One Ticket To Texas

“Mustard or mayonnaise?”

“Mustard.”

“Be right back.”

Irish watched him pick up a loaf of bread from the rack and a jar of mustard off a shelf, then walk back to the meat case. He took a big sausage from the case, and she heard the whine of an electric slicing machine. In a few minutes, he returned with a neat sandwich on a piece of butcher paper. An individual bag of chips sat atop the sandwich.

“Thanks,” she said. “That looks great.”

“Not exactly Carnegie Deli, but it will do in a pinch. Alma Jane usually does the sandwich and soup making and helps tend to the store, but she came down with a bad case of poison ivy. I’m hoping that she’ll be back tomorrow. I’m not much of a cook.” “Me, either,” Irish said. “I don’t even know how to work the pilot light on my stove. Olivia usually does all the cooking.”

“Who’s Olivia?”

“One of my housemates in Washington.”

“One?” He filled her glass with tea from a pitcher.

“Yes,” she said. Between bites she gave him a thumbnail sketch of Olivia and Kim.

“How long have you been a reporter?” Kyle asked.

“A reporter? I’m not a reporter. Where did you get that idea?”

“You said you were doing an article on Jackson and his buddies, and I assumed that you were doing it for a newspaper.”

“Heavens, no. I’m doing the article for Esprit.”

“Esprit, the magazine? You work for them? I would have figured that someone with your looks would be modeling for them instead of writing.”

“Thank you very much. I used to be a model.” She smiled graciously. “But I don’t work for the magazine full-time. This is a freelance piece.”

He pointed to her uneaten bowl of chili. “Mind?”

“Not at all.” His digestive tract must be lined with lead. She couldn’t believe that anyone could eat an entire bowl of that blazing concoction, much less two.

“I love this stuff. It’s been ages since I’ve had a decent bowl of chili. Grandpa Pete makes it in a wash pot over an open fire, then freezes it in bricks. Why aren’t you a model any longer?”

His sudden switch of topics took her aback for a moment. She nibbled a potato chip before she gave him one of her stock answers. “I’m getting too old.”

“Bull. You’re gorgeous and still in your prime.”

“I’m almost thirty.”

He laughed. “Just a kid.”

“To you maybe, but models are getting younger and younger these days. Too, I—I was getting tired of the work, of New York.”

“Now that I can understand. The crime rate in that place is out of sight. Why, around here, the worst crime committed lately was when Newt Irwin got drunk and—Irish?”

She startled. “Pardon?”

“You flinched and looked very nervous. Did I say something? Stray into sensitive territory?”

“No. Not at all,” she replied, which was a polite lie. He’d touched a nerve. “What were you saying about Luke?”

“Not Luke, Newt. He got drunk and stole one of Henry McKenzie’s goats.”

“Whatever for?”

“To barbecue. But the next morning Newt’s mama found the goat staked out in the front yard eating her pansies, and she called the sheriff. Henry got his goat back, but Newt had to spend three days in jail.”

“But Henry got his goat back. I’m surprised he pressed charges.”

“Henry didn’t. Newt’s mama did. The sheriff is married to her cousin, and Mrs. Irwin was proud of those pansies.”

Irish laughed. “Sounds like you have some real characters around here.”

A pistol shot sounded from upstairs, and Irish almost jumped out of her skin.

“That we do,” Kyle said. “And one of them lives upstairs. That’s Grandpa Pete again. Eighty-four years old and still rambunctious. Be right back. Look around the store and find yourself a dessert.”

Deciding to do just that, she was looking through the assortment of Twinkies, Ding-Dongs, and Little Debbie cakes when an RV stopped out front. An older couple in loud jogging gear came inside. He was balding and his jacket was stretched tightly over his rotund belly; she was rail-thin with badly colored black hair and wearing a plethora of diamond rings.

“Oh, look, Edgar. Isn’t this a charming little place?” To Irish she said, “We’re passing through on our way from the Gulf coast and decided to take the scenic route. I’m so glad we did. It’s just beautiful around here, isn’t it, Edgar? We wanted to pick up a few snacks, and—Edgar! Look at this. Carved Indians. Life-size. Wouldn’t one of these be just precious by our pool? And look at the price. Why, it’s a steal.”

“Mmmm,” Edgar said, not glancing up from the row of snack crackers he was inspecting.

With Kyle nowhere in sight, Irish pasted on a bright smile and went into her retail mode. “Aren’t they wonderful? The sculptor is very gifted. Have you seen the animals outside? The eagles are fantastic, and there’s one bear that you should see. A delightful conversation piece that was just finished. We call him Vince. Come, let me show you.”

When Kyle finally got Pete settled down and made it back downstairs, Irish was at the door waving goodbye to an RV. “Sorry I took so long, but my grandfather needed some TLC. Who was in the RV?”

“Corrie and Edgar.”

“Wanting directions to Dallas?”

“Nope. They came in for snacks. I sold them a carton of soft drinks, two boxes of crackers, three jars of peanuts, two jelly rolls, two little pecan pies, two life-size Indians, an eagle and Vince. I made change for their traveler’s checks from the register. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? You sold more in thirty minutes than I’ve sold in a week. They bought Vince?”

“Yep.”

“But his ear is missing.”

“That makes him even more charming. An original.”

Kyle chuckled and shook his head. “I hope that you gave them a discount.”

“Certainly not. I didn’t know exactly how much the bears were since none of them had a price tag, but I charged fifty dollars more than the Indian was marked.”