The EMT workers found me inside the tent still giving Lucky’s lifeless body compressions and puffs of useless air.
“We’ve got it now,” a female voice said as I felt a hand on my shoulder. I yanked my gaze away from Lucky. It was the older EMT worker, a woman I’d seen once before. My mind grasped for the information. A retired principal. Her partner, a male EMS worker, gently moved me to the side, and Uncle Eddie helped me stand.
He placed a strong arm around my shoulders and walked my boneless body toward his truck. “Are you okay, Jo Jo?” His voice was tinny with fear.
I kept marching, onward, refusing to halt, my arms aching from pumping Lucky’s chest so many times. Lenny’s yips trailed after us, growing more faint by the step. I needed to go back in that tent and get him. He would worry about me. Finally we reached the back of Uncle Eddie’s truck.
“It’s okay, mi niña. It’s okay,” my uncle crooned. “It’s not your fault.”
Tears leaked from my eyes and down my chin and onto my shirt. “I couldn’t save him.”
“Shh.”
I could never save them. Never. Senora Mari was mistaken when she said I was strong. What a joke.
Chapter 4
Aftermath
When Detective Lightfoot stepped from his newly issued black-and-white SUV, I could’ve sworn I’d stepped into an episode of CSI: West Texas. Gone was the khaki uniform he’d worn like a second skin for so many years as a deputy in Big Bend County. Instead he wore a navy blazer and white button-down shirt, along with his familiar Stetson. We had developed a loose partnership, for lack of a better description. Basically, he investigated crimes for the Big Bend County Sheriff’s Office, and I tagged along as a reporter for the Bugle—when I could convince him I wouldn’t be in his way. In Austin, I never imagined I’d finally find my way to the crime desk when I returned home to Broken Boot.
“You okay, Josie?” Lightfoot’s black eyes filled with concern.
I flushed with embarrassment, sniffing and wiping away any remaining tears of shock with my knuckle. I’m not much of a crier, and when I do it’s not pretty—unless pretty ugly counts.
“She’s fine, just tired.” Uncle Eddie handed me his handkerchief. “Jo Jo gave CPR until the ambulance got here.”
With a grimace, Lightfoot fished a bottle of water from his jacket pocket. “Rinse your mouth out with that until you find something stronger.”
I obeyed by spitting into a nearby cactus.
“That’s my girl.” Uncle Eddie laughed.
I checked out the new detective’s polished boots and turquoise bolo tie. “Didn’t realize you went to church on Fridays,” I said, shielding myself with sarcasm. “Or are you on your way to an interview?” Tiny butterflies of attraction danced in my stomach, and I wanted them dead. Love had done me wrong, big-time. And love could go play in someone else’s sandbox.
He popped his cuffs. “Detective duds. I may get used to them . . . in three or four years.”
“Congrats.” Uncle Eddie reached out his hand. “Looks good on you, man.”
“Can you talk?”
I sniffed. “Yeah.”
“Let’s walk.” He withdrew a small notepad and golf pencil from his pocket. If Lightfoot ever decided to join the modern age and take notes on his phone, the Chihuahuan Desert would instantly transform into a fjord.
A small, delicate head peeped out of the window of Lucky’s tent. “Yip, yip, yip.”
“Lenny!”
“I’ll get him.” He placed a hand on my arm. “You stay here.”
He stepped into the tent, exchanged a word with the officers inside, and untied Lenny’s leash from the tent spike. “Boy, is he excited to see you.”
I held Lenny’s trembling body in my arms. “Yes, I know.” I blinked away a few more stupid tears. “But you’re fine now.”
“Yip.” Lenny wriggled in my arms and licked my chin.
I laughed with relief.
“Don’t worry.” Lightfoot patted Lenny’s head. “He’s made of tougher stuff. Isn’t that right?” He scratched the long-haired Chi under the chin.
Deputies Pleasant and Barnes had come as well and finished setting the perimeter with stakes and crime scene tape. Two more cruisers from a neighboring county pulled up. Unfortunately, two trucks and a minivan parked in the lot right alongside them. Folks piled out and immediately started unloading their chili-making equipment. I was torn. Didn’t Uncle Eddie need me to greet the contestants? Or was the whole event a wash?
Before I could return to my uncle’s side, I observed him calmly taking people’s names, handing them numbers, and explaining that the rules were posted on the electricity hookups. His voice wafted above the chatter of the hopeful newcomers unloading their gear. “If you have any other questions, come and find me. It’s going to be a contest to remember!”
My stomach filled with lead. My uncle, bless his heart, was determined to remain positive even if a dead body lay in a tent only a hundred feet or so from where he greeted his first chili cook-off contestants.
“Right.” I turned back to Lightfoot. “What exactly do you need?”
Studying me closely, he began. “When did you find the body?” I froze, looked at my watch. My mind was as blank as a whiteboard. “Uh, twenty minutes ago, thirty.”
He nodded slowly. “You need to sit down?”
“Heck no.” I smoothed my hair and straightened my shoulders. “I’ve seen worse. I’m just exhausted.”
“In shock, more likely.” He gave me a quick once-over, his black eyes filled with concern. “You’re not going to faint, are you?”
Who did he think he was talking to? “Cactus flowers don’t wilt, Detective,” I said with a corny Texas twang and a smile that made my cheeks ache. Suddenly gooseflesh raced along my skin. I crossed my arms over my chest to fight off the cold.
“Exhausted?” He didn’t seem to be buying my futile attempt at keeping it
