by N. C. Lewis
"I know the place. Next to George and Emma Garcia's lot."
"That's it."
"Hear you're turning Mr. Castleman's old place into an event center."
"Did you know Mr. Castleman?"
"Worked for him as a laborer back in the nineties on the old oil well at the edge of your property. Any plans to reopen it?"
"Maybe, when I win the lottery."
We both laughed.
"Well," said Grandpa Marston. "You'll be as happy as a hog in mud at Ealing Homestead."
He shook my hand again, smiled and said, "Now I've got Mr. Tittles, I better find Marybelle's mom. It’s time to put out the fire and call in the dogs." Grandpa Marston leaned into his walking stick, waved, and walked off toward Marvin Close.
Chapter 16
Along Marvin Close, the crowds jostled for the best spot to watch the parade. A festive mood flowed through the audience. At the entrance to the street local radio station MCR 101.1 FM blasted out a mix of popular rock, pop, and country music. The host, Johnny Spinner, added to the atmosphere by excitedly talking over the music. "Ladies and gentlemen welcome to Medlin High's homecoming parade, shout boo-ya do-ya spinner-ya, if you'd love to hear a tune from Dripping Spring's country trio, Midland." A huge roar went up from the gathering as Johnny played the group's tune "Burn Out."
As the final notes drifted out of the speaker system, the steady drumbeat of the high school band resounded along the street signaling the parade had begun.
This year it was the turn of the color guards to carry the high school banner. At the head of the parade, for the first time in years, they waved ribbons and flags and twirled rifles and swords. Then, as the high school drum line beat out a frantic rhythm, two former color guard members appeared with flaming torches in their hands. As is the tradition in this part of Texas, the high school banner was set on fire to the wild cheers of current and former students.
Next, dressed in cowgirl hats, fancy dresses, and boots, the high school High Steppers each held the hand of a Tiny Stepper. At the front of the line, surrounded by Middle Steppers, Medlin Creek's oldest resident, Martha. She too wore the fancy dress, boots and hat. Her electronic wheelchair twirled in little circles and she waved her cowgirl hat at familiar faces in the crowd.
"Welcome Martha," boomed Johnny Spinner. "People, give a hand for the oldest High Stepper in town." The crowd hollered, and clapped, and stamped their feet. It seemed everyone knew Martha, and Martha knew everyone.
On the other side of the street, I caught a glimpse of Bob and Millie. Bob's eyes filled with anticipation and he shook his head from side to side, his dreadlocks dancing like puppets on a string. Millie was jumping up and down, waving her hands and straining against Bob's grasp like a horse tethered to a hitching post.
Just then, the brass section played the opening notes of Cliff Richard's, She's So Beautiful.
"And here she is," cried Johnny Spinner, shout boo-ya do-ya spinner-ya for this year's homecoming reunion queen, Crystal Healy."
Crystal, resplendent in a golden gown, sat upon a thronelike chair atop an ornately decorated wagon. She waved a royal wave and nodded her head slightly at smiling faces in the crowd. Two Gypsy Vanner horses and a bare-chested man, all sharp angles and muscles, pulled the wagon.
"Put your hands together for Hank 'Teddy' Tumpin," yelled Johnny Spinner. "Teddy Tumpin is as strong as a horse, and he is helping out these two beautiful specimens popular in the British Isles and on loan to us today from Mr. Rodney Trotter, the proprietor of the College Arms pub. If you have a hankering for cod and chips, Balti pies, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, or traditional British ale, the College Arms is the place to go."
Teddy's face turned beet red as he strained and tugged on the leash attached to his shoulders. As the cart moved slowly forward, Teddy bared his teeth and grunted like a wild stallion. Johnny Spinner, now twirling in circles, shouted, "Give it up one more time for Teddy Tumpin!"
Suddenly, the entire high school band joined as one to play "Hi-Diddle-Dee-Dee" from the 1940 Walt Disney film Pinocchio. At that instant, puppets in the hundreds with their puppet masters, converged on Marvin Close. Eager, excited, chattering, dressed in bright colors, and waving at the crowd, they poured along the street and over the sidewalk, encouraging the children and young at heart to join their festive jig.
Millie broke free from Bob and sprinted out into the parade with Professor Purple on one hand and Madame Bleu on the other. I watched in quiet amusement as she and her puppets were carried along by the crowd, like flotsam and jetsam bobbing on a late evening tide, all with huge smiles on their faces, and heads tipped back, laughing merrily.
Bob ran after Millie, his dreadlocks flapping like octopus tentacles in search of a meal. A group of puppeteers with glove puppets surrounded him. They linked arms and danced in a circle singing and laughing as Bob hopped up and down trying to watch Millie. Eventually, he broke free, but it was too late as Millie had disappeared into the sea of people.
"And finally, here they come, the Texas University Interscholastic League State Champions, Medlin Creek High," said Johnny Spinner. "Shout boo-ya do-ya spinner-ya."
In neat rows they marched, the instruments held high and their eyes like that of a tiger, focused and mean.
Chapter 17
The crowd followed behind the marching band as it snaked its way toward the Riverwalk end of Marvin Close. The procession passed several storefronts, all had huge Open for Business signs plastered in their windows. As I crossed over a small alley that ran between two shops, I saw her. The woman in the dowdy, gray dress.
She was close to the entrance of the alley, hidden in the shade from all but the most curious eyes. The woman glanced at me staring, then disappeared deeper into the shadows.
Why was she creeping around Medlin Creek? And what was she doing hiding in the alley? "It's none of my business," I muttered under my breath, trying to keep up with the procession.
The crowd spilled out into an open-space lawn, with the stage backing on to the Riverwalk trail. I pushed and shoved until I was right next to the stage.
A group of stagehands, students, and adults clambered off the stage. Each carried a dark blue, hooded top with the school logo. Despite the heat, a few wore the tops. One individual even had the hood up. That's teenagers, I thought. When I was at school, one year we wore T-shirts in the winter and long, green parka coats in the summer.
"Hey," said a voice behind me, "you're blocking the view."
I swiveled around to see a stooped, old man with a grizzly white beard and wild, blue eyes. "Never missed a homecoming in over forty years," he said. "Looks like this will be the first-time cos I can't see. You're taller than me, let me stand in front of you."
I moved aside to let him squeeze past.
"What's behind the curtain?" inquired a tall, thin man with a bushy, gray beard. His finger pointed to the stage where Roger was standing next to the high school principal, Mrs. Morrow.
"Quiet, it's about to begin," said a stout, sour-faced woman dressed in business attire.
The crowd fell silent as Mrs. Morrow picked up a microphone.
"Put on your sitting britches. Our guest speaker today, Mr. Roger Romantic, will now perform the dashing of the ashes."
A Tiny Stepper clambered onto the stage. It was Marybelle, with a broad, gap-toothed smile. She firmly held a large urn with both hands. "The contents of the homecoming school banner," she proclaimed with some importance.
Roger stepped forward and took the urn from her grasp. Then he turned toward the principal, bowed, and marched with solemn steps toward the edge of the stage, as a single drum beat.
"Let’s shoot out the lights," yelled Mrs. Morrow as Roger tossed the ashes into the crowd. The people roared with delight, and the band struck up the school song.
As the music died down Roger strutted to the center of the stage and pointed to the heavy curtain behind him.
"Before I reveal what is behind the drapery, I'd like to
announce the winner of this year's Homecoming Home Award." He raised his hands in the air like an Olympic gold medalist on the podium. The band struck up a merry little tune.
"This year's winner is Betty Feliciana."
Onto the stage strode a middle-aged woman with jet-black hair.
"Thank you, I'm very proud and pleased." She had intelligent eyes, and a bright smile, and her voice was warm and husky.
Mrs. Morrow rushed onto the stage with a huge teddy bear in her arms. "This is for you Betty. As a reminder of this wonderful evening when Crystal Healy, our homecoming queen, returned to Medlin Creek pulled atop a Texas chuckwagon by our most winning high school quarterback, Teddy Tumpin. Betty, thank you for all you have done for our school."
Again, the crowd roared its appreciation.
Just then, in the shadows at the side of the stage, I glimpsed something familiar, something golden. I rotated my head to look closely. It was Crystal. A shiver ran down my spine, for her palms faced outward toward Roger, her eyes protruded like giant globes, and her thin lips mumbled inaudible words.
Roger walked to the front of the stage as Mrs. Morrow and Betty left. Suddenly, his legs buckled. Arms outstretched he wobbled but righted himself. Like a professional speaker, Roger didn't miss a beat and continued.
"Now the moment you have all been waiting for, the homecoming motivational presentation."
The audience groaned. A few laughed.
"Drum line please," said Roger, pointing at the band students.
A light rat-a-tat beat floated up from the band.
Someone behind me coughed. I turned around to see the woman in the dowdy, gray dress. Her long, narrow face was stern, mouth open, and the two little, dark puddle-like eyes kept moving slowly from Roger to the curtain and back again.
"You are going to enjoy this," said Roger, a broad grin on his face, pointing behind him as the heavy curtain rose.
He didn't realize anything was wrong until the screams from the audience reached a terrifying crescendo.
"Look, look!" shouted the stooped, old man with the grizzly white beard, his wild blue eyes even wilder.
Roger spun around and with a cry fell back three steps while Mrs. Morrow started screaming and didn't stop until well after the deputies arrived.
Chapter 18
Teddy Tumpin sat slouched in the ornate chair that had carried Crystal Healy during the procession. The giant man's neck hung at an unhuman angle with a large hypodermic needle protruding out, its silvery end sticking up toward the night sky like a grotesque antenna.
"My Lord, that needle would fell a horse," yelled the stout woman dressed in business attire.
"Must've been attached to an elephant syringe," hollered the tall, thin man with a bushy, gray beard. "But where is it?"
"It's nothing but lawlessness in Medlin Creek now the sheriff's out of town," huffed an excitable, young man with spiky, pink hair and a tattoo of a lion on his neck. "Man, you're not safe anywhere these days."
For what seemed like eons, Roger remained frozen, as his eyes bugged insanely at the body which looked somehow starker and grislier under the evening stage lights. In the shadows at the side of the stage, Crystal looked on with a satisfied smile etched into her chubby face.
Frenzied activity filled the next few hours. Emergency medical personnel arrived, shook their heads, and covered the body. Doctor Tobias called the time of death. Deputy Dingsplat wrapped police tape around the area, and the stage area filled with Havis County forensic techs.
As an almost continuous stream of Medlin Creek and Havis County law enforcement vehicles arrived, the crowd disbursed. I watched as Crystal shambled off the stage, and the woman in the gray, dowdy dress, her long, horse-like face smirking, slunk off into the night. I, too, slipped away from the scene rather than face an endless round of questioning by Medlin Creek deputies.
The gentle twinkle of glittering stars filled a clear, black sky as I climbed into my vehicle. For a while I just sat, letting the events of the evening soak in and settle. When my cell phone buzzed, I noticed it was almost eleven p.m.
Ollie, on way back to the apartment with Crystal. We were told we'd be questioned later tomorrow or maybe the next day. Crystal seems unusually cheery. I'll let you know what happens—Roger.
I started the engine, slipped the gear lever into drive, and turned out of the parking lot past flashing blue lights, my eyes on the road but my thoughts someplace else.
Chapter 19
I knew I was dreaming. Hand in hand under golden sunshine and a clear, blue sky, I strolled with my husband John, on pure white sand. A feeling of safety engulfed me as we walked in silence. Without warning John stopped, his face creased into a frown and he pointed up toward the sky. A little, scudding gray cloud blocked out the sun. It grew dark and cold. Thunder roared, and lightning struck the beach. I turned to John but he was gone.
Bright sunlight shone through the bedroom window and I was late. "Must've hit snooze on my cell phone alarm without knowing it, " I muttered aloud. I rubbed my eyes, checked the time, and rubbed my eyes again. It was eight forty-five a.m. Out of bed I tumbled and took a shower while I tried to make sense of the dream.
By the time I'd dressed, fed Bodie, and ate a bowl of cereal it was nine thirty-five a.m. I checked my list.
Sisters of the Creek Coffee Circle ten a.m.
Dojo seven p.m.
I grabbed my handbag and dashed out of the door.
It was another bright, clear Hill Country day with a fiery late summer sun shooting out golden rays of heat. "Another hot one," I muttered as I hurried along the dirt path through the little iron gate to the Tahoe.
The Sisters of the Creek meet in the small meeting room at the Medlin Creek public library. Pulling the Tahoe into a parking space, I scurried through the main entrance into the cool interior of the library.
"We'll start in ten minutes but first I'd like to introduce our breakfast sponsor," said Helen Felton as I entered the meeting room. She was a somber-faced woman of fifty something with curly, black hair and coffee-colored smooth skin. Today she wore a light-cream blouse with a dark blue jacket and matching knee-length skirt.
She waited for the ladies to settle down. Since the level of excited conversation did not abate, she folded her arms across her chest. Helen was the president of the Sisters of the Creek Coffee Circle, and the mayor of Medlin Creek.
"Ladies please," she said, smashing the gavel on the lectern. She continued in an authoritative tone. "I'd like to introduce our breakfast sponsor now and then we can eat before the main presentation."
An instant hush fell across the gathered members. A local business usually donated the breakfast table and it was always very good. A quiet rumbling in my stomach reminded me just how good.
Mayor Felton glanced around the room. "Oh, there you are," she said, nodding at a figure by the door. "Today's breakfast table sponsor is Mr. Dominick Leiden."
I swiveled around and there he stood sipping from a large, disposable coffee cup.
"Come to the front and introduce yourself," Mayor Felton commanded.
With long, confident strides, Dominick approached the lectern. For several moments he stood staring out at the gathered crowd, occasionally nodding at a smiling face. Then he drew his forefinger to his lips.
"It's going to happen to you," he said in a dramatic voice. He swept his arms across the room pointing at no one in particular. Dominick had our attention now and he knew it.
"Retirement," he bellowed holding out his hands in a supplicating gesture. "Will you be ready when it strikes?"
He smiled a broad, self-satisfied smile and slowly rotated his head from left to right, his pearly-white teeth glittering under the fluorescent lighting.
"Are you adequately invested?"
He paused for a brief breath and shot a glance at the door as two late members scurried in.
"The past twenty years I've run my own investment fund. Stocks, bonds, real estate, gold—even cryptocurrencies lik
e Bitcoin. You name it, I've successfully invested in it."
Again, he smiled. "Safe, secure, and prospering, that's how I'd describe my retirement investments. What about you?"
He launched full out into a sales pitch.
"For a limited time only, I have reopened my investment fund to new investors. Ladies, I'm giving you the very first opportunity to get in. I'll be speaking to a few other groups while I'm in town but you are the first."
A pasty-faced woman with a round face, a friendly smile, and a 1960s beehive hairstyle raised her hand.
"Yes," he said.
"Dominick, I applied last time you opened the fund five years ago but didn't get in. I'd like you to manage all my retirement assets. Can you do that?"
Dominick shook his head.
"Sorry, but no. I want to make it clear that I will not take more than ten percent of anyone's retirement assets into my fund, no exceptions. Ten percent is the absolute limit."
For a moment he paused, allowing his words to settle in. On the edge of my seat I leaned forward. Someone coughed and it sounded familiar, but I was too eager to hear what Dominick had to say next to turn around.
"As homecoming week ends so will this opportunity," he said in a fast-paced voice. "I only have a limited number of applications with me today. There is no money down, these are simply expression of interest forms. Once I've gauged the level of interest, I'll contact you with further details. But if you haven't expressed an interest, you can't invest in the fund."
Dominick raised a leather binder high in the air. Everyone's head tilted upwards. "The forms are in here," he said as his eyes looked up to stare at the binder.
Like a snake charmer playing the pungi flute he rotated the binder to the left and the right and watched with smug satisfaction as our heads followed the movement like a hungry barn owl watching a mouse.
Dominick lowered his voice several octaves. "It's strictly on a first come, first serve basis. Sign up today or miss out tomorrow. Y'all all know me. I was born and raised here in Medlin Creek."