To read the previous editions of Dallas Jean Lee’s tale, go here.

A broad smile plastered across his face, Norman held the door open as Clementine Jane, Dallas Jean’s daughter, scurried inside.  “Clementine Jane!  Thank you so much for coming!”

“This better be important,” Clementine Jane scowled, pulling out her pen and notebook.  She flipped the cover over and turned to a fresh page.  “The police chief is on the verge of discovering some cattle thief, so I may have to run out of here at any minute.”  She glared outside.  “It’d be much easier if I had a car.”

Norman’s smile widened.  He winked at her, perching on his mahongany desk.  “Let me see if I can put a good word in for you with your dad.”

Clementine Jane tossed her hair behind her shoulders,baring her teeth.  “Listen Norman, drop the charm.  I know you don’t like me.  You only asked me here because of my job at the paper.”

“And your vigilance in covering the news,” Norman interrupted, his plastic smile never wavering.  “And with two parents running for mayor in a town this size, you’re at the forefront of a major news hub.”

Clementine Jane raised an eyebrow.  “I suppose you have news from Dad’s side?  Some public relations crap you want me to flip as news?”

“Oh no, no,” Norman drawled, widening his eyes.  “I would never do that to you.  Actually, this is about your mother’s campaign.”

Clementine Jane rolled her eyes.  “What has she done now?”

Norman pressed his lips together.  “Well it’s not what she’s done now….but then.”

“What do you mean–then?” Clementine Jane demanded.

Norman sighed.  He turned his head so his gaze fell out the window.  “I feel terrible bringing this up,” he murmured, his voice tight with strain.  “But as your father’s campaign manager, I must protect my candidate.  And as your family’s friend, I wanted you to be the first to know…”

“What?” Clementine Jane exploded, her pen ripping across her pad.  “What?  What?  Just spit it out!”

“Your mother…”  Norman trailed off.  He lowered his eyes, turned his head away from Clementine Jane.  “There might have been some…indecent actions in her past that Adelaide might try to hide from the press.”

“Indecent actions?”  Clementine Jane’s eyes burned with curiosity.  “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I can’t know for sure,” Norman drawled.  His fingers rolled over the broken pencil, back and forth over his polished desk.  “I just know what I’ve been told…”

“WHAT?” Clementine Jane bellowed, her eyes bulging as she slammed her pad on her knees.  “Norman, quit screwing around and tell me what you’ve been told!”

It was all Norman could do not to cheer.  His cheeks drooping, he shook his head.  “A gentleman told me the other day that your mother…well, she didn’t act on the right side of the law much when she was younger.”

Clementine Jane stared at him.  Then she snorted and leaned back in her chair.  “That’s a crock of crap.  Mom was a sorority girl and debutante–pre Junior League.  The most wild thing she ever did was put jello in the toilets at the boy’s dorm.  Big whoop.”

“I thought that too…” Norman drawled, staring outside the window again.  “But this gentleman was convinced that your mother had helped your grandfather run a underground bookie operation for your grandfather’s infamous poker games.”

Clementine Jane shook her head.  “I know everyone in this town is a Bible beater, but those were just ranch poker games.  There was never money involved–just men sitting around smoking cigars and eating too much of Grandma’s good food.  Grandpa was a rancher and a oil man, just like everyone’s grandfather out here in Texas.”

Norman smiled, rolling the pencil harder across the top of his polished desk.  “Well, you’re the journalist.  I’m sure you know what’s fact versus opinion.”

Clementine Jane’s mouth opened and her teeth flushed.  Slamming her pad shut, she narrowed her eyes.  “Call me when you have some real news,” she snapped.  “Otherwise, I got real leads to follow.”

Norman held the door open as she swept through.  “Goodbye, Clementine Jane.”

She snarled in response, running down the sidewalk towards her bike.  Norman shut the door and grinned.  Laughing, he pumped his fist into the air.

It couldn’t have gone better if he planed it.

***

That night, Clementine Jane padded into the living room, her socked feet sliding against the slick wood floors.  Her mother was nestled into the couch, her eyes glued to the television as she ate a slice of butterscotch pie.

“Mom, how much pie have you had tonight?” Clementine Jane asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Go away,” her mother replied, not tearing her eyes away from the television.

“Aren’t you worried about gaining weight before your election?” Clementine Jane asked.  “You had like two slices at dinner.  In fact, that’s all you ate for dinner.  And then you had all those cinnamon rolls this morning….”

“I need my energy,” Dallas Jean informed her, taking another defiant bite.  “I’ll eat salads later.  Besides, I’ve spent my whole life on a diet, starving and working out.  I deserve to have some fun.  Screw diets.  They’re so boring, anyway.”  She took another bite, whipped cream smeared on her nose.  “Adelaide and I came up with a brilliant plan today.  I’ll tell you if you promise not to print it.”

Clementine Jane shook her head.  “I’ll wait.”  She perched on the edge of the couch and stared at her mother.  Blue eyeshadow smeared across her laugh lines, ostentatious glittering diamond earrings, a ring on nearly every finger and rhinestone encrusted bangle bracelets dangling from her wrist holding the fork.  Her mother was wearing a pink track suit covered with sequins, her silver heels kicked off by the coffee table.

“Mom?” Clementine Jane asked.  “Have you ever done anything illegal?”

“According to you and Grayson, my diet should be illegal,” Dallas Jean joked.  She took another bite of pie, closing her eyes in bliss.  “There’s nothing like butterscotch pie.  Remember that, Clementine Jane.”

“What about gambling?” Clementine Jane pressed.  Her mother stared at the television, not answering.  “Like maybe Grandpa’s poker games….”

Dallas Jean froze.  Setting the plate on the table, she turned toward her daughter.  “What are you asking, Clementine Jane?  And is it for you, or the paper?”

“Both.”  Clementine Jane crossed her arms.  “I’ve got reason to believe you were involved in illegal gambling when you were younger.”

Dallas Jean shook her head.  Her appetite vanished, she set the half eaten pie on the table.

“There are things you don’t understand,” she said quietly.  “And things I swore I’d never speak of.  When you want to talk to me as you, I’m ready any time.  But I will not discuss this in the press.”  She kissed her daughter on the forehead.  “Good night.”  Leaving the half-finished pie on the table, she turned off the television and went upstairs.

Clementine Jane sat in the dark, staring at the half-eaten piece of pie.  She had two choices, and neither were appealing.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow is our National Pie Day celebration!  Then a new week of whimsical fun!  Stay tuned!