Here Today, Gone Tamale (9 page)

“You wanted to take a picture of the largest brass boot in the state of Texas?”

She stuck out her tongue piercing. “Remember how you forced me to take pictures of the committee?”

“Last week?”

“Right. I emailed them the next day to the mayor so he could have his wife add them to the festival website, like he asked.”

“That should have made him happier than a rooster in a henhouse.”

“Since when do you go in for cornpone metaphors?”

I sighed. “Can I help it if the festival committee's necks are a bit red?”

“Red or not, the mayor asked me to help his wife upload the pictures.”

“And did you?”

“I uploaded my pictures and some others Dixie had sent. Felicia Cogburn was so confused they ended up paying me for my time.”

“Didn't I tell you they'd always remember you?”

“Well, I'm not about to forget the photos I saw of Cogburn and his wife for a long time to come.”

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Gross.”

“Ha,” she cried. “Nothing like that.”

I cringed, both anticipating and dreading the details.

With an evil grin, Patti continued. “I opened one of Dixie's emails and the attachment, just as I had the others. Instead of finding another photo of her jewelry, I discovered a candid shot of Mayor Cogburn and his wife coming out of a doctor's office.”

I sighed with relief, glad to remain ignorant of any intimate details about Broken Boot's first couple. “One was probably just giving the other one a ride from an appointment.”

After a glance at a passing motorcycle, Patti shot me an exasperated look. “It wasn't any building from this area. It was twelve stories at least.”

Despite Patti's slow progress, we were approaching Main Street. “Why do you think it was a medical building?”

“Whoever took the picture caught the Cogburns in front of a bronze plaque, bearing a list of doctors' names.”

My conscience slammed into my stomach. “What if something is seriously wrong with one of them? That's not our business.”

Pulling into Milagro's parking lot, Patti turned off the engine. “
MD
wasn't one of the degrees following any of the names on that plaque.”

“What do you think it means?”

“I don't know. When Felicia realized I'd seen the photo, she turned as red as a tomato and nearly knocked me out of her chair, insisting I take a break.”

I gathered my purse from the floor. “That's a bit odd, but not as strange as the sheriff arresting Anthony for Dixie's murder.”

Narrowing her eyes, she slowly nodded her head. “I think Mayor Cogburn and his wife were visiting a place that would compromise their reputation if word got out. I bet you Dixie was blackmailing them.”

“Why would she do that?” I opened the door and stepped out.

“You know how much she hated them. She loved to take folks down a peg, especially the Cogburns. She didn't make any secret of the fact she was sick of their criticism.”

I slammed the door and walked around the car, anxious to get inside to help out with lunch service. “If she felt that way, why make the jewelry for the annual fundraiser again this year?”

“To help others?” Patti called out the window and threw the jeep into reverse. She backed up, drove to the street, and backed up again until we were face-to-face. “Would you tell Elaine to replace me with someone else? What do I know about judging an art contest?”

“More than me. Besides, I thought Melanie was judging the art contest and you were judging the photos.” In order to build attendance from the surrounding counties, the Wild Wild West Festival committee lassoed a number of us to judge a dozen creative arts competitions. Thank God, Elaine hadn't aspired to the more than 1100 categories offered by the State Fair of Texas.

Patti's mouth twisted. “Technically, we're judging both contests as a team.”

I understood her dilemma. No one in their right mind would call Melanie Burnett Pratt a team player.

“Look,” I said, glancing at my watch, “you're going to have to handle Elaine on your own. I rolled over like a wet dog.”

I scurried through Milagro's back door, resisting the urge to stare at the Dumpster where I'd found the cantankerous
jewelry designer's body. Inside the kitchen, Carlos was grilling savory strips of chicken and beef along with peppers and onions for mouthwatering fajitas. One of the twins was spraying dirty dishes with hot water, and Aunt Linda was expediting food service by calling out the orders as she placed them in the kitchen service window.

“About time,” Senora Mari said as I greeted her at the hostess stand.

“Why are we so busy?” Even though the Wild Wild West Festival started the next day, these folks were locals, not tourists. Every booth and wooden table was occupied with familiar faces.

She rolled her eyes. “All they want to talk about is Dixie. ‘Did you see the body?' ‘Did Anthony kill her?'”

I wasn't surprised. Folks in this town were so thirsty for gossip they'd die of boredom if they didn't get out of bed and go to church on Sundays.

Hurrying over, Aunt Linda grabbed some menus from the counter and thrust them into my hands. “At least they're ordering and not just taking up space.” She pointed to a corner booth, where a four top waited without menus.

With her usual uncanny ability to second-guess our customers, my aunt had brought in the full staff. Even with me taking a few orders and delivering chips and salsa, this would have been a perfect day to give Anthony a couple of tables of his own. How would he make bail without working? I didn't get the impression his sisters and brothers had much between them.

An hour later, the rush was behind us, but two-thirds of our tables remained occupied. We'd sold out of pecan and cherry pie, but thanks to a quick delivery from Elaine's Pies customers made do with chocolate and coconut cream. Folks lingered over their coffee and sweet tea, finding excuses for calling me over to their tables.

As I filled Fred Mueller's water glass, he leaned in close. “How do you sleep at night?” The owner of Fredericksburg
Antiques blinked rapidly at me from behind his bottle-thick glasses.

“Excuse me?”

Color flew into his faded cheeks. “Oh, dear, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I only meant if it were me who'd found a dead body, I'd be having nightmares.”

It wasn't during the night that Dixie's smiling corpse appeared in my mind but in the quiet moments of the day, when I tried to fathom who wanted her dead.

“Will there be anything else?”

From behind me a familiar voice rang out. “I'd like two El Presidenté Platters,
por favor
.”

His voice wrapped around me like a warm Mexican blanket. “Ryan?” I spun around, sloshing ice water on my shirt.

Though he wore a playful grin, his eyes held concern. “How you holding up, Josie?” Seeing Ryan, who'd comforted me on many occasions, made my knees buckle. It was as if my body could finally admit how much the tragic events of the past few days had rattled my mind.

His gaze traveled across the room to where Hillary was disappearing behind the door marked
Niñas
. “Come on.” He placed a strong hand on my shoulder, led me into the kitchen, and found me a stool in the corner near the phone. “Tell me you're not staying here by yourself?” he asked, relieving me of the water pitcher.

I took a deep breath to calm myself and tried to smile. “No. I'm at Aunt Linda's.” His expression was one of deep concern, and I suddenly realized how weak and fragile I must have appeared. I plastered on a grin. “I'm in my old bedroom. Remember?”

After a searching glance, he gave me a slow smile. “How could I forget? That time I stayed with you over the Christmas break Eddie made me sleep on that old couch in the garage. The one time I tried to sneak inside Senora Mari caught me and made me help her clean the oven—”

“In the middle of the night,” we said at the same time. I
burst out laughing. Good old Ryan. He understood too well my need to remain strong and in control. We'd broken up for that very reason. If two strong-minded people were in a relationship, only one could take the lead.

And second fiddle wasn't an instrument I enjoyed playing.

Nearby Carlos was dishing out sour cream enchiladas onto a fiesta red plate. He followed up by adding a generous helping of rice and refried beans, and then he hit the bell and slid the savory deliciousness into the window for pickup.

Carmen, whose eldest played defensive lineman at West Texas, appeared within seconds to claim it. “
Hola
, Coach Ryan.”

“
Hola
, senora. Where's Juan today?” Ryan asked.

She beamed with pride. “He's babysitting his little sisters and playing Xbox.”

With exaggerated disgust, Ryan shook his head. “Tell him I said he needs to run at least two miles every day before he sits down to play video games.”

She giggled at the handsome coach's antics. “Okay, I will tell him,” she hesitated, “but he won't listen.”

As she hurried away, Ryan and I laughed. It was good to have an old friend like him by my side. I didn't know where Hillary was, but I knew this time alone with him would be brief. “Are you eating tamales in tomorrow's contest?”

“Wouldn't miss it. Of course, Elaine has me helping Bubba judge the chili cook-off immediately afterwards.” He moaned in fake agony and rubbed his stomach. “I'm going to be out of commission for a good twenty-four hours.”

“You could tell her no.”

“Okay.” He raised an eyebrow. “And what did you say no to?”

I huffed. “I'm surprised Hillary didn't tell you.”

“Tell him what?” I spied Hillary observing us closely from the kitchen door. She wore a smile, but her hostile stare said
hands off!

I stood up, refusing to be intimidated. “The talent show. Elaine called me this morning.”

“What about the talent? I'm judging it,” Hillary said.

“Someone dropped out, right?”

“And I told her that Ryan,” she walked over to her man and lightly touched his arm, “would be my partner in crime.”

Ryan didn't look too pleased at Hillary's tone. A vein had appeared at his temple. “You didn't mention it to me.”

She shrugged one shoulder and tossed her mane. “I was about to, over lunch.”

This was the out I was looking for. “No problem with me. Maybe Elaine misunderstood.”

“Why do you say that?” Ryan asked. By the look of things, he was trying to get out of judging Broken Boot's aspiring artists just like me.

“Because she asked me to, uh, be Hillary's co-judge this morning.”

Ryan grinned. “You'd be perfect.”

“That's ridiculous.” Hillary thrust her hands on her hips. “Why would Elaine do that?”

I was offended, but I sucked it up. If Ryan wanted to be with her, he deserved to be her co-judge. “Look. Just call her and tell her you and I talked it over and we agreed that Ryan would make a better judge for the talent contest.”

The football coach was having none of it. He stood between us, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “Hey, I'm already eating tamales and judging the chili cook-off. Don't you think that's enough heartburn for one day?”

Senora Mari came out of the office, her eyes widening. “Why are you standing here not eating?”

Ryan placed a quick kiss on her cheek. “I came to check on my best girl.”

“Hey, watch it!” Senora Mari warned, flushing an attractive shade of pink.

He placed an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “How are you holding up, senora?”

“I'm not the one that's dead.” Wriggling away from him, she made a big deal of wiping his kiss from her cheek. She
gestured to Ryan and then Hillary. “Aren't you hungry?” Without waiting for an answer, she swung the kitchen door wide and held it open. “Come with me.”

Hillary and I stared at each other in silence. “You can cross the talent show off your list. After I call Elaine, you'll be free to enjoy all the tamales you want.” She stared pointedly at my hips. Her glare swung to Ryan. “Let's eat.” Without a backward glance, she sashayed after Senora Mari toward an empty corner booth.

I was angry, I was mortified, and I wanted to tell the waitstaff to refuse to take her order.

Ryan cleared his throat. “Josie, I'm sorry.” He sighed. “She gets jealous, and then she says things . . . she doesn't mean.”

What would it take to knock some sense into his brain? “Is that what you want?” I asked, waving in Hillary's direction.

He looked at her; he looked at me. “The hell if I
know.”

“What's today?” Uncle Eddie cried, popping his head through the bedroom door like a deranged jack-in-the-box.

I threw the covers over my head. “Your day to go downstairs and cook biscuits and bacon?”

“Nope,” he cried, ripping my comforter out of my hands. He backed away and drew two imaginary guns from their holsters. “It's the first day of the Wild Wild West Festival, pardner.”

Every year, the festival kicked off with our tamale-eating contest. I'd prepped, cooked, frozen, defrosted, and dreamed tamales until I was red in the face from the fumes. I wasn't thrilled to watch adults toss back the Tex-Mex morsels until they wanted to puke, but if it brought in money, I was all for it.

Last night, I caught myself about to pray that a certain beauty queen would eat so many tamales she'd blow up like the Hindenburg, but I resisted. I am not that mean.

With any luck, it might come to pass anyway, and all for a good cause.

We loaded up Uncle Eddie's and Aunt Linda's trucks with the signs and decorations we'd created for the event and barreled over to Milagro
.
The Wild Wild West Festival would take place down Main Street, which thankfully meant we could set up on the sidewalk right outside our front door.

When we arrived, we found our employees waiting. Gone was the excitement of years past, and in its place were long faces and worried looks. I thought of our young employee Anthony, his warm smile and big heart. How terrified and afraid he must be, not only for his future but for his brothers and sisters who struggled to make ends meet without him.

All of us needed a successful contest today, to brighten our spirits and give us confidence.

I needn't have worried. Uncle Eddie hopped out of the truck and waded into their misgivings with two feet.

“Howdy, folks. Welcome to the Fifth Annual Tamale Eating Contest. We're glad you're here, and we hope you're hungry. This year we dedicate our contest to our friend Dixie Honeycutt. She loved to eat our tamales more than anything else in the world.” The crowd chuckled quietly.

“Truth is,” he continued with a smile, “if you don't help me get rid of these tamales, I'm gonna be eating 'em for a month of Sundays. So come on and sign up. It's not too late.

“Now it's time to move on. I know you're worried about Anthony, but don't be. We're going to make sure he gets the best lawyer, but we're going to need help. You can donate or you can ask your friends and customers to donate to help pay for his defense.”

He smiled a kind, understanding smile. “But now it's time to make this the best contest and festival we've ever had. The more money we make, the more we can donate. The more positive energy we give to our customers, the more they'll return the favor by donating to Anthony's cause.”

Our staff responded with nods and murmurs.

“How's that sound to everybody?” Uncle Eddie squared his shoulders and threw his arms wide.

A few smiles and more nods.

“Good,” Senora Mari cried. “Let's do it.”

He made a point to shake every man's hand and to pat each woman on the back as they made their way inside.

“Can we afford to help Anthony?” I murmured to Aunt Linda.

“We have no choice.” The sharp look of disappointment she gave me made me squirm.

I resolved to visit him as soon as I could get away, tomorrow or the next day at the latest.

With each of us pulling our weight in coolers, chairs, and warming pans, we unloaded the truck and set up a long row of tables with red-checked tablecloths on the sidewalk out front. We made sure to tape down the sides so they wouldn't blow away in the West Texas winds. Hanging signs was a bit trickier, but we used fishing line and red duct tape to secure everything. With an hour to spare before the big tamale event, we stopped to drink a cup of coffee and enjoy the tasty egg, potato, and cheese tacos Senora Mari had made for us at the crack of dawn.

“Gracias, Mamá.” Uncle Eddie smacked his lips. “Delicious as always,” he said, planting a kiss on Senora Mari's cheek.

“What else was I going to do?” The older woman shook her head. “I couldn't sleep for thinking about Anthony.”

“Don't worry.” Uncle Eddie stood and stretched his arms wide. “We'll figure out a way to help him. Now, let's get these cattle on the trail.”

“I feel as if we've forgotten something,” my aunt said from her perch on the lid of a large drink cooler filled with bottled water. “Oh, shoot!” She shot to her feet. “Who's in charge of the sound system?”

Uncle Eddie reacted like a coyote caught in the headlights of a minivan on its way to the national park. His wide-eyed innocent expression made it clear he thought the answer was him. All the same, he remained mum and took another swig of coffee from his West Texas travel mug.

“Eddie,” my aunt said in a singsong voice, “did you forget to remind the grounds committee we needed a microphone and a set of speakers today?” She stared him down like a rattler eyeing a field mouse.

“Huh, what—” he began, determined to appear above suspicion.

Aunt Linda pierced his facade with a narrow-eyed glare.

“I'll do it,” I said. No need to start a war today. Too much was riding on everyone keeping a cool head.

“Thanks, Josie,” my aunt said, tossing a look of disdain at her husband. “Run up to the registration booth and find Mayor Cogburn—no, not the mayor. Find out from one of the volunteers who to talk to about the sound system.”

I was glad to stretch my legs. It was a gorgeous day, even as the wind blew our hair into our eyes and tossed our hats into the bushes. People on the street smiled and laughed, clearly looking forward to a tremendous event. Only three days had passed since Dixie's death, but Broken Boot's citizens and her visitors were focusing on the positive.

Yesterday, I'd seen the sheriff and his deputies traipsing up and down Main Street, entering the other businesses, but they had yet to stop in with more questions for us. Last night, Suellen Burnett delivered more pies and stayed to give us a blow-by-blow reenactment of both the questions they'd asked and the responses she'd given.

Sheriff Wallace was a fair man. If Anthony remained in jail after two days, then Wallace had something concrete on the kid. Questions without answers had percolated in my brain all night, and I was no longer going to wait for law enforcement to kick it in to a higher gear. I had better get on with it and uncover what the sheriff knew if I was going to clear the boy's name.

Lost in thought, I nearly collided with two dozen kids and their bikes. They formed a haphazard line along the sidewalk. Judging by the streamers in their spokes and the tinsel on
their handlebars, they were waiting for the bicycle decorating contest to begin.

“Howdy,” I said with a smile to the young couple at the front of the line, manning the registration table. I wasn't really a “howdy” kind of girl except for festival time each year. I had met the red-haired man and his pretty wife at a chamber of commerce meeting, where I'd politely taken a business card for their auto shop on Tenth Street. I had to give it to Elaine. The chairwoman certainly had a knack for matching her volunteers to the perfect event.

Too busy to reply, they gave me a quick smile and continued helping two very small children fill out their forms.

The dark-haired boy and girl couldn't have been more than five and six. Behind them stood an older girl around eleven years old, perhaps a cousin or sister. When she turned her head, my breath caught. With her long dark hair and high cheekbones, she was the spitting image of her brother . . . Anthony.

“Excuse me,” I said, walking around a nine-year-old boy who sported a short haircut combed into a point near his forehead.

“Don't worry,” I whispered in what I hoped was a soothing voice. “It's alright.”

The couple at the table had gone on to help another child, but the man was listening intently. Was he wondering if he needed to protect them from me?

I forced myself to calm the heck down and appear as nonthreatening as possible. “Anthony was my friend,” I said as she helped the smaller children move their bikes out of line. “He works for my family at Milagro. Has he mentioned the Martinez family to you?”

She nodded, but she glanced down the alley as if longing for escape.

“My name is Josefina Callahan.” I added the Spanish pronunciation of my name, hoping to make her feel more at ease. “Is Anthony your brother?”

She glanced around and gave a barely perceptible nod.

“I like your brother very much. He's kind and smart.”

With wide eyes, she tipped her head to one side as if trying to determine what I wanted.

“I don't believe he's guilty.”

Her eyes darted from me to the couple at the table and back.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Dayssy,” she murmured.

“Listen, Dayssy,” I said in a soft voice. “Why don't we go somewhere we can talk in private?” When she didn't respond, I continued. “Somewhere no one can hear us.”

She nodded and her eyes darted down the alleyway again.

Across the street, the Kandy Kitchen had set up a booth outside with old-fashioned hard candies: licorice, cinnamon, root beer, and the like. I hurried over to the stand and bought a striped stick of each flavor. When I made it back across the street, she and her siblings were waiting with their bikes at the alley entrance.

We walked their bicycles, festooned with bright green, white, and red streamers, down the alley to the back of the local thrift store, Wear It Again, Sam. I helped them park their bikes, and after she translated the flavors into Spanish, gave each child their two favorite flavors, one for each hand.

Once they started eating, I offered her a stick of candy as well. “Are they your brother and sister?”

She reached eagerly for a blue-and-red striped stick. “
Sí
, yes.”

I waited until she'd taken her first lick. “Who's taking care of all of you?”

“My older sister, Lily, is seventeen. She takes care of us now that Anthony is gone.” The girl's face fell. It was clear she thought her older brother was gone forever.

“Dayssy.” I paused to form my question carefully. “Why does the sheriff think Anthony is guilty of murder?” She shook her head several times.

“I want to free him.” I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Please help me.”

“I don't know.” She bit her lip. “He would never do such a bad thing.” Her gaze dropped to the gravel.

She was hiding something. What was she too afraid to say?

Aunt Linda did the hiring and firing. We'd never discussed it outright, but I didn't have any reason to believe she spent money on running criminal background checks on our employees. She either got along with them, or she didn't.

“Does he have a record, is that it?”

Her soulful eyes suddenly burned with emotion. “He wasn't guilty, but they arrested him anyway.”

I checked my watch. Aunt Linda would have my hide if I was gone much longer. “What do they think he did?”

She hesitated, watching her younger brother skip stones down the alley. “Our cousin, Miguel, asked Anthony for a ride from Terlingua to Fort Davis.”

“That's not illegal.”

My question was met with silence. She bit the candy and chewed, delaying her response. Her gaze landed only as far as my neckline. “My cousin is an illegal.” She sniffed. “The Terlingua deputy arrested Anthony for transporting an illegal into the country.”

A very serious offense. “Is that what happened?”

“No,” her gaze flew to mine, “I promise. He picked him up in Terlingua, not the border.” With the back of her hand, she wiped her eyes. “Our cousin told us his papers were in order and that he had a job in Fort Davis. He said he just needed a ride to get there.”

My heart broke for this family and their sad story. “Didn't Anthony try to explain?”

She began to cry. “They wouldn't listen.” Her voice rose. “They never listen. They've arrested him again, but he's done nothing.” Tears ran down her face, scarring her cheeks with sorrow.

“I believe you.” With great care, I put one arm around her
and drew her close. “I'll speak to the sheriff and tell him what you've told me. Perhaps he will change his mind once he knows the truth.”

I had my doubts that Wallace would change his mind so easily, but what if the sheriff believed that having a record meant Anthony was a hardened criminal? And, if he realized the young man wasn't a criminal, wouldn't Wallace be more inclined to believe that Anthony was incapable of committing murder?

Inside my heart, hope flared. Even though there was only a slim chance I could change the sheriff's mind, it was well worth an immediate discussion between him and Anthony.

The boy and girl, now finished with their candy, kicked a plastic soda bottle back and forth. The boy wore shorts and a T-shirt, clean but well-worn. His hair was short, but growing out over the ears. His sister sported a bright pink cotton shirt and matching shorts, her hair in two braids down her back.