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Authors: Kylie Logan
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It’s just that . . .”
It wasn’t what she said that sent a cold chill up my back, it was the way she refused to meet my eyes. I stepped toward her. “It’s just that, what?”
I wasn’t really worried until Ruth Ann’s eyes filled with tears. She rubbed a finger under her nose and crossed the trailer to pluck a tissue from a box on a gunmetal-gray credenza. “You know how people are.” Ruth Ann sniffled. “They talk. Even when they don’t know what they’re talking about. It’s no different with Showdown people than it is with anyone else.”
Call me slow, but then, no one had ever accused me of being fast.
Except maybe for Roberto, who had wanted me to go out with him again simply because he figured I’d be easy to get into bed.
“Wait a minute!” My temper hit the ceiling along with my voice. “Are you telling me people think I had something to do with—”
“Now, now.” She scooted over and took my hand. “Just because people say it doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“You bet it’s not true! Ruth Ann, you don’t think—”
“Of course I don’t, honey. But people will talk. And you and Roberto, you did have history.”
There was that word again! I screeched my opinion of it. “One date is history? Good thing I turned him down when he asked me out again. The folks around here would be planning my lynching.”
“It’s not like that.” Brave words, if only her expression wasn’t so miserable. “They just know you and Roberto had a fight and—”
“Does anybody have any secrets around here?” Since I already knew the answer, it was a stupid question. “Perfect! Good! Fabulous!” I stomped to the door. “If everybody’s so in tune with what’s happening in everybody else’s lives, that suits me just fine. That means maybe somebody can tell me what happened to Jack!”
I would apologize to Ruth Ann for the outburst later. Just like I always did. For now, slamming the door behind me and stomping down the trailer steps and out into the fairgrounds felt too good.
Having people whisper about me when I walked by, not so much.
It happened at Nardo’s Sauce Stand and at Bill’s Fresh Bison Meat Market, and I even heard the now-too-familiar mumblings when I zipped past the booth where the judges would check in later in the day and where local volunteers were now setting up—all of them female—whose charity would benefit from the proceeds of the Showdown.
“There she is,” a woman said, only I couldn’t tell which woman, because when I stopped and glared that way, every single one of them pretended they were busy doing something else.
“They say she knows more than she’s telling,” another woman replied just as I got moving again. “The cops are talking to her.”
“From what I heard, it’s no wonder. She’s got quite a reputation. You know, when it comes to men.”
I kept walking, my chin high and my teeth clenched.
“I hope you’re not listening to that nonsense.” This, too, was a woman’s voice, but one I recognized. I turned just in time to see that I was in front of Gert Wilson’s stand. Gert had been selling her aprons, pot holders, kitchen towels, and other accessories on the circuit for the last five years. We didn’t know each other well, but apparently she knew I was in need of the friendly smile she sent my way.
Like the grumblings I’d heard were nothing, I shrugged and closed in on her spacious retail area. Unlike a lot of us who sold out of the trailers we hauled behind our RVs, Gert had a freestanding booth under a spacious pop-up tent. Her wide aisles and attractive displays allowed buyers the chance to browse so they could better check out crockery, candles, and other household goods, all decorated with chili peppers, Southwestern themes, or sayings like
Don’t Mess with Texas
. She was a smart businesswoman, and from what I’d heard about her, that came as no surprise. Gert had an MBA and was once a corporate big shot. A vicious
It wasn’t what she said that sent a cold chill up my back, it was the way she refused to meet my eyes. I stepped toward her. “It’s just that, what?”
I wasn’t really worried until Ruth Ann’s eyes filled with tears. She rubbed a finger under her nose and crossed the trailer to pluck a tissue from a box on a gunmetal-gray credenza. “You know how people are.” Ruth Ann sniffled. “They talk. Even when they don’t know what they’re talking about. It’s no different with Showdown people than it is with anyone else.”
Call me slow, but then, no one had ever accused me of being fast.
Except maybe for Roberto, who had wanted me to go out with him again simply because he figured I’d be easy to get into bed.
“Wait a minute!” My temper hit the ceiling along with my voice. “Are you telling me people think I had something to do with—”
“Now, now.” She scooted over and took my hand. “Just because people say it doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“You bet it’s not true! Ruth Ann, you don’t think—”
“Of course I don’t, honey. But people will talk. And you and Roberto, you did have history.”
There was that word again! I screeched my opinion of it. “One date is history? Good thing I turned him down when he asked me out again. The folks around here would be planning my lynching.”
“It’s not like that.” Brave words, if only her expression wasn’t so miserable. “They just know you and Roberto had a fight and—”
“Does anybody have any secrets around here?” Since I already knew the answer, it was a stupid question. “Perfect! Good! Fabulous!” I stomped to the door. “If everybody’s so in tune with what’s happening in everybody else’s lives, that suits me just fine. That means maybe somebody can tell me what happened to Jack!”
I would apologize to Ruth Ann for the outburst later. Just like I always did. For now, slamming the door behind me and stomping down the trailer steps and out into the fairgrounds felt too good.
Having people whisper about me when I walked by, not so much.
It happened at Nardo’s Sauce Stand and at Bill’s Fresh Bison Meat Market, and I even heard the now-too-familiar mumblings when I zipped past the booth where the judges would check in later in the day and where local volunteers were now setting up—all of them female—whose charity would benefit from the proceeds of the Showdown.
“There she is,” a woman said, only I couldn’t tell which woman, because when I stopped and glared that way, every single one of them pretended they were busy doing something else.
“They say she knows more than she’s telling,” another woman replied just as I got moving again. “The cops are talking to her.”
“From what I heard, it’s no wonder. She’s got quite a reputation. You know, when it comes to men.”
I kept walking, my chin high and my teeth clenched.
“I hope you’re not listening to that nonsense.” This, too, was a woman’s voice, but one I recognized. I turned just in time to see that I was in front of Gert Wilson’s stand. Gert had been selling her aprons, pot holders, kitchen towels, and other accessories on the circuit for the last five years. We didn’t know each other well, but apparently she knew I was in need of the friendly smile she sent my way.
Like the grumblings I’d heard were nothing, I shrugged and closed in on her spacious retail area. Unlike a lot of us who sold out of the trailers we hauled behind our RVs, Gert had a freestanding booth under a spacious pop-up tent. Her wide aisles and attractive displays allowed buyers the chance to browse so they could better check out crockery, candles, and other household goods, all decorated with chili peppers, Southwestern themes, or sayings like
Don’t Mess with Texas
. She was a smart businesswoman, and from what I’d heard about her, that came as no surprise. Gert had an MBA and was once a corporate big shot. A vicious
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