Our Red Hot Romance Is Leaving Me Blue
Read Our Red Hot Romance Is Leaving Me Blue Online
Authors: Dixie Cash
Tags: #Humorous Stories, #Contemporary Women, #Contemporary, #General, #Romance, #Chick Lit, #Humorous Fiction, #Fiction, #Texas
Dixie Cash
Sprays of fresh flowers blanketed the mound of dirt under…
Debbie Sue, alongside Edwina, watched the Domestic Equalizers’ new client…
Debbie Sue walked the Styling Station’s last patron of the…
Glancing in his rearview mirror, John Patrick Daly watched as…
Inside Debbie Sue’s kitchen, she sat at her yellow, cracked-ice…
Justin disconnected from the call from Debbie Sue and drew…
The next morning, Justin walked out of his house, into…
The Styling Station’s main wall clock, a freebie from Grissom…
Justin arrived at home after four in the afternoon. He…
Debbie Sue pushed her body deep into the tangle of…
Forgodsake, Ed,” Debbie Sue grumbled, “we’re gonna meet an old…
Sophia mustered what she hoped was an engaging smile as…
Debbie Sue and Edwina stood in the living room surrounded…
Justin was confused. The report of two women’s voices, the…
Justin watched the Domestic Equalizers leave and then sauntered into…
And I told him we’d pick them up at six.
Justin’s call re-scheduling their appointment had left Sophia feeling a…
Sophia was herself again. Several glasses of iced tea, a…
Sunday morning. Debbie Sue loved Sunday mornings. She had risen…
Justin tossed the phone on his bed, plopped a Dallas…
Debbie Sue moved her cell phone to her opposite ear…
During the remainder of the drive to Odessa, Sophia stared…
Sophia looked toward the front door as Debbie Sue and…
Standing in his front doorway, Justin watched the Domestic Equalizers…
Though Sophia chatted casually about nothing all the way to…
As soon as Justin disappeared from the barroom, John Patrick…
Sophia watched the ambulance pull away into the night. After…
Sophia stayed at the salon longer than she had expected…
Debbie Sue, in her eagerness to show the film of…
El Paso, Texas
S
prays of fresh flowers blanketed the mound of dirt under which Sophia Paredes’s grandmother lay. The tributes had wilted and were rapidly drying in the West Texas June heat. Sophia sank to her knees, bent forward and laid a fresh bouquet of yellow rosebuds among them. To her dismay, her gift, too, had already turned a darker shade within the last half hour.
Senora Isabella Paredes was the only parent Sophia had ever known. Gran Bella, as Sophia called her, had loved yellow roses and Sophia wouldn’t think of bringing flowers made of plastic or silk. Artificial flowers were not a fitting
memorial for a woman who had been loved by all who knew her and had lived every single day of her seventy-two years as if each were her last.
Though Sophia had cried so much she could scarcely breathe, she couldn’t hold back tears as she straightened the sprays and removed the blooms that had turned brown.
A woman’s soft voice interrupted her thoughts. “
Querida
, do not be afraid.”
“I am not afraid.”
“You cry as if you have no hope left in your life.”
With her greatest supporter gone, indeed fear and doubt clouded Sophia’s future. “That’s how I feel. Hopeless and alone.”
“But
querida
, do you not know you will never be alone?”
“
Si
. It’s just that…nothing is the same. It will never be the same.”
“There will always be changes in life, Sophia. How you handle them determines your happiness.”
“
Si
. Of course. I know you are right.”
“Good. So dry your eyes now.” Sophia obediently wiped at her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “And Sophia?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Thank you for the yellow roses.”
“You are welcome, Gran Bella.”
Two weeks later, 250 miles away…
The only sound Justin Sadler heard as he approached his front door was the wind whistling around the corner of the house
and the distant music of the aluminum wind chimes that hung from a branch of a spindly elm tree in the backyard. An icy shiver of dread crawled up his spine. He fumbled with his key, delaying opening the door.
If he hadn’t broken into a cold sweat, the absurdity of his fear might amuse him. As a career firefighter, he entered burning structures with no hesitation. Yet here he was, taking his time, dragging out the moment before entering his own home. “Don’t be stupid,” he muttered, drew a deep breath and plugged his key into the lock.
Easing the door open, he craned his neck and scanned the small entry. No voice greeted him. He saw no sign of a person, heard no sound of somebody scurrying to make a quick exit. But he felt a presence. Was she here? Or had she been here? In his head, he knew it wasn’t possible, but in the deepest part of his heart and soul, he longed for it to be true. “Rachel?” he said cautiously.
Once inside the house, Justin saw that his instincts had been right. Someone
had
been here. His wife’s favorite afghan that had been neatly folded on the couch yesterday morning now lay in a disorderly heap. A copy of the latest
Western Horseman
lay on the leather ottoman, open to an article entitled “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Cutting.” He didn’t read the magazine himself, knew little of cutting horses and the finer points of the sport of cutting. Yet the magazine lay there, carelessly open, as if someone had paused to walk to the kitchen to freshen a drink.
Justin’s jaw tightened and his pulse quickened. Was it Rachel? If not, then some earthly being was trying to drive
him crazy. But who? Who would play such a cruel joke on him? This thing he had been dealing with for months was pushing him to a breaking point. He couldn’t continue living this way.
Shaken, he returned to his truck, backed in an arc and hightailed it down the caliche road he had just crept up, a great white cloud of dust boiling up in his wake. Steering with his left hand, he used his free hand to dig through the duffel bag he had thrown onto the passenger seat. He found his wallet and fumbled with the leather folds until he came to a bent and worn business card. He had no intention of going back to that house until he talked to somebody who would help him find some answers.
Debbie Sue Overstreet, half owner and operator of one of only two beauty salons in Salt Lick, Texas, dried her hands and stared out the crosshatched window in the upper half of the Styling Station’s entry door. Her partner, Edwina Perkins-Martin, busy unpacking a new shipment of nail polishes in spring colors, prattled behind her. “Ooo-whee, would you just look at these? They are
gorgeous
. They remind me of a bunch of jelly beans.”
“Uh-huh,” Debbie Sue answered, continuing to watch a newer-model pickup truck in the parking lot.
“You didn’t even look. What’s going on outside that’s so interesting?”
“I’m watching this guy in this pickup, Ed. He pulled into our parking lot a few minutes ago and he’s just sitting there.
Every now and then he opens his door, then he closes it again.”
Edwina came over and stood beside Debbie Sue, both of them peering through the window. “Humph. My guess is he needs the Domestic Equalizers. Since we’ve been detectives, I’ve noticed that if men are looking for the truth about their lovers but not really wanting to know, they tend to drag in here like they’re embarrassed.”
Debbie Sue gave her partner’s observation a few seconds of thought. “You’re right. We have to pull the stories out of the men, but the women storm in, mad as hell, ready to kick butt.”
These two comments were unassailable facts, Debbie Sue thought. And she and Edwina were qualified to draw this conclusion. Their second business, the Domestic Equalizers, specialized in following cheating spouses and significant others. They had formed the business soon after solving the mystery of Pearl Ann Carruthers’ murder, for which they had collected a reward. Now, the private investigation agency had been in operation going on five years.
“But this guy’s so cute,” Debbie Sue said. “Even wearing that cap. Who’d cheat on him?”
Edwina’s carefully tweezed and shaped black brow arched in a wise expression. “Husbands and wives don’t cheat because of their partners’ looks. It’s some damned itch they gotta scratch and if hearts get broken while they’re scratching, too bad. There’s not enough calamine lotion in the whole friggin’ world to cure it either.”
Another indisputable pearl of wisdom from Edwina. Debbie Sue looked over and studied her friend’s profile. After three failed marriages to men driven to scratch that itch, Edwina probably knew what she was talking about. Fortunately, Edwina had finally met Vic, her real-life action hero. Retired from the navy, these days his only goal in life was making Edwina happy. And God knew she deserved it.
“He’s opening the door again,” Edwina said, taking Debbie Sue’s attention back to the pickup. “Okay, that’s enough of this crap.”
Before Debbie Sue could stop her, the skinny brunette opened the door and called out in a voice meant to draw attention, “Hey! My friend and I’ve got a bet on how many times you’re gonna open and close that door. Do me a favor and come on in. I could sure use the money.”
Startled, the man glared at her, but then he eased from behind the steering wheel and took a couple of steps in their direction. Apparently he knew how to take a joke, Debbie Sue thought.
He looked familiar, but Debbie Sue couldn’t place when or where she might have seen him. She noticed the Equalizers’ business card in his hand. Edging past Edwina she thrust her right hand out to him. “Morning, I’m Debbie Sue Overstreet and this is Edwina Perkins-Martin. We’re the Domestic Equalizers. Is there something we can help you with?”
“Are you ladies…I’m looking for, uh, oh never mind. Sorry to have bothered you.” He turned and started back to his pickup.
Achieving success and reputation as a legitimate inves
tigator was Debbie Sue’s fervent goal, though Edwina was more interested in the entertainment factor and nosing into other people’s business. Debbie Sue had no intention of letting a potential customer escape. Moving with the agility and athleticism that had won barrel-racing championships back in her rodeo days, she darted past the new customer and planted herself against the driver’s door of his pickup. “It doesn’t take much of a detective to see you need help. Ed and I both know how hard it can be to start this off.” She gestured from herself to Edwina. “Maybe we should ask you some questions. Would that be easier?”
Edwina came to her side and they stood as a fortress between the man and his pickup door. His gaze volleyed between them. “Uh, okay. Is there any charge for you asking questions?”
“Nope,” Edwina said, leaning one hand against the door and propping the other fist on her hip. “Not until we decide if we can help you and you agree you want us to.”
The man chewed on his lip. “Okay, sure. Go ahead and ask your questions.”
Debbie Sue continued to study him, trying to decide if she knew him and from where. Formulating her questions carefully, she said, “Is that a wedding band on your finger?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Then I’d say you’re having some problems with your wife.” Debbie Sue perused the pickup’s interior more closely. “There’s no car seat in your pickup. You don’t have any kids?”
“Uh, no.”
“You’ve got that worn-out, dark-circle-around-the-eyes look. I’ll bet you’re not sleeping at night and this has been going on awhile. Am I right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“And being a firefighter, you’re probably working everyone’s shift to avoid going home.”
The man’s sky-blue eyes widened. “Wow, you are good.”
Debbie Sue laughed. “Don’t be too impressed. The kid’s car seat part is fairly easy to see and as for knowing you’re a firefighter”—she paused, flipping her hand toward his chest—“you’re wearing your department’s shirt. It’s even got your name on it, Justin. From the dark circles around your eyes, it’s obvious something’s keeping you awake nights.”
“And if you’ve come to see us,” Edwina added, “it’s a fairly safe bet that what’s bothering you is something in the romance department.”
“You’re right,” the man said, removing his cap and revealing thick hair the color of caramel. “It’s my wife. She’s trying to communicate with me, but I just can’t, I mean…Man, I don’t know where to begin.”
“Communication’s the most important thing in a marriage,” Debbie Sue said with authority, believing she had learned that much the hard way. “If she wants to talk, what’s stopping you?”
“She comes and goes and mostly…” His voice trailed off and his eyes took on a distant look. “Mostly she just leaves messages for me.”
He had mumbled the statement, almost under his breath, but Debbie Sue heard him. What kind of woman only left
messages for her husband? Frowning, Debbie Sue tried to look past the Matt Damon-like exterior standing in front of her to what might lie beneath. Why was his wife
coming
and
going
? Was she afraid to come around when he was home? Had he slapped her around to the point where playing tag and leaving messages was the only way she felt she could safely communicate with him? God, she hated that her thoughts immediately sprang to the worst-case scenario, but she had heard enough stories working as a hairdresser and seen enough abuse in her Domestic Equalizer role to know that in relationships, even loving relationships, no one was beyond doing anything. “When was the last time this happened?”
“Just a little earlier today, when I got home after my shift ended.”
“And when did you actually
see
her last?”
The man stuffed his hands into his pants pockets and looked past Debbie Sue. “It’s been a while.”
“Can you be more specific? Exactly how long is
a while
?”
Justin looked Debbie Sue directly in the eye for the first time since their conversation started. “A year ago. At her funeral.”
The man’s words hung in the air like a curtain of ice. Edwina tried to speak. Well, not actually speak. In reality, she coughed and sputtered. Debbie Sue whacked her on the back, all the while watching their new prospect with a wary eye. Eventually, Edwina spit an enormous wad of chewing gum onto the ground.
Debbie Sue ran through a mental list of the funerals that
had occurred in Salt Lick over the past year, but nothing came to mind she could associate with this guy. “When you say ‘at her funeral,’” Debbie Sue said, “you don’t mean her funeral literally, right? You ran into her at a mutual friend’s or maybe a family member’s funeral?”
“God, don’t I wish,” the man said, combing his fingers through his closely cropped hair.
“So you do mean
her
funeral?” Edwina said.
The man’s wounded demeanor tugged at Debbie Sue’s heart. He must have lost the great love in his life. Could he be so deeply mired in denial he felt she was trying to communicate with him from the grave? He was either horribly heartbroken or crazy as a loon. Whichever, Debbie Sue now felt that help from the Domestic Equalizers was not a solution to his problem. But she would withhold her conclusions until she heard more. “Tell us your whole name,” she said.
“It’s Sadler, ma’am, Justin Sadler. You probably think I’m crazy.”
Sadler.
Debbie Sue slipped deeper into her own thoughts. His name rang a bell, but she still couldn’t make a connection. “We don’t think any such thing, Justin.”
“Sure we do,” Edwina said. “I mean, why wouldn’t we? That’s a pretty far-fetched story you’re telling us.”
Debbie Sue glared at her.
“Well, it is,” Edwina said, her deep brown eyes wide and defensive behind a thick coating of black mascara on her lashes and a pair of black-framed glasses adorned with shiny rhinestones perched on her nose.
Justin looked at the ground, then back up to them. “I know. You’re right, ma’am. I don’t blame you for thinking I’m some kind of nut. That’s why I’ve waited before saying anything to anyone about this. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.”
Debbie Sue couldn’t remember when she had felt such conflict and confusion about a prospective client. He was so sweet and appealing, couldn’t be much over thirty years old. He needed a hug and a gentle kiss on the cheek…. Or he needed a priest and a psychiatrist. He did
not
need a private detective.
