murder mai tai

Grams danced on the bar, her glass of lemonade held high above her head, bellowing out the lyrics to “La Bamba” in a key somewhat adjacent to what was blaring on the jukebox. Instead of discouraging a seventy-nine-year-old woman from dancing on her bar, the Feisty Goat Irregulars joined in. “Yo no soy marinero, soy capitán, soy capitán, soy capitán….” I sat at my corner table with Lynn, impressed that a crowd from Maple Creek could croon so well in Spanish and concerned Grams was going to slip and end up in the hospital for weeks. I weighed that concern against what she and her friends would do to me if I insisted she get off the bar.

“You know, your Grams made it on her own all those years when you were in New York,” Lynn chided.

“But she’s dancing on the bar!” I replied, knowing my response was an exercise in stating the obvious.

Lynn grinned and nodded.

“You’ve never seen her do that before? She does it all the time.” I crossed my arms over my chest, knowing I would quickly become the most unpopular person in Maple Creek if I told Grams to stop.

The Maple Creek Tux and Tails Festival was just a couple days away, and Grams always marked the occasion with a theme party at the Feisty Goat. While she wasn’t particularly choosy when it came to occasions to hold a theme party, Tux and Tails was one of the more popular. People from all over the state would arrive at Maple Creek, sporting their finest evening wear and accompanied by their dogs, also decked out in their best costumes. The festival began with a parade. Each year Grams entered her prized Goat Float and ended with a formal barn dance at Ken Jensen’s farm. Tux and Tails had started off several years ago as a small fundraiser for the Maple Creek animal shelter and quickly grew in popularity.  

“Kelly!” Grams yelled as she waved me over. “Kelly, get your uptight butt up here and join me.” The Irregulars erupted in cheers, and Fran Thomas, one of Grams’ longtime friends, ran to my table, took my arm, and coaxed me into playing along.

That’s how Grams’ Sock Hop Night at the Feisty Goat started—Grams and I on the bar, belting out Ritchie Valens, me worrying that the two of us were going to end up in the emergency room.

“They say these are oldies,” Grams shouted as Spider and I helped her down from the bar. “If these are oldies, what does that make me?”

“Really old!” the bar patrons shouted. Grams placed her hands on her hips and huffed.

“Drink prices have just doubled for the lot of you,” she cackled.

“I don’t care how old you are,” Spider said, gently patting Grams’ back. “You still got it.”

“You flatter me, Spider.” She gave him a surprisingly strong bear hug, then leaned back with her arms still wrapped around his waist. “I like it.”

Anyone who had seen Grams and Spider together would have been surprised to find out the two had been friends for only five years. They shared a bond that made them seem like lifelong friends. They understood each other.

After a moment of silence, the jukebox blared out the opening guitar riff for “Johnny B. Goode,” and the Feisty Goat turned into a dance club with everyone doing the twist.

“Go find yourself someone nice to dance with,” Grams told Spider. “I’ve got to give these legs a rest.” He gave her a side hug then surprised everyone with an expertly executed twist.

“Grams, I wish you would be more careful,” I said, leaning close to her so I didn’t have to yell.

“I swear,” she said, waving me off. “You’re just like your father. No sense of fun.”

“I have a sense of fun,” I protested.

She burst out laughing.

“Well, if you get around to showing it off one of these days, I’d like to be around to see it.”

I felt someone tug my arm and turned to see Lynn dancing.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s twist.”

“See, Grams,” I boasted. “I’m fun. I’m doing the twist.”

Grams shook her head and walked over to Frank Madison.

“Frank, will you help me show my granddaughter over there how the twist is supposed to look?” Whoops and hollers echoed through the Feisty Goat as Grams and Frank put on a show.

“Your Grams will never slow down, will she?” Lynn asked.

“No. No, she won’t,” I replied. I knew that was a good thing.

Near the end of the song, Sheriff Nick King walked into the bar. He wasn’t dressed for a sock hop.

“What’s wrong, Sheriff?” Grams called out. “Are we being too loud and rowdy for you?”

He smiled faintly and shook his head.

“I’m afraid not,” he said, the somberness in his voice contrasting with the fun everyone was having just a few moments before. “I’m looking for Dave Evans.” A hush came across the bar. The jukebox started a new song, and Grams turned it off. 

“Why are you looking for Dave?” Spider asked calmly.

Sheriff King took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair.

“Has he been here tonight?” he asked.

Spider crossed his arms across his chest and his eyes narrowed. The sheriff wasn’t going to answer his question, and Spider did not like to be ignored.

“Dave won’t come by until later,” he replied. “He’s been working a second job a couple nights a week.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. It’s not any of my business, so I never asked.”

Sheriff King stared at Spider for several minutes. I imagined he didn’t believe him. Why would someone who works for Spider at the custom shop and rides with him when they’re not working not say where he’d picked up a side gig?

“What’s this all about, Nick?” Grams asked, breaking the silence. The sheriff looked at her, trying to hide his annoyance at her using his first name while he was in uniform. Grams knew Sheriff King when he was a young boy. I suspected he knew it wasn’t a slight coming from her, but he found it irritating, nonetheless.

“I just need to talk with him,” he replied. “I can’t tell you why.” He looked at me, then back at Grams. “And it would be best if she didn’t get involved.” I could feel my face getting flushed, angry at his comment.

“If anyone sees Dave, give me a call,” the sheriff said. He looked at Spider without any emotion on his face, then left.

“That certainly sounded like an invitation for you to get involved,” Grams said, looking at me with concern. I nodded. Grams looked around the room and lifted her arms in the air.

“Come on, everyone,” she exclaimed. “We’re having a sock hop here! Let’s have a good time. Drinks are regular price again!”

Spider tried to call Dave, but it went to his voice mail.

“I’m going to ride over to his house and see if he’s there,” he said. Grams patted Spider’s arm and told him to call her when he found out what was going on. Lynn and I went back to our table, and I called Deputy Debbie.

“What is it?” Debbie sighed when she answered the phone. The tone in her voice confirmed my hesitation about calling her at home after hours.

“Do you know what’s going on with Dave Evans?” I asked.

“You do know that one of these days Sheriff King is going to find out I’m feeding you information,” she said, her voice flat. “Then he’ll fire me.”

“He can’t fire you,” I said. “He needs you too much.”

Debbie chuckled.

“That’s the truth, and you’re probably going to find out anyway,” she said. “But one of these days, I suspect I’m going to pay for our friendship.” Debbie’s comment took me by surprise. Even though our high school was small, Debbie and I didn’t really know each other that well. I wasn’t the most social of butterflies, enjoying a small group of friends, and Debbie always seemed to keep to herself. Like now, most people were probably intimidated by her. And it seemed like ever since I moved back to Maple Creek, all I’d done was irritate her, sticking my nose into various cases. 

“There is a professor at the community college over in Burnsville,” Debbie said. “Rebecca Kirby. She teaches creative writing or something like that.” She paused for a moment. “Her body was found in the woods outside of town. She was strangled.”

I didn’t say anything, hoping Debbie would provide me with a little more detail. She was used to that game. She let the silence linger.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied after several seconds. “But what does that have to do with Dave?”

“Dave is the primary suspect,” Debbie said. “He was the last one seen with her.”