Here Today, Gone Tamale (17 page)

I forced a laugh. “I
was
a reporter who reported on community events, not murder, not by a long shot.” When would this stupid song ever end? I was tired of this dance, his questioning, and some male singer crooning over and over about how his truck was gone.

Instead of me ditching him, something or someone across the room caught his eye and he turned the tables on me. “Thanks for the dance. See you later.”

“If you're lucky,” I called after his retreating figure.

Where was Ty? If Mitzi was right and he was outside, I had to find him before Lightfoot, undercover deputy.

The stalwart deputy would question Ty, take notes, nod his head, and decide to question eight other people. And once he questioned Dixie's slippery nephew, I would no longer have the element of surprise. Ty would either leave town or fill the holes in his alibi.

Determined to lift the stench of this crime from Milagro, I headed outside. I searched the parking lot without any luck, checked out the picnic tables just in case Ty was stretching his legs, and ended up circling the building. The second time
around, I spotted it, a red minivan with a business sign on the side that read,
Ready Cash! Don't worry. We've got your number!

I bet they did . . . at one hundred percent interest.

After seeing Ty again at the tamale-eating contest, I wasn't afraid of him. He reminded me of those jocks in high school. Back then they'd sauntered down the halls as if they were all that and a bag of chips, but now they slaved all day digging ditches for the county or draining oil pans at the Ten Minute Quick Lube. I approached the van with caution and found that what had appeared dark from far away was actually lit up inside. Like a custom van from the seventies, a curtain separated the driver and passenger seat from the rear.

Suddenly a gunshot exploded inside the van. I squealed, hit the ground, and started to roll as if my hair was on fire.

The side door slid open, and barrels of laughter and smoke spilled out along with a curly-headed man. “Well, hello,” he said, brushing off his too-tight jeans as he rose from the dirt.

“Hi,” I said, feeling twelve times a fool. The dim light prevented me from identifying him, and his slur wasn't helping. Whoever he was didn't appear too surprised or concerned about my discovery of their clandestine card game. “Did I hear a gunshot?” I asked, toddling to my feet. “Does someone, uh, need medical attention?”

He laughed and I recognized him as Dixie's nephew. “Hey fellas, some gal wants to nurse the hole in the ceiling.” A sea of male voices howled.

“Ty,” a male voice with a Hispanic accent called out from the backseat of the van, “what's her name?”

Another fellow of indeterminate age, sitting closest to the door, stuck his head out. “You look familiar.” He pulled on his long, straggly beard and smiled, revealing a few missing teeth.

“I'm Josie Callahan, from Milagro.” I gave Ty my best smile, as if we were old friends. “Remember me?”

“You s-saved that woman's life.” Dixie's nephew stuck out his hand, swaying back and forth as if standing on the bow of a ship.

I slipped my hand in and out of his as quickly as possible, hoping he wouldn't notice. “Eddie Martinez sent me out here to talk to you.” So far, no one else had stepped out of the van. I peeked inside and saw the game was still in motion, but no one appeared too worried about my presence, quite the opposite.

The young man on the other side of Scraggly Beard straightened up and repositioned his cowboy hat. “What's Martinez want with us?”

“He heard about your poker game and wants you to know it ain't allowed on his property.” I inwardly grimaced. When had I ever said
ain't
?

Through smoke as dense as a spring fog, a dark-haired guy in the back peered over the seat in front of him. “Since when?” He narrowed his gaze and I backed away.

In spite of his comment, I found it impossible to believe that Uncle Eddie knew these guys were out here. “Since Deputy Lightfoot arrived looking for Ty.”

A clownish look of concern came over Honeycutt's face. He gave me a hard stare and hitched his belt. “Boys, we've got to call it quits.”

On the far side of the middle seat, a wiry guy wearing a camouflage hunting cap held a deck of cards and a hungry look. “I'm in for three hundred,” he complained. “I say we take our chances.”

Drunk or not, Ty swung his head toward me, back to the guy in the hunting cap, and back to me again on a neck as wobbly as a newborn's. Beneath his straw Stetson, his wavy hair fell over his ears and flipped up in the back. Probably around thirty, he was a temptation gone to seed. “What do you think?” he asked me.

“I think if my aunt were found dead, I'd stay home and mourn for at least three or four days.”

Their hoots of laughter hit me like a giant wave on the Gulf. Scraggly Beard said, “Yeah, why don't you go home and find her will, Ty? She might have left you a reason to celebrate.”

“Shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you.” Ty yanked Scraggly Beard out of the van by his flannel shirt and shot a fierce look my way as if gauging my reaction. Maybe Ty had money to gamble because he'd searched Dixie's house and found a hidden nest egg.

The van full of men fell silent. Suddenly I realized all the fellas were giving me appraising looks, and my knees started to shake.

I dipped my chin and gave Ty a coy smile. “Could you and I speak in private?”

He answered with a leer. “Sure, sweetheart.”

They hooted and whistled as we walked away, and then the van door slammed and all was quiet but the faint sound of honky-tonk music drifting through the dance hall's open windows.

“Where we goin'?” he asked, trying to put an arm around me.

I slipped away. “Let's sit out over here.” The patio nearby was inhabited only by the smell of stale beer and a man and woman engaged in a mouth-to-mouth discussion in a far corner.

“What's this all about?” he asked as he flipped around a chair and dropped into it backwards. He threw his hat on the table and ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair. “You don't strike me as the amorous type.”

“You don't strike me as the affectionate nephew type.”

“You a cop?”

“No, I'm worried about Milagro.”

“The restaurant?”

“It belongs to my family.”

He took his head in his hands and turned his face to one side and then the other, cracking his neck. “So?”

“Your aunt's body was found in the alley behind our
restaurant.”
By me
, I could have added, but I didn't want to reveal that tidbit. In fact, my knees were still shaking as if I'd run five miles uphill.

His Mr. Nice Guy presentation slipped. “What's that got to do with me?” he demanded.

I wanted to shout,
She was your aunt!
Instead I decided to reason with him.

“I was hoping you could tell me who might have had it in for Dixie.”

He studied me for a moment, narrowing his eyes. Finally he relaxed and reached for my hand with a small smile. “That's it?”

Resisting the urge to pull my hand away, I swallowed. “That's what the sheriff's wondering. That, and why you didn't come inside to find her.” I gathered my courage. “If she were my aunt, I'd have at least gotten out of the El Camino.”

He squeezed my hand hard and then relaxed. “How do you know so much about what the sheriff's thinking?”

“He and Uncle Eddie are old friends.”

“Why do you care?”

“Dixie and I were friendly, but that doesn't mean I want the district attorney to send Anthony to prison if he didn't do it. If I help find the killer, Anthony will be released, Milagro's reputation will be restored, and things will get back to normal around here.”

Blowing out his breath, he dropped my hand. “I don't know who wouldn't have it in for her. Everybody hated her.” He pulled a cigarette and a lighter from his shirt pocket.

“I didn't.”

“You were one of the few.”

All was silent but the drone of a mosquito.

He lit the cigarette and studied me through a cloud of smoke. “When I didn't see her on the bench at the back door, I drove by the front. I didn't figure on someone just leaving her alone back there.”

My stomach roiled. I needed to turn my pointing finger of judgment back on myself. “Could I ask you something else?”

“No,” he said, his voice sleepy.

“The festival committee needs the necklace Dixie created for the silent auction.” I slapped at a mosquito on my upper arm. “You wouldn't happen to know where it is, would you?”

“Why do you care?” He tilted his head back and blew a smoke ring into the evening sky.

The door to the dance floor swung open, delivering a gut punch of electric guitar, but no one came out and it swung closed again. “A lot of folks have worked real hard to promote the sale of that necklace. Auctioning it off for the good of those kids is what Dixie wanted.”

He touched my shoulder, and then slowly drew his hand down my arm until he held my left wrist. “You sure you're not working for the cops?”

My mind was racing, and my old friend adrenaline was back. “I swear, but if you gave me that necklace I wouldn't mention where I found it.”

He squeezed my left wrist until it hurt. “Why not?”

Concentrating hard on changing my expression, I fisted my free hand. “You haven't done anything wrong by taking your own aunt's necklace, but neither have those orphans. They're needs are more important.”

With a tilt of his head, he ran his eyes down my body. “I don't know.”

I placed my hand over my heart. “You can trust me.”

In a slick move, he released my wrist and linked the fingers of his hands with both of mine. “I might know where to find it, but I ain't going to look because that's what she would have wanted. She was ornery and mean and self-centered.”

“Can't you say something kind, for God's sake?”

My tone knocked his head back. “Well, let's see. She let me stay at her place, and she was an okay cook, most days.” He rested our joined hands on my knee.

Would he stop talking if I dropped his hand like the proverbial hot potato and scooted away? I didn't want to chance it. “Where do you think it is?”

“Her studio.” He grunted and dropped my hand as if unhappy with the conversation. “Or maybe that witch Melanie Burnett has it.” Ty was growing sleepier, his head falling toward the table.

Suddenly I remembered Patti's discovery on the mayor's computer. “Ty?” I whispered.

“Hmm?” He folded his hands on the table and perched his chin on top.

“Was Dixie blackmailing the mayor's wife?”

With a faint smile, he lifted my wrist to his nose and sniffed. “I don't know nothin' about that. I do know she was hoping to sell more jewelry, but her sources dried up.”

He could sniff all he wanted, but I wasn't wearing anything but Dove. “What kind of sources?”

“Her rocks and gemstones. Somebody got to her seller, and all of a sudden they refused to do business with her.” Keeping his eyes on mine, he turned my wrist over and kissed the back of my hand. The collar of his shirt pulled open, and there, resting on his collarbone, was a necklace of horses, identical to the one Dixie had worn the day she died.

With my heart beating out a boot-stomping rhythm, I fought to keep my voice level. “Who was her seller?” I was okay. I could still punch him with my right hand if he got fresh. But how had he come by Dixie's necklace? I'd seen Lightfoot wrap it in foil and take it away after the disaster at the contest.

“Some trader from the Four Corners Reservation who came through town every few months or so. I don't know his name.” Most of the agate and amethyst in our area was found on private ranches, but Dixie had always maintained a good relationship with the owners, or so I thought.

The door must have drifted back open for I could see through the screen door to the dance floor. Lightfoot was
talking to a waitress, his head bent forward as if asking a question. I was standing in the middle of a moral dilemma. Did I warn Ty that the deputy was about to find him, hoping he'd give me more information at a later date? Or did I help Lightfoot do his job?

He tugged my hand until his face was inches away from mine. “How about a
kiss?”

His breath stunk of beer and smoke. I blinked away the stench, trying to make out if the horses on his necklace were made from the same stones as the one Elaine had swallowed, but it was too dark.

I yanked my hand from his and stood up. “Maybe next time.” I'd had enough of this snake in cowboy clothing, even if he had passed on priceless information.

“Suit yourself, city gal,” he said, standing unsteadily. With a short bow, he replaced his hat on his head and strode off in the opposite direction of the van.

“Ty Honeycutt?”

Dixie's nephew turned at the sound of his name. “Who wants to know?”

Lightfoot strolled toward him as if he were an old friend Ty might have forgotten. Slowly, he reached into his back pocket and flashed his badge in the other man's face. “Sit down, right there,” Lightfoot said, pointing to the same chair Ty had abandoned moments before, “and don't move.”

Across the parking lot, two deputies in uniform stepped up to the red van. The taller of the two banged on the door and shouted, “Everybody out.”

“You two need some help?” Lightfoot called out.

Before the deputies could answer, there was a loud metal screech as the sliding door on the other side of the van opened, followed by fervent cursing as the men scrambled out.

“They're getting away!” I cried. If the deputies didn't hurry, the poker players would make for the trees.

As the officers ran around the van, I heard one of them calling for backup on his radio. For a moment, all was silent until I heard what sounded like a herd of buffalo tramping through the scrub and Barnes shouting. In Austin and Dallas, the police had to concern themselves with whether or not the criminals would turn around and shoot. But the poker dudes, though they might conceal and carry, wouldn't shoot an officer of the law over an illegal poker game.

Ty tried to run, but he crashed into the table and fell to the ground. Before he could hop up, Lightfoot placed a boot on his back. “Get up real slow and I won't cuff you,” he said, swinging a pair of metal bracelets into Ty's field of vision.

“I ain't done nothin'.”

“I want to ask you a few questions. We can do it here or back at the station, your choice.”

Slowly, Ty tried to sit up as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him. He stood slowly and made a sharp kick backwards with his boot.

While Ty and Lightfoot faced off, sizing each other up, I slipped behind the musician and picked up the object he'd hoped to hide. I held it up to the light and recognized a substantial roll of bills. “He was trying to keep you from finding this.” I handed the money to the deputy.

“Give me that!” Ty tried to snatch it from my hand, but Lightfoot was faster.

Uncle Eddie flew out the side door, a white bar towel flung over his shoulder. “What's going on?”

Ty didn't respond, but he did sneak a glance in the direction of the scrub on the other side of the van where his friends had skedaddled.

With one eye on the musician, Lightfoot opened his hand.

Ty bowed out his chest. “That's my money.”

“I'm missing five hundred dollars.” Uncle Eddie's hands were fisted and his shoulders hunched. Any second, his hair was going to stand on end. “Did you steal it?”

“How could I have stolen it?”

“Mitzi says you were flirting with her behind the bar before she ran you off.”

Uncle Eddie counted the drawer four times a night to prevent the waitresses and bartenders from pocketing money. His persistence had come in handy this time.

“I won that money, fair and square.”

Barnes and another of the deputies returned, both dragging and wheezing like a leaky valve. “They're long gone, but we might catch them where the trail ends out on Presidio Road.”

“When you do, let's ask them if Ty was winning tonight or if this money belongs to Two Boots
,
” Lightfoot said.

Ty made a big show of shaking his head and thrusting his hands on his hips. “You can't prove anything.”

“Nope, not unless someone spills their guts,” Lightfoot said.

The other deputy butted in, “Which they might be willing to do if you cheated them out of their money tonight.”

Lightfoot stepped closer. “Bubba says you told him that you'd do whatever it took to get your aunt's money.”

Ty must have finally realized that Lightfoot, the deputies, and Uncle Eddie had him surrounded. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “That don't mean I killed her.”

“He's wearing Dixie's necklace.” I wanted Lightfoot to haul this guy in by his belt loops. If he'd steal money from a softie like my uncle, he was desperate enough to kill Dixie.

Stepping even closer, Lightfoot reached for Ty's collar. “That right?”

Ty grabbed the necklace, his eyes skirting from one deputy to another. “Yeah, but it's mine. She made it special for me.”

Standing back from any fists that might start flying, I was doing a mental victory dance. They'd have to let Anthony go if they found even one jot of evidence that Ty might have been involved in Dixie's murder.

“Hey, man, I'm innocent,” Ty said, no longer bowed up and defensive. In an urgent whisper he pleaded, “Take me down to the station and question me if you want, but I didn't kill Aunt Dixie.”

*   *   *

With a nod in my direction, Lightfoot and the other deputies led Ty out to the main parking lot while Uncle Eddie followed along behind, berating the luckless gambler.

Ty was a piece of work, but I wasn't convinced he was guilty. It was too neat, too pat, and I was too keyed up to head home. I cruised around the back of the building to the other side, making my way carefully past a metal toolshed, an abandoned deep freezer, and a rusted hulk of a GTO that Uncle Eddie had bought in an auction in Waco. Of course, he'd sworn on a stack of Bibles he was going to fix her up after the tourist season, and here she waited, six years later.

As I approached the side door, I spotted a familiar figure. Mayor Cogburn was smoking a cigarette and watching my progress through my uncle's minefield. No sign of the beautiful Felicia.

“I was afraid you'd sprain an ankle out there, but you made it.” His gaze landed somewhere around my shoulder.

Good night. Was the whole town on a bender? “Uncle Eddie could pay his bills if he'd sell off this junk,” I said playfully, hoping to avoid a discussion of any length.

The mayor took a long draw on his cigarette. “Your uncle's a good guy.” His succinct delivery confused me. Was he sober or just skilled at masking how much he'd had to drink?

I had never seen the mayor anything but calculatingly
upbeat, but tonight he was talking to me in a voice full of sorrow and regret. If I was lucky, that meant he would answer my questions no matter how rude.

“And Dixie was a good woman.”

He stared at me, and I knew I had gone too far. He was going to leave. Instead he leaned forward and looked me square in the eyes. “No, she worn't.” I also had never heard our esteemed mayor venture into a hick dialect.

“She created beautiful things.”

“She created a load of bull crap that nearly ruined my life.” He wiped the back of his hand across his brow. “Meaner than a snake and twice as crafty.”

I took the plunge. “What'd she do?” I asked in a sweet, and I hoped, an unthreatening voice. I held my breath.

“She threatened me and my family.”

“How could she do that? You're the one in charge.”

“She knew . . . things. Secrets she wanted to spread around town . . . about us.” He tossed his cigarette and ground it under his expensive boot heel.

Through the emergency exit at his back, I could hear the beat of the music and over it the buzz of the crowd. I remained silent, nodding in sympathy even as I noted how isolated we were amongst the rusting castoffs. A cool breeze tickled the hair at the back of my neck and along my arms.

“We have our hard times. Lord knows, her idiosyncrasies would force any man to drive his truck off a cliff.” He waited for me to respond.

I stepped back. “Well—”

Huffing out a sour breath he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I know. I can be a real pain in the ass myself.” He didn't slur his words, but his breath could peel wallpaper.

Why was he suddenly divulging his marital problems to me? And did it matter as long as it led me one step closer to figuring out who'd murdered Dixie? “What I know is that you two are still together, and there's no other couple who represents the people in Broken Boot like you two.”

“You got that right.” He cast a nervous glance at the darkened windows, but unless he had super powers, all he saw was swaying shadows. He propped back against the wooden siding. “Dixie saw us. Can you believe it?” After several seconds he continued. “We'd picked a place on the other side of El Paso. We walk out the door, and there she is, big as you please, getting out of her car.” He hitched at his leather belt where his pants had fallen below his beer belly. “She smiled and said hello like nothing was going on, and so did we.”

Where were they? What had Dixie seen and why didn't they want her to see them? I slowly let my gaze drift left and then right, praying that no one would materialize around the corner to interrupt him.

I nodded again. “But she didn't let it go, did she?”

His fingers ran under his bolero tie, pulling it loose. “We were working on the silent auction so it didn't seem strange, her calling to donate her necklace.”

“Of course not, it's the perfect thing.”

“But she started insinuating that I needed to buy one of her other necklaces for Felicia. I told her no, that I'd have to wait for our anniversary.” He drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the back of his neck. “That's when she threatened to tell everyone in town about seeing us at Dr. Valentine's.”

I wasn't familiar with the good doctor or his establishment, but it didn't require a rocket scientist to deduce that the photos Dixie had sent to the mayor's office had most likely been taken as the couple left Dr. Valentine's office. Patti was going to flip. Why was Cogburn so secretive? Was it an addiction? Plastic surgery? Dentures? What embarrassing secret had Dixie stumbled upon?

“I bought the other necklace, and she promised me she'd never tell a soul.”

“Was, um, Dixie a woman of her word?”

“I thought so, I prayed so.” He grabbed his Stetson in both hands and covered his heart. “You can't say a word, understand?”

Taking a quick step out of reach, I answered with my hand over my own heart. “I'd never tell a soul. I don't have any idea who Dr. Valentine is, and I don't want to know.” I should've crossed my fingers because I was already itching to find him on the internet as soon as our conversation ended.

“That's music to my ears.” He patted my shoulder a few times, righted his hat, and tightened his tie. “Felicia will be wondering where I've gone.” He opened the door.

“Mayor Cogburn, did you say you bought your wife one of Dixie's necklaces?”

He pierced me with a sharp glance. “You said you wouldn't mention it.”

“Um, Mayor, did you know the necklace Dixie made for tomorrow night's auction is missing?”

“Say what?” he demanded, lifting his eyebrows so high he resembled a Mr. Potato Head.

“I don't think Dixie ever turned it into the committee and now they're scrambling.”

He nodded. “You want me to donate the very necklace Dixie conned me into buying so that I get nothing in return for my money, not even a gift for my wife?”

I hadn't thought about it in quite those terms. “Uh, yes, sir.”

“Josie Callahan, you are a pistol.” With that declaration, he headed inside as the band stepped onstage for their next set.

Though my fingers itched to immediately search out Dr. Valentine on the Web
,
a quick glance at my cell confirmed I had no bars.

“What are you doing out here?”

I dropped my phone as Lightfoot stepped up behind me. Had he heard us? Had he seen Mayor Cogburn walk away? I jerked open the door, hoping to lose myself in the noise and crush of bodies, but he followed close. “Not much,” I shouted.
“Just thinking about how tired I am, and how I need to head home.”

“I'll drive you,” he said in my ear.

That sounded like an excuse for him to grill me about my own conversation with Ty. “Thanks, but I've had my license a few years.”

“Maybe so, but the guy at the front said you marched in on your own steam.”

Before I could slip through a row of boot-scooting line dancers, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back out the door. “You need to be cautious. Some drunken idiot might follow you home.” Still holding my arm, he started walking toward the parking lot.

“Go ahead and admit it. You know you arrested the wrong man.” My pulse quickened. He would have to admit what I'd known all along.