Curing the Blues with a New Pair of Shoes Read online

  Curing the Blues with a New Pair of Shoes

  Dixie Cash

  Contents

  Prologue

  Cussing a blue streak, radio station KOIL’s receptionist shook her…

  Chapter One

  Groggy, half asleep and chilled to the bone by a…

  Chapter Two

  Debbie Sue couldn’t believe what she had heard. Those famous…

  Chapter Three

  Avery Deaton adjusted her sun visor against the morning sun…

  Chapter Four

  Mid-morning. Debbie Sue was nervous as a cat in a…

  Chapter Five

  After Edwina left with Phil and Madge, Debbie Sue locked…

  Chapter Six

  Avery reached her destination several hours later than planned, but…

  Chapter Seven

  Midnight had come and gone when the hotel finally gave…

  Chapter Eight

  Debbie Sue walked out of the house into a sunny…

  Chapter Nine

  Nearly devoid of color, trees or scenery—or so much as…

  Chapter Ten

  Just as Edwina began her quest for menus, the voice…

  Chapter Eleven

  Edwina stood beside Debbie Sue and watched Sam make inroads…

  Chapter Twelve

  Beside Avery, only a few feet away, the parade marched…

  Chapter Thirteen

  I came in here to see the shoes,” the elderly…

  Chapter Fourteen

  Debbie Sue didn’t like the look in Sam’s eye. The…

  Chapter Fifteen

  Avery awoke from what felt like a drug-induced sleep. She…

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sam handed his dessert plate to his hostess, Mrs. W. L. Crawford, as…

  Chapter Seventeen

  Walking to his car, Sam felt a snap and bite…

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next morning, Avery awoke wondering how she would ever…

  Chapter Nineteen

  As Avery drove toward Salt Lick, she found herself feeling…

  Chapter Twenty

  Sam guided Avery to his car, opened the passenger door…

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Avery awoke the next morning alone, but not lonely. She…

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  At 9:45, the sleigh bells whacked the Styling Station’s front…

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Avery studied herself in the mirror. Even Carrie Lynn had…

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Debbie Sue paced outside the Salt Lick High School gym’s…

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Edwina, belted in behind her Mustang’s steering wheel, raced toward…

  Epilogue

  Following the Elvis celebration Salt Lick returned to normal. Debbie…

  A+ Author Insights, Extras, & More…

  About the Author

  Other Books by Dixie Cash

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  prologue

  Odessa, Texas

  May 1954

  Cussing a blue streak, radio station KOIL’s receptionist shook her splayed fingers in an impatient attempt to dry the crimson nail polish she had just applied. The muffled sound of lively music floated through the closed door separating the front office from the disc jockey’s booth.

  At the ring of the phone, the receptionist pushed a lighted button with her pencil eraser. “K-O-I-L. Can you hold please?”

  She moved to the next line. “K-O-I-L. Can you hold please?”

  The switchboard’s five lines were lit up like a Christmas tree and she had to stifle a giggle before pressing the next persistent light. “K-O-I-L, can you…uh, yes ma’am, he’s still in town. Yes ma’am, now could you just…Do what? Ma’am, I can’t give that information out. Now you’re just gonna have to hold your horses, honey.”

  The receptionist turned from the phones in exasperation. One radio listener after another, all wanting the same information: Where was he now, when would he perform again and did he have anyone special in his life?

  Who did they think she was, his agent?

  Blowing on her wet nails, she shared a private moment with her devilish side as she thought of the young man who had caused such a stir. Lord, he was something. Black eyelashes thicker than a girl’s, thick hair he wore longer than the current styles. Indeed he was handsome to the point of being pretty. Tall and thin as a rail, he moved with the grace of a dancer. He laughed easily, but with a measure of shyness, revealing he was unaccustomed to the attention that followed him like a shadow.

  He wasn’t much more than a kid, the receptionist mused. Barely nineteen.

  And she was ten years his senior.

  She had been introduced to him yesterday by Ken Dawson, the afternoon DJ—self-appointed as the “Voice of West Texas.”

  “This is the new kid from Memphis,” he said, then disappeared, leaving her to entertain him.

  Ken, believing the only real music was bluegrass and country western, didn’t cotton to the new guy’s singing, but he did like that he was polite, quiet-spoken and humble. Ken had given him five minutes of radio time and shooed him out the door.

  But the young women of Odessa wanted more. Last night, the stage at the coliseum had been set ablaze at a concert sponsored by the radio station’s owners. The new kid’s performance had ignited a flame in the concert attendees that had spread like a prairie fire to every female within a hundred miles.

  The receptionist had caught the show. She had never seen anyone move with such blatant sexuality, shaking and grinning as if he little knew the effect of his gyrations on his mostly female audience. On top of that, the boy could carry a tune in a tenor voice as sweet as any that had ever been warbled.

  So today, after Ken disappeared and left the receptionist in charge of entertaining the new kid, she found herself in the company of a painfully shy young man. Nothing at all like the person she had watched perform on stage. She suggested they take a drive, and before she knew it, they were in Salt Lick, a small town forty-five miles away.

  The only restaurant in sight in Salt Lick was Hogg’s Drive-In. THE HOME OF HOMEMADE HAMBURGERS, a sign out front said, and they went inside. The singer devoured one hamburger, then another, declaring repeatedly between bites that he had never had a better burger in his whole life. He talked with great animation about his dreams, his mother and his one great love—music.

  “You sure do have pretty red hair, ma’am,” he said.

  Until this moment, the receptionist had hated her copper-colored hair. Like a schoolgirl, she blushed and patted the naturally curly locks. “Why, thank you.”

  He was so endearing, so beautiful. She knew in her bones that he was going to make it. He was going to make it big. She had not a shred of doubt. She had to keep reminding herself she was ten years older and not at all what he needed, or probably really wanted, right now. What he needed was no outside distractions.

  “Listen, honey,” she said taking his hands in hers, “I want you to drop by the station tomorrow before you leave.”

  “I wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye,” he said, gently tugging on the green silk scarf she had tied around her neck. “You’ve been real nice to me, ma’am. I won’t forget that.”

  “Good,” she said, blushing again in spite of herself. “I have something I want to give you.”

  “And I have something I want to give you.” He leaned across the table and brushed her lips ever so softly with his, cradling her chin with his free hand. And just like that, there had been no need to remind herself she was twenty
-nine and he was only nineteen. He was a man, a sexy, desirable man, and at that moment, the only thing young in her mind was the evening.

  “I said, you just gonna let them phones stay on hold ’til you feel like answering them or whoever called just gives up?”

  The loud voice, along with the smell of Listerine laced with Old Spice aftershave jolted the receptionist back to reality. “Sorry, boss, I was just getting around to that.”

  The “Voice of the West” stalked away growling and mumbling. “That’s what I get for hiring my sister’s kid.”

  He returned to the DJ booth, slamming the door between them.

  The receptionist picked up a pencil and disconnected all calls. The callers would call back. “It ain’t like it’s a national emergency,” she groused and stuck out her tongue at the phone set.

  The front door opened. She looked toward it and there he was, still as beautiful as he had been last night. He stepped into the room, and immediately, the air felt charged. For a brief moment she wasn’t sure there was enough for her to breathe.

  “Okay if I come in?” the young man softly asked, peering around the room.

  She waved him to enter. “Of course, please do.”

  “I…uh…I just wanted to say how much last night—”

  “Hush now. You don’t need to say anything you haven’t already said.”

  He grinned a lopsided grin and she felt herself being pulled to him by an invisible force. “Listen,” she said, much louder than she had intended, “I want to give you something.”

  “Oh, ma’am, I couldn’t take anything from you. I just—”

  “I have something for you.” She reached under her desk and drew out a box. Like a little kid on Christmas morning, he stared at the package big-eyed, and she was reminded of the stories he had shared of growing up in dire poverty.

  She thrust the box into his hands. “This is for your career. My dad just had to have them and my mother wouldn’t allow him to wear them. I hope they fit. You need something to match your personality on that stage. Something about you no one will ever forget. A gimmick.”

  He took the box and looked up at her with awe, and she wondered if he had ever received a gift.

  “Hey, maybe you can even sing a song about them someday,” she added with a nervous laugh.

  He opened the box and carefully pushed back the tissue-paper lining. He stood for what seemed like forever gazing upon the gift.

  “If you don’t like them…”

  “Oh, no, ma’am. That’s not it at all. Why, these are just about the prettiest things I ever laid my eyes on. I don’t know what to say, except for thank ya. Thank ya ver’ much.”

  chapter one

  Salt Lick, Texas

  54 years later

  Groggy, half asleep and chilled to the bone by a West Texas “blue norther,” Debbie Sue Overstreet eased her pickup down her driveway, toward the county road that would take her to Salt Lick. Her headlights slashed through the predawn darkness, her pickup’s heater blasted medium-warm air into the cab, doing its best to chase away the January chill.

  Mentally she spit out a litany of blue expletives. Less than half an hour earlier she had been snuggled against her husband’s delicious warm body in their comfy warm bed. Then Billy Don Roberts, Salt Lick’s pathetic excuse for a sheriff, had called, pleading for help.

  She keyed a number into her cell phone with her thumb, stuck the instrument against her ear and waited through several burrs for her friend and business partner, Edwina Perkins-Martin, to pick up.

  “What in the hell is this is all about? It’s five-fuckin’-o’clock in the morning.”

  Edwina had a way with words as well as a way of launching into conversation without the obligatory salutation expected in a phone call.

  “I’m on my way to town, Ed. I got a call from Billy Don. He’s at Hogg’s and begging for help from the Domestic Equalizers. Something’s up.”

  “Something besides my dander?”

  “We’ll soon find out. I’ll be there in ten.”

  “Gotcha bested, girlfriend. I’m a town girl. I’ll be there in five.”

  At the end of the driveway, Debbie Sue met the county road. She made a left turn, snapped the phone shut and pressed hard on the accelerator. If she was headed for trouble, she might as well get there as fast as she could.

  Ten miles later, Debbie Sue pulled into the Hogg’s Drive-In parking lot and spotted Edwina’s 1968 royal blue Mustang idling in front of the café, white smoke billowing from the exhaust in the frosty January air. Debbie Sue parked her pickup beside the café’s four-by-eight plywood sign. Inside a rectangle of bright white racing lights, in huge black painted letters, the sign shouted ELVIS ATE HERE!

  There was something reassuring about seeing that sign on a black-dark night. She had seen it her whole life. Barr Hogg, founder of the café, had claimed ever since Debbie Sue had known him that Elvis Presley, in the fledgling days of his career back in the fifties, had often dined in Hogg’s. He even claimed that in the good ol’ days, Elvis had had dozens of Hogg’s homemade hamburgers delivered to his Memphis address by overnight express.

  She trekked across the parking lot and met Edwina unfolding her five-foot-ten frame from behind the steering wheel. Debbie Sue wasn’t the least bit surprised to see her partner fully made-up, coiffed and wearing her signature accessories—platform shoes, bangle bracelets and block-out-the-sun earrings.

  “This proves it,” Debbie Sue declared as they tramped to the front door. “You wear all that shit to bed. I’ve always known it but couldn’t prove it ’til now.”

  “You know perfectly well I won’t be seen in public without this,” Edwina swept her hand up and down her body. “It only takes me five minutes. I’ve perfected a routine.”

  “I guess,” Debbie Sue said, gripping Hogg’s doorknob.

  “Let’s see what’s so damned important that a body’s gotta get a fuckin’ phone call before daylight.”

  Before she could turn the knob, the door flew open with enough force to startle them both and all six feet, four inches and 250 pounds of Judd Hogg stood there motioning them in. Before even saying hello he closed and locked the door and started talking and wringing his hammy hands. His disheveled copper-colored hair and red-rimmed brown eyes told of what could only be tragedy. “Thank you, thank you both so much. This is just so awful.” His deep voice broke. “I’ve been sitting here…for hours…trying to figure out…what to do.”

  Edwina looked up at him with a tented brow, a consoling hand on his shoulder. “Oh, my God, Judd. Is it Barbara? The kids? What in the world is wrong?”

  “It’s the shoes.” His face contorted, he dropped to a black vinyl counter stool, covered his face with his hands and burst into great gulping sobs.

  Debbie Sue and Edwina looked at each other, then back at him.

  “The shoes,” Debbie Sue repeated.

  While they waited for Judd to gather himself, Debbie Sue shot a questioning glance at the sheriff, who stood there chewing on his lower lip. The day hadn’t even started, and already the man charged with protecting the town looked as if the weight of the paraphernalia on his belt might drag his pants down to his knees.

  “The shoes,” Billy Don said. “Lord, Debbie Sue, it’s the shoes.”

  Debbie Sue stared at him.

  “The shoes,” Edwina parroted.

  Judd blew his nose. “Elvis’s blue suede shoes. The ones that were on loan from that museum in Vegas. They’re gone.”

  chapter two

  Debbie Sue couldn’t believe what she had heard. Those famous shoes were gone? For weeks she and Edwina, along with nearly every living, breathing soul in Salt Lick, Texas, had been helping the Hoggs prepare for a three-day celebration of Elvis’s upcoming birthday. And the number-one exhibit was gone? Her adrenaline surged. “When did you discover them missing, Judd?”

  Judd Hogg was on his feet now. He set two pink mugs on the hot-pink counter and poured steaming black coffee for
her and Edwina. “I come in every morning before five to get ready for the breakfast crowd at six. When I got here this morning, the shoes were gone. That plastic case they’re supposed to be displayed in is here, but the shoes ain’t in it.”

  Debbie Sue scanned the dining room. It looked like a museum. Elvis stuff was everywhere. Barr Hogg had always had odds and ends of Elvis memorabilia, but since Judd and his wife took over the café, they had added more—music, a wide assortment of memorabilia and rare photographs, including one of Hogg’s founder shaking hands with the King himself. Her mind raced through possibilities. If stuff had been the target, plenty was here to take. “Was anything else missing?”

  Judd shook his head. “Not that I can tell.”

  “If someone broke in, they most likely wanted money. Maybe the burglar simply took the shoes as a second thought.” Her eyes landed on Hogg’s one cash register sitting at one end of the pink Formica-covered order-and-payout counter. “Was the cash register touched?”

  “Nope.” Billy Don stopped chewing on his bottom lip and started wringing his hands. “I checked. It’s even got a little money in it. Looks like the only thing missing is those blue suede shoes.” He yanked a huge bandana from his back pocket and dabbed his brow, though the room wasn’t warm enough for anyone to be sweating. “Lord, Lord, Debbie Sue. We’re in a heap o’ trouble, ain’t we?”

  “Billy Don,” she whispered, patting the air with her palms. “Calm down. It isn’t like the original owner is coming back to get them.” She returned her attention to Judd. “Were there any signs of forced entry?”

  The distressed café owner shook his head. “Don’t look like it. I checked the front door and the one off the kitchen. But you can look for yourself.”