“Just enough time to do a couple of miles before the parade starts.”
“You better get to it. You don’t want to miss Lenny’s big debut.”
As Lightfoot continued to scroll through his messages, Ryan lifted my braid in his hand and let it fall. “Seems to me it’s your big debut as well.” Without warning, he gave me a brief hug. “Everyone’s gonna shine, you included,” he whispered in my ear. He stepped back, closed one eye, and aimed an imaginary pistol at Lightfoot. “Later, Lawman.” With a satisfied grin, he took off.
I wanted to kick him. “What about the stun gun?” I asked.
Lightfoot waited until Ryan’s Dodge Ram pulled onto Main Street and turned right at the light, headed in the direction of the university. “Ellis says there’s no marks on the body consistent with a stun gun.”
“Go figure,” I muttered. “But Mrs. McAllen claims a stun gun doesn’t always leave marks.”
He cocked his head to the side. “No. You can’t always see them if a body has freckles or lots of hair, but it always leaves marks.”
“Let’s say the perp surprises Lucky and zaps him with the stun gun, knowing in advance that Lucky’s pacemaker’s kaput.”
Lightfoot studied the horizon, which meant he was actually considering my theory. “What about the blow to the head?”
“I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
He gave me a half smile. “Let me know when you do.”
For Lightfoot to welcome my sleuthing, even in a backhanded way, was a bit of a surprise and a boost to my ego. “Sure thing. I’m going to have to scramble to write my article by tomorrow’s deadline.”
He frowned. “Keep your theories to a minimum. Don’t want the killer to get spooked.”
“When can I let my investigative journalism flag fly?” I kicked a nearby column and dust flew. “I’m still trying to prove myself to Majors, in case you forgot.”
With a shake of his head, he turned to go. “Not sure what to say, Josie. Sheriff Wallace expects me to be an officer of the law first.”
I watched him go, wishing I was a different sort—the kind who could walk the tightrope between following rules and bending them just enough to further my own career.
Chapter 11
The Cinco de Mayo Parade
That Saturday morning the sun shone bright as fool’s gold on the rooftops along Main Street while Barnum and Hailey’s and the other businesses on the east side of the street, remained in shadow. The cool morning air warmed as the glowing orb rose higher in the lavender blue sky. The old-fashioned lamps that the town council had installed, along with the cobbled stones of Main itself, added a homey, relaxing atmosphere. Flooded with tourists and locals from the three surrounding counties, Broken Boot’s main drag resembled a Western-themed amusement park with a name like Durango or Winchester.
Dressed from head to toe in traditional folklórico costumes, the Martinez women maneuvered through the throng. We were quite a sight with our long braids, bright, colorful skirts, and black leather heels. Several people snapped pictures and a few young men whistled their approval as we snaked our way to the back of the parade lineup.
With five minutes to spare, we passed the Broken Boot Bears marching band—along with their award-winning color guard and drill team—and arrived at the white clapboard gazebo the town council erected each year to house the parade organizers. It sat squarely in the middle of Main, effectively blocking off traffic. Mayor Cogburn descended the gazebo steps, clipboard in hand. “Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t we, ladies?”
Mrs. Cogburn pushed her way to the front of our troupe. “There’ll be no pawing and snorting from you this morning, Mr. Mayor.”
He opened his mouth to speak.
“Who was sawing logs all night because he refused to wear his nasal strips?” She turned to the rest of us. “How am I supposed to sleep, let alone wake up on time, with that ungodly racket giving me fits?”
Mayor Cogburn gave us a sheepish look over his readers and placed a check on his list. Squaring his shoulders, he removed a pocket watch from his leather vest. “Three minutes till showtime. Better get a move on.”
“Where do we go exactly?” Aunt Linda moved closer, trying to sneak a look at his list.
“Number twenty-seven. Near the end.”
“¡Ay, Dios!” Senora Mari muttered.
As one, we did an about-face and strutted off toward the end of the line, our colorful skirts swaying around us like a muster of peacocks.
“Toot.” A ’50s convertible honked politely for us to get out of the road. On the rear deck rode parade favorites like Miss Broken Boot, Miss Big Bend County, and Miss West Texas. Behind them in a red Corvette rode Hillary Sloan-Rawlings, third runner-up to Miss America and the bane of my existence.
Though we started out as friends at UT, I finally realized that while I was working on our assignments, Hillary was working on only one thing—winning pageants. Years later when I returned home brokenhearted, minus my fiancé and my job, it was all a bit much to find she’d not only won a coveted faculty position at West Texas University, but she was dating my college sweetheart, Coach Ryan Prescott.
Hillary wiggled her fingers in my direction, and my bubble of parade-day bliss burst. I gave her a measly nod and a half smile in return. A tourist wearing a pink sombrero interrupted our exchange by asking the former Miss Broken Boot to sign her hat. I wanted to puke. If folks continued to fawn over the former beauty queens, I’d have the excruciating pleasure of watching Hillary ride in our annual parades for the rest of my life.
Next came the town council, sitting on bales of hay on a flatbed trailer in front of a sign that read: BROKEN BOOT’S CINCO DE MAYO, A FIESTA OF FUN!
As usual, children of all ages and their parents had festooned their bikes with green,
