are. Toolee's plannin' to restore your childhood bedroom exactly like it was when you were growin' up.”
“Luther . . .”
“By the way, the auxiliary's puttin' together a Bobby Tom cookbook to sell in the gift shop, and they want to include a special celebrity section at the end. Evonne Emerly says for you to call Cher and Kevin Costner and some of those other Hollywood people you know for their meat loaf recipes and such.”
Bobby Tom stared bleakly ahead at the empty stretch of highway. “I'm heading into a tunnel, Luther, and I'm gonna lose the signal. I'll have to call you later.”
“Wait a minute, B.T. We haven't talked about—”
Bobby Tom disconnected the call. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back in his seat.
Gracie had been absorbing every word, and she was brimming with curiosity, but she didn't want to irritate him, so she bit her tongue.
Bobby Tom turned and looked at her. “Go ahead. Ask me how I managed to stay sane growing up around crazy people.”
“He seemed quite . . . enthusiastic.”
“He's a fool, is what he is. The mayor of Telarosa, Texas, is a certifiable fool. This whole Heavenfest thing has gotten completely out of hand.”
“What exactly is Heavenfest?”
“It's a three day celebration they're planning to hold in October, part of a harebrained scheme to bring economic prosperity back to Telarosa by attracting tourists. They've spruced up the downtown, added a Western art gallery and a couple of restaurants. There's a decent golf course, a dude ranch, and a mediocre hotel, but that's about it.”
“You forgot to mention the Bobby Tom Denton Birthplace.”
“Don't remind me.”
“It does seem rather desperate.”
“It's insane. I think people in Telarosa have gotten so scared about holding on to their jobs it's scrambled their brains.”
“Why are they calling it Heavenfest?”
“Heaven was the town's original name.”
“Church groups seemed to have had a strong influence in founding some of the early Western towns.”
Bobby Tom chuckled. “The cowboys named it Heaven because it had the best whorehouses between San Antone and Austin. It wasn't until the turn of the century that the town's more respectable citizens got the place renamed Telarosa.”
“I see.” Gracie had a dozen more questions, but she sensed that he wasn't in the mood for further conversation, and since she didn't want to irritate him, she fell silent. It occurred to her that being a celebrity had its drawbacks. If this morning was any indication, an awful lot of people seemed to want a piece of Bobby Tom Denton.
The phone buzzed. Bobby Tom sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Gracie, you mind answering that for me and telling whoever's calling that I'm on the golf course.”
Gracie didn't believe in lying, but he looked so worn out that she did as he asked.
Seven hours later, Gracie found herself staring with dismay at the peeling red door of a seedy Memphis bar named Whoppers. “We drove hundreds of miles out of our way to come here?”
“It'll be an education for you, Miz Gracie. You ever been in a bar before?”
“Of course I've been in a bar.” She saw no need to tell him that it had been attached to a respectable restaurant. This bar featured a neon beer sign with a broken M flickering listlessly in the dirty window, and a front sidewalk littered with trash. Since he had already kept her with him longer than she'd expected, she didn't want to antagonize him further, but neither could she abandon her responsibility.
“I'm afraid we don't have time for this.”
“Gracie, sweetheart, you're gonna have a heart attack before you're forty if you don't learn to take life a little easier.”
She gnawed nervously at her bottom lip. It was already Saturday evening, and with this detour, they had seven hundred miles left on the journey. She reminded herself that they didn't have to be in Telarosa until Monday morning, so, assuming Bobby Tom didn't try anything funny, there was
“Luther . . .”
“By the way, the auxiliary's puttin' together a Bobby Tom cookbook to sell in the gift shop, and they want to include a special celebrity section at the end. Evonne Emerly says for you to call Cher and Kevin Costner and some of those other Hollywood people you know for their meat loaf recipes and such.”
Bobby Tom stared bleakly ahead at the empty stretch of highway. “I'm heading into a tunnel, Luther, and I'm gonna lose the signal. I'll have to call you later.”
“Wait a minute, B.T. We haven't talked about—”
Bobby Tom disconnected the call. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back in his seat.
Gracie had been absorbing every word, and she was brimming with curiosity, but she didn't want to irritate him, so she bit her tongue.
Bobby Tom turned and looked at her. “Go ahead. Ask me how I managed to stay sane growing up around crazy people.”
“He seemed quite . . . enthusiastic.”
“He's a fool, is what he is. The mayor of Telarosa, Texas, is a certifiable fool. This whole Heavenfest thing has gotten completely out of hand.”
“What exactly is Heavenfest?”
“It's a three day celebration they're planning to hold in October, part of a harebrained scheme to bring economic prosperity back to Telarosa by attracting tourists. They've spruced up the downtown, added a Western art gallery and a couple of restaurants. There's a decent golf course, a dude ranch, and a mediocre hotel, but that's about it.”
“You forgot to mention the Bobby Tom Denton Birthplace.”
“Don't remind me.”
“It does seem rather desperate.”
“It's insane. I think people in Telarosa have gotten so scared about holding on to their jobs it's scrambled their brains.”
“Why are they calling it Heavenfest?”
“Heaven was the town's original name.”
“Church groups seemed to have had a strong influence in founding some of the early Western towns.”
Bobby Tom chuckled. “The cowboys named it Heaven because it had the best whorehouses between San Antone and Austin. It wasn't until the turn of the century that the town's more respectable citizens got the place renamed Telarosa.”
“I see.” Gracie had a dozen more questions, but she sensed that he wasn't in the mood for further conversation, and since she didn't want to irritate him, she fell silent. It occurred to her that being a celebrity had its drawbacks. If this morning was any indication, an awful lot of people seemed to want a piece of Bobby Tom Denton.
The phone buzzed. Bobby Tom sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Gracie, you mind answering that for me and telling whoever's calling that I'm on the golf course.”
Gracie didn't believe in lying, but he looked so worn out that she did as he asked.
Seven hours later, Gracie found herself staring with dismay at the peeling red door of a seedy Memphis bar named Whoppers. “We drove hundreds of miles out of our way to come here?”
“It'll be an education for you, Miz Gracie. You ever been in a bar before?”
“Of course I've been in a bar.” She saw no need to tell him that it had been attached to a respectable restaurant. This bar featured a neon beer sign with a broken M flickering listlessly in the dirty window, and a front sidewalk littered with trash. Since he had already kept her with him longer than she'd expected, she didn't want to antagonize him further, but neither could she abandon her responsibility.
“I'm afraid we don't have time for this.”
“Gracie, sweetheart, you're gonna have a heart attack before you're forty if you don't learn to take life a little easier.”
She gnawed nervously at her bottom lip. It was already Saturday evening, and with this detour, they had seven hundred miles left on the journey. She reminded herself that they didn't have to be in Telarosa until Monday morning, so, assuming Bobby Tom didn't try anything funny, there was
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