Line Dancing Can Be Murder (11 page)

“I only know knock-knock jokes,” she said. “But I was in the class play when we were high school seniors. I suppose I could dramatize a bit as I read.”

“Perfect. I knew I’d made the right choice when I picked you.”

My eyes narrowed into slits.
Snagged in your web, you mean
, I thought uncharitably.

Everyone,” he announced into the microphone, “please make your new tour director, or rather, your tour director for the next fifteen minutes, feel welcome.” When he turned the microphone over to Crystal, everyone clapped. He squeezed her shoulder and then laid his head back on the seat to rest.

Crystal did a great job as substitute tour director. She made people laugh whether she intended to or not. Keith, who had most of the women on the tour wrapped around his finger, earned himself more Brownie points.

“Wasn’t that nice of Keith to let Crystal have the spotlight?” I heard Joyce say from the other side of the coach. “I think it made her feel special.”

Hmmph! My friend was already a special person. She didn’t need the likes of him to make her feel special. The way he’d been giving her attention all day, I couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted from Crystal. That niggling feeling twanged my nerves.

Our accommodations for the night were at the Sheraton in Billings. Keith had told us that although Billings was the largest city in Montana, there was no nightlife to speak of. However, there was a bowling alley. Hearing that news got my blood pumping. Crystal and I had been on the bowling team in high school, and we’d joined a couple of leagues as adults.

“We’re gonna smoke our friends and anyone else who’s up for a challenge,” I told her with confidence.

That evening as the games were about to begin, Keith nudged Crystal’s arm. “Remember, you owe me a beer.”

She smiled. “I haven’t forgotten, and I always pay my debts. Be right back.” Off she went to the snack bar. I watched her out of the corner of my eye while lacing up pathetically old red and blue bowling shoes. When she returned, she handed Keith a tall glass of foaming root beer. “You didn’t say what kind of beer,” she teased. “Two can play that game.”

“Yes!” I chuckled. “Way to get him.” Our palms smacked together in a high five.

He guzzled down the root beer and then removed his own personal bowling ball from a bag with his name stitched on it. “Last time I bowled, my score was two hundred,” he said, inflating his chest like a rooster.

He had no idea how competitive Crystal and I could be when it came to bowling. We were beasts on the lanes! It took all my willpower not to pound on my chest like an ape at his comment. “Crystal and I were on the bowling team in high school, and we won the national championship when we were seniors,” I told him, proudly. “Crystal was our anchor. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, I do,” he smiled. “It means she was a pretty good bowler.
Was
being the operative word here. It’s been a while since you ladies were in high school. No offense.” Grinning like a hyena, he slipped on his own personal shoes.

“No offense taken,” Crystal said, popping her fingers in the bowling ball holes to limber them up, like she did back in the day.

“Bowling is like riding a bike,” I said. “You never forget how. We were both good at the sport then, and we still are. Care to make a wager on which of us wins tonight, Keith? We’ll average two games and the one with the best score will be the winner.”

“I’m betting on Crystal or Teresa,” Bill said. He and Chuck and their lady friends had gathered around us, as had the other handful of travelers who had come out for a night of fun.

“Me, too,” Chuck said. “They look pumped up and ready to go.”

“Thanks for your support, gentlemen.” Keith feigned disappointment, and we all laughed. He reached out to shake our hands. “You’re on, ladies. May the best bowler win.”

Two games later, Crystal had not only beaten me
and
Keith, she’d also bowled a turkey in each round to boot. He took the loss as we all expected—with a grin and a suggestive wink. “Come with me, Crystal, and I’ll give you your prize.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

From A Seed…

Fiery, feisty, quick tempered, unpredictable and passionate: just some of the labels attached to redheads. Are they justified? In my case, the answer would be yes.

There were plenty of occasions when I was growing up that I’d burst into a rage, only to calm down and think: “Where did that come from?” As for the times I fell in love too fast, I usually blamed my hair color on the ardor and obsession that followed.

There have definitely been moments throughout my life when my impulses have gotten the best of me and caused a few problems. I had to admit, in times like those, it is quite useful to be able to say something like: “Well, what do you expect? I’m a redhead.”

That excuse was about to come into play again very soon.

The next morning, I sat on the bus headed for South Dakota and Little Bighorn, sliding a glance toward Crystal, who slumped in the seat across the aisle from me. Last night at the bowling alley, after the games were over and we were all removing our shoes and putting away our balls, she’d disappeared for about fifteen minutes. So had Keith. When she reappeared from the vicinity of the bathrooms looking flushed and dreamy-eyed, I made her tell me what she’d been up to. I had a pretty good idea but wanted her to confirm my suspicions.

“If you don’t,” I’d threatened, “I’ll tell everyone on the bus about that time you laughed so hard at the movies that you farted and cleared out all the seats around you.”

Her cheeks deepened with red slashes. “Teresa, you wouldn’t!”

I nodded. Sometimes you had to fight dirty to save someone from becoming a fool.

She’d dragged me out of earshot from our fellow bowlers and whispered, “Keith gave me a prize for winning. And let me tell you, girlfriend, it wasn’t a bar of soap this time.” She placed the back of her hand to her forehead as if she was going to swoon like Scarlett O’Hara. “I’ll kill you if you tell the others!”

“Tell them what? What did you do with Keith?”

“Take one guess.” Her face turned bright red.

I heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m not going to tell the girls, but I think you made a huge mistake fooling around with Keith. He’s a playboy out for a good time. You’re never going to see him again after this trip.”

Her smile vanished. “So what?” she shot back. “I haven’t had a good time in ages. Sometimes you have to take it where you can get it.”

“Not at the risk of losing your dignity,” I retorted.

“Why don’t you mind your business and I’ll mind mine, okay, Teresa?” With that she’d stalked away in a huff.

Apparently, her good time didn’t last longer than those fifteen minutes. This morning, Crystal wouldn’t look at Keith as he imparted his morning speech. I glanced at Jackie and Annette. Seemed to be déjà vu all over again. Crystal’s head was bowed to her lap, and from the way the early morning sunlight slanted upon her face, I could tell her cheeks were damp and her eyes were misted over. It was obvious she’d been crying and was still holding in tears.

That damned Keith! What had he said or done to upset her, besides get her hopes up for a fling? I balled my fists and felt my temperature rise as he crooned into his stupid microphone as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

My friends and I had started this trip excited and happy. But in five days, most of them had developed symptoms of sadness, depression, anxiety, or guilt. In Donna’s case, she was giddy, which was strange and didn’t add up. Still, the common denominator between them all was Keith. He’d done something to each and every one of them to cause them to feel less than the terrific women they were. I just knew it! Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to get away with it.

Glancing at him through squinty eyes, the seeds of a plan for exacting some kind of revenge began to form in my mind.

“Today is the twentieth wedding anniversary of one of our couples,” he announced, shifting my thoughts. “Happy anniversary to Mike and Anna! Tonight, a bottle of wine will be on me at dinner.”

“Thank you, Keith,” Mike called from the back of the bus.

As we all clapped and whistled, Mike and Anna accepted congratulations all around.

“Twenty years,” Jackie groaned, crossing her arms in a defensive stance. “That’s a frickin’ lifetime.” She was my seatmate today and her usual jovial self.

“Marriage is meant to last a lifetime,” I reminded her.

She rolled her eyes, as she did often. “How can anyone stand it? Sleeping with the same man every night for the rest of your life. Boring.”

“Some women actually love the men they marry and don’t mind sleeping with them. Then there are those of us who don’t sleep with our husbands at all and prefer boy toys on the side instead.” My elbow prodded her in the rib. When I saw hurt flash in her eyes, I quickly apologized. “Sorry, Jackie. I was just teasing. I know Milton’s old and sick, and you didn’t marry him for his body.”

“I’m over the hill, too,” she said, so low I could barely hear.

“What are you talking about? Fifty is the new forty, remember?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Fifty is a half a century, Teresa.
A half a century
! That’s ancient in dog years. I’m an idiot to think a younger man like…Chris would want me.”

For the first time in a long time, the wall Jackie had built around herself years ago began to crumble in front of my eyes. I squeezed her hand. “Is this really about Chris or someone else? Has someone told you you’re old?” I couldn’t bear to utter Keith’s name out loud and possibly hear Jackie’s confession. I didn’t think I could stand a second revelation about what another one of my friends had done with him. My stomach tightened waiting for her response.

Her gaze jerked toward me, and her teeth gritted as she spoke quietly. “Chris has sex with me because he’s young and horny and he’ll sleep with anyone who has boobs. He doesn’t care about my emotions or my wellbeing. When we get home, I’m telling him it’s over. All men are pigs.”

“Most, maybe, but not all. Your current husband is not a pig.”

She looked at me like I was stupid. “You’re right. Milton’s not an animal. He’s a vegetable in pajamas.”

“I thought all his money was supposed to make you happy. You sure don’t seem happy lately,” I said.

She shrugged her shoulders and then turned the tables on me. “Are you going to marry Phil?”

I laughed so loud I mumbled an apology to those around me before clapping my hand over my mouth. “You’re really good at changing the subject.”

“Are you?” she pressed.

“I don’t even know how long this thing with him will last. Besides, I’m too set in my ways to marry. The matrimony train has passed me by.”

“Does Phil know that?” Her curious gaze delved into me.

“Sure, he does. He’s been married before. We’re both fine with the way it is right now.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jackie challenged.

My temper sparked because she’d hit a nerve. I’d have to be blind not to see the way Phil gazed at me with those puppy dog eyes of his. I had a feeling he did want to marry again, and I was the woman he wanted to hitch his wagon to. The idea scared the crap out of me, so instead of being honest with Jackie, I lashed out, quietly. “I don’t care what you believe,” I whispered. “Fix your own life before you start psychoanalyzing mine.”

She turned her head and stared out the window. And just like that, we weren’t speaking to each other.

~ * ~

“Little Bighorn was called the Battle of the Greasy Grass by the Crows,” a park ranger in a green uniform told our group.

Shivering in our lightweight jackets and sweatshirts, because it was really cold out, we all stood on Last Stand Hill overlooking the great plains and the battlefield where markers poked up through the waving grass showing where the Seventh Calvary fell, including the spot where Custer supposedly died. An obelisk was engraved with each soldier’s name. I was surprised to see a separate marker memorializing the Seventh Calvary horses that had been killed during Custer’s Last Stand. According to the park ranger, many of the horses had been buried there.

We also saw a contemporary Indian Memorial that people had tied ribbons and bandanas onto. Then we strolled through the Bighorn National Monument museum before getting back on the bus and starting the long drive to Deadwood, South Dakota.

“That was interesting,” Kim said, settling next to me since Jackie was still peeved. “I feel sorry for the Native Americans. They only wanted to be left alone on their land. Our people never have done right by their people, even to this day.” After a few moments of silent reflection, she said, “Do you remember the guy that came in with the carnival the summer before we turned sixteen? The one who liked me?”

“The Mexican?” I conjured a fuzzy recollection of a tall brown boy with black hair to his shoulders.

“He wasn’t a Mexican. Adam was part Indian, and he wanted to marry me.”

“Marry you?” I chuckled. “You were fifteen.”

“He said we could have a good life on the road.”

“Doing what? Setting up the Ferris wheel, eating cotton candy for supper, and sleeping in the back of a pickup truck? How romantic.” That last comment was said sarcastically, of course.

She didn’t laugh. “Make fun if you want, but Adam was the first boy to tell me he loved me. I really missed him when the carnival pulled out that summer. When he left, he said he’d be back the following summer and he hoped I’d be ready to run away with him. But he wasn’t with the troop the next summer. I never saw or heard from him again. That was the first time my heart was broken.”

“You didn’t…you know…?”

“Sleep with him?” Kim shook her head. “No, but not for his lack of trying. I was too afraid of getting pregnant. That would have killed my folks to have two daughters knocked up and unwed.”

Kim’s sister had been the first girl in Harley’s Grove to be allowed to continue high school while being pregnant—a big deal for the time period. Her determination to finish school despite waddling around like a beach ball and being ridiculed behind her back had caused Kim’s family a great deal of humiliation. Suddenly, I felt a newfound respect for Kim. It took maturity for a fifteen-year-old to consider her parents’ feelings above her own. I was proud she hadn’t slept with the carnie.