Curing the Blues with a New Pair of Shoes

by Dixie Cash

  “I will, Cal.”

  He stepped away from her window and started back to his own vehicle. She yanked the Chevy into gear, but had a second thought. Cal Jensen didn’t live in Sal Lick. He didn’t even live in Cabell County. She stuck her head out the window. “Hey, Cal, what are you doing hanging out around Salt Lick?”

  “Big day today for this little town. We’re just keeping an eye on things.” He smiled again and slid into his car.

  She sat there and watched him drive away. Then it dawned on her that last night when she had talked to Buddy on the phone, she had forgotten to mention Billy Don’s concerns about the celebration crowd. But discussing it with her husband hadn’t been necessary. Without a doubt, knowing that Billy Don would be in over his head, Buddy had asked Cal to keep an eye on things. And he hadn’t even said a word to her. Suddenly she felt more secure, knowing her husband had asked the state police to watch out for Salt Lick.

  But knowing that didn’t elevate her mood. By the time she saw Buddy again and confessed she had been stopped for speeding by a friend of his, she would need a helluva good excuse. Fuck.

  Poor Rocket Man. How thoughtless of her to drive so fast with him in the trailer. All that dust could affect his lungs.

  She liked driving slower anyway, when she thought about it. The slower speed gave her a chance to take in her surroundings. The wide-open spaces gave her a sense of peace. The flat, arid land dotted with cactus and mesquite trees was heaven to her. She fiercely loved the uncluttered purity of it.

  Other people saw the West Texas landscape as harsh and unappealing, but to her it represented what West Texans were all about—stubborn perseverance and the relentless will to make the most of what they had been given.

  She arrived in town to see throngs of people already lining both sides of the main street. Well, really, the main street was a state highway, which gave Cal another good reason to be hanging around. Though it was a weekday, she knew the celebration would bring in a new set of gawkers, especially since the news had surely spread that Elvis’s famed blue suede shoes were on display at Hogg’s Drive-In. At that thought, her mouth twisted into a scowl. She hadn’t yet seen the display, didn’t yet know how Vic’s size-fourteen house slippers looked.

  Within sight of Hogg’s, she noticed that the early hour hadn’t deterred the breakfast crowd that typically met at the only sit-down café in town. She spotted Edwina’s Mustang parked to the side of the building. She put the mystery of the shoe theft out of her mind, intent on enjoying the parade.

  The empty lot on the opposite side of the street was big enough to accommodate her pickup and trailer rig, so she pulled onto it, parked and trotted across the street. Opening Hogg’s door, instead of Elvis’s music she was greeted by the speaking voice of the King himself. “Thank ya. Thank ya ver’ much.”

  Even louder than Elvis’s voice, she heard Edwina’s braying laughter coming from a rear corner of the room. She headed in her partner’s direction.

  “Didn’t expect that this early in the morning, did ya?” Edwina said, still laughing.

  Debbie Sue nodded greetings to the groups sitting around the room, then slid into the booth across from Edwina. “What is that?” she asked, looking around. “And where is it?”

  “It’s a sound system Judd Hogg’s kid put in. He didn’t say where he stole the recording. The speaker’s hanging over the front door. Ain’t electronic shit grand?”

  “Hunh,” Debbie Sue said. “When did he put it in?”

  “Just now. I watched him. In fact, you’re the first person to walk in and hear it since he got it working. Guess it’s ready to go.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Debbie Sue said less than enthusiastically. She was still distressed by getting stopped for speeding by one of Buddy’s friends.

  “Wow, just look at you, girlfriend,” Edwina said with a big grin. “Must have taken you an hour to dry that hair. How’d you get dressed in those fancy duds so fast after we talked?”

  “Oh, I’m just speedy,” Debbie Sue answered. She had decided not to burst Edwina’s bubble by telling her she wasn’t clairvoyant after all.

  “You look like one of Dale Evans’s daughters. A real cowgirl.”

  Debbie Sue gasped. She might be dressed up like a dude, but she was the real thing. She had been a PRCA champion in a sport that called for stamina, endurance and plain old guts. She could ride a horse better than most men. She could train a horse, even a knot-head, and she had a reputation for gentling problem mounts. Some even thought she had a supernatural connection to horses, which was hooey, of course. All she did, really, when it came to her favorite animal, was pay attention to its needs. “Why Edwina Perkins-Martin, bite your tongue. I am a cowgirl and proud of it.”

  “I know, I know. I’m just kidding. A little sensitive this morning, aren’t we?”

  “I miss Buddy. I’m just a little blue.”

  “Well, don’t be. We’re gonna have a good time and he’ll be back before you know it. Besides that, you’ve…well, we’ve got a mystery to solve.”

  “Have you heard anything new about the shoes?”

  “Not a word, other than people talking about what big feet Elvis had.”

  “Nobody’s said they think the shoes are phonies?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. Listen, where’s that fancy hat Buddy bought you? It’d be perfect with your outfit.”

  “It’s outside, in the pickup.”

  “You left that hat in the pickup? My God, Debbie Sue, that thing cost enough to pay for two month’s utility bills in the Styling Station.”

  “The door’s locked, Ed. If someone wants to steal it, they’ll have to break in.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s a relief.”

  Debbie Sue glanced up at the clock above the drink dispenser. “Where’s this reporter? I’m gonna have to get over to the schoolyard pretty soon.”

  “Beats me. There’s not a chance in hell she could get lost, so I guess she’ll be here in a minute. Want some coffee?”

  “Okay.” Debbie Sue turned over the cup that sat upside down in the saucer nearest her. Edwina pushed herself from her spot, walked over to the coffeemaker and picked up the pot. She poured Debbie Sue’s cup full, then topped off her own. The aroma itself was an eye-opener. Debbie Sue knew the ink-black liquid packed enough caffeine to wire a work crew half the morning and on into the afternoon.

  Edwina leaned across the table, her face thrust closer to Debbie Sue’s. “Listen girlfriend,” she said in a low voice. “Are we gonna tell this reporter those boats on display are phonies?”

  Debbie Sue frowned, drawing her bottom lip through her teeth. “If we tell her, she’ll write about them. Then the fact that the real ones are gone will spread all over Texas.”

  “Yeah,” Edwina said thoughtfully. “If she starts to ask questions, let’s just fall back on what’s always worked for us.”

  “And that is?”

  “That ‘damned if I know’ routine. We’ll just say we’re West Texans. Nobody expects us to be smart, just rich.”

  “Right. That one works every time. So, how are we gonna recognize this reporter? We don’t know what she looks like.”

  “She said on the phone some people think she looks like Faith Hill. That’s gotta be bullshit. No ordinary female human looks like Faith Hill.”

  chapter nine

  Nearly devoid of color, trees or scenery—or so much as a hump in the road—the highway between Odessa and Salt Lick had to be the longest, straightest, most nothing forty-five miles Avery had ever traveled in her life. She had seen neither road signs nor mileage markers. Nothing but barbed-wire fences and pump jacks incessantly sawing up and down.

  According to her map, she could have gotten to Salt Lick by following I–20 and exiting north onto a state highway that would have soon taken her to the small town. But Brittany at the hotel had told her that traveling the state highway out of Odessa was shorter than driving all the way to the Interstate. Since Avery had seen not one sign
since leaving Odessa, how would she know? Just as she thought she should be nearing Salt Lick, she began to see road construction signs detouring traffic off the highway.

  Oh, damn! This could make her late for her breakfast meeting with the woman named Edwina.

  She followed the detour signs, winding through a residential neighborhood of sorts—a few tumbledown houses and dilapidated mobile homes, with deteriorating old cars and rusting household appliances and parts scattered in the yards. She soon found herself back on the highway. In the rearview mirror, she could see a water tower in the distance and wondered if it could be Salt Lick’s. Another sign loomed ahead, thank God.

  PYOTE—15 MILES

  I–20—16 MILES

  What?…I–20?…Where the hell was she? Had she driven in a circle? She pulled to a stop on the shoulder and spread her road map on the steering wheel. According to the map, she had missed the whole damn town of Salt Lick. Swearing in an uncharacteristic way, she made a U-turn and started back toward where she had just come from.

  On her right she saw a convenience store and turned in. A young Hispanic clerk standing at the cash register behind a crowded counter greeted her with a brilliant smile and perfect teeth. When Avery explained she wanted to reach Salt Lick, the girl gave her a blank look and said, “No hablé Inglis.”

  Avery knew no more than a few commonly seen Spanish words. Like a giant pair of pincers, frustration began to squeeze her. She wanted to scream, but she managed a smile. “Can you get someone who speaks English? Your supervisor, maybe?”

  The girl opened her palms and lifted her shoulders, looking at Avery with wide brown eyes.

  “Bosso,” Avery said, emphasizing the word in two syllables with splayed fingers. “Boss…Oh.”

  The clerk continued to look at her with puzzled eyes and a slowly shaking head.

  Avery pawed through her hobo bag until she found her notebook and a pen. She wrote the word BOSS in all capital letters, ripped the page from the notebook and handed it to the clerk.

  The girl looked at the page, then back at Avery and shook her head.

  Just as Avery was ready to give up and leave, she heard a musical voice drifting through the doorway from the back room. She cocked her head and leaned toward the door. “Hellooo? Hellooo? Is anyone back there?”

  In seconds a petite, slender East-Indian woman dressed in a pastel yellow sari emerged. She had a red dot painted between her black brows and half a foot of gold bangle bracelets on each arm. Displaying a huge smile, friendly eyes that were almost black and teeth as white and perfect as the Hispanic clerk’s, she said in perfect English, “Good morning.”

  Relief passed over Avery like a gush of cool water. “Oh thank God—”

  Before she could continue, the East-Indian woman turned to the Hispanic girl and spoke to her in a stream of Spanish. The girl spoke back in a long diatribe. The exchange in Spanish continued back and forth, with Avery standing there looking on and blinking.

  Desperate, Avery raised her pen. “Excuse me, ladies. Excuse me, but…”

  The East-Indian woman turned back to Avery with another huge smile. “How can I help you, miss?”

  “I think I could be lost,” Avery said. “I’m trying to get to Salt Lick.”

  “A few miles to the north,” the woman said and turned her attention back to the clerk.

  “Yes, well, I must have missed it. I took a detour and…”

  The East-Indian woman turned her way again. Now her smile was gone. “It’s the parade. It’s a very big day in Salt Lick.”

  “Parade?”

  “Yes, of course. They have a parade on the highway this morning. To celebrate the birthday of a person named Elvis. That is the reason the highway is blocked.” She smiled again.

  “Oh,” Avery said as dawning came. Salt Lick’s main street must also be the highway passing through. That was why the traffic was detoured around the town. Salt Lick wasn’t only a one-horse town. It was a one-street town. “I just need to get there,” Avery told the woman. “And soon.”

  “This is the wide-open spaces,” the woman said, opening her hands and spreading them in a wide gesture. “It is very easy to get lost. One can see for miles, but not always get where one wants to go.”

  “No kidding,” Avery mumbled, thinking of the water tower.

  At last, the East-Indian woman gave her detailed directions how to bypass the detour and find her way to Hogg’s Drive-In.

  ELVIS ATE HERE!

  Bright white racing lights circled the words at blinding speed.

  Avery could not believe her eyes. Hogg’s Drive-In was painted a vivid hot pink with black trim. It was sort of an oblong building. Also sort of round. In a way it looked like a Dairy Queen. In another way it looked like a shack someone had thrown together with unwanted building blocks.

  She couldn’t even count the number of pickup trucks in the parking lot. She managed to squeeze her rented Aero into a tight spot near the sign, grabbed her hobo bag and unfolded from behind the wheel of the small car. An Elvis tune filled the air around her.

  She crunched across the unpaved parking lot toward the front door, her high heels sinking into the gravel. Thank God she had worn cheap shoes. When she stepped inside a small dining room, Elvis’s voice boomed at her. “Thank ya. Thank ya ver’ much.”

  Startled, she jumped, then traced the sound to a speaker above her head. She cast a dubious look all around her.

  “Come on in, hon,” a woman called from across the room. “It’s safe.”

  Avery spotted the woman that went with the voice motioning her over. “You must be Avery,” the woman said.

  Could this be Edwina? She looked exactly as Avery’s Star-Telegram co-worker had described her—fortyish, skinny, coal-black hair, rhinestone-encrusted cat’s-eye glasses.

  When Avery reached the booth, the woman grabbed her hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “I’m Edwina Perkins-Martin.” She gestured toward a younger woman sitting on the opposite side of the booth. “And this here’s Debbie Sue Overstreet.”

  Avery numbly shook hands, unable to take her eyes off Debbie Sue, who was dressed in fringe and spangles, like a rodeo queen. She, too, put out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Avery. Welcome to Salt Lick.” She scooted to her right, leaving space on the end of the booth’s bench seat. “Here, have a seat.”

  “Yeah, take a load off,” the one named Edwina said.

  Avery felt the stares of both women. “What is it?” she asked cautiously, reaching up to check her hair with her fingertips.

  “As I live and breathe,” Edwina said, “you really do look just like Faith Hill.”

  “Amazing,” the one named Debbie Sue said.

  “Hope you’ve got a Tim McGraw at home.” Edwina tilted her head back and laughed at her own joke.

  A frown angled from Debbie Sue toward Edwina, then her attention came back to Avery. “Uh, want some coffee?”

  Thank God, again. She had left Odessa without breakfast or coffee. After her experience getting here, she had begun to fear she might never see food or drink again. “Oh, yum. I’d absolutely love some. I’d love a grande nonfat, decaf double-shot mocha. I usually order it light on the whipped cream and with caramel drizzle. Do we have a waitress or should I order at the counter?”

  A deadpan look came from Debbie Sue. Edwina nearly choked on the drink of coffee she had just sipped. The two of them broke into laughter. What was that about?

  “Kee-rist, honey.” Edwina grabbed a napkin and dabbed her bright red lips. “Speak English, would you? We’re just common folks here.”

  “Oh,” Avery said, her brow knitting. “Did I make an incorrect assumption? I’m sorry. The sign out front says, ‘We’ve got your choice of coffees.’”

  “Do you drink that thing you said every day?”

  “Uh, yes,” Avery answered, darting a look at Debbie Sue.

  “How many calories has that got?” Edwina asked. “You see, I’ve been on a diet since Christmas, so I’m calo
rie conscious. You tell me what’s in something and I can tell you how many calories it’s got. You can’t trust those fancy coffees. I saw on TV just last week that one cup of that stuff can have a thousand calories. Now I’d say that wild and crazy thing you said you drink every day would have about—”

  “Ed. Never mind,” Debbie Sue said, then her gaze and a smile came back to Avery. “That sign’s confusing. It means regular or decaf.”

  “Though why anybody would want decaf coffee beats the hell out of me,” Edwina said. “That’s like drinking nonalcoholic beer. I mean, what’s the point?”

  Oh, hell, Avery thought. She should have known better than to try to get a cup of gourmet coffee in a town like this one. She couldn’t get gourmet coffee in her own small hometown of Decatur, which was bigger than Salt Lick and not that far from Fort Worth. “You’re right,” Avery said. “I’ll just get a cup of caffeine.”

  She started to rise, but Edwina stopped her. “I’ll get it for you. We’re kind of serve-yourself around here. Informal, you know?”

  Edwina stepped away and soon returned with the coffee carafe, turned over a thick cup that had been upside on the table and poured it full. Avery drew a deep breath and sipped. At least these two women were friendly.

  For the next fifteen minutes they talked easily. Avery disclosed that she had grown up in a rural community that looked a little like Salt Lick. “But with more trees and grass,” she added tactfully. She revealed that though small-town living would do nothing to forward her career, it wasn’t completely unappealing to her, which was true.

  “You can’t be serious,” Edwina said. “Life in Salt Lick’s as dull as old barbed wire. If it wasn’t for gossip, I don’t know what it’d be like.”

  Avery had a comeback. She had done her research. While standing by in the Love Field Airport waiting for a flight, she had Googled Edwina Perkins-Martin and learned a wealth of information. “I’m surprised to hear you say that, Edwina. Aren’t you and Debbie Sue the two women who solved the murder of Pearl Ann Caruthers?”