Curing the Blues with a New Pair of Shoes

by Dixie Cash

  “The time. Could you please just…give me the time?”

  “Oh, my gosh. Is your bedside clock radio not working? I can send Clarence up with a new one.”

  “No, no. That isn’t necessary. It’s working fine. I can see it’s just after six thirty. Uh, this is embarrassing, but is it A.M. or P.M.?”

  “Why it’s P.M., ma’am.” Concern sounded in the younger woman’s voice. “Are you sure you don’t want somebody to come up? I get off in fifteen minutes. I’d be happy—”

  “No,” Avery blurted. The last thing she wanted was a perky personality for company. “I’ll be fine. Uh, um, uh, Brittany could you answer one last question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you see me come into the hotel?” Avery closed her eyes and massaged the throb between her brows with two fingers.

  “Yes, ma’am, I sure did. Just about everybody in Ector County did. You see, we serve a terrific lunch buffet in the restaurant. People come from all over to eat and when you came in, we had a full house. Are you hungry? They started serving again at six.”

  Avery’s stomach growled at the thought of food. “No, thank you. Uh, um, who, um…helped me to my room?”

  “Why those two ladies from Salt Lick. Debbie Sue and Edwina. Those are the nicest ladies. We got to talking and I found out they know my uncle. He’s the sheriff down there in Salt Lick. Then you got locked in the elevator and I had to call—”

  “What? Did you say locked in the elevator?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s what I said. We’ve got signs everywhere telling folks not to use it, but I guess you didn’t see them. But don’t worry. You didn’t hurt anything. You just kinda got locked in there and couldn’t get out.”

  Oh, God, this was getting worse. Avery groaned and dropped her forehead against her palm. But she had to ask, “Who, uh, got me out?”

  “The Odessa, Texas, Fire Department, ma’am,” Brittany answered, unabashed pride traveling through the phone wire. “I called nine-one-one and they sent a fire truck right over. After the fire got put out, one—”

  “There was a fire? In the hotel?” Oh, dear God. A fire in a hotel was a sheer catastrophe. Avery felt her eyes bug. A tic began to jump in the left one. She lurched to her feet. “Wha—what happened?”

  “It was no big deal, ma’am. But from now on, while you’re here, you might want to use the side entrance. And don’t take the elevator, “ the girl added hastily.

  The possibility that Avery would take the elevator ever again was zilch, not even if she had to crawl up and down the stairway and throw her bags out the window when she departed for home. “Is something wrong with the front entrance?”

  “Just the lobby. It’s pretty much a big mess. You see, the fire department had to use welding equipment to get the elevator door open and a spark set off a fire in the carpet. They got it out real fast, though. No guests had to be evacuated or anything like that. They just made this big mess is all. You see, the water they used ran down the elevator shaft and when the carpet melted, they had to use these foamy chemicals and…well, now everything’s just fine. Almost back to normal. No big deal.”

  Avery sank back to the edge of the mattress, imagining with horror a fire in front of the elevator doors and a lake of foaming froth. “Well, thank God for that, right? I am so sorry, Brittany.”

  “Why it wasn’t your fault, ma’am. Listen, I want you to know, I was really proud of our fire department. Since you’re a reporter and all, maybe you could write something nice about ’em. One of Odessa’s bravest carried you over his shoulder all the way up the stairs and to your room. But don’t worry. I made the camera crew stop—”

  “Camera crew!” Avery shot to her feet, but nearly stumbled as a stab of pain zipped behind her eyes. “Wh—What camera crew?”

  “The one from the TV station. But as I started to say, I made them stop filming before they got to your room. I didn’t want anyone seeing your room number. Our guests’ privacy is our priority.”

  A quote directly from the corporate manual, Avery thought, fighting the urge to break into sobs. “What, uh, TV station would that be, Brittany?”

  “KOSA. They cover most of our nine-one-one calls. Especially if something has syndication value, whatever that means.”

  Avery knew what it meant. She wanted to bawl. She had to get off the phone before her situation grew to being totally untenable. She thanked Brittany, reassured her that she was fine and said good-bye.

  She wilted to the edge of the mattress, trying to come to terms with being the cause of an incident that could have burned down a hotel. Her life had become, at best, a soap opera. And not even a good one.

  But she couldn’t think about it now, because thoughts refused to organize in her swollen head. Her brain was not working. Hunger, on the other hand was an even more painful reality. She hadn’t eaten all day long, not even breakfast. Though she had intended to have a stack of pancakes and bacon when she first arrived at Hogg’s Drive-In in Salt Lick this morning, the goofy sheriff had come in hysterical over the traffic jam and kept her from even getting to order.

  She managed to find her toiletries in her suitcase and returned to the bathroom. But she vowed to be extra careful. She had never heard of anyone drowning in the shower, but there was always a first time.

  chapter sixteen

  Sam handed his dessert plate to his hostess, Mrs. W. L. Crawford, as she rounded the table on her way to the kitchen.

  He had stuffed himself on some of the best home cooking he had ever tasted. With five boys and a husband to cook for it wasn’t hard to see how Caleb’s mom could hone her culinary skills. He did hope they had good medical coverage and a close relationship with a reputable cardiologist, because everything on the table was coated and fried—either deep-fried in hot oil or pan-fried in butter. He wasn’t that fussy about his diet, but he recognized when something was bad for him. Still, though the fare might be fried and fatal, it had been fantastic. He didn’t often get a home-cooked meal and given the opportunity, he had made the most of it.

  Despite the stories flying across and around the table and hundreds of his own questions to ask, he couldn’t stop wondering about Avery.

  After dessert, Sam bid the Crawford clan a good night and strolled to his car parked in the circular driveway in front of their home. He carried a paper sack holding a helping of peach cobbler sprinkled with cinnamon. Mrs. Crawford had insisted he take some with him. She had apparently noticed the two servings he ate, on top of the sumptuous meal.

  The heavy food lay in his stomach like lead and lulled him into a state of lethargy. The night before hadn’t been the most restful he’d ever spent, and going back to the hotel and retiring early was tempting; but he felt compelled to make a quick stop at the Elvis festivities. He was, after all, on an assignment, not a vacation. W. L. had told him earlier how to find the high school, ground zero for all of the events. “Just look for the football stadium lights,” he had said. “The school sits north of that.”

  Though the Crawfords lived twenty-two miles from the town of Salt Lick, he soon reached the city limits. Within minutes of entering town, he was pulling into an overcrowded parking lot adjacent to the school. He slid out of the car and started for the gymnasium’s door, breathing in the chilly, dry air. The climate here differed a lot from the more humid Dallas area.

  Elvis music played over outdoor speakers and a big square wooden dance floor had been laid on what might have been a lawn in front of the gym. Though it was January, the temperature wasn’t cold enough to keep dancers from crowding the dance floor. Sam stopped to watch. They seemed to be having a good time, but none of the couples, save one, knew how to dance to “Don’t Be Cruel.” They were trying to apply the current hip-hop moves to the rock ’n’ roll beat, and the combination just wasn’t working. The pair who knew the right moves was great. They didn’t miss a beat as they whirled and twirled.

  When the song ended, Sam motioned them over. They came to him wearing big
smiles and holding hands. “Hey, you two are good,” he told them. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”

  “My great-granny,” the boy said, catching his breath. “From the time I was little she’d put on Elvis music and we’d dance.”

  “I suppose he taught you?” Sam said to the teenage girl.

  “Yessir,” she said, looking down bashfully.

  Sam couldn’t remember a teenager in the Metroplex ever addressing him as “sir.” These kids reminded him of his hometown and his own teenage years. Purely out of instinct, he looked at the boy thoughtfully. “Your grandmother wouldn’t happen to be named Maudeen, would she?”

  The boys face lit up with a big grin. “Yessir, it sure is. You know her?”

  “I met her this afternoon. She’s really something.”

  The boy’s grin grew even wider. “She’s the real deal.”

  Sam smiled at the boy and the simplicity of the words that said so much. “I have to agree with you on that. She’s the real deal.”

  Wishing the pair a good evening, he strolled through the gymnasium’s double doorway. Elvis’s music and Elvis’s worshipers were everywhere. Those in costume were posing for pictures, while many sorted through tables of merchandise for sale or exchange and some just stood around talking.

  Sam’s attention was immediately grabbed by a long line of people waiting for a man sitting at a folding card table. On the front of it, a sign read:

  MARCUS THE MYSTICAL MEDIUM

  TALK TO ELVIS FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE

  $10

  A young woman accepted cash from each person before steering him or her to a folding chair in front of Marcus. Sam figured a ten-spot was cheap for entertainment of this quality. He pulled his wallet from his hip pocket and was thumbing through his cash when a woman’s voice at his elbow broke into his effort.

  “You look like a nice guy. Save your money.”

  He turned toward the voice and saw a petite, good-looking blonde dressed in jeans, loafers and a red sweatshirt bearing a white cartoon image of a longhorn steer waving a banner. SALT LICK SIX IS ON THE LOOSE AGAIN, the sweatshirt read.

  “Oh, really?” he said, laughing. “So Marcus can’t call up the spirit of Elvis for a little one-on-one?”

  Even in the poor lighting, her blue eyes sparkled beneath a profusion of loose blonde ringlets. “He’d have trouble calling up someone on the phone. His real name’s Clyde, but he thought Clyde the Mystic Medium sounded dumb. So he went with Marcus.”

  Sam offered his hand. “Sam Carter. I’m with the Dallas Morning News.”

  The woman shook his hand. “C. J. Carruthers. I read the Dallas Morning News. We get just about every newspaper in Texas and some from points beyond.”

  The doorknob-sized rock on her left hand signaled loud and clear that she was taken. Then again, maybe she wasn’t, Sam told himself. The diamond was so huge, maybe it wasn’t even real. From what he had seen of Salt Lick, not many, if any, could afford a gemstone that large.

  He pointed to the front of her sweatshirt. “Steers. That would be Salt Lick’s football team?”

  She looked down at the front of the shirt herself. “Yes, sir. Best six-man football team in Texas.”

  “And that’s the team Caleb Crawford played on?”

  “It sure is.” She beamed a huge smile up at him. “Do you know Caleb?”

  “I just met his family. He’s quite an athlete. Not many from six-man football make the pros.”

  A man dressed as a cowboy approached, giving Sam a suspicious eye and at the same time taking the blonde’s elbow possessively. “Honey, you ready to go? The kids will be waiting up for us.”

  The woman smiled up at the cowboy with such adoration, Sam knew the ring was real and this was her husband. “Your wife was just warning me about spending my money on Marcus.” Sam put out his right hand. “Sam Carter, Dallas Morning News.”

  The man accepted Sam’s hand. “Harley Carruthers. Nice to meet you, Sam.” He looked over his shoulder at the card table and the people standing in line. He chuckled good-naturedly. “Clyde’s always working a con. He’d pretend to be the Easter Bunny just to steal the eggs if we’d let him. He dismisses it as harmless entertainment.” Carruthers shook his head.

  “You know, I’ve only been in your town since this morning,” Sam said, “but I sure have met a lot of nice people. Some are pretty colorful, but nice just the same.”

  “My mama used to say a small town’s like a big family,” C. J. said. “Some you’re proud of, some you’re not, but they’re all your family and all you’ve got.”

  “Can I quote you on that?” Sam asked.

  “Sure. I’ll tell you something else, too. See that woman sitting over there?” She pointed toward a table where a woman sat huddled into a thick coat, surrounded by brightly colored balloons with streamers. “Her name’s Etta Jo Carlson. She’s selling raffle tickets, one dollar each. The money’s to help support high-school sports. If you want to spend ten dollars, spend it there.”

  Sam thanked the couple and after they left he took the bill that was still in his hand and approached the woman with the balloons. She was wearing fluffy earmuffs. “What do I get if I buy the winning ticket?”

  “Airfare and hotel for two, three days and two nights in Memphis, with tickets to Graceland thrown in. Courtesy of Harley and C. J. Carruthers. Tornado-strength winds are predicted for the weekend.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Storm’s coming this weekend. Rain, and could be hail, too. Maybe even sleet.”

  “You sure? I just came in from outside and I didn’t see a cloud in the sky. Let me have ten of those tickets, please.”

  The woman took the money eagerly and handed Sam ten red “Admit One” tickets, each with a number printed on the bottom.

  “Thank you so much and best of luck to you,” the woman said. “Keep your umbrella handy and don’t forget to dress the kids in rain gear!”

  “Uh, okay, thanks. I will.”

  Sam made the circle of the gym, taking in the sights, sounds and smells. Small-town America putting forth its best effort to create a celebration that was good clean fun, something everyone could enjoy. The whole affair reminded him of his own hometown and he suspected that if this were occurring in Mitchell, South Dakota, it might look much the same.

  A loneliness he didn’t often feel came over him. He thought of people he had met here in Salt Lick—Debbie Sue, Edwina, Avery…

  Avery.

  Instantly he wondered how she was and where she was.

  Remembering the business card Debbie Sue had given him, he dug it out of his wallet. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and punched in her number and she soon answered.

  “Debbie Sue?”

  “Hey, Sam. Where are you?”

  “At the gym. I had dinner with the Crawfords earlier. Now I’m just checking things out.”

  “Whatcha think? Pretty cool, huh?”

  “Yeah, it’s okay. I met some locals and—”

  “Who’d you meet?”

  “Uh, Etta Jo and—”

  “Oh, yeah. She’s had a stroke or something. Did she give you the weather report?”

  Sam chuckled. “Yeah, she did.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to her. She isn’t accurate. Who else did you meet?”

  “Uh, Harley and C. J. Carruthers.”

  “C. J.’s one of my best friends. Harley’s my friend, too, of course. He’s our token oilman, cattleman, all-around good rich guy.”

  “Look, I’m calling about Avery.”

  “I knew you were. I mean, I didn’t figure you called me to discuss the weather.”

  “I’m just making sure you got her back to the hotel all right. I felt crummy leaving all of you the way I did.”

  “We got along just fine. She’s probably still sleeping it off. Poor kid. I guess she’s not much of a drinker, but then I’ve never seen anyone turn up a pitcher of Bloody Marys and drink the whole thing down.”r />
  “Yeah, that would certainly put me under. Well, I’ll let you go. I just thought I’d give you a call before I start back to the hotel.”

  “Where you staying?”

  “Same hotel as Avery, the Best Western in Odessa.”

  “Oh,” Debbie Sue said, her tone flat.

  “Why ‘oh’?” Sam asked, his curiosity piqued by what she hadn’t said.

  “When you get there, don’t take the elevator, and you’d better steer clear of the front entrance.”

  “I wasn’t planning on using the elevator. It’s out of order. But what’s wrong with the front entrance?”

  “There was this fire earlier this afternoon. Just a slight one. No big deal. But the front entrance is kind of messed up.”

  Sam’s memory zoomed backward to various news stories he had read about the dangers inherent in hotel fires. He blinked. “Fire?”

  “Well, you see, Avery got stuck in the elevator and they called nine-one-one—Oops. Hey, I got a call coming in. It’s probably my sweetie. Talk to you later, okay?”

  The phone disconnected in his ear.

  Fire? Nine-one-one? Good God.

  To hell with Elvis’s birthday party. He had to get back up to Odessa. He would feel better talking to Avery in person and assuring himself that she was all right.

  Showered and shampooed, Avery felt better. But she wasn’t cured. Brittany had mentioned a dinner buffet, but the very notion of going downstairs was too daunting. The way her luck was unfolding, she might trip and fall the full flight of stairs.

  Instead of a dinner buffet, she found the vending machines.

  Peanut butter crackers and a diet drink would do, she concluded, as she reminded herself that her stomach was in no shape for a big meal anyway. She would make up for her starvation with the all-you-can-eat breakfast tomorrow morning.

  Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she popped a cracker into her mouth and picked up her cell phone. Debbie Sue had left her business card with a note under the Aero’s keys asking that she call when she was up and around. God, what those people must think of me, Avery lamented.