Here Today, Gone Tamale Read Online Free PDF

mayor’s abbreviation made our Wild Wild West Festival sound like a wrestling event. “It should be really rocking this close to opening day.” Only a stern look from Aunt Linda kept me from rolling my eyes.
    Melanie shook her head in disgust as she headed for the sink. “A website needs to be current and easy to navigate.” She rinsed her hands of masa and dried them. “The festival’s next week, for pity’s sake. Why don’t you update the fool thing?”
    Hillary sidled up to where Dixie perched on a tall stool from the bar. “I love your work, I really do,” she cooed, pointing to the handcrafted necklace Dixie wore. The jewelry maker had created a series of tiny horses in the Native American style, each one carved from a different rock or precious stone indigenous to the Southwest.
    Tilting her head to the side, the inebriated woman swayed forward as if trying to figure out from which planet Hillary hailed. “You got a cigarette? Filtered or unfiltered, dudn’t matter to me.”
    The beauty queen wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “No, I don’t smoke those things.”
    Dixie cackled. “Why, Hillary, what things do you smoke?”
    With lips thinned in a painful smile, Hillary pressed on. “I’ve been meaning to ask you.” She drew in a breath. “What does your necklace for this year’s auction look like? Is it turquoise or topaz?”
    â€œWhy would I tell you, Miss Goody I-Don’t-Smoke-Those-Things? It’s a secret, same as always, and none of your dad-burn business.”
    Hillary turned to Mayor Cogburn and his wife. “I thought you said you were going to display the necklace online to build up anticipation for the auction.”
    After a quick glance at his wife, Cogburn stuck his thumbs in the belt loops of his designer jeans. “Well, you see . . . we’re still debating the matter.”
    â€œYou mean there’s still no photo on the website? I thought the whole point was to generate publicity for the auction.” Mrs. Burnett was rarely critical, which made her quiet comment hit home.
    â€œUm . . . well . . . I haven’t received any photo.” Felicia Cogburn raised her hands in a helpless gesture.
    â€œHeck to the no.” Dixie slid from the stool to stand before the mayor like a rooster at a cockfight—chin raised, eyes narrowed, and plump hands fisted. “The debate is over. It’s going to be a surprise just like every other year.”
    From the corner of the room, a voice muttered, “What a diva.”
    â€œWho said that?” Dixie swung her girth first to one side and then the other, but not one of the committee members would admit it, though several struggled not to laugh. The remark had come from the direction of the shredded chicken.
    Melanie Burnett stepped up with a toss of her head, flinging her razor-cut bangs out of her eyes. “I don’t see why you won’t let them show it on the website now that you’re famous. It’s for a good cause.”
    Dixie had recently hit the big time by scoring a contract with Neiman Marcus. And as a result,
The Texan
magazine was writing a feature article on her turquoise and tribal style jewelry. Hoping to ride on the coattails of her newfound acclaim, the festival committee had commissioned not only a necklace for this year’s auction fundraiser, but matching earrings and a bracelet, with the hope that someone would donate at least five thousand dollars to the cause.
    Like a sonic boom, Dixie slammed her hand on the metal prep table by her side. “Maybe I’m sick of no-talent hacks stealing my designs.” She leaned forward, exposing a bit too much of her bountiful bosom. “Are you folks worried I won’t deliver the necklace in time for your precious auction?”
    Jumping in to soothe the troubled waters, Cogburn said. “Now, now, don’t get riled