Here Today, Gone Tamale (11 page)

My petite
abuela
stuck her head out from beneath Deputy Lightfoot's arm. “It was twenty years ago, and it was only some smelly goats.”

Wallace looked at me and raised an eyebrow. Senora Mari had lost one of her marbles.

With a toss of her hair, Hillary upstaged us all. “Everyone knows that nothing goes into her tamales without Senora Marisol Martinez's knowledge.”

“That's enough,” Ryan said, dropping her hand like a hot iron. “She didn't do this, Hillary. Why would she compromise the taste and reputation of her tamales by contaminating them with jewelry or anything else?”

“I was only trying to pay her a compliment.” Hillary extended her hand to Ryan, but he stepped out of reach. Assuming an air of confused regret, she continued. “I love Senora Martinez's tamales.” I could see in the beauty queen's eyes she regretted what she'd done. Too bad her attempt to save face had fallen flatter than a cold tortilla.

Sheriff Wallace pulled me aside. “She's admitted to the crime.” He thrust his hands on his hips. “But I can't figure out why.”

Senora Mari wriggled around Lightfoot and shot to Wallace's side. “Take me to jail. I am guilty . . . this is true.”

I'd never caught her in such an outrageous lie.

Aunt Linda pushed out the door right behind her. “Tell him you're kidding.”

Uncle Eddie came running around the corner from the parking lot. “
Mamá
, what are you up to?” He grabbed his mother by the shoulders and bent down to stare her in the face. “Tell me.” He lowered his voice. “What are you thinking?”

Met with her son's outrage, she rolled her eyes. “Humph. Anthony should not be in jail.” She turned to the sheriff and raised her fist. “Let me go, what do I care if I only eat stale bread and drink cold water? I am old and constipated anyway.”

Through gritted teeth, Uncle Eddie murmured. “Standing around arguing about this in front of strangers is only making things worse.” He removed my hand from his sleeve. “We'll help Anthony, don't worry.”

Senora Mari glared at Wallace and Lightfoot. “How do I know he's safe and unharmed?”

A wailing siren grew closer as an ambulance crept through the crowd. When it reached our parking lot, it turned in and headed for the rear entrance.

As the siren died, Sheriff Wallace threw back his shoulders and turned to the crowd. He gestured wide to capture their attention. “Nothing to see here, folks. Why don't you go on and enjoy the three-legged race? Show's over.”

The dozen or so folks who'd stayed to watch the craziness that was Senora Mari wandered away.

I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Sheriff, would it be okay if we went to see Anthony? We're worried about him.”

After a brief glance at his watch, Wallace nodded. “He can have visitors today from one to three this afternoon.” He gave
Senora Mari a smile. “Take a few minutes, eat something, and relax. You can see him very soon.”

The older woman lifted her chin. “
Gracias,
senor
,” she said, and marched back into the restaurant.

As Wallace stepped inside, Lightfoot drew closer. “The stone Elaine choked on was turquoise. Some people believe it wards off the evil eye.” Deliberately, he turned his obsidian gaze on me. “Others believe it warns us of our approaching death.”

I refused to let him scare the bejesus out of me. “What do you think?”

“I think that was a smart idea, suggesting Senora Mari go with you to visit Anthony.”

“Thanks.”

He tipped his hat back with his thumb and studied me for a moment, a glint in his eye. “You know I think she's right . . . you would give a man a run for his money.”

There was a bit of an argument about whether or not Senora Mari and I should stay to help clean up after the contest, but I insisted we arrive at the jail by one o'clock. If I were in Anthony's shoes, I'd be stark raving mad, wondering when and if I would ever be free to see my family.

After I pointed out that we didn't have the usual cleanup after lunch since the sheriff had closed our doors until five o'clock, Aunt Linda agreed to stay behind and oversee preparations for dinner. She even went so far as to give me the keys to her beloved F150. We made our way slowly toward the highway, bogged down by festival traffic. For some reason, Senora Mari saluted any neighbors and friends we passed with a royal wave, like a high school queen in the annual homecoming parade.

At the county jail, a gaunt Anthony hugged Senora Mari and tears flowed between them. When they finally separated, I realized why he appeared so changed. His once ready smile had evaporated. In its place was now a haunted stare.

He had lost weight in the few days he'd been incarcerated,
his orange coveralls dwarfing his frame. “
Gracias
. Thank you for coming.” Wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his orange coveralls, he murmured, “I don't know what to say.”

“You don't get bail,” Senora Mari said, jabbing me with her elbow.

“But we're taking up a collection,” I said. “We're going to get you the best defense money can buy.” I frowned at my gross exaggeration.

A deep furrow appeared in his forehead. “I met with the lawyer.”

I gave him a smile of encouragement. “What did he say?”

Rubbing his temples with his fingers, he gathered his thoughts. “He, um, thinks that it's mostly, uh, circumstances . . .”

“Circumstantial?”

“Yes, that's it.” He lunged forward. “How could it be anything else? I didn't kill her,” he cried.

The guard spun toward our table.

With his palms out, Anthony slowly raised his hands to appease the guard. In a quiet voice, he continued, “There's no proof that I murdered her,” He grabbed the table between us with both hands, “but that doesn't matter. They want to close this case, and I'm their only suspect.” His eyes, once so warm, blazed with helpless fury. “They say there's no proof that I didn't do it.”

That didn't sound right. “Who said such a thing?”

“One of the deputies.” Anthony dropped his head into his hands. “I don't know his name.”

“
Estúpido
,” Senora Mari muttered under her breath. “Ignore him. You had nothing to do with that dead woman. You weren't even at the restaurant when she arrived.”

After a quick glance at the guard, Anthony turned his sorrowful gaze on me.

My heart sank at what I saw there. “You came back that night, didn't you?” I whispered.

He lowered his eyes to study the tabletop and slowly nodded.

With alarm, I shot a glance at the guard. He was staring straight ahead, appearing to ignore us. Would he report everything we said? Maybe we were even being recorded.

“I will be right back.” Senora Mari pushed back her chair.

“Where are you going?” I hissed.

“You talk while I keep him busy.” She winked and slowly walked toward the door as if she'd suddenly aged twenty years in the last thirty seconds.

Whatever plan she'd hatched might blow up in our faces at any second. “Why did you come back to Milagro that night?”

He leaned forward. “I needed a cash advance.”

“Why didn't you ask for it earlier in the evening in Aunt Linda's office?”

Rolling his eyes, he muttered, “I was embarrassed. I didn't want you to know.”

“I remember that night. You were angry, but you didn't tell us you were desperate.”

“Why should I tell you? I am the man of my family.”

I didn't know what to say. “Did you see Dixie?”

He nodded. “Outside. She was sitting on a bench smoking one of those,” he held his fingers about eight inches apart, “those smoking tubes.”

“Electronic cigarettes.”

He swallowed. “She was slurring her words and saying ugly things.” Searching my eyes for my reaction, he continued, “When she called me over, I thought she needed help.”

Across the room, Senora Mari was talking quietly to the guard.

“What happened?” I held my breath.

His breathing accelerated, his chest rising and falling. “She said she needed help. I thought she meant to stand.” Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “When I moved closer to help her, she tried to . . .” His face flamed.

“What, Anthony? What did she do?”

“She tried to kiss me.”

Not what I expected. “Uh, was that all?”

Anthony's shoulders flew back. “That was too much. When I stepped back, she fell forward.”

I was trying to picture the scene as he described it. “And then?”

“She grabbed my bow tie. When I pulled away, it ripped in two.”

“What happened next?”

“I was embarrassed and angry. She should have treated me with more respect. I threw the tie away, and I left her sitting on the bench.”

“Didn't you tell them all this?”

“Yes, but they don't believe she tried to touch me. They think I'm a stupid kid and I'm making it up. But I'm not. Why would I say she did that if she didn't? I hated her trying to kiss me, but I wouldn't kill her.”

“That can't be all they have.”

Senora Mari came back to the table, picked up her bag, and returned to the guard. From the corner of my eye, I saw her take out a few small foil packets and give one to the guard.

After opening each packet, the guard, satisfied that they contained nothing that could break Anthony out of his cell, began to eat each of the tamale offerings Senora Mari had prepared.

While he ate, she brought out more, and after a cursory inspection, the guard granted a nod of approval. She walked over at her normal vigorous pace and presented both of us with savory and aromatic treats. “Eat up,” she said to Anthony with a smile.

I wasn't one to look a tamale in the mouth. We ate for a minute or two, resisting the urge to talk, sharing a small container of sauce. After we finished our meal, Anthony's cheeks had more color and his eyes held a spark of hope.

He licked his lips and the ends of his fingers. “
Gracias
, Senora Martinez.”

With a kiss to the top of his head, she gathered the trash and threw it in the can in the corner.

“They must have something else on you,” I said, wiping my mouth. “Do you know what it is?”

“A shoeprint near the Dumpster.”

My heart dropped. “A boot print?”

“No, ma'am. It was an athletic shoe.”

To say I was relieved would be putting it mildly. “Did you explain about your bow tie?”

He nodded. “Sure, but they ignored me. They say the print was found near the body.”

“Was it your shoe?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

By readily admitting what Dixie had done, Anthony must have turned the sheriff against him. I tried to lighten his load. “I met your sisters and little brother. I'll give Lily your job while you're in here.”

He blinked rapidly and grabbed my hands.

“I hope that helps,” I said, embarrassed by the tears that sprang to his eyes.

“You are too kind.”

I chuckled. “You have me confused with someone else.”

He blinked in confusion. “No, I don't, Miss Josie.”

“Are you happy with your lawyer?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“He is a smart man,” he responded with a smile. “His name is Trout, Mr. Thomas Trout.”

“Odd name.”

He looked away and back again. “Yes, but he is a good man. He will help me, and he will treat me with respect.”

The guard checked his watch and held up two fingers.

“Do you want me to bring Lily to see you?”

Anthony shook his head. “She's not allowed. She's too young to come without a parent.”

Placing my hand on his, I stared hard into his eyes, trying
to give him all the encouragement I could muster. “Then we'll just have to prove that you're innocent and get you out of here.”

Shoving to his feet, he said, “If you could do that—”

“Visitation is over,” the guard called out.

“
Bebé
, she can do anything.”

Anthony laughed at Senora Mari as we headed for the door. Before we departed, she gave the guard another packet of tamales and a wink.

*   *   *

When we arrived at Milagro, I made a beeline for the office. Aunt Linda was no slouch in the commonsense department, and I needed to process what Anthony had told me.

“Hey, honey,” my aunt said as I dropped into a chair. “How's the poor kid doing?”

“He was here that night, talking to Dixie.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” I said, meeting her wide-eyed stare. “He says he needed a cash advance, but didn't want me to know.” I wasn't in the mood to tell her the unsavory details.

My aunt pulled off her reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “That's very likely.”

“Then he's done that before?”

With a sigh, she slowly lowered her glasses to the desktop. “Once or twice.”

A metal pan crashed to the floor in the kitchen, making me wince. “Have you heard of an attorney named Trout?”

“You're kidding,” she said, her eyes widening.

“I wish.”

“I'll ask Eddie if he's heard of . . .”

“Thomas Trout.” I grimaced. Hopefully the guy's legal skills matched his parents' love of alliteration.

“Have any donations come in to pay a private defense attorney?” I burrowed beneath the invoices on the corner of her desk until I found her armadillo-shaped candy dish. An old, soft butterscotch was all I found.

“I put a hundred in the jar at the register, and Eddie said he'd do the same at Two Boots.”

Using my thumbnails, I slowly pried off the plastic wrapper. “Did it work?”

With a shrug, she replaced her glasses. “We've raised another hundred so far.”

Hopefully, this Tommy Trout was a real badass defense attorney. And maybe pigs were canoeing down the Pecos River.

“Josie,” she said, turning her attention back to the spreadsheet on her computer screen. “I know you just got here, but Eddie's in a tizzy, says he needs some walnuts.”

I chuckled. “So he's going nontraditional this year?”

“Oh yeah, he's convinced that new recipe of his is the best thing since God created jalapeño poppers. He swears by it.” After losing soundly to Bubba and two sisters from Moss Creek in the Texas chili category last year, Uncle Eddie was hoping to win the big prize this year in the nontraditional category. His newest creation was a venison chili replete with heaps of beans and peppers and lots of toppings, including coconut and walnuts.

I blamed it on the cooking shows. He just didn't have it in him to go simple anymore.

“This is his year,” I said, mimicking what my uncle repeated like a mantra at this time each year.

“Humph.”

“Are you sure all he needs is walnuts?”

“So he says.” She rolled her eyes. “He wants you to meet him at Bubba's. The cook-off's supposed to start in twenty minutes.”

I drove to Van Zandt's Thriftway and found walnuts, already chopped. Only one checkout lane was open. If I'd had my druthers I'd have walked the aisles for exercise rather than stand behind the customer chatting with the lone cashier.

Stepping up as quiet as a mouse, I tried to stay in her blind spot.

“Josie,” Hillary cried at full volume. “What are you doing back there?”

I shook the bag of walnuts at her. “Uncle Eddie's in the chili cook-off.”

She glanced at the walnuts and laughed. “Are you sure he's not in the bake-off instead?”

I lifted the corners of my mouth in response, which appeared to satisfy her.

The cashier handed Hillary a small item, which she dropped into her recycled grocery bag.

I cocked my head to one side, evaluating what I'd seen. I didn't know Van Zandt's sold what Hillary was buying.

Her eyes widened in feigned innocence. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said, rolling my eyes toward the ceiling. “I didn't know you were a smoker.” If Ryan Prentice knew that Hillary smoked e-cigarettes, then I was a monkey's uncle.

With an exaggerated glance at her bag, she sighed. “Oh, that. Those cartridges aren't for me.” She made an expansive gesture to the female cashier, who was all of sixteen. “I don't smoke. Smoking gives you wrinkles.”

“I would think most people worry that smoking gives you cancer.”

“I don't care if it gives you a handlebar mustache. It's not mine.”

A little demon on my shoulder pricked me in the ear, and I couldn't resist. “Have you talked Elaine into replacing me as a judge for the talent show?”