Here Today, Gone Tamale by Rebecca Adler

snatched up my cup for a quick sip and managed to immerse my nose in my lukewarm house blend. Sputtering, I cringed as coffee droplets jumped from my nose like swimmers from the high dive on a hot summer day.
    Lightfoot found a place setting from a nearby table, unwrapped the silverware, and handed me the cloth napkin. “Was Dixie wearing a necklace tonight?” he asked in a voice so deep it jangled my nerves.
    Without a doubt, I thought the sheriff was going to throttle him. Lightfoot pulled up a chair, and Wallace glared at him. “No need to speculate, deputy.” He shot a glance my way. “Why don’t you stay with Linda and Eddie tonight? You’ve been through the wringer.”
    â€œShe wore a tribal necklace, one of her own designs.” Iclosed my eyes, filled my lungs with air, searching for the image. “Horses chiseled from different gem stones.”
    â€œAnd?” Lightfoot asked softly.
    Sheriff Wallace’s voice rose. “It’s time for her to go, deputy. Your questions will keep until tomorrow.”
    My hand found the soft, concave spot at the base of my neck. “A large horse in the middle.”
    â€œWhich stone was it?” Lightfoot asked.
    An image of Dixie, leaning close to the mayor, entered my brain. “Turquoise. It was blueturquoise.”

Chapter 4

    I awoke the next morning, staring at a ceiling full of stars, and exhaled. I was safe. I was in my twin bed in my aunt and uncle’s house. Twinkling above me were shiny bits of crystal Aunt Linda had painted into the ceiling when I was a child. If I woke from nightmares or troubling dreams I would search for the Big Dipper and the North Star until I fell asleep.
    How I wished that Dixie’s death had been only a bad dream. But it was real, as real as the crick in my neck from a flat pillow and the aroma of bacon and biscuits floating through the house. If I closed my lids, I would see Dixie’s wide blue eyes staring up at me while her tie-dyed skirt flapped in the wind. How long could I go without closing my eyes?
    Last night, the enigmatic Deputy Lightfoot had brought me to my childhood home without any further questions. By the look on his angular face, I knew he suspected foul play. Why else would he be interested in Dixie’s necklace? Sheriff Wallace must have called ahead because my family stood waiting on our wide front porch in their pajamas and T-shirts. Senora Mari was pacing back and forth in her fluffy pinkrobe and giant elephant slippers. They threw their arms around me and hugged me hard until Lenny complained. We tried to laugh, but the sounds we made faded away on the wind as we remembered not just anyone had died, but a three-times-a-week customer and friend. We’d wiped our tears, even Uncle Eddie, and then I’d dragged myself upstairs and fell into bed.
    â€œJosie,” Aunt Linda called up the stairs bright and early, “the AC’s out at Milagro. Dress accordingly.” I had not wriggled an inch, but her spidey sense was working overtime.
    â€œAnd don’t forget your neck,” Senora Mari added. As if I could forget her wacky method of staying cool in the Texas heat. I had to smile, for she was obviously treating me with unusual sympathy. During high school, she would have dropped a cold, wet washcloth in my face if I slept past nine o’clock.
    After a quick shower, I found some old clothes in my closet: an atrocious broom skirt, a Corona T-shirt, and a faded, blue bandana. Nothing was going to take the place of the AC, but I knew Senora Mari would argue and nag until I tied a wet bandana around my neck, her idea of the next best thing.
    â€œHurry up. You can eat breakfast when we get there,” Aunt Linda called, answering my question before I could ask.
    Dressing for a day without air conditioning in far West Texas can be like prepping for a day in hell. The air is cool in the early morning, but it climbs to a fever pitch by ten