Cinco De Murder
Page 19
I began to make a list in my head of the minimum number of celebrities she could count: the judges at the Miss America contest—five or so—the master of ceremonies, the director, producer, the television bigwigs—did they count? There was always someone performing with a name to draw more viewers. So one more. A dozen. It was more than I knew, but not so many as to elevate her status above mine or anyone else’s in Broken Boot.
She drew a deep breath and assumed a thoughtful pose. “True celebrities do move to their own beat.” She waved a hand in the air. “Blow wherever the wind takes them.”
“No stories for the paper, I guess.” I tried to look sympathetic, but I was having a hard time feeling anything but irritated. I didn’t want her here.
“I have one about the murder.” She lifted one brow and a corner of her mouth.
“Hands off. You know I’m the crime reporter.”
She placed a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “She wants to be the crime reporter, but it’s my understanding that Majors hasn’t given her that title.”
“Sumter Majors gave you my story?”
With a tilt of her head, she considered for a moment. “Let’s see. I told him that I was working on a story about the chili cook-off killing.”
“And he told you that it was my story, right?”
“I believe his exact words were: ‘Go ahead, and may the best story win.’”
“Why pay us both for the same story?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Why, hon, the best story makes the front page and the second best makes the next edition . . . after it’s been edited down to say, two inches. Maybe even an inch if it turns out that Lucky Shaw—”
“Straw.”
“Straw—what a peculiar name—died from natural causes, like a little old everyday heart attack.”
Ryan brushed her arm away and stood. “Come on, let’s dance.” He reached out a hand.
“Nah,” I said, standing and pushing in my chair. “I’m not much for two-stepping.” The band was playing “All About Tonight,” which was causing nondancers to flee the dance floor and others to rush it like a sale on spiral-cut ham at Thanksgiving.
He grabbed my hand and yanked. “None of your excuses, Callahan.” He sidestepped a couple whirling by, took my other hand, and twirled me into promenading two-step position. “And don’t step on my feet.”
I couldn’t respond with anything snarky as I was doing my best not to cripple him with the heel of my boots or trip any of the other dancers.
“Relax,” he said into my ear, which caused goose bumps to rise on my neck and down my spine.
I drew a deep breath and let the music flow over me, and then something magical happened. My feet took over, and my worries withdrew. Guess ballet folklórico was giving me confidence and allaying my fear of making a complete fool of myself.
“Watch out.” He pulled us out of the way of a couple doing what could be described only as a ’60s pony—only the ponies were running wild and stampeding the other dancers. If I had to guess, I’d say too many beers at the Shiner Bock stand.
I’m not thin, but Ryan did a good job of making me feel light on my feet. As we continued, it became obvious we were making it around the circle of dancers without incident, because he had a gift for leading me out of the path of oncoming disaster.
The music segued into something slower, which failed to be romantic as the lyrics had something to do with beer and the singer’s photo album filled with his lady and her truck. Before I could hightail it off the dance floor, Ryan pulled me to him.
I refused to put my arms around his neck like Hillary had done. Who could compare with the third runner-up to Miss America, even on her bad days? I grabbed him by the upper arms.
“About Hillary—”
“I don’t care. To answer your question, Gold Rush Lighting was broken into by a thief that needed a spare part.”
“What?” He drew back in confusion. “Wait.” He stepped close again. “Let me say my piece without you being so accommodating.”
“Be my guest.”
“I didn’t ask Hillary to dance, she asked me.”
I shrugged, and returned the wave of Anthony and his fiancée. “No explanations necessary.”
He searched my face. “Okay, uh, good.”
“When were you two thinking of going to Austin?” My voice was even and friendly.
“Did you check the White Pony’s concert schedule?” Ryan was assuming that I was still going. I had checked, but I wasn’t going. No way was I going to be the proverbial third wheel.
“Not yet.”
He didn’t answer as we continued to sway across the dance floor, not quite middle school Sadie Hawkins dance, but close. “Tell me what’s going on with you tonight.”
My heart started to thump in my chest until I realized he meant the robbery.
“I can’t give you all the details, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence the robbery and the death of Lucky Straw both had something to do with electricity.”
“Doesn’t sound right, Jos.”
“It does if you consider that Lucky was found dead from a heart attack when he wore a pacemaker.”
He guffawed. “I’d bet you my lucky cleats tons of guys die while wearing a pacemaker. Check your facts, kiddo.”
“There were all kinds of electrical cords tangled up all over his tent.”
“Which proves my point.” Gently, he lifted my hair from in front of my eyes and moved it aside. “The guy got himself electrocuted. End of story.”
“What about the lighting store?” I asked.
“What about it? Coincidence.”
“Which, according to Sheriff Longmire and Sherlock Holmes, I’ll have you know, there’s no such thing.”
“Hah. Tell it to the Pope.”
Suddenly, the weekend was way too long. What with the parade, and the chili cook-off, and the murder. I yawned, and it wasn’t pretty.
“Sorry if I’m boring you.”
“No—” I yawned again.
“Shh.” He pressed my head to his chest. “Take a load off, Jos.”
For the next few minutes, I closed my eyes and let the music and Ryan’s sure guidance take me away. Through my mind floated images of Lucky dead on the floor of his tent, Senora Mari’s bright folklórico costume, the coyotes in the fairground parking lot, and Lenny in his white folklórico jacket and sombrero.
Ryan began to hum in the way he had that was more enthusiastic than on key. I kept my eyes closed and allowed myself to enjoy his closeness. It was really too bad we weren’t meant to be a couple. But we’d had our time back in college, hadn’t we? Best to move on instead of always looking back. Expecting someone to change wasn’t healthy. I sighed.
He patted me on the back. “All better?”
I lifted my head and stepped away. “Yeah, thanks.” I rubbed my eyes. “I needed that.”
He tipped his worn cowboy hat. “You’re welcome.”
“How’s recruiting for next year going?”
He placed a hand on my lower back, helping me steer through the crowd. “Let’s not talk football. I get that you hate it.”
I shot a glance at him and caught a whiff of disappointment in his face. “I don’t hate it. Just don’t want to talk about it twenty-four/seven.”
Hillary remained at the table, but she’d found a salad and a Coors Light.
Steps away from reaching my nemesis, Ryan turned me toward him. “I’m not going to Austin without you.”
“Then you shouldn’t have invited her.”
He slapped his thigh with his hat. “Hoowee! You’re jealous.”
Pulling away, I threw back my shoulders and lowered my chin. “Am not. And don’t even pretend that you’re interested in either Hillary or me in that way. Don’t forget about that student who needed your tutoring skills.”
I studied his can’t-do-no-wrong expression. “Haven’t you already lost all your marbles? You invite both your exes on a road trip.”
“I didn’t invite her, she invited herself.”
“Well, you can un-invite her.” A few butterflies were flying softly inside my stomach. He said he preferred me to Hillary. If I cared, that would be something to crow about.
“Thought you two had started your own dance-a-thon,” Hillary said as we took our seats.
Ryan nabbed a baby carrot from her bowl. “Let’s have one next year. We’ll have it on Presidents’ Day.”
I laughed. “That’s practically the only day not taken for a community event.”
“We could always cancel the tamale-eating contest.”
“What?” Ryan shot a glance at me. “And lose a dozen free tamales?”
I started to grind my teeth. “I didn’t hear any complaints.”
Hillary shrugged a delicate shoulder. “You’d be the last to hear.”
Ryan’s retort floated through the suddenly quiet night. “Don’t work too hard. Wouldn’t want Lenny to miss his blog post tomorrow.” Several heads turned.
I was going to wring his neck. Though everyone with a brain had figured out that I wrote Lenny’s gossipy—and sometimes snarky—blog, I preferred to keep the illusion sacred. “I’m headed home to make sure he gets a good night’s sleep. He likes to write every morning at six o’clock sharp.” Which was indeed the time he woke me for his morning constitutional.
As folks started talking, Hillary had the last word. “Always helping out where help is needed, Josie. The town council should give you the key to the city.”
I ignored her and threaded my way through the crowd, waving to friends and determined to keep my head up. I left the crowd around the gazebo behind and continued down Main Street, back to Milagro and the preparations for dinner service. Tonight should be a great night for the restaurant, helping us pay our bills from the lean winter months when tourists preferred cruises out of Galveston to Mexico or the Caribbean.
By the time I reached the front door of our casita, I’d brushed aside all thoughts of Ryan, Hillary, the trip to Austin, and the butterflies that had swirled in my stomach for the silliest of reasons. Senora Mari was right. Again. I whispered a prayer of thanks for the constant love of my kooky family, and then entered our restaurant ready to serve not only our hungry customers, but my family and their needs, with an open heart.
Chapter 16
Questions and Answers on the Rocks
“The cows have come home to roost.”
“Olé.” I gave a salute to the staff and Uncle Eddie, choosing to ignore the fact that his favorite witticism made entirely no sense.
Senora Mari removed my waitress apron from its hook and handed it to me at the cash register. “So, you danced with the coach?” Her lips pursed and she nodded, convinced that she already knew the answer.
“No, I had better things to do.”
She studied my face. “Well, now you have tables to set.”
“What could be better than that, right Jo Jo?” Uncle Eddie laughed at my expression. “Oh, we’re going to have a great night. Did you smell the money in the air?” He gestured to the crowd on Main Street.
“Don’t say that.” Aunt Linda stepped out of her office. She wore her usual pencil behind one ear and her bright flower behind the other. “You’ll jinx us.” Her gaze surveyed the entire restaurant, taking in the state of the dining room, entryway, bar, and finally the staff and their uniforms.
“Oh, hon. Be happy. We’re going to make money tonight.” Uncle Eddie danced across the floor, reaching for his wife to join him.
She laughed and allowed him to lead her in a few steps and a twirl. “Okay, okay.” She pushed him away with a hand at his chest. “We have five minutes until we open.” She gave me a pointed look. “Double-check your stations.”
We made quick work of it, which was a good thing. When we opened the front door, three parties of four walked in. Groups and couples kept coming over the next thirty minutes and we had a waiting list by five thirty.
I was on my way to the bar to drop off an order for a sangria swirl, with a sugar rim—if you please—when I spotted a familiar brunette with red glasses. Dani O’Neal. I’d had about as much as I could take of the woman the day before, so I was praying she wouldn’t see me at the end of the bar. Of course I shot a glance her way from behind my order pad to find her staring straight at me.
“I didn’t realize you were a waitress.” She studied my outfit. “I’m not hating. I had to wait plenty of tables after I was laid off from Texas Power.”
“Oh?” This woman made me uneasy. Even though she said she desperately needed the prize money, she was all kinds of crazy. That led me to suspect she had other motives for entering our inaugural event, like keeping tabs on Lucky Straw, plotting his demise, or hitting him over the head with a skillet.
A couple was seated farther down the bar, but their gazes were locked on the Mexican soccer game on the television screen. When the Chivas made a goal, the man slammed his hand on the antique oak bar. “Pay up.”
The woman shot a glance at Dani O’Neal, and then at me and Anthony, who was filling in as bartender until our new employee arrived.
After their attention returned to the screen, Dani patted the barstool next to her.
“Sorry.” I shrugged. “No can do. I’ve got three tables that just ordered their drinks.”
“Later, maybe?” With an air of desolation, she sighed and took another sip of her frozen daiquiri.
“Depends. Who’s with your niece and nephews?”
She gave me a level stare. “What? You think I’d leave them in a strange hotel on their own?”
I flushed. “Not exactly.”
“My sister arrived an hour ago. When I left them, they were watching Dora.”
“Ah, that’s awesome.” I hated to see anyone so depressed and bearing such a heavy air of loneliness. As I returned to the dining room, I still caught myself glancing around the room for those kids, just in case she’d lied about having a sister as well.
About twenty minutes later, I had a lull. Four tables had received their entrées: steaks, pecan-encrusted tilapia, the usual fajitas, and chile rellenos. I retreated to the bar area for a soda water with lime.
“Hey, can you watch the bar for a minute?” The new bartender, one of Ryan’s over-twenty-one defensive ends, glanced in the direction of the little niños’ room.
“Sure, but make it quick.”
He winked and hurried off, remembering just in time to not go through the dining room. “See? I remembered.” He gave me a confident nod and left through the kitchen.
Before her, Dani had three empty Shiner bottles. No way was I about to ask her if she wanted something else to drink. “I’m surprised you’re still in town.”
“I already asked for the days off, and the kids like it here.”
“Speaking of . . . where are they?”
“They’re with their mother.” She lifted one of the bottles to her mouth and tipped it to her lips. Only a drop came out.
“Ha.” I nodded at Anthony, who dropped off an order for three whiskey sours and a Dr Pepper. “Remember, you already pulled that on me, and then you came clean.”
“I did?” Her expression said she was utterly lost. “Oh, yesterday. I was just messing with you.” She smiled. “They belong to my sister.”
“Why should I believe you this time out of the gate?” I made the drinks with care, not wanting to be too stingy or too liberal with the whiskey. “If that’s the case, then where are they now?” The woman was obviously either a terrible liar or a pathological one.
Anthony was making sure not
to miss a word, fascinated by our conversation.
Dani gave him a sweet smile. “Hi. What’s your name?”
“Anth—”
“He’s engaged to a girl who used to wrestle on Telemundo.”
He laughed. “She’s a real tiger.” He picked up his drinks and laughed again. “You better watch out for her, she’ll rip out your liver.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. His fiancée was the sweetest, most timid creature I had ever met. Who else would have sewn Lenny’s folklórico costume by hand?
Dani sighed. “They’re at the Cogburn Hotel watching Home Alone.”
“By themselves?”
She frowned. “No. With their mother.”
Argh. This woman was on my last nerve. And where was that fill-in bartender? He should’ve been back by now. I walked from behind the bar and took a peek at my tables. So far, they were fine. In fact, too fine. They needed to move along down the road and make room for another group. A couple sat on a wooden bench just inside the door while a family of four waited outside for their name to be called.
“I was a waitress my freshman year of college.”
“That so?”
“Yeah.” She took a sip of her drink. “I was a cocktail waitress at the Atlantis Beach Club.”
“In the Bahamas?”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on. I meant the one on Padre Island.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Yeah, the guys were hot, the money was awesome . . . at least on Friday and Saturday nights.” She sighed. “More fun than the medical profession, that’s for dang sure.”
My ears pricked. “What part? Are you a nurse or what?”
“Guess again.” Her voice was petulant, which I blamed on too many daiquiris.
“Let’s see. You’re an X-ray technician?”
“No.” She gave me a sly smile. “But I am on the technical side.”
“You’re a radiologist.”
“Close, but you won’t guess.” I turned around to respond, and she was standing right behind me, peering over my shoulder at the dining room. Great. All we needed was for her to cause a scene. Slowly I walked back to the bar and, thankfully, she followed.