IF THE CRIME FITS

 

If the Crime Fits

Can a century old death be solved on the way to a chili cook-off?

 

 

Allie awoke to continued miles of scrub cactus and creosote hills whizzing past on Highway 170, along with her best friend Holly’s off-key version of Grease. Holly’s outstretched arm floated on the Texas wind created by the forward thrust of her Mustang’s 225 horsepower engine.

“How far now?”

 “About sixty miles.”

 Allie closed her eyes , opening them again when they bounced into the rutted parking lot of the Terlingua Trading post, six miles from the Rio Grande.

 Inside, held a treasure trove of trashy souvenirs, hand crafts and historical relics. Holly perused jewelry, while Allie studied ancient cowboy boots.

“Holly, look! Have you ever seen anything like these?”

 “Old and beat up, you mean?”

“No. Worn, but sturdy. Cool, red Texas stars on these.” She noted, easing a foot in.

 A charge of electricity met her sock as it brushed the interior, but it fit snugly. Perfectly.

“You’re mine.” she cooed, cradling the pair as though already beloved.

 

The setting sun cast a mandarin glow across the Chisos Mountains as Jackson, proprietor of the Wild Horse Motel greeted them.  

 “Here for the chili?”

“Here for the prize!” Holly laughed.

 “Stiff competition!” he chuckled. “Good luck!”

 “So… an actual old mining town?” Allie asked.

“Motel’s one of the original mining camp buildings. I narrate Terlingua’s history along with slides on our big screen six p.m. weeknights, at the Wild Horse Auditorium. We’re a bona-fide ghost town, Gals.”

 “We know!”  The girls spoke in unison., eyeing a revolving fountain of flyers.

 

“Always start road trips with liquor!” giggled Holly, bouncing on her bed, while Allie polished her new boots to a handsome shine.

“Someone splashed paint on these,” Allie remarked, “See the silver?”

“Gives character. I can’t finish this bottle. Need sleep.”

“Right behind you.”

A pale crescent moon barely beginning its downward crawl, tickled the toes of Allie’s boots with their hand-tooled red Texas stars. Allie jerked suddenly awake with a shriek,

Holly bolted upright. “What’s wrong?”

“My teeth!” Allie’s hands flew to her mouth. “They fell out!” She shuddered, covered in sweat, still trapped in the gruesome feeling of discovery.

“You had a nightmare.”

“It felt so real!”

“Well, you’re ok. Go back to sleep.”

Easier said than done. A metallic taste lingering in her mouth, Allie reran the memory of lost teeth and bloody gums.. From somewhere, Where? A scent of flowers, lilies? hung in the air. At her feet, hand-tooled leather stars blushed a deeper red. She gagged once.

 Holly opened one eye, listened, then closed it again.

 

Up early, the girls gobbled their “Miner’s Plates” hungrily as Allie admired how her polish had enhanced the deep red stars on her boots which she was testing today for wearability.

“Walk the town?”

“Yes!” Allie said, signaling for the check.

 

The Wild Horse Auditorium across the street had seen better days. Allie was drawn to a poster of a cowboy tending a campfire. Lost in its flames she became aware of a burning in her feet. No! Not her neuropathy flaring up!

 While agonizing over this, a strange hissing noise which turned into an eerie rattle enveloped her, chilling, even as the heat climbed. Hiss, rattle, hiss, rattle. She began to sway.

 “Allie, what’s wrong?”

 Allie shook her head to make it stop.  

“What is that?” she whispered.

 “What Allie?”

 “Like snakes. Like rattlesnakes!”

“Allie, there’s no snakes. Did you take something?”

“No! I don’t know.” She sniffed. “Do lilies grow in the desert?”

“Allie, you’re scaring me!”

 “I dreamed of lilies.”

“Let’s go back to the motel,” whispered Holly, gripping her friend’s arm.

 

“What’s going on with you?” Holly spoke to Allie’s back, curled on the bed.

“What do you mean?” She felt sick to her stomach was all. That Miner’s Plates hadn’t gone down well.

“Well, you rest,” said Holly, with a worried look.

 

Six o’clock found Allie recovered enough to attend Jackson’s presentation of historical Terlingua. Images of the boom town with Miners surrounding carts hauling cinnabar slabs from below from which quicksilver was extracted, flickered on-screen. Veins so rich they often oozed silver straight out of the ground when exposed to the heat of branding fires. 

“A famous murder case gripped the camp in 1922," Jackson was saying, “Jaunita Rojas, pictured there, poisoned a cowboy nicknamed rattlesnake Joe, for his mining claim.”

“Her boots look like yours, Allie.”

 Allie nodded, but was focused on the screen, hypnotized, as Juanita Rojas appeared to bend over a campfire to clutch a fallen man. Puddles of silver, glistened nearby. The man’s bare feet glittered with a metallic sheen. Allie blinked, and there stood Juanita, all alone, in a flour sack dress and boots.

“Juanita, who toiled extracting wax from stems of the Candelilla plant for candles, was arrested, but stated she’d shot a rattlesnake exiting his boot, which she swore must’ve killed him. But, the coroner deemed Joe dead before the snake bite would have taken effect, and his missing teeth, he said, indicated symptoms of poisoning, however none was ever found. Juanita broke down during the trial, begging not for Joe’s claim, but only for his treasured boots.”

Allie choked, trying to block the sweet fragrance overwhelming her senses. The heat from her boots suddenly unbearable, she glanced down to find the silver streaks glistening like steel in the flickering projector’s light.

Sobbing, she bolted from her seat.

 “Allie…”

 “I’m so sorry!” She cried. “I couldn’t save… I didn’t do…”

 “ALLIE!”

Jackson fell silent, stunned by the outburst as Allie snapped back, “What’s that?” she cried, pointing to the screen. Around the fire?”

“Quicksilver.” Jackson replied, “Turns to liquid when heated.”

“But what IS quicksilver?” Allie pushed, “I don’t know it…” 

“Mercury. It’s mercury.” Jackson answered grimly.

“Makes teeth fall out,” Holly said quietly, google, alight in her palm.

Allie fought for air to speak, “What happened? --To her?”

“They hanged her.”

 “She was innocent!” Allie cried, clawing at her throat, fiery, red-tooled stars running like bloody rivers.

“GET THESE BOOTS OFF ME!”

 

~tareebelardes 

 

 (c) taree Belardes 2021

NYC MIDNIGHT FLASH COMPETITION, 2021

GENRE; Ghost Story

OBJECT TO INCLUDE: Leather Boot(s)

LOCATION TO INCLUDE: An auditorium

WORD LIMIT: 1000

TIME: 24 HRS