Our Red Hot Romance Is Leaving Me Blue

by Dixie Cash

  Not until he finished the grooming did he realize that the tightness in his neck and shoulders with which he had lived for months was gone. Stopping to wipe his brow and catch his breath, he stepped back to admire his work. The horses weren’t exactly ready for a show ring, but they looked 100 percent better. He wondered if regularly taking care of them could actually be therapeutic for him.

  “I promise to do this more often, girls,” he said. “I won’t ignore you anymore.”

  He had barely uttered the words when he heard the distinctive sound of an approaching car. He recognized the engine sound immediately. John Patrick.

  Glancing at his watch, Justin was stunned to see that two hours had slipped past and it was mid-morning. Early by John Patrick’s clock.

  As the Cayenne neared, Justin stepped up on the bottom rail of the fence and let out a loud whistle, waving his arm to draw his brother-in-law’s attention. John Patrick looked in his direction. He braked his high-powered SUV into a caliche-grinding halt and sent up a cloud of dust that hung over the corral like a film.

  John Patrick was laughing when he opened the door. He turned in the driver’s seat and planted his feet on the ground. “Man, I almost didn’t see you. I was haulin’ ass. What’re you doing in the corral? Thought you’d hired somebody to take care of these horses.”

  Justin couldn’t help but notice that the rotund man, balding despite the fact he had yet to see his thirty-fifth birthday, was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. The surprise at seeing him so early gave way to understanding. John Patrick was out and about at this hour because he hadn’t been home yet and was most likely killing time before going.

  Justin didn’t understand this behavior. John Patrick’s marriage was more like having a roommate who shared all your stuff and your money, except in John Patrick’s case, he had been the one who married for money. He had come from a wealthy family, but his father had believed in a man earning his own way. John Patrick’s solution to that dilemma had been to marry rich.

  “You got any coffee on?” John Patrick asked.

  “Sure,” Justin answered, shaking his head but laughing.

  “Go on up to the house. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Justin watched his brother-in-law park and enter the house. It was pure irony that a marriage like John Patrick’s would probably last forever, while his own, as perfect a union as there ever was, had ended suddenly and tragically.

  John Patrick Daly parked his SUV and strode into his brother-in-law’s house, salivating for a cup of hot black coffee. After a night of partying hard, he dreaded the icy stare and caustic comments from his wife when he went home, so he had detoured by Justin’s place. He supposed one day he would push Felicia too far and she would kick him out, but he was willing to take the gamble. Life as a kept eunuch wasn’t his long-term plan.

  And if things progressed as he hoped, he would be escaping sooner than he had expected. He believed Justin was at a breaking point, and selling this house and land to his departed wife’s brother at a good price would be the most Christian thing he could do. After all, he was John Patrick Daly, Rachel’s brother and Justin’s “best friend.”

  Setting up mysterious happenings inside Justin’s home hadn’t been his plan this morning, but hell, the opportunity was too blatant, thus tempting, to resist. And Justin was so naive. John Patrick walked to the sofa and as he had done many times previously, mussed the neatly folded throw on one end, as someone lying in repose might do. He tossed the stupid horse magazine casually on the floor as someone might do if dropping off for a nap. Today, the roses would have to wait until another time when he was more prepared and had more than a few minutes. Justin could walk in at any time.

  Moving to the kitchen, he found the coffeepot, dragged a mug off a cabinet shelf and poured it full. As he sipped, he scanned the room for something he could move, something that he hadn’t relocated before. Or perhaps something he could break. The clatter of ice cubes falling from their tray into the ice receptacle inside the refrigerator’s freezer took his eyes to the white appliance’s door. Magnetic letters were scattered on it in no particular pattern. He pondered using the letters to make a message that would scare Justin shitless.

  He turned back to the coffeepot and warmed up his coffee, then swung his attention back to the refrigerator door. Stunned at what he now saw, he gasped and the coffee mug slipped from his fingers to the floor.

  Justin started for the house, but he had taken only a few steps when the front door flew open. Turnup, sleeping on the porch, jumped to his feet and scatted, tail between his legs. John Patrick came out the door, scurried to his SUV and climbed in. He cranked the engine, backed in an arc with the door still open and roared down the driveway toward the county road.

  Justin felt his brow tug into a frown. What the hell was going on now?

  He jogged to his house, but stopped at the front door and took a few seconds to gather himself. Finally, he drew a deep breath and entered. In the living room, Rachel’s afghan was spread haphazardly across the couch. Her magazine lay on the floor. Whoa! That afghan was neatly folded this morning. That magazine was neatly placed on top of a stack of others on the side table. Justin’s heartbeat picked up. Had J. P. seen someone or some thing move them? Was that what had sent him racing from the house as if chased by demons?

  Moving to the kitchen Justin saw a mug on the floor, coffee spilled over the vinyl flooring. Nothing else was amiss, nothing out of place. He looked around again. And his gaze froze on the refrigerator door.

  Nearing the junction with the county road, John Patrick let his foot relax on the accelerator. The Cayenne purred in gratitude. Its air conditioner was cranking at full blast and icy air filled the interior of the rig, yet sweat covered John Patrick’s brow, trickled down the sides of his face to his collar. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he noticed that the few hairs remaining on his head were visibly spiked. He took his pudgy hand from the steering wheel and smoothed them down. “Fuck!”

  What in the hell had happened back there? He ran through his memory bank again, replaying what he had seen on the refrigerator door, spelled out with kids’ magnetic letters. It was a message that had to be meant only for him:

  JP U R N ASHOLE

  While Debbie Sue waited for Edwina, though she was low on energy, she vigorously swept a mound of gritty sand toward the Styling Station’s back door. The business day had yet to begin and the floor was sandy already. Sweeping it was a never-ending job. The unpaved road that ran beside the beauty shop was the source of this annoyance and she couldn’t count the number of dirty names she had labeled that road over the years.

  She had plenty to get off her chest this morning. Last night, thanks to Edwina taking Buddy’s side, he had spent hours trying to persuade her to abandon Justin Sadler’s case. Midnight had come and gone before the two of them fell asleep exhausted.

  Just then the back door opened, letting a gust of wind blow the swept-up sand back into the shop and bring with it a new supply. Behind it, Edwina appeared, rhinestone-encrusted sunglasses covering half her face, Dr Pepper and a package of animal crackers in hand. She looked over the top of her sunglasses. “Oops, sorry.”

  “Ed, we need to talk,” Debbie Sue said firmly.

  “Well good morning to you, too.” Wearing her typical platform shoes, Edwina clomped to her workstation, set her drink and animal crackers on the counter and dropped her purse onto her hydraulic chair seat. “Chilly this morning, isn’t it?” She peeled off her sunglasses and stuffed them into her purse. “Damn, girl, I’m guessing you and Buddy didn’t settle your differences last night.”

  “It isn’t Buddy I need to talk about.”

  “Don’t tell me Quint Matthews is back in town.” Edwina tore open the package of animal crackers and popped one into her mouth.

  Edwina bringing up Debbie Sue’s former boyfriend and fiancé, world champion bull rider Quint Matthews, was a low blow. Debbie Sue thrust the broom out to her side at arm�
�s length and planted the opposite fist on her hip. “You are changing the subject, Edwina Perkins-Martin. You know damn well I’m talking about you siding against me last night over taking Justin’s case.”

  “Debbie Sue, I love you like you’re one of my own kids, but I’m entitled to have an opinion. That’s what being partners is all about.”

  “But you took Buddy’s side.”

  “I gave my opinion,” Edwina said, punctuating her sentence with an animal cracker. “And my opinion hasn’t changed, Debbie Sue. Vic agrees with me too. He thinks this could get crazy.”

  “So what if it does? It couldn’t get any crazier than things got in New York. And if you felt so strong about it, why didn’t you say something to me privately, when Buddy wasn’t present?”

  “I think I did.”

  “Him knowing you agreed with him just made him torment me that much more. You should’ve seen him last night. Here I was trying to put up a good argument and every time I opened my mouth he kissed me in a ticklish spot. I ended up with two big hickeys on my stomach.” She resumed her sweeping, not wanting to look Edwina in the eye. “And one on my thigh.”

  From the corner of her eye, Debbie Sue caught a grin starting to sneak across Edwina’s bright red lips. “Inside or outside?”

  Shit! Edwina thought sex was more important than anything and after last night with Buddy and this morning in the shower, Debbie Sue thought she might have a point. But Debbie Sue would never admit it aloud. “Cut it out, Ed. I’m serious.”

  “Inside, I’m guessing,” Edwina said, now cackling like a witch. “And I’m guessing he won the argument.”

  Debbie Sue stopped her sweeping and glared at Edwina. “Don’t you dare laugh, Ed. That’s one of the problems with being married all these years and sleeping with the same guy every night. He gets to where he knows all of your ticklish spots and he isn’t afraid to strip off your clothes and go for them just to win an argument.”

  Edwina’s head slowly shook. “You know what, sweetie? Probably most of the woman in Cabell County would just love to have Buddy Overstreet strip off their clothes and look for their ticklish spots. Lord, why you continue to battle what you’ve got at home beats me. So did you and Buddy settle things or not?”

  “Oh, they’re settled all right. The Domestic Equalizers are helping Justin, Ed. Just like I promised. And if you’re scared, you need to just cowboy up and be my partner. And Buddy will just have to get over it. I told him if he doesn’t, we’re never again playing that kissing-each-other-all-over game. And I told him I would never again let him…well, you know.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet that got his attention.”

  “It didn’t make him change his mind. That’s when I got the thigh hickey. I didn’t even know I had until we showered this morning.”

  Debbie Sue continued sweeping, still avoiding looking Edwina in the face. She pushed her little mound of sand to the back door again, opened the door, swept the sand outside and tossed the broom outside behind it. She walked back toward Edwina, dusting her palms. “That’s the last time I sweep this damn floor with a broom. I’m buying an electric broom and I’m making a special trip to Odessa to do it.”

  “Hurray!” Edwina pumped a fist. “That’s one for the girls. Now what?”

  “Now, oh great one, just to satisfy you, I call this psychic or medium or whatever she is and get things moving. If I’m going to have to endure Buddy’s torturing me, I might as well make the most of it.”

  “Torture. Hmm,” Edwina said. “Like I said, most of the women in—”

  “Cut it out, Ed.” Debbie Sue moved behind the receptionist desk and placed her hand on the receiver. “Remind me again. Is El Paso one hour behind or one hour ahead?”

  “Oh, hell,” Edwina grumbled, her brow knit. “You’d think after a lifetime I’d have that down pat. But I have to stop and think every single time. Mountain time is one hour ahead. No, wait, it’s an hour behind. It’s the way I taught my girls. Time goes behind the mountain.”

  “So that means I have to wait an hour.”

  Just then, before she could pick up the receiver, the phone warbled.

  “Let the answering machine get it,” Edwina said. “We’re not open yet.”

  Debbie Sue stared at the persistent phone. “And what if it’s opportunity calling?”

  “I’ve always heard opportunity knocks.”

  Sending her an arch look, Debbie Sue picked up the receiver. “Styling Station, this is Debbie Sue.”

  For a few seconds, she heard only dead air, then a hesitant voice said, “Uh, Mrs. Overstreet, please?”

  Debbie Sue’s mind did a split-second inventory of her bills. She wasn’t delinquent on any of them that she could recall. Once she had struggled to make ends meet, but these days, she had no trouble paying her bills. “This is Debbie Sue Overstreet.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Overstreet. Hi.” The voice brightened noticeably. “This is Sophia Paredes from El Paso. We spoke last night?”

  Debbie Sue recognized the Spanish accent at once. Sophia Paredes spoke perfect English, but her speech still had a Spanish lilt. “Why, hello. I was just thinking about calling you. And listen, please call me Debbie Sue.”

  “Thank you, I will. I hope I’m not calling too early. Sometimes the change in time zones confuses people.”

  “Oh, not me. I was just going to wait an hour and call you.”

  Sophia laughed. “I’m an early riser. Even with us an hour behind, you’d have to call very early to wake me. I want to speak to you about coming to Odessa.”

  “Super.”

  “My car, uh, our car is old. It has a lot of miles. I’m thinking of taking the bus.”

  “Airfares are cheap these days. You could fly into Midland, which is only thirty miles from Odessa.”

  “There’s no flight from El Paso to Midland. I checked. Southwest flies to Midland eventually, but they have to go all the way to Dallas first, then loop back.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense,” Debbie Sue said. “We’re only four hours from El Paso.”

  “I know. But I don’t mind taking the bus. I checked the fares and it’s fifty-six dollars one way, directly to Odessa. Do you think your client would mind paying that?”

  “Fifty-six dollars is really cheap for two people. You aren’t sending your grandmother alone, are you?”

  “Oh, uh, my goodness, what was I thinking?” Sophia laughed. “That’s for one person. Yes, it would be double that.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind that. It’s probably cheaper than gas for the car with the prices being what they are. But wouldn’t a bus ride be hard on your grandmother? They might not make stops when she needs them. She might need to get off the bus and move around.”

  “You’d be surprised how resilient she is. We’re thinking we could leave today around noon and be there about five o’clock, your time. Can someone meet us or should I rent a car? I know there’s an Enterprise rental across the street from the bus station.”

  “There is? You’ve been there before?”

  “No, never.”

  The hair stood up on the back of Debbie Sue’s neck. “Then how do you know about it?”

  “Uh…my grandmother knows. She knows many things. If you’ll give me the address for the hotel where we’ll be staying, we’ll call you from there.”

  This was certainly a take-charge person. Debbie Sue was impressed. Weak, helpless women had a tendency to bring out the worst in her. She liked Sophia Paredes immediately. “Hey, that would be great. We don’t finish up in the shop today until almost five. Call here or call the cell number I gave you.”

  “Okay. I will talk to you later.”

  “Sure thing,” Debbie Sue replied.

  “Who was that?” Edwina asked as Debbie Sue hung up.

  “That was the woman in El Paso’s granddaughter, Sophia. She’s bringing her grandmother today. They’ll be in Odessa around five. You know, I really like her.”

  “I wonder if she could be the
same little girl I played checkers with. She would be grown by now. Damn, I feel old.”

  “Well, you’re not old,” Debbie Sue said, her mood elevated. “But you are booked solid today, so you better get your young ass in gear.”

  “Oh, it’s in gear,” Edwina said. “In fact, if it gets any more in gear I’m liable to throw a rod.”

  “I’m not even touching that one,” Debbie Sue said. “Unlock the door. The day awaits.”

  Sophia returned the phone to its cradle and lifted her suitcase to the bed. She didn’t know how much to pack, because she didn’t know how long she would be gone. She’d seen her grandmother involved in cases from as little as a few hours to all the way up to a week or more.

  Better to take too much than too little, a soft voice in her head interjected.

  “That’s true,” Sophia replied.

  For the next twenty minutes she busied herself packing. Speaking again to the empty room, she said, “I think I’ll stop at the store and get the latest Cosmopolitan to read on the trip.”

  Best to read the Holy Bible, the voice replied.

  eight

  The Styling Station’s main wall clock, a freebie from Grissom Farm Equipment in Odessa, was the size of a big skillet. A cartoon image of a green tractor rode atop the green hour hand and a bale of hay ticked off the minutes. Over the course of a few hours, Debbie Sue and Edwina continued working side by side and not talking about the visitors coming in from the west at 5 P.M. Debbie Sue must have looked at that bale of hay passing up that tractor a hundred times. She couldn’t help but notice that Edwina was as interested in the clock as she was.

  Debbie Sue had always been excited about the cases the Domestic Equalizers took on, but this one had a totally different appeal from their previous adventures. She had absolutely no logical, plausible explanation for the goings-on at Justin’s house or the message that had appeared on his refrigerator door. Though she held a huge bit of skepticism about the supernatural, she might—emphasis on might—consider it if surveillance revealed no clues. And to appease Edwina.