Here Today, Gone Tamale (18 page)

“We'll see what's what after we question Ty.”

“If you admit I'm right, I'll let you drive me home.”

He stared at me for a good long time. “I'm not telling you a thing. That would be breaking the law.”

“Shouldn't you be heading back to the jail instead of fraternizing with the public?” I understood his ethics, but I didn't have to show it. I spun toward the door. “I forgot to say good-bye to Uncle Eddie.”

After twenty minutes of dragging my heels, including a pear cider at the bar, I started for home, only to find Lightfoot and his cruiser waiting for me by the door.

“You took long enough.”

“You didn't have to wait.”

“Yeah, I did.” He reached across and pushed open my door.

I was exhausted, so I slid in and slammed the door. In the dim light of the dashboard and the moonless sky, I asked, “Do you think Ty did it?” I couldn't read his expression in the silence that followed.

“He's got motive.”

“But . . . ?”

“Do I think he's capable of great stupidity? Yeah, but I don't think he's dumb enough to do something that would put him away for life.”

Without a word, we drove the five minutes to Aunt Linda's. I glanced across at his expressionless face, wishing I knew what he refused to say.

I sighed and pushed open the door. “Thanks.”

“Don't worry about it.”

At the porch steps, I turned.

He lifted a hand in response and drove away.

Under a sky painted with stars, bright and twinkling like an ocean filled with glowing jellyfish, my skin prickled with the thought that I might not be safe in this town, my home.

My mind was full to overflowing with images of Ty Honeycutt, Lightfoot and Barnes, the stolen money, the image of a furious Ty being thrown into the back of the sheriff's cruiser. The investigation felt incomplete, and as much as I hadn't trusted our law enforcement officers to get it right, I found I'd trusted them more than I wanted to admit.

Until now. Something in my subconscious was telling me this was too easy, too predictable, too . . . wrong. I should've felt relieved the case was drawing to a close, but not this way, not this predictable way. Ty was a charmer and a gambler, which meant he had to be a great actor, but I didn't believe he could manufacture the desperate fury I'd witnessed. When they'd taken him away, he'd reacted like a trapped animal, desperate to save his life. He'd changed my mind and convinced me of his innocence.

On the library table in the hall stood a sunflower-faced cat, sculpted from railroad ties and scrap metal. Aunt Linda had stuck a Post-it on the feline's face, telling me to call Patti. I was relieved. I hadn't heard from Goth Girl except for a short text message of thanks and a promise to call me later.

Aunt Linda waited on the leather sofa in the den, reading
a romance by the light of a faux Tiffany lamp from Target. “You okay?” She opened her arms for a hug and proceeded to squeeze the life out of me.

I gently disengaged from her grasp, needing to keep my mind focused. “They took Ty Honeycutt in for questioning.”

“No!” She tossed the book to the end table. Curling her legs underneath her, she settled in for a juicy story. “Well, it doesn't surprise me any, but I wish they'd done it before they arrested Anthony, willy-nilly.”

Dropping down beside her, I grabbed one of the tasseled throw pillows and hugged it to my chest. “He's not guilty.”

She frowned. “Have you heard him play?”

“No.” I shrugged, too tired to follow her train of thought.

“He's not going to make a living at playing the guitar, no matter how cute he is. We didn't extend his contract. This week is it.”

I waited for her to explain.

Seeing my lack of understanding, she huffed. “He killed her because he needs the money to pay off his gambling debts. The cowboy mafia's probably searching for him so they can break his kneecaps or make him a pair of concrete boots.”

“Ugh,” I groaned, pulling the pillow over my face in disbelief.

“Come on.” She pulled me up and into the kitchen. “How about some sangria? Senora Mari made it fresh.”

Grinning, I spun for the stairs. “I'll go up and say hi first.”

“Better not, sweetie.” She removed the sweet tangy beverage from the fridge. “Poor thing's plumb tuckered out.”

I scooted onto a tall stool and took a sip, information buzzing through my brain. The mayor said Dixie had seen them leaving the office of someone? Oh, yeah. Dr. Valentine. With a bone-tired sigh, I reached to pull out my phone.

“Shoot. I almost forgot.” Aunt Linda had started climbing the stairs, but now she descended. “Patti said it was urgent you call as soon as you came home.”

“She didn't say why?”

As Aunt Linda reached the landing, she paused to catch her breath. “No, but she was beside herself. I told her she could confide in me, but she refused.” My aunt shrugged and raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “You try to help someone, and they just don't get it.”

“Thanks. I'll listen to her message right now and give her a call.”

Aunt Linda blew me a kiss. “Good night, sweetie.”

“Night, night,” I said, reverting to my childhood lingo. I finished off my glass of sangria and dug in my pockets for my phone, which I found, after checking all my pockets twice, in my back pocket.

Tired beyond what was good for me, I decided to listen to Patti's message upstairs in the comfort of my bed, but when I passed Senora Mari's room I turned the handle slowly, hoping to find her sleeping soundly.

“Come in, Josefina.” She lay in the bed, her hair covered with a tight kerchief, her comforter pulled up to her chin.

“I thought you'd be counting sheep by now.” I grinned and plunked down on the corner of her bed. Her bedspread was made of lovely white lace that matched her curtains. I nodded to the figurine of the Virgin Mary on the nightstand. She didn't nod back, but I think she was listening to every word.

“How could I sleep with you clumping up the stairs like a herd of buffalo?”

I inched closer. “Are you okay,
abuelita
?”

Her gaze landed near the window. “As I said, I have been in prison before.”

A long pause hung between us until I had to ask, “Why were you in prison?”

“You don't want to know,” she said and closed her eyes.

Refusing to smile at her obvious attempt to win my sympathy, I answered in the way she expected. “
Por favor
, tell me.”

“Cabras estúpidas!”
Her eyes popped open. “Stupid goats.”

The corners of my mouth were fighting not to smile. “No. What happened?”

“Humph.” She sat up, revealing her Hello Kitty button-down pajamas. “They arrested me for stealing the smelly things, when I stole nothing.” Her hand rested on her heart.

“Why did they think such a thing?”

“Because they found the stolen goats in my barn.”

Okay, I would bite. “How did they get in there?”

“Just a minute.” She reached into her mouth, contorted her face, and pulled out her bottom dentures. She crossed herself and dropped them into the cup next to the Virgin Mary. Okay.

“My gums hurt.” Her speech was hard to understand, but I got the gist.

My eyelids were dropping like weights. “The goats?”

“I put them in the barn after I bought them. How was I to know the man I bought them from was a thief?”

“And they didn't believe you?”

“Why would they believe me, a Mexican?”

She slid down beneath the covers and turned away. “That's why I was in prison. You need to go to bed. You look tired.”

“That's a . . . sad story.”

“It's the truth.”

“I believe you, but I'm confused. Why did you never mention this?”

Silence.

I reached out and touched her back. “How long were you in jail?”

“Not long. Two hours.”

Trying to hide a yawn, I widened my eyes. “Why did you really confess to killing Dixie?”

“I was the bait.”

“For what?”

“The killer.”

On a good day with lots of rest, I might have understood her convoluted logic. “Why would Dixie's killer want you?”

She snorted softly. “He didn't. I made him think he was
in the clear.” A long pause followed, and then finally a whisper. “I brought him out into the open.”

“Okay. Let's,” I yawned wide, “talk more tomorrow. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

A gentle snore and a whistle was her only response.

I made my way to my room, dialing voicemail as I walked.

“Josie, it's me. I've got to meet you,” Patti whispered on the recording, her voice full of tears. “Jos, I'm scared. I'm afraid to take this photo to the police. I need you to tell me what you think. Call me
now.”

I dialed Patti's number, suddenly awake and alert. Lenny licked my ankle and I flew straight up into the air. “Cut it out.”
Come on, Patti. Come on.

She picked up on the third ring. “Meet me at Milagro,” Patti whispered.

“I'm in my pajamas.”

“Please. I can't talk here.” Her voice reminded me of a heroine in a cheap horror movie. She'd almost convinced me.

“Ha, ha.”

“Gotcha!” She laughed until I swore she was crying.

“You're such a bad actress.” I smiled in spite of myself.

“Am not.”

Removing any trace of good humor from my voice, I demanded, “Where did you go today? I thought you said you'd be back in an hour.”

“No, I didn't actually state how long I'd be gone, and for that I apologize.”

“You missed the show over at Two Boots tonight. They hauled Ty Honeycutt down to the jail.”

“Was Lightfoot there?” she asked, breathless as a schoolgirl.

“What do you think?”

“I would've loved to have seen him in action. Was he better than Tommy Lee Jones?”

Ew. “I should hope so, he's half his age.” Tommy Lee was a serious cowboy, but he had a lot of wear on him.

“Listen, Josie, we need to talk tonight.”

Patti's get-up-and-go gave no sign of waning. “Is someone out to get me?” I asked in a stage whisper.

She tried to laugh. “I don't think so, but I drank way too much coffee to sleep. Can I come over? We could work on our plan of attack for tomorrow morning.”

“Forget it. I've already done you one too many favors today.” I yawned and scooted under the covers.

Patti didn't sound the least bit tired. “Lightfoot mentioned something about you calling the law on P.J. Pratt,” she said with a snort.

“That was an accident,” I huffed. “I told the operator not to send anyone out, but she ignored me. Now everyone's going to be calling me the village idiot.”

“I'm sure they thought it was related to the shoplifting incident in the store earlier.”

My bed was warm and cozy, my pillow soft. “Dixie's jewelry,” I said on a yawn. “He wanted to buy her jewelry.” I brought the covers up to my chin. “But I told him he could forget it until I spoke with you.”

“Atta girl.”

“Let's create our plan tomorrow on the way to Melanie's gallery,” I whispered into my pillow.

“Nightie night, Jos.”

“Hmm,” I said as I hung up the phone, my mind filling with images of Patti chasing Lightfoot around his desk.

*   *   *

Saturday, the final day of the festival, had arrived. My schedule was busting at the seams, but I was ready for the challenge. Tonight, after the auction, it would all be over until the following year. Hallelujah!

Today I would help, and do my best not to hinder, Hillary as she judged the talent show. Then it was back to Milagro to help Uncle Eddie transport our frozen margarita machines, along with trays of beef flautas, cheese quesadillas, and other finger foods, to the charity dinner and silent auction. We would take care of the drinks and appetizers, while Bubba handled the brisket and fixings.

Before the two major events of the day started, I had some minor espionage that needed my attention. I jumped out of bed with delightful anticipation. First I would bring Patti up to speed on last night's adventure at Two Boots
,
and then she would enlighten me on her encounter with Lightfoot. We would end our gabfest by scouring Melanie's gallery, Where the Sun Sets, for any sign of Dixie's jewelry.

My heart was racing before I hit the door. We had no plan other than to visit Melanie in her lair, but with any luck she might share some tidbit that would take us to the next step in our investigation. I had a boot print and a missing auction necklace. Patti had a shoplifter and a thing for Deputy Lightfoot. It wasn't much to go on, but so far the sheriff's department had uncovered squat. We couldn't do worse than that.

I drove to the Feed and Supply, parked the Prius, and jumped into Patti's jeep.

“You look like you've been—what's that cowboy saying?” my too honest friend asked as I put on my seatbelt.

“Rode hard and put up wet?” I gave her a dirty look.

“Yep, that's it.”

I lowered my sunglasses. “With friends like you . . .”

A rich, tantalizing aroma filled the cabin. “You didn't?” I asked, my body reviving at the possibility of dark roast.

“I did.” She handed me a large paper cup of steaming hot coffee. “Now who's your best friend?”

“I don't recall saying you weren't.” After a big sniff, I took my first deliciously bitter sip. I dug in my purse and produced two foil packages. “And now my offering to . . . what should we call ourselves?”

“Snoop goddesses.”

I laughed. “That'll do until I have more coffee.” I held my breakfast offerings up high. “And now my offering to the snoop goddesses, biscuits and bacon.”

Squealing to a stop at the corner stop sign, she slapped the steering wheel. “Snoop goddesses don't eat pork.”

“That's why I brought us turkey bacon instead.” I unwrapped the top of her biscuit and handed it over.

She stared at the flaky treat with distrust and then took a bite. “Hmm, yes an offering truly worthy.”

“Now tell me how it went with Lightfoot.” I had misgivings about how suitable the two hardheads might be for each other, but I was going to give my support as long as I could and remain true to our friendship. After all, hadn't I already expressed my doubts to no avail?

With a slow smile, she said, “He was at his desk when I got there, like I'd planned.” She frowned. “But he apparently had four reports to write and tried to pawn me off on some red-headed dude.”

“That's too bad.”

“Did I take no for an answer?” She gave me a wink and stopped at the railroad crossing. “No. Before he could make a break for it, I ran the whole story by him. Once he realized the thief was after Dixie's jewelry he was very keen, wanting to know how I came by her pieces, and who else in town sold them.”

The eight thirty-five train blew its whistle in greeting as it passed.

“Great.”

“Can you believe the sheriff hadn't told him about it?”

“Wallace said he had his hands full with the festival.” In the sheriff's absence, Lightfoot had taken charge at the tamale-eating contest, calling the ambulance and interviewing the bystanders until the sheriff came along.

Lightfoot was hard to ignore.

“Um, Patti. I mean, Goth Girl, there's something you should know.”

“Tell all. Did they arrest Ty Honeycutt for the murder? Or is that wishful thinking on my part?”

“When they left Two Boots, Lightfoot said they were taking him in for questioning.”

“Lightfoot,” she said dreamily, “great name.”

“Um, that's not what I wanted to tell you.”

She heard the seriousness in my tone. “He's married?” Gripping the steering wheel in a death grip, she pushed the gas pedal to the floor. We flew down the highway, passing family sedans and SUVs with license plates from New Mexico, Arizona, Alabama, and, of course, Texas.

“No, but he does have a girlfriend.”

“And you didn't tell me this earlier because . . . ?”

“I forgot. I'm sorry. Senora Mari was grilling him about whether or not he had an Indian girlfriend.”

A loud whoop came from Patti's side of the jeep. “Of course he'd say that to Senora Mari, if for no other reason than to get her off his back and out of his business.”

I smiled at her glee. “I guess you could be right.”

“Bet you twenty there's no girlfriend.”

“Not a safe bet for me. You'd win.” I wasn't too sure Patti was correct. Lightfoot didn't appear to be the type to lie to anyone, not even an old woman.

She slowed for the exit ramp before swinging right onto Gallery Road. “Tell me about your conversation with Mayor Cogburn.”

With little fanfare, I filled her in on my conversation with
the mayor, making sure to include the intensity behind his every word.

Patti slowed the jeep, pulled it over to the shoulder, and threw it into park. “He didn't say what Dixie had on them?”

I glanced behind us, but the road was empty. “No, but he was acting as if I already knew. I'll tell you the truth, I was nervous. For a minute, I thought he was going to give me all the intimate details. If he hadn't suddenly gone inside, I would have run off.”

“You're exaggerating. You would've done no such thing.” Her gaze followed the road to where the two-story gallery stood in the soft morning light. “So what kind of doctor is this Valentine character?”

I made a face. “I don't know. I was going to look him up last night after we talked, but I fell asleep.”

She shook her head in mock disgust. “Do a search for him while I think for a minute.”

I turned to the left, the right, and then front again. “Of course there's no blasted service,” I muttered. I glanced up in time to spy an armadillo scurrying across the road. He made short work of crawling under a barbed wire fence, and then disappeared into a field of tall grass and pink evening primroses.

“I have a plan.” Patti said. Then she paused to gather her thoughts. “We go in together. I'm bringing my photos and you're . . .”

“There to ask Melanie about displaying another one of her paintings at Milagro.”

She nodded her head and grinned. “Now it's your turn. Whatcha got?”

“Um, one of us keeps her busy while the other one looks for the jewelry.”

“Easier said than done.” Her mouth turned down as she pondered our next step. “I don't expect we'll find it.”

“And she won't tell us anything.”

“Not unless we get her rattled.”

I sighed. “It's pretty much a crapshoot.”

She slapped me on the back and started the jeep. “Yep, but I'm great at improvising.” Patti put the jeep in drive and let off the brake. As she started to accelerate, a red Porsche rocketed past us, nearly putting a quick end to our plans.

“Hey! What the—”

My heart in my throat, I reached out to calm my friend. “That was Melanie.”

“She could have killed us!”

“I bet she's thinking the same thing about us.”

Blowing out a heavy breath, Patti gripped the steering wheel. “Right.” She took a deep breath and let her foot off the gas again. “Let's go get her.”

*   *   *

We caught Melanie in the parking lot as she removed a painting from the Porsche's trunk. Her linen suit draped her svelte frame to perfection, while her red silk blouse brought out the red highlights in her deep brown hair. It was her jewelry that always seemed overdone. She wore three or four gold necklaces in varying lengths, several gold bangles, and long, gold hoop earrings. In addition to the wedding rings on her left hand, she sported a gold ring on each of the four fingers of her right. It made me wonder if she was diversifying her investments for a rainy day.

“Have you been drinking?” she asked me. I had tossed and turned well into the night, forming a strategy, but her comment made me feel uglier than a naked mole rat. The fact she'd dared to ask me such a thing made me notice she looked a bit hungover herself.

“Heavens, no.”

She stared at me. “What are y'all doing here?”

Patti was ready. “You said you wanted to sell a few of my photographs, but if today doesn't—”

She gave Patti a beautiful smile. “Today is fine.” Her smile noticeably dimmed when she turned to me. “Don't you have a talent show to judge?”

I waved my hand. “I don't have to be there for another hour.”

Watching me closely, Melanie remained silent.

“Aunt Linda and I were talking, and we'd like to hang more of your beautiful paintings in the restaurant.”

Melanie pulled down her designer sunglasses, the better to evaluate what I was up to. “I thought you said only last week that they weren't selling.”

We hadn't planned this out too well.

“She sold one yesterday,” Patti proclaimed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

I tried hard not to react, for there's one thing Patti never did, and that was tell a lie. Or so I thought until I noticed she'd crossed two of the fingers on her left hand.

“Which one?” Melanie asked, perking up considerably.

I wasn't a fan of her work and couldn't name a single one of her paintings, so I kept mum.

Patti looked at me, and I looked at her. “You know,” she said, “I can't rightly remember what your Aunt Linda said, but she did think it might help Melanie's sales to trade some of them out.”

Melanie's perfectly arched brows flew skyward in disbelief, but I could see she found some merit in the idea. She needed the money, as we all did, and she couldn't take the chance of ignoring us and possibly losing our business. “Give me a sec,” she muttered as she unlocked the door and began to disarm the alarm.