  My mind was full to overflowing with images of Ty Honeycutt, Lightfoot and Barnes, the stolen money, the image of a furious Ty being thrown into the back of the sheriff’s cruiser. The investigation felt incomplete, and as much as I hadn’t trusted our law enforcement officers to get it right, I found I’d trusted them more than I wanted to admit.

  Until now. Something in my subconscious was telling me this was too easy, too predictable, too . . . wrong. I should’ve felt relieved the case was drawing to a close, but not this way, not this predictable way. Ty was a charmer and a gambler, which meant he had to be a great actor, but I didn’t believe he could manufacture the desperate fury I’d witnessed. When they’d taken him away, he’d reacted like a trapped animal, desperate to save his life. He’d changed my mind and convinced me of his innocence.

  On the library table in the hall stood a sunflower-faced cat, sculpted from railroad ties and scrap metal. Aunt Linda had stuck a Post-it on the feline’s face, telling me to call Patti. I was relieved. I hadn’t heard from Goth Girl except for a short text message of thanks and a promise to call me later.

  Aunt Linda waited on the leather sofa in the den, reading a romance by the light of a faux Tiffany lamp from Target. “You okay?” She opened her arms for a hug and proceeded to squeeze the life out of me.