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“No.”
“Why?”
“Can’t tell you. I have to re-interview someone first, but it’ll have to wait for tomorrow, when Doug Allen’s out of town at a Republican fundraiser.”
“Who’s the someone?”
Izzy shakes her head.
“Can you tell me later?”
“Yes, and at that point you can amaze me. Did you find the missing jewelry?”
“Some of it, yes.”
“Are you on the trail of the rest?”
Holly looks up from her second fish taco. Her eyes gleam. “Hoton the trail.”
Izzy laughs. “That’s my Holly.”
3
That afternoon, Holly’s young friend Barbara Robinson gets a call from an unknown number. She answers cautiously. “Hello?”
“Is this the Barbara Robinson who wroteFaces Change?” The caller has a deep voice for a woman. Husky. “It says on the flap that you live in Buckeye City.”
“Yes, this is her,” Barbara says, then, remembering her grammar: “She. How did you get my number?”
The woman laughs—a deep, rich sound that invites Barbara to join in. Barbara doesn’t, she’s been through enough with Holly not to trust unknown callers, but a smile touches her lips. “Spokeo,” her caller says. “It’s a website—”
“I know what Spokeo is,” Barbara says. She doesn’t, exactly, but knows it’s one of several sites that put names and locations together with phone numbers. For a fee, of course.
“You might think of going unlisted,” the woman says. “Now that you’re famous, and all.”
“People who write poetry aren’t famous and don’t usually need unlisted numbers,” Barbara says. The smile is more pronounced now. “Especially poets with only one published book under their belt.”
“I enjoyed it very much, especially that title poem, about faces changing. When you been in the bi’ness as long as I have—”
“What business? Who are you?” Thinking:It can’t be, it just can’t.
The woman with the rich, husky voice pushes on as if the question merits no answer… and if Barbara is right, it probably doesn’t. “You get to know people who arethree-faced, let alone two. I wonder if I could get you to sign my copy. I know it’s pretty ballsy of me to ask, comin out of the blue like this, but since I’m in your town, I thought why not try? My mama always told me if you don’t ask, you don’t get.”
Barbara sits down. It’s either that or fall down. It’s crazy, but who else would call with such a bold request? Who but someone who’s used to having all sorts of whims catered to?
“Ma’am, are you… this is crazy, but are you Sista Bessie?”
That rich laugh again. “I am when I’m singin, but otherwise I’m plain old Betty Brady. I flew in last night. Band is with me, at least some of em. The rest comin.”
“And the Dixie Crystals?” Barbara asks. She knows from Sista’s website that the famous girl group from the 70s has also come out of retirement to sing backup and harmony on the tour. This is Barbara’s first encounter with fame, it came out of nowhere, and she’s finding it hard to catch her breath.
“The girls are s’posed to be in today. I’m stayin at the Garden City Plaza Hotel downtown, and tonight we’re goin to start our rehearsals at this old empty place out by the airport. Used to be a Sam’s Club, Tones says. Tones is my tour manager. You could come to the hotel, or if you wanted to drive on out and watch a scraggy-ass first rehearsal, you could do that. What do you think?”
Silence from Barbara’s end.
“Ms. Robinson? Barbara? Are you there?”
Barbara finds her voice, although it’s more of a squeak. “That would be… so good.” Then adds, “I won tickets to your first show on the radio. K-POP. And backstage passes. I’m a fan.”