Dotty Dornan was at a crossroads in 1963, and things were spinning out of her control.

Dotty got her son Hank back to college at Abilene Christian and then drove her ’62 Electra back home, parked it under the carport, and focused solely on only two things:  her newest romance novel, Murder on the Side, and the relationship with Flint LaCrosse, her married lover she’d met at the Buick dealership a year earlier. She began having a hard time keeping the fiction and the fantasy apart, the tawdry affair with Flint eventually winding its way into the plot lines of her new book.

By October she was spending hours on end typing on the pink Smith-Corona at the kitchen table, windows open, the smell of burning leaves from the neighbors’ yards wafting in and mingling with the endless cups of coffee that fueled her writing.  Only the occasional trips to the library to research different aspects of true crime, or stopping by the police station to ask Chief Martin technical questions gave her reason to leave the house.

She knew that Flint lived in Lubbock, on Century Street.  One morning, when she knew he would be in New Mexico visiting the dealerships in his territory as the Parts & Service Regional Representative of the Buick Division, she drove to Lubbock two see what she could find out about Flint LaCrosse and his life in Lubbock.  She found his house on Century Street, parked down the block, and waited.  Eventually, she saw his wife come out of the house.  Having done her research, Dotty knew his wife’s name was Invicta, that they’d been married 19 years, and had no children. Dotty watched as Flint’s wife walked to the ’61 Buick Electra coupe in the driveway.  

Invicta was an attractive woman, nothing like Flint had described her.  As she got into the coupe, Dotty took pride in the fact that she had a nicer, newer model and noted that the brown 1961 coupe looked dated and dowdy.  She wished Invicta had, as well.  Dotty followed her from a distance as she went about her stops, shopping around Lubbock, dropping off the dry cleaning.  Dotty recognized the suits Invicta dropped at the cleaners as the same ones she couldn’t wait to rip off of Flint when he’d walk through the side door into her kitchen.  Invicta actually seemed to be much nicer than Flint had described.  That would make it more difficult to eliminate her so she could have Flint to herself, yet, that is what she was planning.

A week later, Dotty was back in Lubbock, on a rendezvous with fate.  She checked into the Verano Motel on Friday evening, about two miles from the LaCrosse home on Century Street.  She knew Flint would be back home around noon on Saturday.  At 11:30 she parked her Electra convertible around the corner on Lucerne Boulevard and walked to the front door of Flint and Invicta’s home and lightly knocked on the front door.  She would be sitting on the couch when Flint got home. Her hope was that being confronted with the sight of her on the couch with his wife, Flint would come clean, admit to their affair, demand a divorce and take the steps that would allow them to be together forever.

When Invicta answered the door, she had a pleasant smile on her face.

“I’m a friend of Flint’s,” Dotty said warmly.  “Might I step in?”  Invicta looked puzzled, but graciously opened the door all the way so Dotty could walk through.

“Please, have a seat,” Invicta replied.  “Can I make you some coffee?”

“That would be so kind,” Dotty replied.  “You have a lovely home.  Flint never mentioned you had such a flair for decorating.”  Invicta smiled and headed to the kitchen to start the percolator.  Moments later, Invicta returned with a tray holding an urn of coffee, sugar, cream, and two cups and saucers.  Just as she was about to ask Dotty how she and Flint knew each other, Dotty looked out the picture window and saw Flint’s new gray-green 1964 Riviera turn the corner off Park Avenue and into the enclave of comfortable mid-century modern homes on Century Street.

The look on his face when Flint walked through the door and into the living room and saw Dotty on the couch next to his wife was nearly priceless.  His face turned as ashen gray as the interior of his Riviera.  “I can explain,” Flint said.  It was obvious he was starting to panic.  A super thick bead of sweat immediately formed on his forehead.  “She means absolutely nothing to me.  You know that.  I would envision you the entire time I was in her bed!”

He was looking at Invicta the whole time he was talking, not even acknowledging Dotty was in the room.  Dotty couldn’t believe the words she was hearing.  It was unfathomable he would trivialize her this way after he had made the promises he had all summer on the terrazzo beside her pool.

“So she is no different than all the others you’ve had?”  Invicta asked, the sarcasm sticking to her lips like thick honey.

“Others?” Dotty asked.

“I’m so sorry dear,” Invicta told her.  “Flint can be beguiling, no doubt.  You are not the first small town girl to fall under his spell.  Don’t tell me. . . . he met you at a dealership, wined you, dined you, made you promises, and made you a permanent stop on his trips through whatever town you live in?”

“Fort Stockton,” Dotty muttered.  “I live in Fort Stockton.”

“I’m sure you do,” Invicta said.  “I’m sorry you had to be put through this.  But understand Flint has had flings in dozens of small towns from El Paso to Albuquerque, from Flagstaff to Tucson.  Granted, you are the first that has ever tracked him down to his home, our home, in Lubbock.  I do admire your determination.”

It’s like Invicta had lifted a curtain and enabled Dotty to see clearly for the first time since Flint LaCrosse had swept her away to the Silver Slipper Supper Club a year earlier.  She’d been used.  Nothing more than a cheap fling by a middle management rogue traveling town to town, power-gliding into the hearts of small town girls and leaving a dyna-flow of tears.  She reached into her pocket book and wrapped her hand around the grip of the chrome snub-nosed Smith & Wesson revolver.

As she withdrew the weapon, Invicta didn’t flinch.  Years of unfaithfulness and abuse had made her tougher than a nailhead V8.  Flint, however, had the look of panic in his eye.  “Don’t do it Dotty!” he said.  “You know you don’t regret anything you did with me!”

“You’ve been a Gran Sport, Flint,” Dotty said.  “But there will NOT be an encore.”  And with those words, she got off five rounds from the revolver, the first blowing his male lesaber smooth off.  The last one entered his heart, no small feat, and killed him instantly.  

Invicta rose from the couch, refilled her coffee cup and made her way to the pink wall phone in the kitchen.  She dialed ‘0’, and said, “There may have been an incident.  Send an ambulance and an officer to 1955 Century Street.”  Hanging up the handset, she returned to the couch and poured the cream in her coffee.  Her coffee was more stirred than she was.  The irony of the ambulance being a brand new 1964 Buick that hauled Flint LaCrosse away was lost on neither of the ladies who watched it disappear around the corner, the siren silent.  There was no reason to rush a dead man to the morgue.

In the trial that followed, Invicta testified in Dotty’s defense, as did many of the finest families of Fort Stockton.  But even in Texas, cold blood murder rarely goes unpunished.  Dotty Dornan received a sentence of fifteen to twenty-five, with time off for good behavior.  

Invicta LaCrosse visited her regularly, feeling indebted to Dotty for doing what she had considered time and time again, but never been able to do.  In fact, she served as a sort of an assistant, taking the countless handwritten legal pads home with her and typing into manuscripts that became four more best sellers, She’ll Get Hers, Private Detective, Female Convict, and Women in Prison. She continued using pen names, fearful that the notoriety of her own moniker would be a deterrent to sales.  Dotty was paroled in eight years, back in Fort Stockton in RoadRunner Estates when the movie deal was signed for Women in Prison.

Of course it had come out during the trial who Dotty really was, the books she’d authored, the life she’d lived that nobody ever suspected.  She assumed those deeds would be held against her and prepared for the worst as she headed back home.  But Fort Stockton embraced her with open arms.  We like our heroes on the gritty side. Rough around the edges. Not always attempting to impress the masses with the depth of their own virtues, but instead willing to wear their tragic flaws like a pair of well broken in Levi 501s.

No one said a word when she had more than ten items in the express lane at the Piggly Wiggly.  Our Lady of Immeasurable Concern invited Dotty to give the commencement address at graduation that year.  She killed it with a talk called, “Taking Aim at the Setbacks Life Hands You”.  Lucinda never charged Dotty a dime for anything she ever ordered at the Grounds for Divorce. Of course, Dotty autographed Lucinda’s entire collection of romance novels, many of which had been highlighted and dogeared over the years.

And ‘Porthole’ Patterson, a year from retirement and still selling new cars at Buckboard Buick, gave her dealer cost on a brand new 1972 boattail Riviera. She never waited more than fifteen minutes for a complete oil change and lubrication back in Parts & Service. Invicta LaCrosse sold the house on Century Street in Lubbock and moved into Hank’s old room in Dotty’s house the same year Lesbian Captive came out.