Here Today, Gone Tamale (15 page)

“How early? I have the talent show at ten.”

“I told her I'd drop off my photographs at eight thirty. That way I can open up here at nine o'clock.”

“Sounds good. Is she showing your work?”

Patti gave me a warm smile. “She offered to sell my work on consignment. I think she felt guilty for running over me at the contest.” She clapped her hands together with glee. “We could snoop around and look for Dixie's jewelry.”

“You've been watching too many cop shows,” I teased.

“Speaking of snooping, let's get back to the boot print in your picture. Did you find something important?”

“Not yet, but Mr. Cho assures me it's distinctive.”

She gave me an assessing glance. “Mr. Cho? From the Boot and Bag? What did he have to say?”

“Not much except that the wearer walks on the outside of their foot and needs a heel repair.”

“Huh,” she chortled. “Sounds like you've found your killer.” She flung back her hair and drank a long sip of her
tea. At the base of her neck, under her ear, I spied a long, nasty scratch.

“What happened to you?”

Following my gaze, she touched the place gingerly. “What, this? Someone just needed a lesson in fair play.”

“Sheriff Wallace mentioned you had a dispute when he arrived at the contest. A dispute with what? Looks like a bobcat took at a swipe at you.”

She set down her teacup, lifted her legs into the chair, and wound her arms around her knees. “You should see the other guy. No one's going to shoplift from me without me chasing them down and tearing a strip out of their hide.”

“It looks like they tore a strip out of your neck.” Her skin didn't appear to be swollen, but the scratch started at her collarbone and disappeared behind her hair. “Is it painful?”

She lifted a pierced eyebrow. “What happened at your place? I heard someone nearly croaked.”

“Not quite.” I told her all about the necklace in Elaine's tamale and my successful attempt at CPR.

“Tell me about the necklace,” she said, wearing a thoughtful expression.

“Ty said it was one of Dixie's.”

I heard the jingle of bells as Lenny trotted down the center aisle, carrying a cat toy in his mouth.

“Come,” Patti ordered.

Obediently, Lenny trotted over and placed the fake mouse in her outstretched hand.

“Sit.” Patti pointed to the floor at her feet, and Lenny sat. “You're not going to believe what someone tried to steal today from one of my display cases.”

Nothing had appeared to be missing. “Earrings?”

“One of Dixie's necklaces.”

My eyes widened like saucers. “Who was it?” I asked in disbelief.

Shaking her head, she got up and returned her cup to her office. “Beats me.”

“What? You didn't get a good like at them?”

She returned with a small leather purse that she flung over her head and one shoulder. “Oh, I got close enough.” She pointed to her neck. “I've just never seen the punk around town.”

I sighed in frustration. “What did he look like?”

“I don't know, really.” She checked her watch. “Would you do me a huge favor?”

“Give me something.”

Still avoiding the question, she unzipped her purse, smeared on some lip gloss, and headed for the door. “Young, skinny, Hispanic. That's all I got.”

“Weren't you face-to-face?”

“Listen, I need to run, uh, go do this thing. I won't be gone long.”

Unless I was mistaken, my friend was about to leave me in charge of her livelihood without any preparation. “Hey, you're not abandoning me here. What if you get customers?”

“That's why I need you to stay. I can't afford to miss a sale.”

“I don't know how to run your register.”

She thrust her hands on the hips of her low-ride jeans. “Come over here.” She led me to the back counter. “Look familiar?”

We had the exact same cash register.

Maybe she needed a break. Lord knows, I couldn't have made it as a one-woman proprietress. “Okay, fine, but what are the codes?”

She slid open a drawer under the counter. “They're all right here,” she said, handing me a laminated set of step-by-step instructions.

I opened my mouth to argue.

Taking my hands, she caught my attention. “Please, Jos. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you could handle it. I really have to do, uh, run this errand before it's too late. You know I never have time to do the smallest things for myself.”

“Okay. If you're sure I can handle it.”

“It's almost painless,” she said, releasing my hands, “and I won't take long.”

“Okay, but don't be gone longer than twenty minutes or Lenny might have an accident.” Realistically, I knew I could manage to stay forty, but I wasn't about to admit that.

She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “It's not as if you're going to be swamped with customers.”

“You win.”

Before I knew what hit me, she grabbed me into a bear hug. “You're the best friend ever!” Just as quickly, she released me and headed for the door. She gave the store a final glance, nodding in satisfaction.

A suspicion was growing in my mind. “Please, a guy or a girl?”

Her cheeks turned pink. “Do you have to ask?”

“The shoplifter? Do you think it was a he or a she?”

Taking her keys from her bag, she screwed up her face for a moment. “It could have been either.”

“Wait a minute.” I hadn't missed her obvious reaction to my gender question. “I'm not staying if you don't tell me where you're going.”

She laughed. “Oh, fine. I'm going to file a police report with a certain sexy deputy over at city hall.” Her eyes glittered with excitement.

“Oh.” Now the pieces fell into place. “Why didn't you file one when Sheriff Wallace was here earlier?”

“He told me to stop by later.” With one glance at my face, her smile evaporated. “You said you weren't interested, right?”

“Absolutely.” I had no business standing in her way. I was not free to pursue love, and I didn't know how long it would take before I trusted someone to get that close again. “What makes you think Lightfoot will be there? Wallace told me the whole department is out working the festival.” I didn't want to discourage her interest in love, but I wasn't sure Lightfoot was her soul match.

“One: I'm optimistic. Two: He told me he would be writing his reports after his shift. Three: He told me exactly when his shift ended.”

“Are you sure? He's so . . . dry.” More like moody, arrogant, and downright expressionless.

“Oh, I'm sure. You know what they say—”

“Still waters run deep,” I interrupted.

“No. The drier the hay, the hotter the fire.”

“Ew. I could have done without that.”

“You're welcome. See you soon!” She gave me a broad smile and hurried off down the sidewalk.

“Shouldn't you leave me a key in case of an emergency?” I called after her.

Brushing my ankles, Lenny raced out the door, intent on following his tattooed friend.

Patti stepped on his leash. “No thanks, shrimp. You stay here and help your mom.”

While I bent down to pick up his leash, she removed a large gold key from her ring and handed it to me. I must have looked as panicked as I felt.

With a shake of her head, she said, “Don't worry, you'll be fine. You want me to talk to Lightfoot about Dixie's jewelry, don't you?”

As soon as she left, I toured each aisle and wall display and then made my way to her office. The tiny room still bore the personality of her parents, with brown wood paneling from the sixties above the chair rail and beaten tin below. I absorbed the neat stacks on her desk, which on closer inspection turned out to be packing lists, invoices, and photo prints.

I didn't think she'd mind me being in this room if I didn't touch anything. Behind the desk, I found a narrow fifties bookcase. Calling me from the top shelf was a small album covered in ripped denim, bulging with whatnots. I swore to only open it long enough to find out what was bending the cover and that I wouldn't read any private entries.

I bit my lip. “Here goes nothing.” Inside I found a handful
of stark black and white photos in her usual style. There were also several photographs of jewelry, and if I wasn't mistaken they were the same pieces displayed in her cases. At the bottom of the pile, I found a photo of Dixie's auction necklace, without the matching bracelet and earrings. It wasn't too hard to figure out as Patti had labeled the photo of the turquoise squash blossom necklace in neat letters. I didn't betray our friendship by reading Patti's journal entry, but one glance at the date told me the photo was taken one week to the day before Dixie was murdered. In letters too big to ignore, Patti had written a note, and then underlined it and added three black question marks.

Too good to be real???

Was she referring to the auction necklace? Would an artist as well known as Dixie put her reputation at risk by using low-end gems to make high-end jewelry?

That didn't hold water. Dixie had sold plenty of jewelry pieces at all price levels. Everyone in the area understood that all of the local turquoise had been over-harvested years ago. That's why they bought their expensive gems from traders from Arizona and Nevada.

I started to move a pile of bills to see what Patti had written on her desk blotter, other than skulls and crosses, when the cowbell at the front door clanged and my heart jumped into my
throat.

My diminutive defender ran for the door, barking all the way, only to circle back as if to say, “Let's go!”

“Lenny,” I commanded. When he obeyed by running closer, I grabbed his leash.

We marched into the next room only to find a befuddled P.J. Pratt peering into one of the glass display cases, like a cowboy come to town and looking for a trinket for his best girl. In all fairness, P.J. would have looked at home in the ranch supply portion of the store, but standing over the ladies' jewelry, he made me think of the proverbial bull in a china shop.

If I had any doubts that Melanie Pratt's husband worked his own ranch, his muddy boots and sweat-stained hat laid them all to rest. “Howdy,” I called out, trying on the cowboy greeting for size. “Can I help you?”

He gave me a cool once-over. “Where's what's-her-name?”

“Out,” I responded without my trademark smile. I didn't care for his lack of good manners.

He glanced around the empty store as if trying to catch me in a lie. “When'll she be back?”

“Yip,” Lenny said.

P.J. gave Lenny a narrow-eyed glare.

The way he asked, like he had a right to Patti's time, irritated me to no end. “I don't know,” I fibbed. “Why don't you come back tomorrow?” I could tell by his reaction that my disapproval was obvious. I couldn't see what had attracted a creative type like Melanie to this aggressive, macho, turnip head.

“Well, dad gum,” he said, slapping his hat against his leg. He gathered himself and smiled. “Tomorrow's too late.” He brushed back his wavy, salt-and-pepper hair with his fingers. “I bought my wife some expensive earrings here last week.” He hesitated. “She said something about a matching necklace and bracelets.” A deep furrow appeared across his forehead as he turned to study the wares inside the display case once again.

Something was off in his delivery. It wasn't what he said, but what was floating right below the surface. “If you're positive you don't want to come back,” I offered, “you can try to find them without her.” I gestured to the three separate display cases.

He grimaced. “My wife, Melanie, usually picks out her own jewelry.”

I just bet she did. “Why don't you come back and bring her with you?”

I could see his mental cogs turning as if sorting through the possible responses. “Well, now, you see,” He ran a finger between his neck and the collar of this plaid western shirt, “this here's what you might call a get-out-of-jail present.”

His mention of incarceration brought Anthony to mind. “Melanie's in jail?” I asked. Like I said, I can be a tad passive-aggressive when the need arises.

He chuckled. “Nah, nothing like that. I meant we had a dust up.”

After a few seconds of flipping through my mental list of country-fried colloquialisms, I got it. “You had a fight?”

Again, he paused as if choosing the right answer. “Yeah, and it was ugly.”

He wore a smile that didn't sit right somehow. Why did he feel the need to lie? I didn't know him from Tom's housecat other than the fact he was married to Elaine's youngest daughter.

Why did Patti have to file her report now? She would've found the matching pieces and had him out the door in two shakes of a lamb's tail. And the fact I was adding more homespun quips to my inner thoughts proved I was rattled.

I waited a couple of minutes, listening to him mumble to himself as he peered through the glass at each individual piece. “You still don't see them?”

He slammed his hand on the glass top. “No! I don't know why she couldn't do this herself.”

Before I reminded him of his need to appease his wife, Lenny zipped under the counter and started to lick P.J.'s boots.

“Hey, get out of here you mangy—” His face suffused with anger, he drew back his boot as if to kick my dog. At the last second, he shot a quick glance at my outraged face and stepped away. “I'm real sorry.” He squared his shoulders. “I'm not used to scrawny dogs.” He tried a laugh. “Shoot, I thought he was a rat.”

And I thought P.J. was a gentleman. Guess we were both wrong. “You're okay, Lenster.” I scooped him up and gave him an ear rubbing and a kiss on top of his pointy head. Forget giving this guy the benefit of the doubt, he'd jumped to number one on my list of idiots. “You need to go, now.”

“Listen.” He put his hands out as if trying to calm an agitated filly. “I feel dumber than a doorknob. If I could just remember, I'd make a purchase and get out of your hair.”

“What color was the setting? Gold or silver?”

“I'm not sure.”

I'd had enough of P.J. and his foolishness. “I can't help you if you don't even remember what kind of necklace you bought her.”

“All I remember is green.”

“Green like emeralds?”

He ran a finger beneath his collar. “That doesn't sound right.”

I studied the pieces with green stones in the first case. I was pretty sure none of them were precious stones. “How about jasper, agate, or malachite?” There was a slim chance I might be able to identify those stones from my earth science class in college.

Smiling apologetically, he said, “It'd be great if I could remember something.”

His story smelled fishier by the second. “Do you recognize the setting?”

Clenching his jaw, he proceeded to have me bring out all the trays filled with green, blue, or greenish blue stones until he was visibly starting to sweat, shaking his head in confusion. “What do you call that one?” he asked, pointing to a long necklace of greenish blue rocks. I lifted the necklace from the tray and found the tag with the name of the stones written in a fine hand.

“Turquoise.” I wanted to kick myself. Of course they were turquoise. Every other item was probably labeled the same way. Why hadn't I thought of that?

“Yeah, yeah, that's more like it.” Then he did something that burned itself on my retinas. He looked up, stuck his finger in the air, and snapped his fingers as if a tremendous idea had dropped from the heavens. “Of course, how could I forget? The earrings were made by Dixie Honeycutt.” His eyes grew wide. “Which of these did she design?”

First someone tried to steal one of Dixie's necklaces from Patti earlier in the day, then Elaine found one of the jewelry maker's necklaces in one of our tamales, and now P.J. Pratt was performing a song and dance, hoping to score a necklace of his own.

What the heck was going on?

Slowly I ran my eyes over the trays sitting on top. What
would Patti do? Had she already removed Dixie's pieces from public view? Maybe she was waiting until she discussed the issue with Lightfoot. If that was the case, I couldn't sell them without her approval.

“Um, I'll be honest with you. I don't know.”

Narrowing his sky blue eyes, P.J. frowned. “You sure?”

“Oh, I'm sure,” I said as sweet as honey. Without making any sudden movements, I began to return the trays to their display cases. “If you want to buy pieces from Dixie's collection, you're going to have to come back tomorrow, no two ways about it.”

He grunted like a wild hog rooting for worms. “Why?”

“I heard Sheriff Wallace needs to collect all her jewelry and give it to her next of kin.” I tried not to smile, but I was pleased to thwart him.

P.J. stood very still. “Says who?”

I grasped at straws. “That's what Sheriff Wallace told Patti earlier today.” Hopefully, they'd actually had that very conversation.

Melanie's rancher husband studied me for a long moment, and then he leaned over the counter. Smiling, he showed off two deep lines on either side of his mouth that someone half-blind might have called dimples. “Look right there.” He pointed beyond my shoulder. “The earrings are missing from that set. Those are the ones I bought for my wife.”

“Well, what do you know? You remembered after all.”

He continued, “Melanie's not going to take no for an answer. If I don't bring the necklace and the bracelet home tonight there's going to be hell to pay.” And then he turned down the corners of his mouth like a sad circus clown. His manipulation skills needed serious work.

Crossing quickly to the register, I found my shoulder bag and dug inside for my phone and a notepad. “Look, I'll write a note for Patti, telling her to give you first dibs.” The back of my neck began to sweat.

He went to step around the end of the counter just as I
pulled my phone from my bag. “Or I can call her if you prefer, but I'm not going to sell you any of Dixie's jewelry without her permission.”

“She won't mind!”

A growl broke out from behind me. I turned to find Lenny baring his teeth.

I wasn't about to be intimidated by any sweat-stained cowpoke, even if he did own ten thousand acres of pasture. “I happen to know she's at the sheriff's department right now. Why don't we call her and ask her what she wants to do?”

P.J. was going to need a trip to the dentist if he didn't stop grinding his teeth.

“And while we're at it, I'll tell the sheriff that you don't know how to take no for an answer!”

From the brick red shade of his face, I realized I'd insulted him, and I knew down in the bottom of my soul he'd never forget it. He clenched and unclenched his fists. “You're half crazy,” he said, his chest bowed out like a stuffed pigeon. “Put down that phone before you make a serious mistake.”

Lenny lunged for him, but I shortened the leash before he took a bite out of P.J.'s Wranglers. I let out a breath and dialed. My call was answered by an automated system, but P.J. didn't have to know that. “I'd like to talk to the sheriff, please. This is Josie Callahan. I need help immediately.”

After about fifteen seconds, P.J. stalked out, slamming the front door so hard the cowbell flew off, knocking over a tower of chicken treats.

*   *   *

Before I could hang up, an operator came on the line.

“Big Bend County Sheriff's Department.”

“I apologize for the call,” I said with genuine regret.

“Ma'am, are you sure I can't help you?” The operator sounded overly concerned. Maybe she was bored. If everyone else was attending the festival, I'd be starved for company too.

“Positive,” I said with a chuckle. “I thought I was going to need help with an irate customer, but he's gone.”

“Are you there alone?”

“No.” I realized that Lenny didn't count. “Uh, yes, but I'm fine.”

A group of teenagers walked by, pretending to scuffle. Lenny pulled his leash free of my hand and ran for the door, yapping up a storm.

“Lenny!”

There was a long silence on the other end.

“Sorry about that, my dog thinks I'm in danger.”

“Ma'am, I'll send someone out right away.”

“Please don't, we're fine. It's just my dog, he gets a bit overprotective.”

“I'll stay on the line until the officer arrives.”

“No, no, please. There's no emergency. I don't need an officer.”

Doing his best to protect the plate-glass windows along the front of the store, Lenny jumped into the window display.

“Get down!” I shouted, running to salvage a fragile antique spinning wheel.

I grabbed his leash. “Sit.” He sat, panting from his workout.

“Hello?” I gasped into the phone, suddenly remembering the operator.

The line was dead.

Double darn it.

Where was Patti? I left two voicemail messages and a text. What if P.J. came back and brought Melanie with him? It was not in my job description to handle those two together. No doubt, I was overreacting, but the rancher's aggressive demeanor had gotten under my skin. If a certain dark-haired deputy arrived with Patti in tow, I was going to feel like an idiot. I went so far as forming witty apologies in my head.

When the cruiser pulled up to the curb fifteen interminable minutes later, I shut off the lights, locked the door, and
stepped out to face the music. I was closing thirty minutes early, but Patti would have to get over it.

“Deputy Joseph Barnes,” the young officer said with a grin. He pulled himself up tall. “Are you Josie Callahan?”

While I was away in Austin, the Big Bend County Sheriff's Department must have recruited recent high school graduates. As Aunt Linda would say, Deputy Barnes would have to stand up to look a rattler in the eyes. His wore his auburn hair shorn like a sheep, and the sun had beaten his fair complexion to a reddened veneer. Studying his pink skin that never tanned, I added an olive complexion to my list of blessings.

“That's me,” I said, trying to figure out if and when we'd met.

I couldn't make out his cruiser's logo in the glare of the late afternoon sun. “Are you from Ringo County?” Our neighboring counties worked on call for one another. Without the added assistance, none of our three expansive, low-populated regions would have coverage in case of an emergency—or a festival.