Excerpt | AZURE Death in the Texas Hill Country

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Christmas Eve

 

“I’m in the basement,” Hazel Lampton said.

She pursed her lips and interlaced her fingers as she stood gazing straight ahead.

“Yes, ma’am.” Linc Vittore pressed the elevator button to the underground parking garage for Hazel, then the LOBBY key for himself.

Both lit up.

“Thank you, darlin’,” she said without looking at him.

“My pleasure.”

Linc took his place beside Hazel. Together they waited for the chrome doors to close and the numbers on the lift’s display to begin counting down floors in a predictable sequence.

With a whir and a ding, the car moved and so did the numbers.

Linc flinched a little when his gaze caught his own reflection in the mirrored doors. He was a mess. A five o’clock shadow darkened his pale skin and the circles beneath his blue eyes made him look as tired as he felt. The day had been tedious and he had spent far more time at the office than he had hoped, or could have imagined.

He ran a hand through his hair to try and tame it.

Hazel regarded him. “You can stop primping now.” She fidgeted with the collar of her fur coat, then the pearls around her neck. “You’re as handsome as ever.”

He smiled at her reflection and she grinned back.

Hazel reminded Linc so much of his grandmother. Wearing heels, the top of his Nonna’s head did not come close to reaching his shoulder still she wielded a commanding, almost intimidating, quiet presence and possessed the kind of wisdom that can only come with age. Hazel too was dainty, perfectly aged and mighty, even as she stood in an office building elevator, after hours, wearing a full-length coat so fluffy and white that she looked like she had been swallowed by a baby polar bear.

“And you,” he said, “are more than prepared for the weather.”

She petted the sleeve of her fur coat. “I love this old thing. There’s just not a lot of opportunities to wear it in Dallas.”

He suppressed a wide smile and nodded. “My kids are excited about the snow.”

“Oh! I bet they are, Linc,” Hazel said. “The news is calling this storm a Christmas miracle.”

“A miracle it’s not a tornado,” Linc said. “Or sleet and hail.”

She laughed. “Oh, Lincoln, when did you become such a cynic?”

The rhetorical question posed, Hazel then began exploring the Arctic that was her coat. Linc assumed she was searching for her purse and possibly her keys.

“Mark my words, Hazel, the name a ‘Christmas miracle’ will stick around much longer than the snow.”

“You’re probably right.”

The elevator felt as though it had landed on a cloud. A tintinnabular chime sounded and the doors slowly opened to the grand, unusually dark and empty lobby of the MacTavish Markets home office.

Beyond the lobby’s wall of windows, Linc could see his car. His was the only one in the snow-dusted, security-lit parking lot. A lone set of tire tracks showed the way to the street. “How about I walk you to your car?” Linc said.

“No need, honey. You get on home to your sweet wife and those cute, little boys.” Hazel made a move to hold the door open.

“No, I insist.” Linc pressed the button to close the door. It lit up. “Jill has already warned me I have several, thousand-pieced presents to assemble tonight. So, I’m in no hurry.”

Hazel chuckled and took hold of Linc’s arm. “Thank you. You’re a good man, Linc Vittore. An empty parking garage can be a little spooky for a mature woman such as myself.”

The doors hummed closed once again just as the final notes of an unremarkable Christmas carol ended with a sleigh bell. Linc wondered if muzak always burbled from hidden speakers on this elevator. The first notes of an instrumental and jazzy rendition of Santa Claus is Coming to Town began.

The day had been full of annoying discoveries. His briefcase suddenly felt very heavy in his hand, like gravity was particularly strong in this one spot.

Hazel patted his arm. “You did a fine job today, Linc.”

“Thanks, Hazel. And thank you for saving me.”

“Please. All I did was run the fax machine.”

“We both know that’s not true. I’d still be up there trying to finish if you hadn’t agreed to come help me.”

“Happy to do it,” she said and sighed. “I can’t decide if this whole thing has me more flabbergasted or appalled.”

“I was flabbergasted at first, now I’m steadfastly appalled.”

“As you should be.” Hazel blinked up at Linc and patted his arm again. Wisps of white fur floated between them. “You know what, Linc? Let’s agree to put all this behind us for now so we can enjoy the holidays. Okay? It’ll keep.”

 

Minutes later, Linc gripped the wheel of his fully restored 1968 Shelby Mustang and downshifted. The engine revved, and the car lurched but did not slow. Linc stomped the useless brake pedal again and again. The defroster and windshield wipers struggled to clear rough bits of ice and fallen snow.

The car was barreling too fast into holiday traffic and there was nothing Linc Vittore could do to stop it.



MacTavish Markets Spring Retreat, Day One

One

“I don’t care what planet you’re on,” the Dairy Queen cashier explained. “A large iced tea is gonna weigh more than a Dilly Bar.”

Maeve Clarke smiled. Cautiously. “I can honestly say that never occurred to me.”

“It’s true. It has to do with the size of the planets and gravitational pull. Say you’re standing on Jupiter.” The cashier’s excitement was clearly visible. She pushed her thick glasses to the bridge of her nose with an index finger.

Maeve waited. So did the cashier.

“Okay,” Maeve said.

“You’re gonna weigh more than twice what you do on Earth. Twice!” To emphasize her point, she nodded which made small enameled planets swing in chaotic orbits below her earlobes.

“Then that does it.” Maeve picked up the dinky, red tray that held her ice-cream-on-a-stick and her co-worker’s sweet tea. “I won’t be going to Jupiter.”

Maeve wondered for what seemed the millionth time in her life why she attracted people who baffled her, confided in her about strange, outlandish things and generally made her think her true destiny might be to replace Jerry Springer on his talk show.

“Uh. Thank you…” Maeve looked for a nametag but found only the restaurant’s embroidered logo. “Okay. Thank you.”

The cashier nodded once more then dismissed Maeve by wiping the counter with a striped towel.

“Excellent,” Maeve said.

Tray in hand, Maeve turned to negotiate her way to her table. Brilliant sunshine spilled in long, warped columns before her, across the Dairy Queen’s linoleum floor and tabletops. Each booth held a dollar-store vase with a little bouquet of spring flowers. The angled facets of the glass vases refracted the sunlight into delicate spectrums and scattered them around the room.

A dozen booths were bolted to the floor of the restaurant but only a few of them were taken.

Three leather-skinned locals in baseball caps from the likes of Central Texas Farm and Ranch Supply, Bass Pro Shop and Dub’s Wrecker Service occupied the centermost table. Guffaws, “I-tell-you-what’s” and loud sips of coffee punctuated tales that Maeve guessed were told daily.

Several teenaged Dairy Queen employees, on break and in matching red shirts, lounged in the booth nearest the restrooms. Each appeared more bored than the other.

Across the room, Maeve’s co-worker Hazel Lampton sat by herself in a booth. The sight of Hazel always brought Jacqueline Kennedy (as first lady, not Jackie O) to mind for Maeve, with her disciplined reserve, her ramrod posture, her vintage sense of fashion and her perfectly coiffed, 1960s flipped-up, dyed dark hairdo. Just as Mrs. Kennedy would look, had she been hit with a shrink ray and aged fifty years.

Maeve’s sandals squeaked with every step as she crossed the freshly mopped floor and, since no one at all cared about it, she tried to time her steps so the squeaks complimented the George Strait song that was playing on the radio somewhere in the room.

Hazel remained distracted, checking her reflection in a mirror-covered lipstick case. A new coat of crimson had been applied and she held her mouth in an oval to better tidy the outline of her lips with a fingernail painted the exact same shade of red. She approved her pucker, snapped the lipstick back into its case and dropped the shiny cylinder into her handbag just as Maeve jostled the plastic tray onto the Formica tabletop.

“Maeve, have you noticed all the cars that have piled up in the parking lot since we arrived?” Hazel asked.

“No.” Maeve peered out the bank of windows. “That’s strange. No one else has come in. Maybe they’re driving through for Happy Hour.”

“Tuesday? Happy Hour? At the Johnson City Dairy Queen?” Hazel raised a penciled-in eyebrow. “I doubt it.”

“A sign out front said ‘Happy Hour, weekdays three to five’.” Maeve placed the iced tea in front of Hazel, picked up her Dilly Bar by its wooden stick and slid onto the red bench across from Hazel. “It’s probably an after school promotion.”

“Did you get my tea for half price?”

“No, ma’am. The cashier was a little distracted.”

“That’s just a nice way of saying incompetent. Remind me, on the way out, to speak to the manager about a refund.”

“Perfect.” Maeve eased her Dilly Bar from its paper package. She studied the ice cream treat from all angles then took a delicate, teeth only nibble. The hard chocolate shell made a delicious breaking sound, right before it cracked down both sides and fell with a plop to the table. White, gooey ice cream dripped down the stick and onto her hand. “Perfect.”

“I hate it when that happens.” Hazel smiled. “That’s why I’m sticking with tea.” She ran a long, red fingernail under the lip of her iced tea lid but the seal would not break. Her grip on the Styrofoam cup tightened as she struggled to remove the lid. Just as it appeared the cup would give and the lid would blow an iced tea volcano, Hazel let go.

“You seem a bit jittery,” Maeve said.

Hazel unwrapped a straw, jammed it through the crisscross in the lid and sat back. “Am not.”

“It’s been a long day. We’ve stopped by at least five Dairy Queens, haven’t we?”

Hazel nodded.

“And you’ve gotten a sweet tea at each one, haven’t you?” Maeve said. “Maybe it’s all the caffeine that’s got you wound up.”

“Probably. Guess I shouldn’t get a drink every time we stop to go the restroom.” Hazel affected a Texas drawl, “Just seems rude not to buy anythang.”

Maeve laughed.

 

Fuzzy pieces of paper napkin stuck to Maeve’s hand when she tried to wipe away the ice cream drips. She considered licking the sticky places clean but decided against it since she was sitting across the table from the assistant to her boss’ boss.

Maeve dropped the embossed, crumpled napkin on the tray before hoisting her purse into her lap.

“That’s a mighty big handbag,” Hazel said.

“Yes ma’am, it is.” Maeve began digging through her purse. She pushed aside her brown leather-bound sketchbook, scored a stray piece of sugarless gum and withdrew a Christmas-themed snowglobe and set it on the table, before her hand found the distressed Texas road map she was seeking. She extracted the map with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

“I must say I’m a little disappointed, Maeve. The way you were digging around in there, I was sure you were going to pull out something more impressive. Like a rabbit.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Although, I must say I’ve never seen a woman with a snowglobe in her purse.”

“It was a gift from my Secret Santa.”

Hazel nodded.

Maeve carefully unfurled the tattered map and spread it gently across the table. Maeve, being an artist, had a fondness for paper and could not help treating her wadded up map as if it were of archival quality. Hours earlier, a mere twenty seconds had forever transformed her brand-new road map into the crumpled-up mess, with a rip down the middle, that lay on the table before her. She had been pumping gasoline into the company van, dollars on the gas pump zipping by like dollars on a gas pump. Painstakingly, Maeve had unfolded the crisp, printed map for the first time. A breeze had stirred her hair. A heartbeat later, the same breeze attacked her pristine map and sent it flying into a nearby and very thorny mesquite bush.

Retrieving it had proven more difficult.

“Why aren’t you using the map on your phone?” Hazel asked.

“I’m a tactile person, Hazel. What can I say?” Maeve traced the day’s journey along the map with her finger. Maeve, Hazel and Tiffany Albright, the other passenger on their road trip, had departed from the corporate offices of MacTavish Markets in Dallas at eight o’clock sharp. Their path had meandered across two hundred twenty-five miles of Texas so far, with forty miles or so to go before reaching their destination, a corporate retreat to be held on a dude ranch outside of Fredericksburg.

Maeve had expected the drive, including stops for gas and food, to take about five hours. Breaks at every Dairy Queen along the way, however, had delayed their arrival by at least three.

While still in the thick of early morning Dallas traffic, Hazel had asked to drive through their first DQ. “Trips always turn out so much better if I start with a sweet tea from Dairy Queen,” she had said.

“We certainly don’t want to jinx ourselves,” Maeve had replied.

Tiffany looked up from her cell phone when Maeve wrangled the company van into a south Dallas Dairy Queen. “We can’t be there already,” she had shouted from the back seat.

“Just stopping for a drink. Want anything?”

That initial stop cascaded into a pattern of restroom breaks and iced tea refills. Hazel would spot a billboard on the outskirts of town, whichever town it happened to be, and would ask, “Do you mind if we stop off? It’ll just take a minute.”

Once the restaurant was found, the company van would bump to a rattling halt. Hazel would jump out, scurry through the Dairy Queen parking lot, struggle to pull open the plate glass door and hurry to reach the ladies room. Moments later, she would return at a much more leisurely pace, sipping sweet tea through a lipstick smudged straw, her purse swinging from her bony arm.

Tiffany grew more agitated with each stop. Her snide comments to Hazel about the delays were no longer spoken with a smile.

At the fourth DQ, Maeve ate two tacos and sipped on a vanilla Dr Pepper. Tiffany waited in the van on the premise of “seeing to corporate retreat business”.

Maeve suspected she had stayed to avoid Hazel.

Hazel drank tea and told Maeve stories about the MacTavish family, both personal and professional, while Maeve ate her tacos. Hazel was an institution at MacTavish Markets. She reported directly to the company’s President and Chief Executive Officer, Albert Duncan MacTavish III, and had for an eternity. Maeve learned a great deal by listening. Over her own crunching.

“I was nineteen when Al MacTavish hired me. Straight out of secretarial school,” Hazel said. “I had the technical skills for the job but was in no way worldly, if you know what I mean.”

Maeve refused to think about what Hazel meant by “worldly”.

And she had no idea how old Hazel was currently, so trying to do the math to see how long she had worked at MacTavish Markets seemed useless. Maeve settled for forever.

“Together, Mr. MacTavish and I have taken MacTavish Markets from one store to more than three hundred. That is something I’m really proud of.” Hazel took a long pull of sweet tea through her red straw. “A few years ago, he offered to promote me to a position as Vice President. Which, of course, I declined.”

Companywide, speculation had been great, and long lasting, on why anyone would do such a thing, but Maeve felt she understood after spending the day with Hazel. Over the course of many years, Hazel’s life had intertwined with the MacTavish family. As Vice President, she could have reigned over a division. But as Al MacTavish’s assistant for fifty some odd years, she was privy to, or a part of, every joy and crisis in his life. That intimacy, it seemed, was more important to her than an impressive title.

“Naturally, I accepted the raise and the stock options.”



Two

The decision to stop at the Johnson City Dairy Queen had been unanimous. All three women jumped out of the van as soon as it stopped.

Despite the splendid cloud-brushed skies and the mild temperatures and all the brightly colored wildflowers blooming beside the winding rural roads, the van became the Beast as the women suffered with a heater stuck full on and windows that only rolled down halfway.

Tiffany declared she needed some fresh air and again stayed outside while Maeve and Hazel sat in the air-conditioned restaurant.

“How much further?” Hazel asked.

Studying the map, Maeve said, “Looks like about four inches.”

“Silly girl.” Hazel sipped more tea.

Maeve estimated less than forty miles lay between this Dairy Queen and the dude ranch where the corporate retreat would be held. If she were traveling alone, in her car, she could expect the drive to take no more than forty-five minutes. But her current circumstances were far different. She was not traveling alone. Her two passengers, in fact, were as amicable as oil and water. “With any luck, we’ll be at The Clearing within the next two hours.”

“Very good. I’d really like to be settled by dark.”

Sunset was expected around eight. The dread of driving the Beast five more hours caused Maeve’s insides to flip. “Oh, we’ll be parked and settled in well before dark. Don’t you worry.”

 

Maeve had enjoyed working in the marketing department as an art director for MacTavish Markets for three years, with Linc Vittore as her boss. Her job provided enough interest to occupy her thoughts during the day and rarely spilled into overtime. She advanced the company’s branding efforts by designing printed pieces and advertisements. She crafted illustrations, diagrams and presentation graphics. The department functioned as a family – a fun, creative family encouraged to share talents, accolades and responsibilities.

One time, after another employee called in sick, Maeve volunteered to dress up in the chain’s mascot costume for a store opening because it sounded like fun. She was convincing enough as the Scottie dog to be asked to act as mascot on other occasions. She always declined and then felt guilty, but she simply could not tolerate how the costume’s headpiece smelled like feet.

Otherwise, she was a team player.

The coveted assignment for a MacTavish Markets’ art director was the company’s Annual Report. The report was the most prestigious piece the marketing department produced. Its readers were the Board of Directors and MacTavish Market’s stockholders. Every single art director aspired to earn the assignment, worked hard to receive the honor, and Linc awarded the prize each year at the department’s Holiday Party.

A few months earlier, Maeve had been stunned, and momentarily stupefied, when Linc called her out for the distinction. When her senses returned, she gratefully accepted.

All was good for Maeve Clarke. She was content with life and happy at work, until a telephone call brought the sad news that Linc Vittore had died in a car crash on Christmas Eve. The accident, a result of his brakes failing as he entered traffic on northbound Central Expressway.

Maeve had idolized and adored Linc. Usually in a purely professional way.

She respected his knowledge, depended on his honesty and tried daily to emulate his positive approach to life. Linc had served as Maeve’s mentor. He championed her ideas and treated her as the rising star of his team. She missed his friendship and his guidance, and she longed for the security his presence had provided. She no longer felt capable of her best work, only that her job was, to use a grocery term, perishable.

 

The funeral, held between Christmas and New Year’s, was well attended. Mr. MacTavish gave an emotional eulogy for his friend and colleague as Linc’s widow held their young children and cried.

The marketing department huddled together afterwards to quietly mourn Linc’s loss and to speculate on his replacement.

“Well, whoever it is, they’ll be promoted from within,” someone said. “It’s company policy.”

Names were tossed around and considered.

“Hey Maeve,” someone else said. “I think you should take the job.”

“Yeah right, Elliot. What the department really needs to lead us out of this dark time is someone with limited experience and a tendency toward passive-aggressive behavior.”

 

If there had been an office pool for who would take over Linc Vittore’s responsibilities, no one could have won since Rachel Rios’ name would not have been on the game sheet.

Rachel was a familiar figure in the marketing department. Efficient. Cold to the other women in the office. Linc’s new Administrative Assistant.

Her appointment came as a ridiculous surprise. And it rocked the twenty-first floor. Rachel’s first day as Marketing Director, she arrived wearing an expensive black suit with five-inch heels that did not even put her at eye level with Maeve.

She called a mandatory meeting.

Standing before a giant flip chart, she wielded a red marker like a saber, leaving long red gashes across MacTavish Markets’ marketing and design plans. She eliminated programs. She drew arrows to reassign projects, willy-nilly. And, much to the frustration of the entire staff, when questioned why the basic, proven strategies were being altered, she hoisted a college textbook onto the table and flipped to a dog-eared page.

Half the department quit on the spot.

Maeve decided to stay.

At least for a while.

She felt she owed it to Linc.

Plus, she did not want to see Rachel succeed in bulldozing her and her co-workers.

The obvious disaster unfurling on the marketing department’s floor, appeared to go unnoticed by senior management. Only Brodie MacTavish, Al MacTavish’s eldest son and the company’s Chief Operating Officer, made regular appearances.

After which, he always left with a cheesy smile on his face.

For Maeve, covering the company retreat had been an unexpected and flattering directive from the top office. Al MacTavish instigated the getaway to the Texas Hill Country for his senior staff and select members of the company’s Board of Directors. According to the memo, he wanted “quality time away from Dallas to evaluate the company’s current position and to formulate a plan for future growth and development”.

Different camps were forming within the organization. Changes for the corporation loomed large. Gossip flourished. Resumes were updated. The marketing department’s exodus was labeled the dead canary in the coal mine.

Al MacTavish took charge and called a meeting.

Any excitement Maeve may have been feeling toward the prospect of the retreat was dashed with one four-word phone call.

“In my office. Now,” Rachel hung up before Maeve could say “okay”.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Rachel asked.

“You said you wanted to see me,” Maeve said.

“That is not what I mean. Sit!” Rachel rounded Linc’s old desk and perched, legs crossed, in front of Maeve. Maeve knew Rachel had choreographed this scene so she would have the power position of making Maeve look up at her.

Reluctantly and without breaking eye contact, Maeve sank straight-backed into the chair opposite.

“I want to know, Maeve, how someone. You. Who doesn’t even rate an asterisk on the senior staff flowchart, gets invited to a high level conference. How? Explain it to me.”

“Oh. This is about the retreat.” Maeve relaxed a fraction. “Mr. MacTavish wants full documentation of the meeting. He asked me to photograph, and document the proceedings.”

“Why?”

“It’s my job.”

“It’s only your job, if I say it’s your job.”

“I know you’re new here, Rachel. That you’re still trying to find your way. But let me tell ya, when the man who owns the company asks me to do something, I do it because he trumps you.”

“I resent this!” She slammed her fist against a neat stack of papers. “Undermining of my authority!”

 

When Maeve arrived at work, the Monday morning following her retreat assignment and her confrontation with Rachel Rios, she found her private refuge, her choice, off-the-beaten-path cube, empty of everything. Her computer. Her files. Her books. Every scrap of paper attached to her bulletin boards and every note posted to her shelves. All gone.

A panic washed over her at the discovery – the same panic she felt every time her car had ever been towed.

“Elliot!” she shouted at her friend in the next cubicle.

The sound of a surprised intake of air reached her over the corkboard and glass block divider. “Maeve?”

She walked the ten paces into his office. “My stuff is gone.”

“I know.” Elliot ran a freckled hand across forehead. “We figured you quit and disappeared over the weekend.”

“No.” All the color that had drained from Maeve’s face returned and ratcheted toward crimson. “If you’ll excuse me, Elliot, I believe I need to have a word with Ms. Rios.”

 

Back in the Dairy Queen, Hazel fidgeted with her cup and studied the good ole boys at the coffee drinker’s table.

“You know, Maeve, I could have easily settled down with a man like that. Lord knows there’s plenty of them where I grew up.” She cast a sweet, come-hither smile and fingered the single strand of pearls around her neck.

Maeve looked over to see all three men grinning at Hazel.

One by one, the men were snapped out of their reverie by ringing cell phones. A classic telephone jangle. A Tammy Wynette ringtone. The theme song from Deliverance. Then, one by one the men stood, phone to ear, to look out the Dairy Queen window toward the parking lot. Maeve and Hazel followed their gaze but the drive-thru line blocked their view.

“What do you think that’s all about?” Maeve asked.

“Beats me. I can’t see anything out there but pickup trucks.”

“I’m a little disappointed that every person in this place has a cell phone. I thought it was only in big cities, like Dallas, that everyone was so tied to their phone.”

“Well. They know something’s happening and we don’t.” Hazel scanned the DQ. “Reminds me of the office.”

“Hazel, I will not believe for a second that anything goes on at MacTavish that you don’t know about. You are the source, and I can not be convinced otherwise.”

“You’re sweet.” Hazel’s sharp but cataract-edged brown eyes locked onto Maeve’s clear coppery green.

Peals of laughter rose from the table of locals as they straightened their hats, scuffed chairs against the floor and left the restaurant.

An uncomfortable moment passed as the women studied each other’s face.  

“Well,” Maeve said.

“I’m not sure how to say this so I’m just going to say it. Maeve, I need you to do something for me.”

“Sure. Anything.”

“There have been some issues. Serious issues that have me anxious about this retreat. And the future of the company.” Hazel sighed. “I know you’re thinking of leaving MacTavish, but I’m asking you to stay.”

Maeve fumbled with the map and tried to steady her breathing. “Linc’s death changed everything about my job, Hazel.”

“I know, honey. You were just as fond of Linc as the rest of us. But you’ll see. Rachel. Well, let’s give her a little time. I think she’ll show us what she’s made of soon enough.”

The mention of Rachel Rios’s name caused an involuntary shudder in Maeve. One ringlet of her chestnut hair dropped into her face. The act of pushing it back behind her ear gave Maeve a moment to think of a response that would not sound bitter or insulting.

“Rachel’s experience as Linc’s administrative assistant hasn’t really prepared her to run the entire marketing department.”

“Administrative assistants are usually more in the loop than anyone else,” Hazel said. “Personally, I don’t like her, but Mr. MacTavish claims Brodie has great confidence in her.”

“Brodie may be the only one with less practical knowledge than Rachel. At least she knows where Linc kept all his files and who to call when things break around the office.” Maeve spit her gum in a napkin and dropped it on the tray. “The woman brought a Marketing for Dummies book to a meeting.”



Three

“We’d better get going,” Hazel said.

Maeve made a quick attempt to refold the map and stuffed it into her bag without ceremony. She stood and draped her purse over her shoulder.

Hazel dabbed the lined corners of her mouth without disturbing her red lipstick. Her starched white shirt and navy blue pedal pushers appeared amazingly unwrinkled.

“How is it that we have been riding in the same steam room of a vehicle all day and you’re still as fresh as a daisy?” Maeve asked.

“Sweet tea.” Hazel smiled a dazzling smile that lit her entire face and revealed shades of a former heartbreaker.

“Of course.”

Once standing, Hazel was so much shorter than Maeve, that Maeve fought back the urge to slouch.

“Hazel, I’ve been wondering. Not that I’m not thrilled to have you along. But really, how did you get stuck riding in the van with Tiffany and me? I’m certain you had better offers.”

“I don’t drive outside of Dallas.” Hazel slipped on large, white-framed sunglasses then expertly adjusted her unnaturally dark hair. “The original plan was for me to ride with Mr. MacTavish. But when Duncan decided to come, the two of them thought they’d drive down together.” She collected her purse and sweet tea. “They have so much to discuss.”

“I’m sure they do,” Maeve said.

“Speaking of Tiffany, I wonder what the diva has been up to,” Hazel said, sounding both disinterested and irritated.

Maeve kept her mouth shut and tried to smile.

All day long Hazel and Tiffany had taken runs at making Maeve choose sides between them. Interested only in a peaceful road trip, Maeve remained neutral. Like Switzerland. The disagreements started on the sidewalk outside MacTavish Markets’ office when Hazel and Tiffany debated who would ride in the front seat. Their discussion quickly turned ugly but Hazel had won out because Tiffany could not come up with any excuse to rival Hazel’s threat of carsickness. “Nope,” Maeve mumbled. “Not going there.”

It took several blinks for Maeve’s eyes to adjust to the bright sunshine outside the Dairy Queen.

More vehicles crowded the small parking lot.

“What’s with all these cars?” Hazel asked. Most of the spots close to the door were empty but the drive-thru lane sat bumper to bumper around the building. “Happy hour can not be this popular.”

Hazel led the way across the sidewalk. Her purse dangled off her thin arm by a thin strap. Her other hand gripped her iced tea.

Maeve followed her off the curb.

They squeezed between a Ford and a Chevy. A dozen or so cars blocked their path to the Beast. Interestingly enough, all the drivers and passengers were looking away from them and the building, toward the van.

“Do you think all these good people have come out to admire our ride?” Maeve asked.

“It is an attention grabber,” Hazel said.

Linc had intended the company vans to be moving billboards. Covered completely with the MacTavish family tartan, the vans were designed to be noticed. Maeve was silently pleased by how striking a backdrop the red, blue and black plaid made for the company’s Scottie dog logo. Her idea to play up the Scottish aspect of the company name was what had prompted Linc Vittore to promote her to the position of Art Director a year earlier.

Hazel charged into the halted stream of drive-thru traffic. She scooted between an idling, white plumbing van and a dark green pickup. Maeve stayed close behind, taking a moment to nod and smile at the cute cowboy behind the wheel of the Dodge. He tipped his hat politely but looked away at once, his full attention returning to the MacTavish van.

The van’s not all that interesting, Maeve thought to the cowboy as he continued to ignore her.

Quick reaction time prevented Maeve from plowing Hazel over when the older woman came to an abrupt stop inches in front of her.

Maeve righted herself. “Glad I didn’t knock you face down in the Dairy Queen parking lot.”

Hazel did not reply. The view before them explained the crush of traffic.

No one was admiring the van’s paint job.

All the drivers, passengers and townspeople had gathered to stare at the woman poised next to the van.

Hazel and Maeve stared too.

What?!?

What are they staring at?!?

I hope you enjoyed reading the prologue and first three chapters of AZURE Death in the Texas Hill Country enough to want to continue the book.

If so, please click on any of the graphics above or on this link to miraculously be redirected my Amazon page where you can purchase AZURE as an ebook or a printed copy.

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