Calamity Jayne Rides Again (19 page)

I watched the door close and listened to the cheerful chime of the tiny bell, thinking that maybe Frankie had the right idea.
As a child I'd often wanted to run off and join the rodeo circuit. As things stood now, the circus seemed a more fitting choice.

CHAPTER 16

Aunt Reggie and I did a brisk business Monday afternoon. I had to keep my mouth full of various Emporium offerings so as not
to break down and reassure my aunt that her only child had not met with a criminal or tragic end, and decided the next time
I saw Frankie I was going to insist on getting his okay to tell his family what he was up to. Well, maybe everyone except
my grammy. I've already alerted you to my grandma's inability to keep a secret, haven't I?

I could tell Aunt Reggie was stressed out. Her movements were robotic. Twice she dropped food, and got orders wrong right
and left, and my Aunt Reggie rarely gets an order wrong.

"Why don't you take off, Aunt Reg?" I told her at nine-thirty. "I can handle the stragglers." I was also thinking I might
stay open just a teensy bit beyond the hour we were supposed to close to give Uncle Frank that little edge over Luther Daggett.

Aunt Reggie looked weary but undecided. "To tell you the truth, Tressa," she said, taking a seat at the counter, "I'm not
really looking forward to going back to the trailer all that much. Things have been rather strained between your uncle and
I, although you probably didn't need me to tell you that."

I nodded, filling the napkin dispensers while we talked. "Gram says every marriage has its ups and downs," I told her. "I
was just thinking about it, but I don't believe I've ever heard you and Uncle Frank have a disagreement before, so I gotta
think there's some kind of midlife crisis thing goin' on. And all the crud that's been happening to the business—well, it's
no wonder things are a teensy tense right now. I'm sure once the fair is over and we're all back in Grandville, everything
will return to normal." Or what counts as normal in our family.

Aunt Reggie forced a smile. "Why is it always the man who is allowed to have the midlife crisis?" she asked. "Why can't, for
once, the woman be the one to go out and have the tummy tuck, get the gray covered, get a new wardrobe or hot new sports car?"

"Or a hot new babe," I added before my brain could stop my tongue. I need one of those five-second-delay mechanisms. You know,
like they use on live TV programs so they can edit out the naughty words. I could attach it to my mouth so my lips wouldn't
move until they'd received the all-clear signal from my brain. "But you don't have to worry about that with Uncle Frank, Aunt
Reggie," I told her, trying to backpedal. "You can trust Uncle Frank," I said, thinking there couldn't be all that many women
even willing to have a mad fling with him—but deciding it was probably wise not to use the logic to reassure her.

"I used to believe that, Tressa," she said, playing with her wedding band. "But I'm not so sure anymore. I'm not sure of a
lot of things." She stood. "If you're sure you can handle the close," she said, "I think I will head for the barn."

I nodded. "I've got it under control."

Business picked up again after she left, folks figuring if they wanted something to eat, they'd better get it or they'd be
out of luck. I had a steady stream of customers well past ten-thirty, when I finally prepared to hang the closed sign on the
door. I was doing that when someone knocked, and I peeked through the curtains and saw Trooper Dawkins grinning back at me.
He wore an off-white cowboy hat that looked like the real thing. I opened the door, and the trooper-turned-wrangler stepped
in wearing a pair of cowboy boots that looked pricey, too.

"Well, well, well, to what do I owe this transformation?" I asked.

"It's not really that much of a stretch," Dawkins said, easing onto a bar stool. "My grandparents owned a farm and I spent
summers there."

The trooper looked good enough to be the cover model for
Cowboys and the Cowgirls Who Love Them.

I looked down at my apron. It looked as if a bunch of preschoolers had finger-painted it with various menu items, and I wished
I'd thought to take it off before I came out from behind the counter.

"So, what brings you here this evening, Trooper P. D.?" I asked. "Looking for a late-night cool treat?" I asked, thinking
he looked pretty sweet as he was in a pair of blue jeans and a Packers T-shirt. (Well, all except for the Green Bay shirt.
I'm a die-hard Vikings fan, even if they can never win the big ones.)

"No thanks. I was worried when you didn't show up at Bottoms Up to pay up on our little bet with your sister and her friend."

I slapped a hand to my mouth. "Ohmigosh, I forgot all about that!" I said, thinking I had been working way too hard if I'd
forgotten a date with a handsome keeper of the peace. "Are Taylor and Townsend still there?" I asked.

"They were when I left," Dawkins said, "but Rick was clearly annoyed."

"That's hardly breaking news where the good ranger and I are concerned," I said. "I'll just check everything one last time
before we go. You can't be too careful, you know," I said, pulling off my hideous mess of an apron and tossing it in the laundry
bag.

"Yeah, I heard about the run-by bricking by the clown," he said. "I wish we'd get to the bottom of this for you and your sister's
sake—and your uncle's, too, of course."

I gave the trooper a closer look. Had Taylor made yet another conquest so soon? He must have seen my face and decided an explanation
was in order.

"We both got to Bottoms Up early, so we had a chance to talk. She's very concerned about what's happening. And about your
cousin, of course."

The bad Tressa got a sick thrill out of knowing Frankie had entrusted me with his secrets rather than my saintly sister. The
good Tressa still wanted to give Taylor the benefit of the doubt.

"It's nice to have Taylor involved with family affairs for a change," I told the trooper. "It's so hard to keep close when
you see your dentist more frequently than you do your family."

P. D. gave me a long look. "I know how you feel,' he said. "With me it was an overachieving big brother."

"How could that be?" I asked him. "You're a state trooper! That's like up there with God here in Iowa."

He laughed. "My brother was an NFL all-pro lineman. He was injured several seasons back and is now a defensive coach for—"

"Don't tell me; let me guess. The Green Bay Packers! Now I know who I have to thank for the Vikings not making it to the playoffs
last year," I added.

P. D. grinned. "Now, be fair. You can't blame my bro's defense if your offensive line tumbled like a stack of dominoes."

"No, but I can blame him for those two blitzes that caused our guy to fumble twice," I said.

"Fair enough," Dawkins acknowledged. "So, are we good to go?" he asked, taking my hand. I suddenly felt like I was cheating
on Townsend. It wasn't altogether such a bad feeling. Oh, boy; there goes bad little Tressa again!

I locked up and we hurried down the hill to the hangout. The country-western band wasn't half bad, and my booted toe was already
tappin' by the time we got to the door. There was a respectable crowd for a Monday night, and I waved to Rhonda from the doorway.

"Noisy bunch!" Patrick yelled in my ear.

"You call this noisy?" I asked. "You should see the place after the rock-and-roll reunion and the tractor pulls. Wall-to-wall
folks trying to reconnect with their youth."

"That's strange; I don't see your sister or Rick," P. D. said.

I looked around and couldn't spot them either. Usually my ranger radar homes right in on Rick Townsend. "Let's ask Ronnie.
She can tell us where they are and, if they left, pinpoint the exact time to the second."

We made our way to the bar, where Ronnie was barely keeping up with the draw orders. Like the veteran barmaid she was, she
anticipated our orders and handed us each a lite beer as we elbowed our way to the counter.

"Have you seen Tressa's sister around?" Patrick asked. "She was here with Rick Townsend when I left to hunt Tressa down,"
Patrick told her.

Ronnie looked at me, and I nodded. "They left about five minutes ago," she said, and I flashed an I-told-you-so look at Patrick.
"Townsend looked pissed, and your sister was upset."

"Townsend has that effect on women," I replied.

"Taylor looked fine when I left her," Patrick assured me.

"It wasn't Townsend who upset her," Ronnie told us. "It was Dixie Daggett."

I blinked. "Dixie Daggett? Why would anything Dixie Daggett said or did upset Taylor?" Unless she'd been telling Taylor and
Townsend what a total headcase I am. And that wouldn't make Taylor upset. Eager to add to her psych file on me, maybe. "Did
Dixie leave, too?" I asked.

Rhonda shook her head. "I wish. I was just getting ready to have someone go get her father," she said. "Dixie has had a little
too much to drink."

"How can you tell?" I asked.

"She's tried to go up on stage and sing with the band four times already, and we had to haul her down from a table twice,"
Ronnie explained.

"Dixie Daggett?" I clarified, and put a hand out to about shoulder level. "Short, stocky gal? Black hair and mustache? Personality
of a Popsicle stick?"

Ronnie nodded. "That's the one. Uh-oh. I'd better get over there. She's on stage again and has custody of the microphone.
She's probably so drunk she thinks she's in a karaoke bar." Ronnie prepared to step out from behind the counter.

"Let's go talk to her," I heard myself say.

Next to me, Dawkins choked on his beer. "Uh, warn me next time before you volunteer to handle a ten-fifty-six on my off-duty
time, would you?" Seeing my confused look he explained: "Drunk pedestrian."

I nodded. "Consider yourself warned," I told him.

"Besides, this would be a good time to question her about last night and why she was at the mini-freeze. She's too drunk to
lie. Or do you trooper types just write tickets?" I asked, using my baby blue eyes to best advantage.

"You know what, Turner? You've got more balls than the National Football League," he said.

I batted my eyes again. "Why, Trooper Dawkins, I bet you say that to all the girls!" I took his arm. "Come along, cowboy.
And don't drag your feet so. I promise this won't hurt a bit."

"But I'm gonna regret it in the morning, aren't I?" he asked Ronnie.

She shrugged and grinned. "Depends on how you feel about free beer for a lifetime," she said. "Well, my lifetime, at least,"
she amended.

Trooper Dawkins gave us each a you-better-deliver look. "Lead on, Calamity," he said, "but be gentle."

We made our way through the throng of folks visiting, dancing, propositioning, and chug-a-lugging, and stopped about six feet
from the stage, where Dixie Daggett was massacring one of my favorite songs. You may know it; it's the one about how the singer
shoulda been a cowboy. That tune always gets me thinkin' that in another life I had to be a wrangler or a ramrod. Or the original
Calamity Jane. I dunno. I still feel like I was probably some lowly but content old cowpoke singing lullabies to the cattle
on a starlit summer night while smoking a cheroot and quietly passing gas brought on by a meal of beans at the chuckwagon.
See? I can wax poetic.

"Well, look who we have here!" Dixie said, spotting me. "A star!"

I looked around for the local weather guy or a politician who took a wrong turn, but found everyone else looking at me.

"It's Calamity Jayne, Iowa State Fair's own down-home celebrity! Did ya'll know she sees dead people? How about it, Calamity?
Come on up and take a bow. If ya reckon you can get up here without splitting those tight shorts, that is. Isn't she just
adorable, folks, with her cute little cowgirl boots and Pippi Longstocking hair?"

I put a hand to my head, felt the frizz, and ripped the cowboy hat from Patrick's head and stuck it on my collection of curls.
To my chagrin, it fit.

"Now ain't that a purty picture, ladies and gentlemen?" Dixie went on. "Doesn't she just look like
Shirley Freakin' Temple Does Dallas
? How about it. Calamity? You wanna come on up and give us a little good ship lollipop?" Dixie asked. "Come on, folks, give
her a nice round of applause and let's get her up here."

To my amazement some folks in the crowd actually clapped. I looked at Patrick. He held up his hands. "You're on your own,
Calamity," he said. "I have an image to uphold that isn't consistent with tap dancing on stage at the Bottoms Up with an inebriated
patron and a crusading cowgirl, no matter how cute she is."

The
cute
part didn't escape me and did a lot for my confidence as I made my way to the stage to end Dixie's fledgling career before
the crowd started throwing beer nuts. (Real cowboys never throw beer. That's tantamount to sacrilege.)

"Let's go for a walk, Dixie," I urged, putting a hand out to her. "Get some air."

"I don't need no stinkin' air!" she yelled. "I want to perform. To act!"

She was acting, all right. Like an
American Idol
reject gone screwy.

"I don't think your father would approve—"

She started giggling, with a really unattractive snort thrown in. "That's a good one, Calamity. I think you missed your calling.
Maybe you should be doing stand-up. Folks, would you believe this girl is the only person who has been hit by not one, but
two, cow chips during the chip-throwing contest? In the same year!" The crowd started to warm up to Dixie. "And didja know
she is permanently banned from her local car wash for leaving horse shit in the wash bay? Or that she was goin' at it hot
and heavy with a certain member of the law enforcement community last night? Didn't think anyone saw, huh, did you, Calamity?"
she said when she saw my face, which I imagine was about the color of Gram's fanny pack. I looked back to see how Patrick
was taking the news. He looked like he'd just swallowed a handful of red hot chili peppers with a tequila chaser.

"That's it," I said. "She's fixin' to be an angel." I stepped onto the stage to the hoots and hollers of the crowd. I reached
out to take the microphone away.

"Let's call it a night, okay, Dix?" I asked.

"Call it a night? The night is young! I thought you were gonna perform for us. If you won't, I will." She grabbed the mike
back from me. " 'On the good ship lollipop,'" she started, and the crowd began to get antsy.