Free Small Town Trouble by Jean Erhardt

Delozier. I showered and, as Liberace used to say, slipped into something a little more spectacular. However, in my case it was a clean shirt and a pair of reasonably clean jeans instead of pink ostrich feathers. It was easy to tell which one of us was the real fashion plate.
    The warm shower lifted my mood from its face in the dirt. Looking forward to seeing Amy again probably helped, too. In a somewhat different way, I was looking forward to meeting Abbott’s dancer, Charlene. Somehow, I had an eerie sense that Charlene might hold the key to door number one. I reminded myself that proceeding with a good measure of caution would be prudent. I didn’t want to end up like Abbott. Poor guy. He’d never play the dating game again.
     
    I pulled into the lot at Jimmy’s Place about quarter to ten. The breasts on top of the building were well-lit and the whole place was washed in that sick blue light, giving it the ambience it so richly deserved. I sat in the car, relit a half-smoked cigar and listened to the raucous country music coming from inside. It was the kind of music that, after a little time, might drive anyone to ride a mechanical bull.
    I smoked what was left of my Nat Sherman and surveyed the parking lot which was just about full this time. There were trucks, a few motorcycles and a selection of less than classic cars. Other than the fact that my car was practically the only one not made in America, it seemed to fit right in. It occurred to me that if I didn’t spend all of my money on Nat Sherman Hobarts and wine, I could be driving something more spectacular, not a Lexus like Amy’s, but something.
    I wasn’t a vehicle fanatic. Cars had never really rung my bell, although I did have to admit that whenever I saw a nice looking El Camino I was known to lapse into a somewhat covetous space.
     
    “Boo!” someone shouted. I jumped about a foot. Then I saw it was Amy Delozier leaning in my car window, looking quite lovely in the twilight, and I started to calm down. Sort of.
    “Shit,” I said, “you scared the crap out of me.”
    I got out of the car and tossed off my cigar. Unlike cigarettes, cigars are one hundred per cent tobacco, which spells all biodegradable. You certainly can’t say that for a Lexus.
    I hugged Amy in a friendly way and she hugged me back in an even friendlier way. All in all, not a bad start to the evening. I caught a whiff of what was unmistakably expensive perfume. You can always tell the good stuff. My motto is if you’re going to wear perfume, please make it the good stuff.  
    On the flip side, I, no doubt, smelled like a Nat Sherman, but this didn’t seem to slow Amy down. She’d hugged on me like a mama bear.
    “I’m kind of nervous,” she said, finally letting me go. “I’ve never been in a place like this.”
    Like I was raised in a topless bar. “Well, me neither.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    I did?
    Trying to ease tension of several varieties, I said, “I’ll bet you didn’t tell the dentist what you were up to tonight.”
    She grinned like a fox, the moonlight bouncing off the slight cleft in her chin. “Sure I did. I said I was going out with an old girlfriend.”
    “Honesty is the best policy.”
    “Bull shit ,” she said, and we laughed. “Just what the hell are we doing here anyway?”
    “I thought you might be up for another round of Nancy Drew and I think this may be as good a place as any to look for the twisted candlestick.”
    “What?”
    “I’ll explain once we get inside.” I didn’t want to lose her before the fun started.

 
    Chapter 20
     
    Amy and I slipped onto a couple of empty seats at the end of the bar. We sat in those high captain’s chairs or whatever they’re called, the kind that seafood restaurants were so fond of a while back. The wide bar was highlighted with a strip of padded black vinyl and lots of cigarette burns. All in all, the decor felt a little bit Hugh Hefner, a little bit Hee Haw.
    Like one would expect, the