Searching for Elvira

   “Branson?”
   Uncle Billy shut the dishwasher and started it. “Is there an echo in here?”
   “You were in Branson, Missouri?” I asked.
   He walked over to the television and flicked it off. “I’m pretty sure that’s what I said.”
   “With Alma Beeler?”
   He grabbed the Free Press off the couch and tossed it on the kitchen table. “I think I said that, too.”
   “How did you happen to go to Branson with Alma Beeler?”
   He grabbed his jacket off the back of a kitchen chair. “She asked me.”
   “When was that?”
   “Remember when she stopped by the bowling alley …”
   “Yeah, the night that Hank just missed rolling a two-seventy.”
   “What a putz. I couldn't believe he missed that strike …”
   “Uncle, how did you and Alma end up going to Branson together?”
   “Well, when we were done bowling, she asked me to have a drink with her …”
   “In the bar at the alley?”
   Billy looked at me. “No, at the Brown Derby.”
   “Okay, so you had a drink with her … what happened?”
   “Nothing … she just told me that she had tickets to see the Oak Ridge Boys in Branson and wanted to know if I’d join her.”
   “You like the Oak Ridge Boys?”
   Billy looked at me again. “Do you think this was about the Oak Ridge Boys?”
   “So, you spent the weekend in Branson with Alma Beeler?”
   “Hey, the tickets were free.”
   I shook my head. “Well, you could’ve said something … nobody knew where you were.”
   “I tried to text you.”
   “You know I don’t text.”
   “I sent you a Tweet, too.”
   I looked at Billy. “Clara called me when you didn’t show up for breakfast on Sunday.”
   “I thought she was up in Saginaw with that four-flushing bookworm.” Billy slipped on his jacket. “Come on, let’s go, I want to get to Manny’s before it closes.”
   “Manny’s never closes.”
   “It might by the time we get there.”