Stef Ann Holm, Lucy Back [paper ebook reader .TXT] 📗

Clyde pursed his lips in remembrance. “That tattoo she had on her breast has become a long stemmed rose, if you get my meaning.”

“Unfortunately, I do.” Opal was glad she’d never taken to any body art. It was bad enough her girls were drooping without having an artist’s ink to accent nature’s deficit.

Raul grimaced as he ate a nacho, then looked as if he was going to spit the chip out. “This cheez isn’t real cheez. It’s that piss-whiz from a can. Jess the taste of it insults my tongue.”

“Raul, this is all-American Mexican food. You just haven’t developed the right taste buds.”

“The Raul has an excellent palate.”

“Then go paint a mural.” Clyde cracked himself up.

Raul didn’t see the humor.

Sheriff Lewis came in through the doors, felt hat cocked at an angle and determination in his gaze. “Raul, you’re parked over the line in the parking lot, gawdammit. I couldn’t find a single space for my Blazer, so I’m double-parked in back of Opal’s Ford. Go out there and move your car, Raul, or I’m going to slap a ticket on it right after I order my beer.”

“C’hew can’t ticket me if you’re off duty.” Raul’s dark hair was a perfect black wing, parted and combed on the side. “And if you’re on duty, c’hew can’t be drinking no beers.”

“I’ll call it in to Dispatch and the sheriff on duty can come on over and tow you.”

“How do you know it’s my car?”

“For the love of Pete,” Roger said, sidling up to the bar. “Who else drives a 1985 Cadillac DeVille with CHEF4U personal plates?”

“He’s got you there, Raul,” Clyde laughed.

“That issa classic automobile,” Raul intoned with indignance. “In La Puente, that cherry DeVille was borrowed for weddings and funerals.”

“Well, go bury it in its own parking slot and free one up for me.”

Raul muttered, fishing through his pockets for his car keys. “I don’ like this town sometimes. Everyone knows everyone’s business and it makes me sick.”

“Speaking of business,” Clyde offered, sliding the nachos down the sheriff’s way, “you find out anything more on that young gal who Drew Tolman has staying with him? She really a family friend?”

“Far as I can tell, his story hasn’t deviated.” Roger Lewis took a long drink of his Coors. “I think she is.”

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing,” Opal said. “You boys are actually thinking Drew would have some underage girl in his home and she ain’t family? I’m shocked.”

“Oh, hell, Opal, stop with the indignant look. Nothing shocks you.” The teasing mirth in Roger’s handsome eyes pulled at Opal’s heartbeat like the choke on her old Ford Falcon.

“Now, Roger, you know I’m not a prude. But I think it’s bad of you to talk like that about that young lady. Drew’s brought her into the diner, and I think she’s sweet as can be. If you put your glasses on, you’d see the family resemblance between him and Mackenzie. She’s peach pie fresh and quite charming.”

“I heard someone say she’s his second cousin,” Bud Tremore interjected. He’d been sitting quietly listening to the exchange with a big sombrero on his head. He’d won the raffle earlier on in the evening. All the beer he wanted as long as he wore a sombrero with OLÉ on the band of the crown.

Clyde refilled his mug with beer. “That’s not what I heard. I heard she was his niece, only we all know Tolman don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

Biting her lip as long as she could, not wanting to talk out of turn about her favorite customer, Opal piped up and spilled. “I did hear something…but it was passed on several times over, and I can’t tell you who started it…but I heard she was a love child he had with Goldie Hawn.”

“No shit?”

“I’d believe it.”

“Is that so?”

“I-gad.”

Then someone tossed in the comment, “I saw Kurt Russell over at Starbucks a week ago. He held up the line by ordering a specialty coffee. Quarter-pump of chocolate syrup. Some people just can’t drink a regular cup of coffee.”

“I always had a crush on him when he was in those Disney movies.” Opal got a dreamy look on her face.

Then the group grew thoughtful, and Roger’s threat to have Raul’s Cadillac towed was forgotten.

Wouldn’t it be just like the Tolman-ater to have a love child with a famous Hollywood actress?

Twenty

Jacquie Santini had gone exactly seven weeks, six days and four hours without a man.

Turning onto Honeysuckle Road and Main Street, she frowned without regard to the lines she was probably putting in her forehead. “God didn’t make Adam to have him end up alone,” she reasoned to Spin, who sat belted into the Jaguar’s passenger seat. “That’s why he created the Eves and the Jacquies to handle all the men’s needs.”

“What a load. You haven’t read the King James version if you came up with that.” A stiff, black leather handbag rested on Spin’s narrow lap. Running her bony hand across the gray upholstery, she asked, “Is this Corinthian leather?”

“No, Spin. You asked me that the last time. It’s just regular leather and that’s a black-walnut dash.”

Lately, Spin’s state of mind had concerned Jacquie. As well, Spin had also been saying her bladder was giving her trouble. Always as sharp as a shooting pistol, the woman was clearly degenerating. The horrifying idea of Fern Goodey-Leonard’s possible demise clutched at Jacquie. She didn’t want to think about it.

Jacquie’s community service had ended at the Sunrise Trail Creek Home a couple of weeks ago, but during her time there she and Spin had formed a unique kind of friendship. Jacquie couldn’t exactly describe it, but taking Spin out of the residence and to the beauty parlor, or sometimes to the Mule Shoe for a brandy, and even to a movie down in Hailey—gave Jacquie a much-needed purpose in her present, man-less life.

“Can’t I just go on one date?” Jacquie teased, hoping to pull a smile from Spin and bring the old girl back.

Spin’s profile grew