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  Just then, a van swung into the parking lot. A group of people clambered out. They pointed in our direction and rushed like a pack of hungry dogs toward us. Out in front, a stooped, old man with a grizzly, white beard and wild blue eyes waved.

  "Roger," he cried, reaching us well ahead of the other passengers. "Heard about your presentation. It's going to be smashing."

  A wide grin crept across Roger's face. He rubbed his hands together as his eyes twinkled with delight. "I'll give it all I got. For the people of the Hill Country, for the people of this town, and for you."

  The old man slapped Roger on the back. "Attaboy!" he said, glancing keenly over his shoulder. The other passengers were almost upon us. "Got to go. Good luck Roger," he said throwing the words over his shoulder as he hurried through the doorway.

  The other passengers swirled around. They slapped Roger on his back and shook his hand, each offering a congratulatory word or encouraging phrase. Then, like a puddle of water evaporating on a hot Texas day, they slipped through the doorway, their excited voices echoing like shouts in an Alpine valley.

  Roger tipped his head back letting out an excited laugh. "Can you feel it, Ollie?"

  "Feel what?" I said somewhat confused.

  Roger shuffled around like a robot, twirling, rocking back and forth, with his own unique, machine-like dance moves. Catching his breath, he sang out, "Can you feel the force!" Then he stopped, took in a gulp of air, and continued. "It's time for the Roger Romantic motivational force to encourage the good folk of the Hill Country."

  He slipped on his sunglasses, tipped the baseball cap further over his forehead, took in a deep breath and said, "Come on, Ollie, let's go inside. I've got work to do."

  Chapter 24

  We passed through the doorway into a dimly lit corridor. Roger with his head held high and shoulders back, looked like an elderly statesman. The sound of excited voices drifted along the corridor, a low rumble of energy like a wave crashing on a beach. I felt a thrill of excitement and turned my head to pinpoint the source of the sound.

  "This way," called Roger striding in the opposite direction of the voices and turning down a narrow corridor. The din of voices dampened to stillness; the air filled with the odor of dust, dampness, and mold. Dangling from the ceiling on a thin wire was a single low-wattage bulb. It threw out less light than a firefly. The weak, yellow rays illuminated a jumble of broken furniture parts.

  "Leads to a kinda backstage area," Roger said, picking his way through the detritus and heading toward a door at the end of the passage.

  He opened the door and hurried into another poorly lit room. A vast tangle of shelves stretched along each wall, creaking under the weight of bottles, cartons, rusty tin cans and lengths of plastic piping. Twig-like cables crisscrossed overhead, and hodgepodge along the floor like the outer layer of a bird's nest.

  On the far side of the room crouched over a cable was the janitor. "Loose connection here," he said, turning his wire-thin face toward us. "But think I got it now. Roger, I put a table out front as you asked."

  He straightened up, pushed a pair of owl-like glasses up along the bridge of his nose and offered his hand. "Don't believe we've met, ma'am."

  "Ollie Stratford," I replied, taking his hand.

  "She's helping me out," added Roger.

  "Good to see someone has help. I'm on my own today, and it's chaos out there. Never seen so many people clamoring and banging to get into a place. I've got a mind to call the sheriff's department and get a few deputies out here."

  "Oh, no need for that." Roger grinned doing a little robotic twirl. "This is Medlin Creek, not Austin. Hill Country folks know how to behave. Sure, wouldn't want the town council to hear about deputies called to the community center, not with all that talk of cost cutting."

  The janitor rubbed his chin. "Anyway, thanks for delaying the start of your presentation. Is there anything I can help you with before I go back into the chaos?"

  "Yes, a microphone, is it out front?"

  "Microphone? Only one microphone in this place, and it's out. Anyway, you won't need it."

  "Not a problem," replied Roger, crinkling his nose. "I guess the acoustics must be good."

  "Suppose so. Bingo nights they just shout, works pretty good for those folks."

  Roger glanced around. "Is the computer out front, I want to load my presentation slides."

  "Computer? Don't have no computer here."

  "Not a problem," replied Roger, rubbing the nape of his neck. "I've brought my laptop and cables. All I need is for you to point me in the direction of the projector and I'm good to go."

  The janitor tilted his head to one side pressing his lips together. "Projector? Don't have no projector, nor screen, for that matter."

  Roger's eyes filled with panic.

  The janitor turned toward the door. "'Tis a community center, not a cinema," he muttered as he left.

  For a moment Roger stared at the closing door with wide eyes, and with a cry fell back three steps. "Oh dear God," he gasped, forcing himself to meet my gaze then quickly looking away like a frightened rabbit. "What am I going to do!"

  I didn't have the foggiest idea. Luckily, my subconscious mind took control of my mouth. "Roger, I read a report the other day that conference attendees have slide fatigue."

  "Slide fatigue," Roger repeated in a thin, trembling voice.

  "It's a wonderful blessing to be free from the shackles of technology," I added.

  "A blessing?"

  "Oh yes!" I stalled for a moment. What to say next? "Now you can focus on your message without the mumbo jumbo of images blasted onto a screen."

  "How?"

  "Improvise."

  "Improvise," he said, his voice growing in confidence. "Yes, I can do that. I'll just go with the flow." He lifted his eyes to the heavens, and straightening his shoulders gushed, "Oh, just wait till the flags begin to wave, and they see me climb on the table and shoot fire from my mouth. It's going to be amazing."

  I gave Roger a supportive hug. "The audience knows you; they are your friends."

  Roger let out a triumphant harrumph. "That's right, that's right, a room packed full of my friends. This is going to be easy."

  "By the way," I added, sensing the return of his confidence, "Millie's reporting for the Medlin Creek Times."

  He pumped a fist in the air. "Yes! I wonder if any other reporters will show up?" he said enthusiastically, then added, "I'm almost ready to go out front now. That door over there leads to the main room." He pointed a finger to a yellow, stained door I hadn't spotted. "Why don't you go ahead, and I'll join you shortly. I need to complete my mental preparations."

  Chapter 25

  I knew something wasn't right when I entered the room. It was smaller than I had expected, much smaller. On closer inspection, I realized it was part of a larger area, but a thin partition screen separated the space. There were no windows, only two doors, the one I entered through, and another at the far end which I suspected led to the main corridor.

  Glancing around the tiny room I let out a worried sigh. The front row was empty, as was the second row, and the third. I was the only person in the room!

  For an instant I thought I was in the wrong place. I tugged at a lock of hair as an overhead fan whirled letting out a high-pitched whine like a hyena mocking its prey. But there at the front was the table Roger planned to clamber onto at the end of his presentation.

  Then I heard it, a low rumble of excited voices: enthusiastic chatter, a child's cry, a woman's laughter, a man's shout. The noise drifted through the thin partition wall, sounding like the anticipatory murmur ahead of a great theatrical show.

  As I was considering the situation, Roger ran like a game show host into the room. "Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen," he bellowed, his arms stretched out wide. "Today is going to be sensational, inspirational, motivational…"

  Roger's wide eyes swiveled around the empty room. He stopped dead in his tracks, his arms falling to his si
de. Then he raised his arms again as if his mind hadn't quite taken in the site before him, then he let them fall hopelessly.

  "Where is everyone?" he cried, his eyes swelling and bugging.

  I wanted to say next door but thought better of that idea and shrugged.

  Roger slumped into a seat. "Probably there'll be a last-minute rush since Hill country folks aren’t known for their exact timekeeping. I suspect the avalanche will arrive at the last moment."

  I didn't want to be a naysayer, but he'd started thirty minutes late, so, I kept my mouth buttoned and nodded. We sat in glum silence for several minutes.

  Dramatically, the door flew open.

  "Here they come!" cried Roger, jumping to his feet.

  In rushed Millie, her eyes cast downward. "Sorry I'm late, sorry I'm late, sorry I'm late," she whispered under her breath. The words reverberated around the empty room seeming to gather volume as they bounced off the walls.

  Millie stopped, tilted her head up, glanced around. Her startled face stared questioningly at Roger.

  Through the partition a voice boomed out.

  "The electronics discount sale is now officially open."

  A deafening roar of eager voices shook the partition wall.

  "A new laptop, that's what I want," a voice hollered above the others. I recognized it at once—the janitor!

  "Want me one of those interactive fitness devices," screamed another.

  "That's mine!" yelled a third.

  "Fantastic deals," squealed yet another.

  Roger let out a low groan of understanding. He rubbed his eyes and slouched down deep into a seat. Millie placed a hand on her hips, opened her mouth to speak, but her cell phone rang before any words came out.

  With some desperation she searched through her handbag, yanked out the phone and peered at the screen. The color drained from her face.

  "It's the owner of the newspaper!" she gasped.

  "You're at the fish fry with the mayor," she said in a halting voice.

  "Did you say you want the Fish Fry story for the front page of the newspaper?" Millie's voice crackled with desperation.

  "No, not at the fish fry yet, traffic you know," she blushed, avoiding our eyes.

  "No traffic you say, road as clear as a whistle." Millie let out a high-pitched laugh. "I'm on my way… Oh, I see… okay… okay." Her shoulders drooped. "Yes, I suppose Johnny can cover the story."

  She hung up and bowed her head covering her face with her hands. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh… I've just lost the chance to write the front-page article for the newspaper."

  She turned, eyes filled with sadness and said, "Johnny Spinner's at the fish fry, and he'll write the article!"

  Millie stood up and marched toward the exit. Her hand reached for the door handle, hesitated, then she twirled around and strode back to the front row, taking a seat next to Roger. Her lips curved into a wry smile. "Well Roger, I've just doubled your audience."

  Chapter 26

  Millie wrapped her arms around Roger, giving him a friendly hug. Roger grinned. "Any moment now, I'm sure others will soon be—"

  "No, no, I don't want to go in there," bellowed a voice from beyond the door.

  "Please don't do this, Uncle Bill. Nurse Hooch will stay with you."

  "Don't call me Uncle Bill. I don't want to go in there."

  "Now, now," said a soothing voice. "Why don't we go inside together."

  The door flew open, and a nurse in a dark blue uniform carrying a wicker basket wheeled in a thin, weedy, old man. He was wearing dark pajamas and slouched low in the wheelchair scowling ferociously. At his side was a woman about five-five in heels, dressed in a dark business suit and two small earrings dangling from each earlobe.

  I recognized her instantly, the woman I'd seen in Moozoos.

  Millie nudged me. "That's Nancy Fisher. Owner of Bee Mound Drilling."

  Nancy lowered her voice. "Nurse Hooch, Uncle Bill will do wonderfully in here. It is such a blessing to have this community center. I'm sure he will enjoy the presentation." She slipped a hand into her handbag, pulled out a purse and handed the nurse a one-hundred-dollar bill.

  "Thank you. I love working with Bill," replied the nurse, making a little curtsy.

  Nancy placed an arm around the nurse's shoulder. "Nurse Hooch, I really appreciate all you have done for Uncle Bill. I'll be back later to give y'all a ride home." Nancy turned and left.

  Nurse Hooch wheeled Uncle Bill to the front of the room and put down the wicker basket. The old man's wild, roving eyes settled on Roger and pointing a bony finger he muttered, "Gar gar gar gar."

  Nurse Hooch stepped forward handing out her business card. "Don't mind Bill, he'll be in his right mind in a moment." She let out an uneasy laugh. "Is this the right place for the Havis County Senior Citizens Association presentation?"

  Roger involuntarily grabbed my arm. "Yes," he said, "it's about to begin."

  Nurse Hooch rubbed her eyes and yawned. "Wonderful. I hope you don't mind if I put his wheelchair here at the front. Bill can be a bit rambunctious, but I'm sure he'll settle down."

  "Don't want to be here," yelled Uncle Bill. "Want to go to the discount electronics show."

  "Now, now, it is simply too busy for you in there. So peaceful in here, much better for you, and…" She turned to Roger. "That nice man is going to make a presentation about success."

  Nurse Hooch lowered her voice, "His mind wanders; it'll take a moment to settle him down, then I'll pop next door, take a peep at the electronic deals."

  "Gar gar gar gar," Uncle Bill spluttered as if confirming the nurse's assertion.

  Roger released his grip and sunk deeper into his seat covering his face with his hands.

  "Gar gar gar gar," continued Uncle Bill.

  I placed an encouraging hand on Roger's arm. "Come on. It's showtime!"

  Roger dragged himself to his feet, slouched to the front of the room and with slumped shoulders began. "Today is going to be sensational, inspirational, motivational…"

  Nurse Hooch yawned again, then reached down into the wicker basket.

  "Lunchtime," she whispered to Uncle Bill.

  "Lunchtime, gar gar gar gar," he yelled, clapping his hands.

  "In today's presentation," droned Roger, "I'm going to share with you the ten hidden secrets to wealth, success, and happiness…"

  Nurse Hooch pulled out chicken and cheese sandwiches, homemade chocolate pudding, and several bottles of Noble King ale. My stomach rumbled as I watched them dig in. The old man's lips smacked together like the hands of a gospel choir.

  When they finished working their second bottles, Uncle Bill's head nodded, he let out a strangled belch and drifted off into a noisy dream.

  "…and that is a key secret to ultimate lifelong success," continued Roger.

  Nurse Hooch got unsteadily to her feet and headed for the exit. "He'll sleep for a bit; be back soon," she said, throwing the words over her shoulder as she left.

  As the door swung shut, Uncle Bill let out a thunderous snort.

  Roger stopped speaking.

  "Keep going," yelled Millie. "Look on today as practice."

  Roger appeared doubtful but continued.

  "… And now the moment you have all been waiting for…"

  Chapter 27

  Roger, nearing the close of his presentation, clambered on top of the table, spread his arms wide, and prepared for the crescendo—flames shooting from his mouth.

  Just then, from beyond the door a voice screamed, "we'll settle this once and for all. Come on, into that room."

  The door flew open, and three people tumbled into the room. I recognized two: Igor Langer with his wife-to-be—Kitty Marley. They were with another man who looked like an aging hippie. This individual was stick thin with a greying ponytail, and he wore a shirt the color of which was best described as a mold yellow. I wondered whether it was the original color, or if it had seeped out from under his armpits over decades of life in some "peace and lo
ve" commune.

  "Now listen here, Dick," screeched Igor. "Don't think you can waltz in here and destroy her future. California is behind her. Kitty will be my wife before the year is out."

  Their argument was so intense they didn't notice us sitting at the front of the room or Roger on top the table. A single puff of smoke drifted from Roger's lips as he climbed down. His presentation was over.

  The hippie leaned into Igor's face with his owl-shaped head, beak-shaped nose and a tuft of gray beard fashioned into a goatee. "Kitty will always have part of my heart. If she wants to date while I'm in town, that's her business."

  Dick turned to Kitty. "Remember how you used to love sitting on the beach drawing pictures in the sand?" he asked. His thin lips twisted into a smile revealing pearly white teeth. "Kitty, I used to stand up and watch you create majestic art. You were always at your most beautiful drawing sand pictures on the beach."

  "Oh yes, Dick, I remember," replied Kitty in a hushed voice.

  Dick placed an arm around Kitty's waist. "Kitty, I'm very sorry for ditching you. It was a mistake. I was…angry," he told Kitty, his voice as soft as lamb's wool. "I love you, and I know you love me."

  At this, Igor lunged forward striking Dick clean on the chin. Dick staggered backward and dropped like a stone to the floor. Igor yanked Kitty by the arm. "Come on, let's go," he yelled pulling her out of the room. Igor's angry footsteps echoed along the hallway like a driving rain on a rusty tin roof.

  Dick sat up rubbing his jaw and looked around. "Whoa! Didn't realize there were people in here." He got to his feet. Again, he rubbed his chin, then marched to the front of the room.

  "The name's Dick Doxson, visiting the Hill Country for a few days." He stuck out his hand.

  Millie grabbed it. "Millie Watkins, the local reporter for the Medlin Creek Times," she grinned. "If there is anything you need while in town, I'm sure we can help you out."