I walked onto the front porch and rang the doorbell. After visiting Billy Jack the day before, I half expected to hear a pack of yipping dogs, but was met with blissful silence instead. After ten seconds, I rang the bell again, getting antsy.
A guy in his twenties opened the door, wearing a stained T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. He had a serious case of bed head, his dark blond hair going every which direction. “What the hell do you want?”
I took a step back. “I’m looking for Tabitha.”
He yawned and lost some of his irritation. “I thought you was one of them Baptists trying to save me again. I keep tellin’ ’em that the best way they can save me is to bring a cold six-pack, but they don’t seem to get the hint.”
I almost laughed, but he was dead serious. “Those Baptists never are any fun.”
He leaned into the door frame, scratching his crotch. “You got that right.”
I tried to look away. “About Tabitha . . .”
“Oh yeah.” His hand left his nether-region, and he started scratching his cheek. “She’s down at the community center.”
“Oh.” I tried not to cringe as I thought about where his hand had just been. “And where is that?”
“Head down to Orchard, take a right, and it’s a quarter of a mile down.”
“Thanks.”
I turned to leave, and he called after me. “If you don’t know where the community center is, how do you know Tabitha?”
“Uh . . . I’m friends with Dolly Parton.”
“The singer?” he asked, his eyes flying open. “No shit?”
I could have corrected him, but decided not to bother. “You have a good day.”
I hopped in the truck and started to back up, shaking my head at the sight of Neely Kate still crouched down in the passenger seat.
“Well?” she asked, lifting her head to look over the dashboard. Tabitha’s gentleman friend had already shut the front door.
“She wasn’t there.”
“Who were you talkin’ to? I heard you talkin’.”
“I was talking to the half-naked guy who answered her front door, but he didn’t know a thing about Dolly. I thought you said she and Tabitha are best friends? How is it that he doesn’t know about his girlfriend’s best friend?”
Neely Kate’s face scrunched in disgust. “Everybody knows that Tabitha sleeps around.”
Apparently not everybody. “She’s at the community center. He seemed surprised that I didn’t know where it was. Why’s that?”
“Everyone around here knows it as the commune. It’s the place to buy drugs and moonshine.”
“And it got busted? Should we be going there then?”
“Why not? It got busted last week. It should be fine now.”
She had a point.
There were several cars in the parking lot of a building that looked like a converted church. I pulled into a spot and turned to Neely Kate. “Are you really gonna hide in the seat again?” I asked in disbelief when I saw that she was hunched down again.
“Yes. I am.”
Sighing, I climbed out of the truck, leaving the engine running. Before I shut the door, I looked down at her. “What’s she look like?”
“Look for long dark hair, big brown eyes. Tight clothes. That’ll be her.”
“Okay . . .”
I couldn’t imagine what Tabitha might be doing at the community center, but I discovered as soon as I walked through the door. A group of older women were in the middle of a large room that looked a lot like a school cafeteria. There was a stage at one end, and round tables were shoved against the two side walls. Racks of folding chairs were stored opposite the stage. Middle Eastern music blared, and the gray-haired women were wearing scarves with bells hanging off them, gyrating their hips to the tempo. A beautiful young woman stood in front of them, wearing a crop top and booty shorts, shaking her hips in circles.
“Come on, Maybelline,” the young woman said, looking over her shoulder. “Shake them hips so Harvey’ll want to grab ’em and get busy.”
Most of the women giggled, but a few looked horrified.
The song ended, and the young woman turned around. “Great lesson, ladies! See y’all next week!”
The instructor walked over to a duffel bag on top of one of the round tables and looked me up and down. “Were you here for the belly dance lesson? Because you’re about fifty years too young.”
“No, actually . . . I’m looking for Tabitha. Is that you?”
She stood up, looking wary. “Maybe, maybe not.”
Maybe she didn’t want to admit she was Tabitha, but every other female in the room looked close to retirement age.
When I didn’t say anything, a panicked look filled her eyes. “I meant to show up for that twelve-step meeting last week, but look—” she swung an arm toward the women who were in the process of removing their scarves, “I’m here teaching these geriatrics just like I promised my probation officer.”
I shook my head. “No. It’s nothing like that. I need to ask you about Dolly Parton.”
Her eyes widened. “What about her?”
“Do you know where she is?”