Mama Gets Trashed (A Mace Bauer Mystery) (3 page)
Read Mama Gets Trashed (A Mace Bauer Mystery) Online
Authors: Deborah Sharp
Tags: #Fiction, #mystery, #cozy, #mystery novel, #humorous, #mystery fiction
_____
My Jeep bounced over the rutted entrance to Kenny’s camp, more a claustrophobic pathway than a road. Live oaks raised gnarled limbs overhead, creating a dark tunnel. I remembered how sweet
bay and wax myrtle crowded in from both sides. The cramped
lane
gave me the sense I was sliding blindfolded into a long, narrow
chute.
I tried to keep my eyes out for potholes, while my mind focused on what I’d find when the Jeep came out the other side. Even in the
dark, I could see the white blossoms on a wild sour orange. The tree’s
branches scratched at the Jeep, rubbing paint off my already-
battered ride.
Finally, I broke free of the woodsy tunnel and entered a small clearing. My high-beam headlights played over what would be the camp’s front yard, if Kenny had ever bothered to plant grass. No lights shone in the windows of the ramshackle camp house—a scrap-wood building with a broad screened porch and patched tin roof. Kenny’s truck was nowhere in sight. Weeds were flattened and small shrubs crushed in the area he and his hunting buddies normally used for parking. No one was parked there tonight.
The Jeep rolled over what looked like a huge anthill. I pulled to a stop about twenty-five feet from the front porch door. Grabbing a flashlight from the glove box, I got out and made my way to the structure.
I knew the camp was larger—and nicer—inside than it seemed from the yard. Kenny had put in electricity and indoor plumbing, which was a plus when it came to convincing Maddie or Mama to ever visit. Marty and I definitely got all our family’s nature-girl genes. Aiming the flashlight at the top of the door jamb, I ran my finger along the wood. There was the key, just where Kenny always hid it. Once inside the door, I flipped on the lights.
The first thing that struck me was the smell of cigarette smoke. Aside from Sal’s occasional cigars, no one in our family smoked. Kenny didn’t either, as far as I knew. Judging by the pungency, the smoke was fairly recent.
Only after the cigarette odor registered did I notice another, fainter smell. It was lemony, like perfume or cologne. I’d smelled it somewhere before. When I sat down on the couch, the sweet scent was stronger. It seemed to rise up from the cushions. I definitely preferred it to the smoke stink, or the stale beer I could smell in a bottle on an end table next to the couch.
The bottle was about two-thirds full. Cigarette ashes littered the
top, and someone had dropped their butts into the remaining beer. Lovely. The ashtray on the coffee table also overflowed, and lots of those discards were stained with lipstick. I poked through the ashtray with a pencil, and found at least three different shades on various cigarettes.
It looked like more than hunting was happening at Kenny’s camp. Fearing what I’d find, I made my way to the bedroom.
The bed was rumpled, a jumble of black satin sheets and tossed pillows. No way were those linens Maddie’s. My prudish, fiscally conservative sister would be more likely to sleep on a bed of nails than on slinky, pricey, black satin.
Thong panties, bright red with lacy insets, draped a lampshade. Again, not Maddie’s. On the nightstand sat two empty cans of diet Mountain Dew, Kenny’s favorite. Next to those were three pack
ages of condoms in camouflage colors. An unopened bottle of Dom
Perignon rested on the bed.
I may be more Budweiser than fine champagne, but even I knew
that was some pretty pricey hooch. Another two bottles, empty, were up-ended in silver ice buckets half-filled with water. The water was still cool to the touch, but all the ice had melted. I counted five champagne flutes. Three were on top of a bureau. The other two were on the floor by the head of the bed, one on each side. I checked them for lipstick stains. All but one had the telltale marks.
I fetched the ashtray from the living room to see if the shades matched. At least one did—the lipstick on several of the cigarette butts matched one of the champagne glasses.
I stood there, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. No matter how I figured, it didn’t look good for Kenny. Several women had been here—or maybe just one woman with an unusually diverse lipstick palette. There was drinking—which Maddie didn’t approve of. There was the appearance of sex. And there were those camouflage condoms. Those had Kenny and hunting camp written all over them.
I hadn’t found him, but I’d certainly found something. What in the world was I going to tell my sister?
I was about to leave when I remembered the napkin with the phone number I’d shoved into my pocket. I pulled it out and held it next to the champagne flute that matched one of the cigarettes. The rosy red phone number to the 19th Hole Lounge was written in exactly the same shade of lipstick.
_____
Outside on the front porch, I let my eyes adjust again to the dark. Beneath a waxing moon, there was light enough to see the sabal fronds beginning to shudder in a gusty wind. The temperature had dropped. A storm brewed. Silvery clouds swollen with rain scudded across a black sky.
A limpkin screamed from a nearby creek, raising the hairs at the back of my neck. No matter how many times I heard the wailing cry of the bird, it always gave me a start. Not for nothing did early Florida settlers call the limpkin the Crazy Widow.
Rustling sounds came from all around the dark landscape. It might have been the wind; or maybe wild hogs. Between the
mournful bird and the imminent storm, I was feeling uneasy. Soon,
the weather wouldn’t be fit for man or beast—or woman, either. I had planned to look around for signs of Kenny. He might have parked the truck somewhere else on the property. But the thought of tramping through the dark woods in a pounding rain didn’t hold much appeal.
Truth be told, I wasn’t sure what I’d do with Kenny once I found him. Where would I start in trying to unravel the story of that scene inside the camp-house? I needed to think about the best way to extract the truth from him. I decided to head for home, a good night’s sleep, and a chance of staying ahead of the storm.
The breeze picked up. Leaves skittered over the tops of my boots. The wind changed direction. I smelled rain coming, and something else: the acrid odor of cigarette smoke.
I was not alone in the woods.
twenty-nine
I hurried to my
Jeep, stumbling a bit over the rough ground. The wind gusted harder. Still, I could smell the cigarette. It was probably just a hunter, settling in for a smoke before the rain began. But something about this whole episode at the camp hadn’t set right with me. I didn’t intend to stick around to find out exactly who was puffing away on Kenny’s isolated property in this lonely stretch of the county.
Grabbing the handle, I flung open the driver’s side door. My fingers scrabbled nervously at the waistband of my jeans, where I’d tucked my keys. They slipped from my hand, jangling to the floor. I bent to find them, just barely catching a reflection moving across the passenger side window. In the same second, my brain recognized it as an aiming dot, and I heard the loud crack of a rifle. I ducked my head as a tree limb shattered to my left. Leaves and chunks of bark rained onto the hood of my Jeep.
Hand shaking, I retrieved the keys and jammed them into the ignition. The engine clicked, but didn’t kick over. I cursed my reluctance to spend money on a new battery. Still slumped low in the seat, I turned the key again. The Jeep started. The relief that flooded through me was short-lived.
Another rifle shot split the air. A new branch burst, this time to my right. Chips of wood dinged off the fenders. A scatter of leaves clung to the windshield. Still ducking, I hit the gas. The tires spun in the sandy soil, and finally grabbed. Backing over the ant hill, I swept the steering wheel in a wide circle. Straightening the Jeep, I thrust it into drive. Peering up and over the dashboard, I spotted the rifle’s aiming dot dancing above the tree branches.
A third shot sounded just as I made it to the potholed drive
way. Whoever was shooting had aimed very high. No storm of foliage
followed the last shot.
Still, I hunched low in the seat, taking no chances. Toward the end of the tree tunnel, open space appeared ahead. The paved road was within sight. I hung a wide right off Kenny’s property, jouncing over the shoulder onto the pavement. Just as I made it, the first fat drops of rain slapped against the Jeep’s roof.
My eyes searched the rear-view mirror, but I saw only darkness behind me. What in the hell had happened? It was either a hunter with appalling aim, or a marksman aiming to intimidate. I swallowed; took a deep breath. My mouth was desert-dry. The thumping of my heart echoed in my ears. My hands were so tight on the steering wheel my knuckles ached.
I was beyond intimidated. I’d been terrified. Now I was ticked-off.
_____
My mood hadn’t improved much by the next morning. Mama was pouting. I would not concede a point. It wasn’t pretty.
“Well, I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal, Mace. It’s just a tiny bit out of your way, and it sure means a lot to me. Any other daughter would be happy to give her poor mama a ride to work.’’
“You happen to have two other daughters. Why didn’t you call them?’’
Mama stuck out her lower lip. She punched the scanner button on the radio to find a Christian music station.
“Hey, I was listening to that!’’ I punched it back to country.
“You are sure in some kind of snit, girl. Who licked the red off of your candy?’’
I didn’t want to tell her my foul temper might be a result of being shot at—or at least
thinking
I was being shot at. I couldn’t be absolutely certain about last night. Was it the most inept hunter in the county? Maybe someone held a weird grudge against trees. Whatever, it felt an awful lot like the series of shots was some kind of message meant for me.
If Mama knew what I’d found at Kenny’s camp, let alone that I was alone out there on the wrong end of some moron’s target practice, she’d throw a fit. My stomach churned when I considered how easily those shots could have ripped into me instead of the trees. I shook off the thought, and returned to picking at Mama.
“I’m just saying that old convertible of yours is in the shop so much maybe you should get rid of it. You should have dumped it after you found the body in the trunk.’’ I glanced over, my face deadly serious. “Maybe it’s cursed!’’
Mama snorted. “You know I don’t believe in that supernatural mumbo jumbo. It’s against the Bible.’’
“So what is it, if not a curse, that you’ve stumbled upon dead body after dead body ever since?’’
Silently, Mama took out her lipstick. She turned my rear view in her direction. Surely the base was stripped by now. She Iced, then smacked her lips a couple of times.
“I’ve just been at the wrong place at the wrong time, honey. Several times.’’ She kissed a tissue to blot off the excess. “Besides, it’s not like I’ve found all the bodies stashed in the back of my convertible.’’
We were both quiet for a moment. I thought about the dead girl in the dump. Mama must have, too, because she asked, “Has Carlos found out any more about Camilla?’’
“Nothing he’s said to me. You know how he is when he’s working a case.’’
I eased to a stop on Main Street, at one of Himmarshee’s two traffic lights. She tilted the rear-view mirror back toward me. It showed me a narrow slice of the left rear window and the top of the driver’s side seat belt. Sighing, I realigned it. As the light turned green, I eased into the intersection with U.S. Highway 441.
“By the way, I did try Maddie and Marty before I called you for a ride to Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow,’’ Mama said.
“So I wasn’t your first choice? Imagine that.’’
“Marty had a doctor’s appointment bright and early. Maddie never picked up. That girl is avoiding me for some reason. I don’t understand it.’’
“Maybe she’s sick of hearing about how you hate that yellow dress.’’
Mama cut her eyes at me.
“What’s the problem with Marty?’’ I changed the subject. “She’s not sick, is she?’’
Mama waved a hand. “She and Sam are ready to have kids. Marty wants to have the doctor check her over, make sure she’s in good health.’’
I nearly swerved off the highway. “Kids?! What? How come nobody told me? This is big news.’’
Mama looked smug. “You don’t know everything, Ms. Smarty
Pants. Of course, Marty would turn to her mama to have a talk about
children. It’s not like you’re the most maternal woman on the planet.’’
I was still shaking my head about my little sister when Mama hit me with something else to ponder.
“She’ll do fine. It’s not Marty I’m concerned about, honey.’’
I motioned a 4 X 4 hauling a stock trailer to pull out from the feed store parking lot. Tipping his cowboy hat, the driver slowly turned in front of me. My raised eyebrows signaled to Mama to continue.
“It’s Maddie.’’ Mama’s forehead wrinkled with worry.
I knew I had to tread carefully. I didn’t let my face reveal a thing. “How so?’’
“For starters, she’s lost weight.’’
“Isn’t that all you ever nagged her to do? Now she has, and it’s a problem?’’
Mama folded her arms over her chest. “Something is not right. I know my girls. I just hope whatever’s wrong won’t ruin Kenny’s birthday. Maddie has worked so hard to plan that celebration for him.’’
A speeding driver in a red luxury SUV zoomed past us with inches to spare. He veered so close to a sod truck in the oncoming lane I could see the truck driver’s eyes widen. His lips formed the F-word. The SUV cut back into my lane. He darted into the car length I’d left between my Jeep and the stock trailer so as not to tailgate and spook the cattle.
Mama stuck her head out the window and screamed, “Watch your manners, buster!’’
“Newcomer asshole,’’ I muttered.
“Language, Mace.’’
Mama was momentarily distracted from the Maddie issue by the prospect of the wild driver in the SUV killing someone, like us. I didn’t mention that a ruined party barely registered on Maddie’s problem-o-meter right now.
In the distance, the salon’s sign beckoned. A huge pair of mech
anical purple scissors snipped at the air. The SUV pulled out to pass again, terrifying a white-haired couple in a Buick, and earning a one-fingered salute from the cattle-hauling cowboy.
I prayed we’d make it without the SUV causing a crash. If we did, it’d be the first time I was ever relieved to pull in under those scissors to park at Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow.
thirty
“Oh my goodness! My
hair looks a fright.’’
Mama caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored walls of Betty Taylor’s shop. I trailed her into the salon, toting her box filled with aromatherapy candles and Color Me Gorgeous pamphlets.
“Windswept hair is the price you pay for sticking your head out the window to scream at rude drivers, Mama.’’
D’Vora glanced at us. Then she ducked her head and hurried into the stock closet. I was beginning to take her avoidance personally
.
“What’s up with her?’’ I asked Betty, as I put down Mama’s supplies.
She shrugged. As she stood back to examine the haircut on the woman in her chair, I realized it was the dark-haired teacher from the scary incident with the kids at Himmarshee Park.
“Elaine, right? How’s the ankle?’’ I asked her.
A smile slowly replaced her look of confusion. “Oh, hi! I didn’t recognize you since I’m not hanging on to your neck and limping.’’ Lifting her leg under the purple drape, she showed off her taped ankle. “Not bad. Still swollen. I won’t be running around after the kids for a while.’’
The bells at the front door jangled. An older woman entered. Another customer waited to pay at the cash register .
“D’Vora, get out here! I’m busier than a short-tailed cow in fly season.’’ When Betty yelled, the young stylist came running.
Nodding a quick hello at Mama and me, D’Vora rang up the departing customer, and then settled the new one in a chair at the shampoo sink. I took a seat. Since I had to work over the weekend, I had the day off from the park. There was no better place in town than Hair Today to catch up on gossip, both useful and not.
I introduced Elaine to Mama. Exactly as I predicted, she offered the teacher some advice: “Honey, your hair is so pretty. You ought to let it grow out.’’
“Welcome to my world, Elaine. My mother’s not one to hold back on helpful beauty tips. Helpful tips of any sort, actually.’’
The teacher’s dark eyes sparkled. She seemed more amused than offended. “I’ll give it some thought, Rosalee.’’
I filled everyone in on how the mayor had nearly run down Elaine’s
school class.
“I’ve done some checking up on that man. People say he bought the election. I didn’t like him before. Everything I’ve heard since makes me like him even less,’’ Elaine said.
“Join the club,’’ I said. “He’s bringing in some developers to build a big subdivision right next to Himmarshee Park; maybe even pave over the park itself.’’
“Our nature park?’’ Betty turned Elaine’s head back to the mirror. “Can he do that?’’
“This is Florida,’’ I said. “Anything’s for sale if the price is right. I made an appointment for this afternoon to talk to him about it. Mama’s coming along for moral support. Right, Mama?’’
She fluffed her hair. “It’s more like I’m coming along to charm the mayor. We all know which of us loses her temper and who smoothes things over.’’
“I can certainly understand losing your temper about the prospect of ruining that lovely park.’’ Elaine said. “When my family visited from Canada, that’s the first place I took them.’’
“See if you can find out anything from the mayor about that poor
girl’s murder,’’ Betty said. “The sooner we know what happened, the safer I’ll feel.’’
I noticed D’Vora hadn’t chimed in on the conversation. Not on the prospect of development, our sleazy mayor, or the murder. She didn’t even ask where Canada was. She concentrated on her shampoo job like she was curing cancer.
“Seriously, Betty
…
what’s wrong with D’Vora?’’ I whispered.
“Man trouble, I’ll bet.’’ Betty whispered back. “That man of hers fell out of the loser tree and hit every branch coming down.’’
More loudly, she called out, “D’Vora, you’re so quiet you’re scaring the customers. Is that no-account Darryl up to no good again?’’
D’Vora shook her head, kept right on scrubbing at the customer’s hair. Scabs were probably forming on the poor woman’s scalp by now.
Under her breath, Betty caught us up: “She tells me that mo-ron bought brand new custom wheels for his truck, even though they can barely cover the rent. I guess that’s better, though, than him being out there spending money on other women.’’
“Oh, I’ve been there,’’ Mama said. “My girls have been a lot luckier picking out men than I was. Well, it took Mace a while, but she’s got a keeper now.’’
Betty sighed. “That Carlos is sure gorgeous! Such thick, dark hair. And skin that looks like buttered rum. You’re a lucky girl, Mace.’’
“They all three are,’’ Mama said. “Marty and Maddie got a couple of princes, too.’’
A troubled look flitted across D’Vora’s face. She finally joined in, abruptly changing the subject to the charms of the golf pro. “I saw him at Gladys,’ speaking of men. He’s one tasty-looking hunk.”
“I don’t get the attraction of golf,’’ Elaine said. “Hitting a little ball all day? Bor-Ing!’’
“Golf may be God’s dullest gift to the world of sports, but D’Vora’s right about the pro,’’ I told her. “This guy will make you want
to find the sweet spot.’’
Mama slapped my hand.
“Ouch! I meant on a golf club, Mama. That’s where you’re supposed to hit the ball.’’
She narrowed her eyes at me. “That boy’s forbidden fruit, Mace. You’re almost a married woman. You’re spoken for.’’
“‘Spoken for?’ What am I, a heifer at the Himmarshee Livestock Auction?’’
Elaine smiled.
“You know what I mean,’’ Mama said. “Once you’re engaged, you cannot waltz around flirting with anything in pants.’’
“Since when have I done that?’’
Betty butted in, nipping our squabble in the bud. “Speaking of flirting, I saw Sal’s man-crazy cousin C’ndee at the Booze ’n’ Breeze drive-thru. She told me about some of that Italian food she’s serving for Kenny’s party. I can’t pronounce it, but it sure sounded good. Who’s that Jersey sparkplug seeing these days?’’
Mama slapped her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell y’all. Guess who’s been beating his head against the wall, trying to get C’ndee to go out with him.’’
A salon full of women raised their eyebrows at Mama. Even D’Vora stopped her torture by towel. She cocked her head, waiting. Mama hadn’t shared any C’ndee gossip in awhile, so this news was bound to be fresh.
“Who?’’ D’Vora asked.
“Guess.’’
Not this routine again.
“The music director at Abundant Forgiveness,’’ Betty said.
“Nope.’’
“The cook at the Pork Pit,’’ said D’Vora.
“Guess again.’’
“Juan, from Juan’s Auto Repair and Taco Body Shop,’’ offered Elaine.
Mama shook her head.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Mama. We don’t have all day. Who?’’
“The honorable Big Bill Graf. Our new mayor.’’
Mama looked satisfied when the woman at the shampoo sink gasped. She peeked out from under D’Vora’s towel. “But he’s married! Didn’t he run on a family values platform?’’
Betty waved off the question with her purple comb. “He sure wouldn’t be the first hypocrite to hold office.’’
Mama lowered her voice. “Now, I’m the very last one to countenance cheating, but have you met Mrs. Mayor? That woman always looks like she’s been sipping vinegar. What a sourpuss! Maybe the mayor wanted somebody cheerful and lively for a change.’’
“C’ndee is lively all right,’’ I said.
“She has some real fun events planned for Kenny’s birthday party,’’ Betty said. “Maddie and Kenny must be looking so forward to it. What a celebration they’re going to have.’’
D’Vora dropped a big bottle of shampoo. When all of us looked her way, she tossed the towel on a chair and pointed her chin at the customer, “She’s ready for you, Betty.’’
She hurried toward the door, averting her eyes from Mama and me. “Sorry, I’ve got to run an errand real quick.’’
She left the shampoo bottle where it fell. The bells jangled as the door swung shut.
“Weird,’’ Elaine said.
Mama and Betty exchanged knowing smiles. “Want to bet the errand has something to do with her checking up on her man?’’ Mama said.
“Nothing like hearing someone else’s husband is cheating to make you suspect your own,’’ Betty added.
I didn’t think it was Darryl troubling D’Vora. Why was she avoid
ing Mama and me? Did she know something about Kenny and Maddie she didn’t want to talk about?
I followed her out the front door to find out.
thirty-one
D’Vora sat across the
street,on a bench under a magnolia tree in the courthouse square. She faced the building, where a handful
of clerks and legal workers were arriving to start their day. I watched her for a while. She was fidgeting with the hem of her purple smock and chewing
at her thumb like it was a Tootsie Roll.
I crossed the street and sidled up behind her. “Hey,’’ I said, and she nearly jumped off the bench.
“You scared me!’’
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.’’ I pointed at the space next to her. “Mind if I sit for a bit?’’
She shrugged, and I was afraid she was going to bite clear through
her thumbnail.
As I took a seat, D’Vora’s gaze lit everywhere but on me. “Listen
…
” I began.
She quickly called out to a couple of youngish women who looked like they could have graduated with her from Himmarshee High: “Hey, y’all. Already hot as hell’s hinges, isn’t it?’’
“Hot enough the trees are bribing the dogs,’’ one answered, as they entered the courthouse.
I tried again. “I feel like you’ve been avoiding me. There’s some
thing I want to talk
…
”
D’Vora glommed on to another acquaintance, who was wearing a form-fitting dress in royal blue. “Hey, Amber,” she shouted. “You’re sure looking good. That’s definitely your color.’’
Amber beamed. “I’m coming in next week for blonde highlights. I didn’t lose all this weight to go through life with mousy brown hair.’’
“Give me a call, anytime. Better yet, let me give you a card.’’ D’Vora
rocketed off the bench, but Amber motioned her to sit down.
“I know Hair Today’s number by heart.’’ She looked at her watch. “Gotta run! I’m just about late.’’
The stylist sat again, reluctantly it seemed. Her eyes darted here and there, but Himmarshee’s miniature morning rush hour appeared to have ended.
“Why do you keep running away from me?’’ I asked her.
“I’m not.’’ Now, she was worrying both thumb and index finger between her teeth.
“D’Vora, if you know something you think I should know, you need to tell me. I’ve always been straight up with you, haven’t I?’’
She nodded, twisting her hand at her mouth to gnaw on yet another fingernail.
“Are you afraid you’ll get in trouble?’’
She shook her head. She looked like she was about to cry.
“Are you afraid of getting someone else in trouble?’’
She nodded. Sure enough, a tear rolled down her cheek.
I put a hand on her knee. “Honey, it’s probably not as bad as y
ou think. You’ll feel better once you get it off your chest. I can share
some of the burden of knowing with you.’’
I saw her wavering. “D’Vora, you need to do the right thing.’’
That sealed it. She started blubbering, trying to get the words out: “Iiiii
…
ttttt
…
it’s
…
” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. Slipped it back into her smock.
“It’s what?’’
“Not what. Who. It’s Kenny.’’
The thumb flew back to her mouth. She was biting so hard, I could
hear her teeth nicking the nail. I gently took her hand, holding it still in mine.
“What about him?’’
“He’s cheating on Maddie.’’
I sighed with relief. Not that the news wasn’t bad. But I’d already
dealt with the anger and disappointment of finding out about my brother-in-law’s philandering.
“I saw him out at the lake at sunset, in his truck. I knew it was his
because it had that bumper sticker on the back,
Proud Graduate of Bubba University
.’’ She pulled a folded slip of paper from her smock, and placed it on my lap. “I also took down his license tag number, just so no one would think I was imagining things.’’
I put the paper in my pocket. “We know about it, D’Vora.’’
Shock played across her pretty face. “You do? Maddie, too?’’
“Unfortunately, yes. Even the best marriages get into trouble. I just hope Maddie and Kenny can get past this.’’
I stared off into the distance, wondering whether that would even be possible.
D’Vora took out her tissue and blew her nose again. As she composed herself, my gaze settled on the moss hanging like gray lace from the oak trees. I thought of the old Southern folktale that told of its origins. Supposedly, a Spanish woman was captured by Indians. They cut her long hair and tossed it high into the trees. In no time at all, the black hair turned gray. It spread from tree to tree, and that was the beginning of Spanish moss.
I was imagining the fear that dark-haired woman must have felt, when I realized D’Vora had stopped sniffling. She was speaking again.
“… and that’s why I’ve been wracking my brain, wondering if I should tell them.’’
“Tell who, D’Vora?’’
“The police, of course.’’
A shiver ran up my spine. Suddenly, my attention was riveted.
“Why would you tell the police Kenny’s cheating? If they got called out every time a man in Himmarshee cheated, that’d keep them pretty busy, wouldn’t it?’’
I searched D’Vora’s face. Her eyes were on the pavement. Her voice came out hushed.
“It’s not so much
that
he was cheating. It’s
who
he was cheating with.’’
The shiver in my spine turned into a fusillade of pinpricks.
D’Vora continued, the words flowing now like water. “I saw him, Mace. I saw Kenny parked in a public place, doing things with that librarian. With Camilla.”
A sob worked its way up from deep in her chest. “It was the night before you and your mama found the poor thing murdered, lying dead in piles of garbage out at the dump.’’
thirty-two
Bookshelves lined the walls
of the living room at Camilla Law’s small, but tastefully furnished, home. A framed quotation by Jorge Luis Borges held a place of honor over a fireplace. In black letters bordered with gold, the words were illuminated by two small spotlights mounted in the ceiling:
I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.
I said a silent prayer that after what Camilla suffered, she had found just that paradise.
The police finished searching for evidence at her house. Camilla’s sister had been permitted to move in from the hotel. She planned to remain in Himmarshee to follow the details of the murder investigation. She also had to handle all the arrangements that follow any sort of death. Planning a funeral. Sorting out finances. Deciding what to do with the possessions left behind by a loved one.
I didn’t envy Prudence those tasks, even as she mourned her sister. I didn’t want to bring on added pain, but given the information I finally dragged from D’Vora, I had to find out more about Camilla. If I also happened to discover something about Camilla’s mysterious twin, that would be all the better.
I’d taken a seat on a sofa in the living room. A shrill whistle sounded from the kitchen. Prudence poked out her head. “I’m sorry there’s nothing to eat. I had to throw out some spoiled food. Will you have a cup of tea with me?’’
I thought about the kinds of questions I wanted to ask about her dead sister. It was almost lunch time. I weighed my need for fortification against her judging me to be a pre-noon lush.
“Have you got anything stronger than tea?’’
I saw the tiniest frown of disapproval before she banished it. “I’ll take a look. I never touch alcohol myself, but Camilla may have kept something in the house.’’
I recalled Prudence polishing off those brimming glasses at Mama’s house. Maybe the English didn’t consider sweet pink wine to be “alcohol.’’
She opened a closet door in a small hallway. She felt around on the top shelf, and then held up a dusty bottle of bourbon. “Will this do?’’
I gestured with thumb and forefinger to indicate a small amount. “Just a swallow or two. I’m driving.’’
She put the bourbon on the coffee table in front of me, and then went to retrieve her tea. She returned, carrying a small tray. On it was a delicate porcelain tea cup, a miniature pitcher of water, an empty juice glass, and a second glass filled with ice. The glassware looked like expensive crystal.
“I wasn’t sure how you’d drink it.’’ Her smile was apologetic as she eased into a chair facing the sofa.
“Undiluted,’’ I said, tipping the bourbon into the empty glass. I knocked back a generous swallow. It burned my throat. She sipped daintily. Light glowed through the rose-covered teacup, so fine it was nearly translucent.
“Thank you for coming by,’’ she said. “Your family has been very kind.’’
“It seems like other people have, too. You and the bartender at the golf course looked pretty close. Was she comforting you’’
The tea cup paused at her mouth. She looked at me over the rim, waited a beat. “Yes, exactly that. She apparently cared a great deal about Camilla.’’ She sipped. “Her name is Angela, I believe.’’
“And then there was that cowboy at Gladys’ diner. It looked like he was also being … kind.’’
The room was silent. We stared at each other. Prudence finally sighed. “Your family was spot-on when they described you as an amateur detective. You don’t miss much, do you?’’
I shrugged.
“Yes, well, one must take comfort where one can. If that happens to be with a bit of harmless flirting with a handsome American cowboy
…
’’ She raised her palms as if to surrender.
Knowing I was about to besmirch the reputation of her dead sister, I cut her some slack. Then I steeled myself with another hit of booze.
“I’m really uncomfortable asking you this,’’ I began.
She cocked her head at me.
“It’s about Camilla,’’ I said.
Her blue eyes clouded with suffering. I felt like I was crushing the life out of a baby bird.
“Would your sister have messed around with a married man?’’
Prudence carefully placed her cup on the saucer. “I think I told you Camilla and I had become estranged.’’
I nodded.
“Frankly, I didn’t know what she was up to in the last couple of years. She had certain … ‘tastes.’ We didn’t speak much about her love life, because she knew I didn’t approve.’’ She dabbed at a drop of tea on the tray. “I wouldn’t rule out adultery, or much of anything else, for that matter.’’
“So you don’t know who she was seeing before she was killed?’’
Prudence shook her head. “The police had the same question. Why do you ask?’’
I didn’t know how much to tell her. I didn’t want to give anything away about Kenny. I didn’t want to believe Maddie’s husband was involved in Camilla’s murder. But I knew he’d be a suspect if what D’Vora told me was accurate.
I’d begged the young stylist not to say anything to anyone else until I had the chance to talk to Kenny. Carlos would be angry, but I couldn’t think about that. I was more concerned with protecting my sister and her family than I was with my fiancé’s murder inquiry.
I shrugged. “I guess I just can’t break the habit of sticking my nose into investigations. The more that’s known about your sister’s comings and goings, the more likely the police can find links to her killer. Jealousy, love, lust … those are strong emotions. Strong emotions can become motives for murder.’’
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think that’s dangerous, poking into the investigation? Suppose you ask the wrong question of the wrong person? You could be hurt.’’
“Nobody’s managed to murder me yet.’’
Prudence recoiled as if I’d hit her. I felt like slapping my own face.
“I’m so sorry. That was a stupid, insensitive thing to say.’’
She gave a small nod, silently letting me off the hook. The room was so quiet, I could hear her breathing. When she finally lifted the teacup again, it clattered against the saucer.
“This has all been so hard for me.’’ Unshed tears thickened her voice.
I fished in my jeans for a package of tissues. I offered her one, but she waved it away.
“I’m fine. Really.’’
Eyes welling, lower lip trembling, she didn’t look fine.
“It’s just so bloody awful to think that in some way, my sister might have brought this killing on herself.’’
She rose from her chair and walked to a bookcase. From the bottom shelf, she extracted a photo album, bound in rich leather. She sat beside me, placing the book across our knees, and opened it to the first page. “This was us in grade school. We were inseparable.’’
Two dark-haired girls in matching outfits sat astride a pony.
“Which one are you?’’
“I’m behind Camilla. She was
always
the leader.’’ Prudence traced
her sister’s hair in the photo, a wistful look on her face.
She turned a few more pages. “Here’s another.’’ The sisters were
teenagers, crammed into a photo-booth with two boys. Eyes closed
, one of the girls was entwined in a make-out session. I pointed: “Camilla?’’
Prudence laughed. “How’d you guess? It was a double-date. We were each supposed to kiss our lad as the camera snapped. I lost my nerve.’’
On the opposite page, the girls were older. In a grassy field, they posed holding over and under shotguns. “I didn’t think the English believed in firearms,’’ I said.
“We’re not the wimps you Yanks imagine us to be.’’ She smiled.
“Our dad was quite active in the British Association for Shooting and
Conservation. Of course, Camilla always won our competitions.’’
She paged through several photos, and then stopped. Flanked by a well-dressed man and woman, the twins leaned against a Mercedes. One of the sisters scowled at the camera, arms folded. “Camilla was cross with our parents. They’d punished her for sneaking out at night.’’
She closed the album. “That’s the last picture of the four of us. Our mum and dad were killed within the month in a crash on the M1 motorway.’’
My heart went out to her; first her parents, now her sister. “I’m sorry,’’ I said, knowing the words were inadequate.
She returned the album to its shelf. Her fingers lingered on the spine, but when she turned, her eyes were clear. Her shoulders were squared. “Yes, well. One must carry on.’’
So that was the stiff upper lip the English had made famous.
“I do wish we’d remained close.’’ Prudence’s gaze traveled around the house, lighting on a sickly looking plant in the corner; the walls of books; the framed quotation. “She never even invited me to visit. This is the first time I’ve seen her home.’’
She picked up a cushion in a vivid silk print, and cradled it to her chest. “It’s a shame we wasted so much time.’’
I thought of how close I was to my sisters. I thought about Maddie, and how I’d do just about anything to see her happy again. How hard it must be for a grieving sister to “carry on.’’
The bourbon sat uneasily in my nearly empty stomach. I needed food to soak up the alcohol. “I’ve imposed on you long enough.’’ I hauled myself off the couch. “You want to grab lunch somewhere?’’
She shook her head. “I’m waiting for a call from Camilla’s bank.’’ She indicated an array of folders on the dining room table. “I’m trying to make sense of her assets. She always was the one with a head for figures.’’
A thought surfaced: As Camilla’s closest relation, Prudence would likely inherit this home with all its expensive furnishings. I remembered the diamond bracelet we’d seen on Camilla’s wrist. How much money was in the bank, I wondered?
Even with the bourbon under my belt, I couldn’t bring myself to ask Prudence that question when her sister’s body was barely cold. Instead, I said I had to get going.
“Can I offer you some other beverage before you leave?’’
“I wouldn’t turn down a Coca-Cola to go. It’ll give me a jolt just as the bourbon is trying to make me sleepy.’’ I leaned against the kitchen entryway while she rummaged in the fridge.
“That’s another thing I never developed a taste for,’’ Prudence said. “Frightfully sweet.’’
“You would have learned to love it if you were born in the South,’
’
I said. “Down here, babies are weaned on Coke.’’
“Success!’’ She pulled out one of the classic contour bottles, and
then reached around to the wall side of the fridge, where a bottle opener was affixed by a magnet.
Prying off the cap, she handed me the cold bottle. “Your Coke, madam.’’
I thanked her and made my exit, drinking as I went.
Out front in my Jeep, I drained the last syrupy swig. Glancing toward the window of the house, I caught Prudence watching me. Before she stepped out of sight, I saw she’d traded her teacup for a long-stemmed wine glass. She seemed to be acquiring quite a taste for the alcohol she said she never touched.
thirty-three
Mama and I sat
on a leather loveseat at City Hall, waiting to see Big Bill Graf. The phone rang on the desk of his fifty-something receptionist, a holdover from the previous mayor. Turning in her swivel chair, she angled her body away from us and answered the call.
“Bill Graf’s office,’’ she said in a practiced purr. “A Mayor Should Care.’’
“He should, but he doesn’t—at least not about scaring kids or ruining the environment,’’ I whispered to Mama.
“You’ll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, Mace. Be nice!’’ She leaned close to hiss in my ear, and then pinched my side before she sat back.
“Ouch!’’ I wheezed from the pain.
The receptionist scribbled a message on a phone pad. She hung
up and swung back to give us the evil eye. “Do I have to separate you
two? You sound like hissing cockroaches.’’
“Is the mayor going to be much longer? We had an appointment for one o’clock. It’s already twenty after.’’
Mama feinted with her left, and then came in with her right for another pinch, but I’d slid to the far corner of the mini-couch to
escape her attack. “What I meant to say is I know the mayor’s busy with important city doings. I just wondered if we should reschedule.’’
Mama nodded approval at my smiling suck-up.
Just then, the door to the mayor’s office opened. He ushered out a young woman with long blonde curls and five-inch heels. Her dress clung to the curve of her butt and bustline like dark pink plastic wrap. He made a show of giving her a business-like handshake as he bid her goodbye.
“Thanks for coming in, Bambi.’’ His fingers caressed the small
of her back as he propelled her toward the door. “We’ll let you know
about the administrative assistant job. We’re still interviewing.’’
“Bambi?’’ I mouthed to Mama.
“Assistant?’’ She mouthed back.
“Maybe an assistant stripper,’’ I whispered.
The receptionist hid a grin behind her hand. “Miss Mace Bauer and Mrs. Sal Provenza to see you, Mayor Graf.’’ She began tidying papers on her desk.
The mayor turned to us, arms outstretched, grin in place. I really hoped he didn’t intend to dispense a hug. Mama rose and grabbed both his hands for a friendly shake. I hung back until I was certain he wasn’t going to end-run in for an embrace.
Claiming it was “such a treat’’ to see us again, he gestured us into his office. The walls looked like a taxidermy exhibit. Hunting trophies included a huge buck, with antlers as wide as the window; a wild boar with lethal-looking tusks; and a couple of leaping largemouth bass. An upright grizzly dominated a corner of the room, mouth open in a soundless roar.
Mama stood on tiptoes, peering up at the bear.
“Does your husband hunt, Mrs. Provenza?’’
“Only for take-out pizza and ice cream, Mr. Mayor. And please, call me Rosalee.’’
I had nothing against hunting. My personal preference, though, was to see animals alive and out in nature, where God put them. Before the mayor could meander down hunter’s memory lane, relating how he bagged each stuffed critter, I got to the point of our visit.
“You might remember I saw you and your developer pals the other day, hatching plans to ruin Himmarshee Park. I’ve been upset ever since.’’
The paper-shuffling in the outer office went silent.
“What Mace means is she wants to find out how all of us can work together to bring progress to the county while still preserving its natural beauty.’’ Mama fluttered her eyelashes.
He cocked his head at her. “Speaking of beauty, has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?’’
I muttered, “Only a million times.’’
Ignoring me, Mama rewarded the mayor with a dazzling smile and a double lash flutter.
“I’m told you were in that movie they filmed here,’’ he said. “I hear you were luminous. A real star.’’
“Make that a shooting star,’’ I said. “The part was so brief, Mama will be there and gone before you even notice she’s on the screen.’’
“Well,’’ the mayor said, “you know what they say in Hollywood: There are no small parts—”
“—only small actors!’’ Mama finished the line. “That’s just what I always told Mace!’’
The two of them chuckled together like lifelong pals. Mama was such a pushover for flattery. She was about two compliments away from being ready to drive the bulldozer to develop the park.
“When does the movie come out?’’ he asked.
“They ran into a little trouble while they were filming. It pushed
back the release date,’’ Mama said.
The mayor’s fake smile turned into a sad frown. “Yes, I heard
about the ‘trouble.’ A murder on the movie set won’t make it easy to woo
Hollywood back. We’ll have to offer tax cuts and other incentives.’
’
Not to mention a no-murder guarantee. Was everything about business with this guy?
“Getting back to the park,’’ I said, “I hope we see some public discussion before any deals are made. People here don’t take kindly to outsiders pushing through proposals without giving the natives a say.’’
“I’m not an outsider.’’ Graf puffed his chest at me. “I’m the mayor. I was elected fair and square.’’
“Of course you were.’’ Mama was employing her most placating tone. “I think Mace just meant you’re not from around here.’’
“It’s true my wife and I are newcomers. But I love this part of Florida just like I was born here. I only want what’s best for Himmarshee.’’
Sure you do, I thought. “A friend of mine writes for the ‘Himmarshee Times.’ The paper may be small, but they’re mighty when it come
s to watching out for the community. I’m warning you, if there’s even a whiff of the misuse of public land, the paper will raise a ruck
us.’’
“Is that a threat?’’
Just as Mama laid a hand on the mayor’s arm, ready to smooth things over, his wife bustled in through the outer office. The receptionist followed right on her heels. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor. I tried to tell Mrs. Graf you were in a meeting.’’
“Threat? What’s this about a threat?’’ Beatrice narrowed her eyes at Mama’s hand on the mayor’s arm.
Wisely, Mama slid it out of sight, into the jacket pocket of her lime-sherbet pantsuit.
“You misunderstood, darling,’’ the mayor said to his wife. “We were just talking about the threat of hurricanes this summer. We’re not out of the woods yet, are we, ladies?’’
“Let’s just hope there are some woods
left
in Himmarshee,’’ I said darkly.
“I’m not a fan of the woods; too many bugs and poisonous plants.’’ Beatrice shuddered. “Give me a nice, manicured golf course any day.’’
Still standing behind Beatrice, the receptionist caught my glance and rolled her eyes.
As if she sensed the mimed criticism, the mayor’s wife turned. “Run get us two coffees, would you? Cream and two sugars. Hurry. Quick now, like a bunny.’’
A hint of resentment played on the receptionist’s face before she pasted on a professional smile. The mayor said, “Thank you, Ellen. Would you mind sending in Diamond? I believe she’s in her office.’’
To me, he said, “Diamond will take down your information. We’ll let you know if the proposal for the development near the park comes up for public review. I’m all about conducting business in the open, in accordance with Florida’s Sunshine Law.’’
I’ll bet you are, I thought.
Mama said, “ ‘Diamond.’ That’s an awful pretty name.’’
“More awful than pretty, I’d say.’’ Beatrice took a seat on the mayor’s desk, assessing Mama and me with a superior look. She crossed one leathery, tanned leg over the other. I was mesmerized by the sight of the salmon-hued pom-pom on her golf sock shaking as she jiggled her foot.
“Do you enjoy golf?’’ Mama tried making conversation.
“What’s it to you?’’ Beatrice countered, plucking an imaginary piece of lint from the hem of her salmon golf “skort.’’
She seemed to sway a bit on her desktop perch. I wondered if she’d been drinking.
The mayor leaped in to the silence. “We both love golf,’’ he said. “It’s a wonderful game. I believe your son-in-law has taken it up, Rosalee.’’
To his wife, he said, “You know Kenny Wilson, dear.’’
Her face brightened. “Oh, I love Kenny. He showed me a wonderful place to shoot skeet. Not too far from here, either.’’
Skeet
? Kenny? As far as I knew, Kenny’s only knowledge of the shooting sports was plinking beer can targets. What else didn’t we know about Maddie’s cheating husband?
Just then, Diamond sashayed in. Seemingly a dark-haired replica of the blonde Bambi, she had the same long curls, same curve-
hugging clothes, same spike heels. Maybe they’d worked side-by
-side poles at the same stripper bar.
Before the mayor could say a word, Beatrice shoved a legal pad and pen at Diamond. “The mayor needs you to get the particulars of how to reach
…
’’ she looked at me, snapping her fingers impatiently.
“Mace Bauer,’’ I said. “We’ve met before. Twice.’’
She waved her hand, as if she couldn’t be bothered remembering the little people. “Give your name and other information to Diamond.’’
She aimed a scornful glare at the younger woman. “You can handle that, can’t you, Miss Sparkling Diamond?’’
Eyes on the rug, Diamond nodded.
With an oily smile, the mayor put one hand at Mama’s back, the other on mine, herding us through the reception area. “I hate to rush you, but my wife and I need to discuss some family business.’’
“Family business!’’ Beatrice Graf snorted. “That’s a good one.’’
His cheeks reddened, his lips compressed to a thin line. But he didn’t stand up to Beatrice. She leaned in, so close I noted booze on her breath, along with a familiar lemony smell. Now I remembered the scent. I’d smelled it at the golf course locker room, and at Kenny’s cabin, too.
“Toodle-loo, ladies.’’ She shoved Mama into me, pushed us both into the hall, and then slammed the office door behind us.
We caught the receptionist returning, carrying two cups of coffee. I wondered if she spit in the one for Mrs. Mayor. I jerked my head toward the closed door. “She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?’’
“You have no idea,’’ the receptionist said. “Did she brag about her kills?’’
I raised my eyebrows at her.
“Mayor Graf lets visitors assume he’s the Great White Hunter, but his wife is responsible for animal death row in there.’’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Some days I picture her head up there on the wall.’’
The outer door opened. Diamond stepped into the hall—pad in hand, blank look in place. Sighing, the receptionist went back inside.
“
Mace,
’’ Diamond said, painstakingly putting pen to yellow pad.
“Now, do I spell that with a big letter
M
?’’
thirty-four
Carlos spooned up some
picadillo
from a pan on the stove for me to taste. Flecked with olives, chopped green pepper, and raisins, the ground beef dish was a favorite Cuban recipe.
“How is it?’’
“Mmmmmm … perfect,’’ I said, licking the spoon.
“Does it need anything?’’
“Just a plate, so I can start eating it.’’
“Rice?’’
“That will take too long.’’
Carlos and I had met at his place near downtown for a late lunch.
Just in time, too, because I was starving. The Coke and a package of peanut butter and cheese crackers I’d had between my visit with Prudence and the appointment at the mayor’s office was hardly enough to hold me. When he’d called to invite me over for some home-cooking, Cuban-style, I dumped Mama back at Hair Today, and jumped at the opportunity.
I tried not to think about the fact I was withholding important
information from the caring man who was about to satiate my growl
ing stomach.
“Okay, no rice. But a piece of Cuban bread, at least?’’ He peeled the white paper from a loaf of the crusty bread, and quickly sliced it into rounds.
Before he could get the bread off the cutting board and into a basket, I grabbed a slice, slathered it with butter, and popped the whole thing in my mouth.
“Nice manners. I’m going to tell your mother.’’
“Amfythimg butf thatf!’’ I said, my mouth busy with the bread.
He gave me one of his sexy smiles, and bent down to brush his lips against my forehead. “This kiss to be continued, when you aren’t chewing a mouthful of food. I have to pick my moments with you.’’
Once we started eating, conversation was kept to a minimum:
“Would you like some
mojo
?’’ he asked.
I shook my head. “Doesn’t need any sauce. It’s great just like it is.’’
“Were you planning to share the bread?’’
I offered him the basket, he took a piece.
I pointed at about a half-cup of
picadillo
left in the pan. “Okay if I finish it off?’’
He nodded.
Finally, I quit eating, and collapsed back against the chair. Carlos grinned at me.
“I don’t know where you put it.’’ He dabbed at my chin with a napkin. “I do see one little piece of an olive that got away, right there.’’
I ran a hand over my face, checking for any more errant morsels.
“Man, that was good.’’ I gave a satisfied sigh. “You’re going to make some lucky girl a very fine husband one day.’’
He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed my palm. “That’s just what I intend to do. Soon, I hope.’’
Our eyes locked. His were like deep, dark pools drawing me in. I basked in this molten warmth that washed over me. It was a feeling of contentment; of safety; of love.
“Yes, soon,’’ I said. “But first … ” I threaded my fingers through
the hair at the back of his head, pulling his face close to mine. “How
about us enjoying some dessert?’’
He kissed me, nipping gently at my lower lip. “I couldn’t eat another bite of food,’’ he said.
“Who’s talking about food?’’ I asked.
_____
Later, as we showered together, I rubbed Carlos’s back. “How’s that?’’
“Little higher, to the right.’’
With the hot spray of water and a soapy washcloth, I worked the familiar spot at the base of his neck. All the stress of his job often parked itself right there.
“Ahhhh,’’ he said. “
Gracias
,
niña
.’’
Hearing him thank me stirred my guilty feelings again. I was so tempted to say something about Kenny, but I didn’t. First, I had to find out more about the relationship between my brother-in-law and the dead librarian. D’Vora was pretty specific about Kenny’s truck, but she could have been wrong about seeing them together. Even if she wasn’t, there could be a reasonable explanation.
Couldn’t there?
I had to talk to someone who could help me sort out what I knew. But who?
“… about the case.’’
“Sorry, what?’’ I said. “I zoned out there for a minute.’’
“I said I appreciate the fact you haven’t grilled me about the case.’’
“Camilla,’’ I murmured.
“Yes, the murder of Camilla Law.’’
“Well, it’s really none of my business.’’
“Since when has that ever stopped you?’’
I didn’t want to tell him my real reason for not trying to pick his brain. I was afraid if I did, he’d work his detective magic and end up discovering my secrets instead. I needed to create a distraction before I spilled everything I knew. I spotted a bottle on the window ledge in the shower.
“Shampoo?’’
“That depends,’’ he said. “Do I have to tip the shampoo girl?’’
“I’m sure we can think of an appropriate reward.’’
The smolder in his smile told me he’d already conjured up a fitting
idea. I put away the bottle as he wrapped his strong arms around me.
I was willing and eager to collect my pre-shampoo tip.
thirty-five
Henry closed the door
between his office and the reception area. He opened it again a moment later, and stuck his head out to speak to Amy, the college student who helped him run his legal practice. “No phone calls, okay? My cousin and I need some uninterrupted time.’’
I’d settled on Henry as the most likely person to help me sort out what I’d come to think of as The Kenny Crisis. He knew the law, and he wouldn’t reveal anything that would harm Maddie. It wasn’t simply a question of attorney-client—or attorney-cousin—privilege. He truly cared about my sister, despite the fact that he poked fun at her like a kid with a stick every chance he got.
“You said on the phone Kenny and Maddie are in trouble. Please don’t tell me somebody’s sick.’’ He touched a golden gavel on his desk, like a talisman.
“Kenny’s running around. He’s cheating on Maddie.’’
Henry stared at me, and then gave his head a forceful shake. “I don’t believe it.’’
I outlined the evidence. As I spoke, Henry’s face betrayed his emotions: Sorrow when I told him how devastated Maddie had
been when she found out. Anger when I said Kenny had left their home, simply disappeared. Finally, shock when I revealed his apparent involvement with Camilla, and how Kenny may have been among
the last people to see her alive.
I’d rarely known Henry to be speechless. But there he sat, uttering nary a word. Eventually he closed his eyes, as if to clear away images of Kenny’s actions. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Well, this is one heck of a shit-storm, Mace.’’
“Tell me something I don’t know. What are we going to do about it?’’
Henry’s face turned thoughtful. He lifted the gavel from his desk, and pounded it into the center of his palm:
Smack. Smack. Smack.
Before he could injure himself, I asked if he had any water. “I had
picadillo
for lunch,’’ I said. “Good, but the olives were salty.’’
He took a water pitcher from a small table beside his desk, turned
two glasses right side up, and poured one for each of us. I wondered if he’d reach into his bottom drawer for a shot of something stronger, but he didn’t
.
Just as well. Clear minds would help us decide our next step.
“There’s something else, Henry.’’
His grip on the glass tightened. “It gets worse?’’
I nodded. “It’s Carlos. I haven’t told him what I found out about Kenny and Camilla, even though it’s relevant to his murder investigation.’’
“Great. One cousin’s husband might be a murderer, the other cousin could be brought up on obstructing justice charges.’’ He put down his glass and started massaging his face again.
“Can he arrest me?’’
Henry peeked at me through his fingers. “Realistically? Probably not. Technically, yes. We all remember how Carlos once tossed your mama in the slammer without a second thought.’’
He dropped his hands from his eyes, took another minute to think about it. “He’s going to raise holy hell and prop it up on a block when he finds out you’ve withheld information.’’
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.’’ I looked out the window; wondered what Carlos was doing at this moment. Maybe he was fondly remembering his loving interlude with his lying fiancée.
“I don’t want to hinder his investigation,’’ I continued, “but I do want to protect Maddie. If all Kenny’s guilty of is cheating, maybe they can save their marriage. That becomes a lot less likely once her husband’s name has been dragged through the mud as a murder suspect.’’
He pointed at me with the golden gavel. “If Carlos asks you a specific question about Kenny, and you lie or mislead him, you’re on shaky ground, legally.’’
“I’m going to be on shaky ground emotionally if I don’t tell him what I know. We’re engaged, Henry. It’s a trust issue.’’
We both sipped at our water. A soft knock sounded at the door. Amy looked in. Conservatively dressed and serious seeming in dark-framed glasses, she was the antithesis of the “administrative assistants’’ at the mayor’s office.
“Sorry to interrupt, but it’s after five o’clock,’’ she said. “I just wondered if you need me for anything before I go.’’
Henry thanked her, told her he’d see her in the morning. I heard the outer door close, the lock slip into place.
“There’s only one thing I can do, Henry. I have to find Kenny and prove he had nothing to do with Camilla’s death.’’
“And how are you going to do that?’’
Thinking about that question, I gazed around the room. A blue blazer hung on the back of an office chair. Law volumes crowded the bookcases. My eyes lingered on an antique radio displayed on a shelf.
Suddenly, I knew what to do. “I have an idea how we can flush Kenny out from whatever rock he’s been hiding under.’’
Henry cocked his head at me.
“You and the morning show DJ from the country music station are good buddies, right?’’
He nodded.
“You think he’d do us a favor?’’
thirty-six
Henry eased his Lawyer
Lexus into a spot in the empty lot at Kenny’s insurance office.
He’d phoned his radio friend, to set my plan in motion. Then we’d left Henry’s place, intent on doing what we could to find Kenny in the remaining hours of daylight.
The one-man insurance shop was closed, the door locked up tight. I looked in through the streaky windows. A small pile of unopened letters had collected on the floor inside, by the mail slot. The only thing in the trash basket by Kenny’s desk was an empty can of diet Mountain Dew, crushed.
“Maddie and I have tried calling him here,’’ I told Henry. “It rings, but the voice mail is full.’’
Henry put his face against the window. “Looks like he hasn’t picked up his regular mail for a few days, either.’’
I brushed a dirt smudge from the tip of my cousin’s nose. Kenny’s office is right on Main Street. The big stock trailers and sod trucks rumble by and stir up road dust. A fine gray powder coats all the store fronts.
I wrote a message with my finger across the dusty door:
Call me, ASAP. Mace
_____
Henry worked the happy hour crowd at the 19th Hole like a politician at a pancake breakfast. With his gift of gab and easy charm, he moved a lot more easily than I did between the old and new factions of our hometown. We hadn’t found Kenny, but it wasn’t for want of my cousin trying.
Henry had slapped backs, bought drinks, and told jokes in pursuit of information. So far, the most valuable tidbit we’d uncovered was that Kenny had trouble with his bunker play and needed to work on his short game, whatever that meant. Fortunately, Henry spoke golf, so I could ask him later to translate. According to reports from the other golfers, Kenny had played a few rounds with the mayor, and he liked to talk to Angel at the bar, both things I already knew.
My ears perked up when a big-bellied retiree in plaid pants mentioned Jason.
“Sure,’’ Plaid Pants told Henry. “I know Kenny. He handles my storm insurance. Boy, hurricane coverage costs an arm and a leg in Florida. It’s more than quadruple the price of a homeowner’s policy back home. In Ohio … .”
“About Kenny?’’ I interrupted.
“Right, the pro’s been spending a lot of time with him, working on his putt. It’s all in the grip.’’
Plaid Pants got off his barstool and demonstrated, holding an imaginary putter.
“You’re talking about Jason, right?’’ I asked.
“Sure, he’s the only pro here. It can’t be cheap, as many lessons as Kenny’s had.’’
Funny, Jason hadn’t mentioned he’d given Kenny lessons. I leaned
over to whisper in Henry’s ear. “We need to talk to the pro.’’
We found him closing up the pro shop, alone thankfully. I asked Jason why he hadn’t told me he tutored Kenny. “Somebody said he’d probably paid a lot for all the lessons you gave him.’’
He shrugged. “Not everything is about money, Mace.’’
“It is when you have a daughter at an expensive college, like Kenny does, and your wife has no idea you’re throwing away tons of green learning to nudge a ball into a little cup.’’
“Maybe I didn’t charge him.’’
Henry and I exchanged skeptical looks.
“At least not in cash,’’ Jason clarified.
Henry put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. I could tell he was squeezing, because the younger man’s teeth were gritted. “Look here,’’ he used his most intimidating courtroom voice, “maybe you should just tell us the nature of your relationship with Kenny.’’
Ohmigod, I thought to myself. What if Jason revealed he and Kenny were gay lovers? That’d end Maddie’s marriage for sure.
“Kenny has this hunting cabin, way out in the middle of nowhere,’’ Jason said. “It comes in handy for certain … activities … our
club members are interested in pursuing.’’
“Activities?’’ Henry asked.
Having seen Kenny’s hunting camp, I had a pretty good idea what
that meant, but I wanted to hear how the pro would describe it.
Jason glanced at his watch. “It’s past my quitting time, and I need to close the shop. A man can get awful thirsty when people are asking him to reveal secrets.’’
Henry took the hint. “Drinks in the bar, on me.’’
We waited as Jason locked up the cash register, shut off the lights,
and grabbed the keys to that fancy BMW off a peg on the wall. Henry
tried again as we walked across the parking lot to the bar. “Could you elaborate on the kind of ‘activities’ you were referring to?’’
Jason coughed a few times, pointed to his throat. “I can barely speak, I’m so parched.’’
A few moments later, we’d slid into a booth in a quiet corner of
the 19th Hole. Revelers stood two and three deep at the bar for happy
hour. Angel was a blur of motion, mixing drinks. A server helping out from the dining room took care of our orders.
After our drinks arrived, Jason took a few swallows of his Long Island Iced Tea. Henry then slid the drink to the side of the table. “Less parched now, I presume?’’
“Whatever, dude.’’
“Why don’t you tell us what kind of activities the members enjoy?’’ I said.
“Fine. A lot of people here like to swing,’’ Jason said.
“I think Mace meant activities aside from golf,’’ Henry said.
“I’m not talking about golf swings.’’
I saw comprehension dawn in my cousin’s eyes. “Sexual swinging?’’ he asked.
“Bingo,’’ Jason said.
Henry shifted into courtroom mode. “Who’s been a party to this activity?’’
Jason’s forehead wrinkled. He looked at me to translate. “Is he asking about parties? Because we have lots of swingers’ parties.’’
“He means who all’s involved in the sex.’’
A sly smile spread across the pro’s face. “Well, you’d be, if Angel had her way.” He explained to Henry: “Our barmaid thinks Mace is hot.’’
I felt my face flush. “I’m straight.’’
“That’s all right, so is Angel, for the most part. But she knows a
few swingers who would think the two of you together are just their
type.’’ He leaned across the table to caress my arm.
“Mace is engaged,’’ Henry said.
“I sure am.’’
“Well, you’re not married yet.’’ Jason winked at me.
I tried to ignore the fact my arm tingled a bit where he’d stroked it. What was wrong with me? How could I even think about some sleazy country-club Romeo when I had a good man who wanted to marry me? Maybe Maddie’s current crisis combined with Mama’s checkered history really had spoiled me for true love.
I glanced at Jason. He gave me a ravenous look. Suddenly, I thought of a Florida panther zeroing in on a fawn. I dropped my arm into my lap, safely out of caressing distance.
“Let’s get back to this swingers’ club,’’ Henry said.
“Is Kenny involved?’’ I asked.
The pro shrugged. “He’s not a charter member. He may have fooled around a little. Hard not to when everything’s going on right there in the house at his hunting camp.’’
“Well,’’ Henry prodded, “who
is
a charter member?’’
The pro looked over each shoulder, perhaps gauging if anyone was eavesdropping. He nodded toward the bar, where Angel was pouring shots from a vodka bottle into a long line of mixers.
“You already told us about Angel,’’ I said.
“I’m not talking about Angel.’’ He pointed to the end of the bar nearest us. Beatrice Graf sat alone, golf skort hiked up nearly to the Promised Land. She stared into her who-knows-how-many umpteenth Bloody Mary of the day.
She must have sensed us looking at her. She turned, and spotted Henry. Drunkenly, she picked up the celery stalk from her drink,
holding it in both hands. Lasciviously, she ran her tongue up it
and down it, and around and around it. When she finished her show, she crooked a finger at my cousin and waggled her tongue wickedly.
“Oh, my Lord,’’ Henry breathed. “She’s old enough to be my mother.’’
“A senior citizen swinger? No way,’’ I said.
“Oh, yeah,’’ Jason said. “Mrs. Graf swings like a front porch glider,
and so does his honor, the mayor.’’
thirty-seven
I elbowed Henry, drawing
his attention away from Beatrice Graf and her sexually explicit celery stalk. “Speak of the devil.’’
I pointed with my beer bottle to the foyer of the dining room. Big
Bill had just entered, and was busy glad-handing his constituents.
“At least
he
looks sober.’’ Henry tossed some money on the table to cover our tab. “Meet me over there when you finish your drink, Mace. Given the choice, I’d rather talk to His Honor than to the drunken wife. She might construe it as my being interested in buttering her muffin.’’
On his way to the dining room, Henry attempted to give Beatrice a wide berth. But the bar was crowded, leaving little room to navigate. She beckoned him to come closer, waving her celery at him and performing a hoochie-coochie hip rotation. Henry was doing his best to ignore her.
“Looks like you’ve lost your Sugar Mama,’’ I said to Jason. “She seems quite taken with my cousin.’’
“No worries. There’s plenty more where Bea came from.’’ Jason’s narrowed eyes and angry frown belied his words. He watched Beatrice with what looked like jealousy.
“You care about her!’’
“Please. We have a business arrangement. I don’t want it compromised.’’
Realization dawned. “So that’s how you afford the BMW?’’
He shrugged.
“Women pay for your, uh … affections. How can you do that?’’
Another shrug. “It’s a living. It beats the hell out of baling tobacco
or picking up garbage, which are only two of the crappy jobs I’ve had.’’
He drained his drink, ice clinking against the glass. “Speaking of which, I’ve got another hot date waiting. I better scoot.’’
I put out a hand to stop him as he got up. “Does your ‘date’ involve Kenny’s hunting camp? I’m still trying to find him, you know.’’
“You’ve only told me a million times. And I’ve told you I haven’t seen the man. As much as I’d love to see
you
at the camp, wearing only a coat of flavored body oil, there’s nothing going on there tonight.’’ He grabbed my hand. “I’ll be sure to let you know the next time we’re having a get-together, though. I can guarantee you’ll be very popular. You may even earn a few bucks, if you’re willing to … experiment.’’
His finger circled suggestively in the center of my palm. I yanked my hand away. This time, my skin crawled where Jason had touched it. The leer on his handsome face disgusted me. Who were these people? And how had they infiltrated Himmarshee?
As soon as he left, I went to join Henry. In the few moments it took me to cross the bar and dining room, I watched the mayor’s expression change from jovial to wary. Henry had backed him into a corner by the restrooms. Judging from His Honor’s body language, he wasn’t thrilled with the cross-examination.
As I sidled up beside them, Henry gestured. “I know you’ve met
my cousin, Mace.’’
Smiling tightly, the mayor gave a curt nod.
“I was just asking Mayor Graf what he knows about activities of a sexual nature at Kenny Wilson’s camp.’’
The mayor’s beefy face was more scarlet than usual. He’d puffed up his broad chest, until it was almost as big as his substantial belly. He stood about six-foot-two, and was looming now over Henry. Physically imposing, he probably was unaccustomed to seeing a
man who was at least five inches shorter get up in his face. But, like
a small dog who fancies itself a Great Dane, my cousin had never been one to back down—not in the courtroom; not in life.
“Mayor Graf?’’ Henry prodded. “Have you attended any of the swingers’ parties at the camp?’’
Graf crossed his arms over his chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Counselor. And I resent you inferring that I would.’’
“Implying,’’ Henry corrected.
The mayor said, “I ran for office on a family values platform.’’
I laughed out loud. “And we all know there’s
never
been a family values politician caught with his pants down.’’
The mayor glared first at me and then at Henry, regarding us like we were two rats using his dinner plate as a toilet. He stepped so close, the toe of one shoe touched mine; the other shoe touched Henry’s. I smelled lemons. Maybe the men’s locker room at the club provided the same fancy lotion as the women’s did. When Big Bill spoke, the chill in his voice dropped the temperature in the cramped foyer.
“You two redneck hicks do not know who you’re dealing with. Cross me, and I swear you will regret it.’’
“Is that a threat?’’ Henry asked. “Did you hear that, Mace? Did it give you a reasonable fear of bodily harm? If it did, that’s what we redneck hicks and the Florida Criminal Statutes like to call ‘assault.’’’
Henry’s questions hung in the hallway. The door to the ladies’
room swung open, and the mayor’s expression changed in an instant
. From raging bull to avuncular boss.
“Diamond, dear, I thought you may have gotten lost. We need to grab a quick bite to eat so we’re not late for the city council meeting.’’
I nodded at the young woman I’d met earlier in his office. With spiky heels and a sparkly halter top, she was dressed for a disco instead of some dull government meeting. The mayor introduced her to Henry as his aide.
My cousin, with his typical appreciation for the feminine form, got all googly-eyed over the bra-less cleavage her halter exposed.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,’’ she said.
I pinched Henry’s arm. “Me, too,’’ he answered lamely.
The mayor shifted into his friendly politician persona again. He slapped Henry on the back. “Sorry we’re going to have to cut our conversation short, Counselor.’’ His smile was wide, his sincerity false. “I’d be glad to explore this topic some more, in private.’’
He hustled Diamond to the dining room, and slipped a ten-
dollar bill into the hand of the woman at the hostess stand. She
whisked the two of them toward a staff entrance. I wondered whether
that was because they were in a rush, or so they could avoid traipsing past the mayor’s wife at the bar.
Henry was still staring after the departing Diamond and her various jiggling parts. Her skirt was so tight, her rear end looked like two baby possums tussling in a potato sack.
“Jesus, Henry! Pick your eyeballs off the carpet, why don’t you? You’re a married man.’’
He tore his gaze away, just as the staff door closed on Diamond’s 24-carat butt.
“Answer me something. If Miss Diamond Doll came on to you like the mayor’s wife did, would you take her up on it? Would you cheat on your wife?’’
I waited a beat, then asked the question I really wanted to know: “Are you and all other men just like Kenny?’’
Shock registered on his face. He put his hand over his heart. “Please tell me you don’t really think that, Mace. I love my wife. And I’ve never once strayed, not in twelve years. A married man can flirt. He can look. But he can never touch. That’s where Kenny went wrong.”
His eyes searched mine. I had the feeling he was trying to see into my soul.
“I would never, never cheat on my wife.’’
That was just what I thought he’d say. I would have expected Kenny to say the same thing, before. Look what happened with him.
“Never say never, Henry.’’
thirty-eight
Mama’s door was locked.
I knocked, cueing a cacophony of barking from inside.
Henry plugged his ears with his fingers, grimacing like he was standing next to a tree-cutter with a chainsaw. “My Lord, how is it Sal hasn’t permanently silenced that awful creature by now?’’
“Believe it or not, he loves Teensy as much as Mama does. While he’s stretched out in his TV chair, watching sports, Sal lets the dog sleep on his stomach. He hand-feeds him cheese curls out of the same snack. One curl for Sal; one for Teensy.’’
Henry mimed a gagging motion.
“Tell me about it,’ I said. “I love dogs, but that doesn’t mean I want to eat after one.’’
We heard the approach of heavy footsteps on the other side of the door. Gently toeing Teensy aside, Sal cracked it open an inch and peeked out. “Mace?’’
“Who else?” I asked. “Mama called me and insisted I come over.’’
I’d had a strange phone conversation with her as Henry and I headed home from the golf course. She called in a huff, raging and raving, saying she’d never forgive me.
“You’d better ggmph over here and mfmph slllph.’’
“What?’’ I’d shouted into the phone. “I can’t understand you.’’
“Explain …’’ Mama yelled, before the phone cut off.
The reception was bad in that slice of the county, and Mama ranted
disjointedly. I couldn’t tell what the hell she was talking about. Of course, that wasn’t unusual.
I’d convinced Henry to make an emergency detour to her house
to figure things out in person.
“Your mother’s furious at you, Mace.’’ It became “mudder’’ in Sal’s Bronx accent.
“Yeah, that’s about all I managed to understand. Henry’s out here with me, Sal. Are you going to open the door and let us come in off the stoop, or should we just wait until the mosquitoes suck out every drop of our blood?’’
As if for punctuation, Henry slapped a hungry specimen on his neck. I flicked two at once off my wrist.
The door opened. Sal was dressed for bed, wearing a pair of men’s
pajamas that would give any normal person nightmares. Black, they featured bright red cartoon characters. Boy devils with tails and pitchforks chased after girl devils. The girls, complete with horns and the subtle bud of breasts, jumped over flames of orange and yellow.
Sal padded in his red leather slippers from the living room into the kitchen, where he’d been feeding Teensy. We followed him.
“Where’d you buy the pajamas, Sal? Hell-Mart?’’ Henry asked.
I giggled, but Sal didn’t crack a smile. He spooned food from an open can into Teensy’s bowl, set it on the floor, and then leaned against the kitchen counter. “She’s really upset, Mace. She won’t tell me what’s wrong. She’s in the bedroom, with the lights out and a cold compress on her head.’’
I looked at the Elvis Presley clock over the sink. Above the King’s swiveling hips, the time read 8:05 p.m. That was early for bed, even by Himmarshee standards. Chances were Mama was not asleep.
“You want to come with me to talk to her, Sal?’’
The big man backed up as if I was asking him to bungee jump off a cliff, minus the bungee cord. I opened the door of the refrigerator, took out two beers, and poured a hefty glass of sweet pink wine for Mama. I handed Henry one of the beers. “You may need this, cousin. You’re coming in with me. No way I’m facing her alone.’’
I pushed Henry to the bedroom door ahead of me. He was always
her favorite among all the cousins. I figured whatever bee was in her bonnet about whatever I’d done, she wouldn’t make a scene in front of Henry—or, at least not as big of a scene.
I rapped gently on the half-closed door with the top of my beer bottle. “You awake?’’
I heard a dramatic sigh from inside. “Yes.’’ Her voice quavered.
“I’ve got Henry with me. Are you decent?’’
“Of course.’’ Another sigh. “Hey, Henry.’’
“Hey, Aunt Rosalee,’’ he said from the hallway.
“Well, don’t just stand out there like a couple of ninnies,’’ she said. “Come on in and turn on the lights.’’
As we did, Mama tossed the washcloth from her forehead onto the floor. She plumped three pillows behind her and sat up against a peach-colored headboard.
“Pink wine?’’ I held out the glass to her.
“Henry, please tell my daughter I’m far too upset to drink more than a couple of sips.’’
“Mace, your mama says—”
“—I heard her, Henry.’’ I handed her the glass.
“Tell my daughter thank-you.’’
“She said—’’
“—Yeah, I got it.’’
Henry and I perched about midway down the king-size bed; me on Mama’s left; Henry on her right. She gave Henry a sad look. I got a furious frown.
“I’m madder at you than a wasp with a ruined nest, Mace. I’d have never believed you’d keep information like this from me. Maddie’s in pain, and I’m sitting on my hands. I could have helped before it got this far.’’
I was quiet. I learned long ago the best offense against Mama is silence. She can’t stand the sound of it. As I knew she would, she jumped in to fill it with words.
“I got this text tonight.’’ She handed me her cell phone.
I’ve had enough. Don’t bother coming home. I want a divorce.
The words hit like a punch to my solar plexus.
“At first I thought it was somebody poking fun at my matrimonial record. Then I saw it was Maddie who’d sent the text, and Maddie never pokes fun. Of course I called her right back to find out what that meant.’’
“What’d she say?’’ Henry asked.
“That she hit my number by mistake; Kenny’s right next to me in her phone directory. I wasn’t supposed to receive the message. Like I didn’t know that.’’ Mama took the phone from me; stared at the text again. “She said it wasn’t any of my business what the text meant.’’
Mama raised her face to mine. Tears pooled in her eyes. “How can it not be a mother’s business when her daughter wants a divorce?’’
“Mama, I
…
’’
She cut me off. “Maddie was crying, but she hung up on me when I tried to ask her what was wrong. I called right back, and she hung up again. The next time I called she said she simply couldn’t talk about it. Maddie said, ‘Mace knows the whole story. Ask her.’’’
Mama’s phone timed out, and the screen went dark. She placed it upside down on the bed and then covered it with a pillow, as if by hiding it, she could erase that text from existence.
“So, I’m asking my middle daughter why my first-born never saw fit to mention to me that her marriage of twenty-some years was crumbling.’’
Mama’s voice sounded more sad than angry. A look passed between Henry and me.
“So, Henry knows about this, too?’’ Her voice rose. “I’m the only one in the dark?’’ Now, anger was back in the lead over sadness.
Henry took her hand. “Mace only brought me in because there may be criminal issues involved.’’
“Criminal?’’ Mama wailed. “Is Maddie going to jail?’’
“Nobody’s going to jail, Aunt Rosalee.’’ Henry aimed for a soothing tone. “At least not right away.’’
Her eyes widened. “Maddie would look a fright in those awful orange jumpsuits they make you wear in jail.’’
And so we had another record shattered: From fury to anguish to fashion in less than five minutes.
Teensy gave a sharp yip in the living room. A car door slammed. A crescendo of barking began.
“That’ll be Marty,’’ Mama said. “I called her, too. She couldn’t believe Maddie would choose to tell you about this instead of her.’’
“Believe me, I’ve asked myself that same question.’’
I headed to the front door to corral Teensy. I’d reveal to Mama and Marty that Kenny was cheating. I’d tell them everything, except who his secret lover had been.
thirty-nine
First thing Wednesday morning,
I turned on the radio in my bedroom to the country music station. I listened to five commercials, the latest Jason Aldean song, and some back-and-forth between Henry’s disc jockey friend and a clueless caller. The guy thought he’d dialed his girlfriend’s number when a deep-voiced man answered the phone.
“Uh, I was calling for Donna Jean. Did I dial the
…
wrong number?’’ the caller’s voice was hesitant.
“Donna Jean’s in the kitchen, making me breakfast. Who the heck is this?’’ the DJ demanded.
When he finally let the poor guy off the hook, the announcer did the bit I’d been waiting for: “We’ve got a terrific prize for some lucky driver today. Two tickets to the big monster truck show later t
his month. I’m going to read off some numbers, and if your license tag is a match, you’re the winner. Got a pencil? Here we go
…
”
Then he read off the tag number D’Vora handed me when she revealed she’d seen Kenny parked at the lake.
The station, ranked No. 1 in most of the counties ringing Lake Okeechobee, ran frequent giveaways and contests. If Kenny was in range, he was listening. He wouldn’t be able to resist the monster truck jamboree, especially for free. Henry had asked the DJ to help us razz a relative. Since the man spent most of his mornings pulling pranks, he was happy to do it. He agreed to repeat the pitch five times throughout the morning.
“You’ll have to pick up your tickets in your vehicle so we can make sure the tag matches,’’ the announcer continued. “Stop by the station between noon and one o’clock, and we’ll hand ’em over. You’ll be sittin’ pretty, watching Maximum Destruction crush everything in sight
…
”
_____
“Duck!’’ I said to Henry, as I slid down in the front passenger seat of his wife’s minivan.
Talking on his cell phone, he wasn’t paying attention. “Sorry, hang on,’’ he said into the phone. “What are you doing?’’ He stared at me, as I’d folded myself nearly in two to get under the dashboard.
“Get down, I said!’’
“Yoo-hoo, Henry!’’ The horn on Mama’s convertible tooted. “It’s Aunt Rosalee.’’
My cousin ended his phone conversation, too late. Our cover was blown. “Way to go, Henry.’’
It was 11:50 am. We were staked out in the parking lot of the radio station. I heard the familiar rumble of Mama’s vintage car as she pulled up beside us. If Kenny saw that distinctive turquoise cruise liner, he’d never drive into the lot. That’s why we were in the white minivan. It wasn’t as recognizable as any of the cars we usually drove.
I hopped out of the van.
“Where’d you come from, Mace?’’
I opened the driver’s door of her car, and talked fast. “Scoot over. We have to hurry. It has to do with Kenny. I’ll explain while I drive.’’
I gave her a little push, and to my surprise she moved. With the minutes ticking away until Kenny might show, I didn’t have time to argue with Mama, or devise an elaborate subterfuge to get rid of her. She’d never leave simply because I said so. I had no choice but to include her in the plan.
“Henry and I set up a fake radio contest to lure Kenny to the station. We’re waiting for him right now so we can finally confront him about what’s been going on.’’
Gunning Mama’s car, I crossed the street and drove around to the rear of a convenience store across from the radio station. A cluster of dumpsters would provide a serviceable hiding spot.
“We don’t want him to spot us, so we’re going to have to hurry
back and get in Henry’s van. How’d you come to see us, by the way?’’
“I was driving past. I just picked up my car from Juan’s Auto Repair and Taco Shop.’’
I eased her big blue boat in between the dumpsters and turned off the key.
Cla-clunk, cla-clunk, cla-clunk
.
“Engine’s still knocking,’’ I said as I opened the door.
“
That’s not the only thing that’ll be knocking once I see my cheating
son-in-law.’’
Setting her mouth in a grim line, Mama gathered up her pineapple-sherbet purse and marched back to the parking lot of the radio station.
_____
Henry watched the street entrance from the driver’s seat. Mama was in the passenger seat. I was stretched out in the back, waiting for the word that one of them had sighted Kenny’s big truck. Mama swiveled in her seat toward me.
“Is there any chance we can patch things up between them by Saturday?’’ Mama said. “I’d hate to see all those party plans Maddie’s been working on just go down the drain.’’
Henry caught my eye in the rear-view mirror. I hadn’t told Mama or Marty that Kenny had been cheating with the murdered Camilla, or the implications of his involvement. Not even Maddie knew that yet.
“Saturday doesn’t seem likely,’’ Henry said, with lawyerly understatement.
“How long do you think it was going on?’’
“We’re not sure, Mama. He’d lost weight, bought those spiffy clothes, and took up golf. All that made Maddie suspicious. The more she investigated, the guiltier he looked.’’
Mama’s eyes took on a faraway glaze. “With Husband No. 2, it was cologne. That man would usually go around smelling like the bottom of a dirty laundry basket. I always knew he’d started running around on me again when he started pouring on the Eau D’Cheater.’’
I remembered. When No. 2 got ready to go out at night, there’d be cigarette ashes in their bathroom sink and wet towels all over the floor. The moist air would smell like clouds at the men’s fragrance counter of a department store at Christmas.
“Heads up,’’ Henry said. “Here comes his truck.’’
Our plan was to let Kenny park, and make it halfway to the door of the station before we intercepted him. Mama hefted her purse into her lap. Having her along actually improved our odds. If Kenny gave us any trouble, she’d swing that big satchel right for his crotch. I knew she wouldn’t hesitate. I’d seen her go for the groin before—once at a would-be assailant wielding a shotgun, and several times after she’d gotten fed up with Husband No. 2.
I didn’t expect Kenny to put up a fight. But I felt along the side of the back seat for the tire iron I’d stashed, just in case.
He eased his truck into a spot at the far end of the lot, where he could have vacant spaces on either side. Kenny was a fanatic about his paint job, and careful to avoid dings and scratches. This worked in our favor. If we had to get rough with him, it was better not to have to do it right in sight of the station’s front door.
“What in the hell?’’ Henry muttered.
“Would you look at that!’’ Mama said.
“Let me see.” I popped up my head between the two of them to get a better view out the front windshield. Kenny sported fake facial hair, dark sunglasses, and a black cowboy hat with a costume fringe of brown hair. He looked like Hank Williams Jr. after a very bad night.
“Let’s go get him,’’ I said.
Henry and Mama hurtled out the front of the car. I lost some time, looking for the safety button to slide open the minivan’s automatic door. I caught up with them midway across the lot.
“Stop right where you are, Kenny.’’ Mama’s voice was as cold as the beer fridge at the Booze ’n’ Breeze. “You’ve got some explaining to do.’’
I thought he might run. Instead, he turned slowly. He looked at Henry, whose big fists were clenched at his side. Henry may have added a bit of fat over the years, but he still had a lot of the muscle and speed of the high school wrestler he’d once been. Kenny’s gaze moved to his mother-in-law—purse at the ready, eyes singeing him with the “Mama Glare.’’ Finally, he focused on me, tire iron tucked alongside my thigh.
“Are y’all going to kill me?’’ he asked.
“I ought to,’’ Henry answered.
I raised the iron, touched it lightly to Kenny’s zipper. “I can think
of a better fate for a cheating husband.’’
Mama put her hand over mine, lowering my makeshift weapon. “There’s no need for violence, Mace. Kenny knows he’s done Maddie wrong.’’
She turned to him, eyes searching his face. “Surely there’s an explanation for all this? You don’t just throw away more than twenty years of marriage.’’
He hung his head. The ridiculous shag-cut wig formed a curtain over his face.
Henry was blunt. “Are you involved with the swingers’ club at the golf course? Is that what all of this is about?’’
“How’s a club to practice your golf swing related to anything,
Henry?” Exasperation edged Mama’s words. “Let’s stay on the topic.’’
Kenny’s face was as scarlet as the feathers on a redbird’s cap. “I …
I mean … I
…
”
“My goodness, Kenny, spit it out. There’s no shame in having a bad swing. Lord knows Sal goes to the driving range to practice his all the time. He told me the swing is one of the most important elements in golf.’’
My cousin and I exchanged a look. “Are you going to tell Mama it’s a different kind of swinging, or should we?’’ I asked Kenny.
Silently, he shook his head.
Henry and I took turns revealing to her what we’d discovered: About the sexual swingers’ club; how the mayor and his wife were members; that Jason, the pro, and Angel, the barmaid, were also involved.
Mama’s face had paled. The heavy purse hung forgotten from one limp arm.
“The reason Henry asked if Kenny was involved is that they meet out at his camp near the county line,’’ I told her.
Throughout, Kenny’s eyes had remained fixed on the parking lot pavement. At the mention of his camp, he raised his head. “I didn’t invite them, and I didn’t want them there. But once I got involved with …” his voice tapered off.
“I know who you were cheating with,’’ I said.
His head shot up. He slid off the sunglasses to look at me.
“D’Vora saw you with her in your truck out at the lake.’’
Mama, startled from her trance, asked, “Who’s ‘her’?’’
“Camilla.’’
I heard her gasp when I said that name.
Kenny nodded. “She was at the center of the whole swingers’ group,
but I didn’t know that. Once I started … seeing … Camilla,
Jason threatened me. One day, when I took him and the mayor’s wife
out to the shooting range, he cornered me and said he’d tell Maddie about Camilla if I didn’t let them use the camp for parties.’’
“Did you?’’ Henry asked.
Kenny’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yes. Camilla kept pushing me to party with them, but I wouldn’t do that. I only told them how to get to the camp and where I hid the key.’’
Henry lifted one eyebrow, the same one he used in the courtroom when he wanted the jury to believe a witness on the stand was lying.
Kenny raised his right hand. “I’m telling you the God’s honest truth.’’
“I don’t think God had much to do with this,’’ Mama said.
“I felt awful,’’ he continued. “All I could think was how hurt Maddie would be.’’
He sneaked a glance at Mama. Arms folded tight across her chest, she simply shook her head. He sniffed, knuckled at an eye.
“Unfortunately, you’ll have the chance to find out just how much
you hurt her,’’ I said.
“I know y’all won’t believe this, but I was only with Camilla …
in that way … the one time. She started flirting around with me at the golf course. A few times, she sat down while I was having lunch or dinner. She complimented me. She tried to kiss me. It made me feel like I was young again. Sexy.’’
Kenny took a deep breath. His voice shook when he continued. “We hadn’t had sex until that night at the lake.’’
“Whose idea was that?’’ Henry asked.
“I swear it wasn’t mine. Camilla asked me to drive her to Lake Okeechobee to see the sunset. She just about jumped me when we got there, doing things I’d never dreamed a woman would do.’’ His face reddened. “I couldn’t resist.’’
“Was she wearing that outfit we found her in at the dump?’’ I asked.
I saw a gleam of comprehension in Mama’s eyes. She butted in. “When exactly was this you were with Camilla at the lake?’’
He’d clamped his lips shut again; his eyes cast down.
The gleam became a flash. “Oh my Lord Jesus! You’re not just a cheater, you’re a murderer, too.” Mama clutched her throat. Her face had turned grayish-yellow. “I’m going to be sick.’’
And she was, all over Kenny’s shoes.
forty
Mama dabbed her lips
with a pineapple sherbet-colored hankie. She must have eaten a big breakfast, because the delicate handkerchief wasn’t up to the task. I handed her a super-sized bandana from my back pocket.
I figured the vomit all over Kenny’s shoes was his punishment for cheating. My cousin, though, took pity on him. He ran to his wife’s minivan to get Kenny some wet wipes. It was either sympathy, or Henry had a lower tolerance for nasty smells than I did.
“How could you think I’d murder that girl, Rosalee?’’ Kenny scrubbed at one shoe, his voice tight with hurt. “As long as you’ve known me?’’
Mama turned her back on him.
Henry said, “We all thought we knew you, Kenny. If I’ve learned one thing from all these years practicing law, it’s that any man—or woman—has the capacity to surprise those who know and love them.’’
Kenny scrubbed even harder, shredding the paper wipe against his shoe.
“Camilla was alive when I dropped her off at her house; and she wasn’t wearing any kind of black leather getup, either.’’
Brakes hissed in the road. A horn blared on a tractor trailer hau
ling sugar cane. I waited until the big truck rumbled past, narrowly missing an oblivious tourist in a rental car.
“What about the text you sent to Maddie?” I quoted it word-for-word, since it was seared into my heart the moment I’d read it: “
I did something terrible. I don’t think you can forgive me. I’m so sorry
.’’
Kenny’s mouth dropped open. The paper wipe went still against
his shoe. “That was private, Mace!’’
“Yeah, well, sorry if I offended your ‘privacy’ by trying to help my
sister patch together her shattered life.’’
“That message had nothing to do with anything except the fact guilt was eating me up because I’d cheated. I betrayed my wife, the only woman I ever loved.
That’s
what I was saying I was sorry for!’’
Mama turned, cocking her head at Kenny. Her expression told me she was judging his story.
He looked at each of us in turn. It seemed he was trying to gauge whether we believed him. I wasn’t sure if I did or not. He’d shaken my faith. Not just in him, either. In all men. The fact I couldn’t tell if my brother-in-law was lying troubled me more than I wanted to let on to Mama or Henry.
Finally, Mama spoke up. “I’m angry at you, son. What you did to Maddie makes you low enough to walk under a trundle bed wearing a ten-gallon hat. But I don’t believe you killed anybody, either.’’
I heard a whoosh of air escape, as if Kenny had been holding his breath. He moved toward Mama with his arms outstretched for a hug.
“Not so fast.’’ She took a step back. “I want to know how you’re going to fix this. How much trouble is he in, Henry?’’
My cousin stroked his chin, thinking. “He’d be in a lot less trouble
if there was somebody else who saw Camilla after he did. What time did you drop her back home after you left the lake, Kenny?’’
“Right before eight o’clock. I wanted to get back to the motel in time to watch that reality show I like about the bounty hunters.’’
“How appropriate,’’ Henry said. “Let’s hope you don’t end up starring in a real-life episode.’’
I was surprised to hear Kenny had anted up the cash to get a room. It did explain, though, why I couldn’t find him. Given his reluctance to open his wallet, I hadn’t even thought to look for him at the handful of accommodations in the area.
“Where’ve you been staying?’’ I asked.
He pressed his lips together; put his sunglasses back on.
“Mace asked you a question,’’ Mama said.
He turned his face my way. The sun glinted off the dark lenses of his glasses. “How do I know you’re not going to send Carlos after me?’’
“Believe me, if this whole mess didn’t involve Maddie, you’d already be sitting, dripping sweat, in his suspect’s chair.’’ I ran my fingers through my hair; encountered snarls. “Before it becomes common knowledge, I’m going to tell my sister what’s been going on. I owe her that. In the meantime, you ought to talk to Henry about the best way to frame all this when you do sit down to talk to Carlos.’’
Henry gave a curt nod. “Good advice.’’ He dropped a hand on Kenny’s shoulder; not too lightly, either. “Why don’t you ride back to my office with me?’’
“What about my tickets to the monster truck show? They said on the radio I’m a contest winner.’’
Henry rolled his eyes. “You’re a winner all right.’’
“It was a ruse,’’ Mama said. “There are no tickets.’’
I sent up a silent thank-you to the Lord for seeing that their daughter, Pam, inherited her brains from Maddie instead of from Kenny.
Kenny trudged along beside Henry toward the minivan. They were almost there when I called out to stop them. “Kenny, what’s the name of the place you’re staying?’’
“The NoTell Motel.’’
_____
My supervisor at Himmarshee Park was an understanding woman, but even she had her limits.
“Get your ass into work, girl. Your lunch hour has come and gone. I’ve taken a half-dozen phone messages, and now there’s a teacher waiting to see you in the breezeway.’’ Even through the cell phone’s crappy speaker, I could hear the testiness in Rhonda’s voice.
“I’m just pulling in now, boss. I’ll be there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’’ My Jeep bounced over the slatted wooden bridge at the park’s entrance. “I got caught up in some family trouble.’’
“Humph! Your family is nothing but trouble,’’ she said.
I parked under the meager shade of a slash pine. The asphalt lot baked under a mid-afternoon sun. Sprinting through the woods, it took me just a few moments to arrive at the breezeway outside the park’s office. Elaine Naiman sat on a cypress log bench, whistling off-key.
“Sorry I kept you waiting.’’ I was a bit out of breath.
“No problem.’’ She gave me a friendly grin. “I was just enjoying sitting under the trees, listening to the birds singing.’’
“Yeah, I heard you accompanying them just now.’’
“Hope it didn’t hurt your ears. I love all kinds of music, includ
ing birdsongs. But I’m actually tone deaf. No telling how I sounded.’’
I flashed a thumbs up, withholding my opinion she’d never get a job as a professional whistler.
“I got your supervisor’s permission to steal you for a few
minutes.’’
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m on Rhonda’s bad side today. Did she say you could keep me for good?’’
Elaine smiled. “Not exactly. She said we should make it snappy so you could get some work done. For a change.’’
“Sounds like Rhonda.’’
“I’ll get to the point: I’ve found out some things about our mayor. If you’re going to fight him on that development he’s pushing, you might be able to use the information as ammunition against him.’’
She seemed so eager. I didn’t want to tell her I already had one pretty big battle on my hands. Proving Kenny was innocent of murder had to take precedence over saving Florida from another development scheme. The sad thing was, even if we stopped this one, another ill-conceived project would pop right up to take its place. Out-of-control developers were the state’s version of Whac-A-Mole.
Elaine pulled a notebook from her purse and shuffled through the pages. “First, the honorable Bill Graf is into some pretty weird things.’’
“So I’ve heard. You mean sex, right?’’
Her head jerked up from the notebook. Surprise showed on her
face. “Yes, and it’s creepy! One of my fellow teachers has a niece, just out of high school. She interviewed for a filing job in the city manager’s office. The mayor followed her out to the parking lot at City Hall, and then asked if she’d consider ‘hooking up’ with him and his wife. It was pretty clear he didn’t mean for a nice family dinner.’’
“What a sleaze ball.’”
“Clearly.” She touched the tip of her pencil to her tongue, then made a check mark in her notes.
The door to the park’s office opened. Rhonda stuck out her head. “You two found each other?’’
I nodded. “I’ll be in soon, and then I’m yours for the rest of the day. I’ll even spread that pile of mulch on the nature path.’’
A city crew had dumped it, smack dab at the beginning of the path. Rhonda had been calling ever since to try to get somebody to come back to even it out. Hey, if a little manual labor would get me back on her friendly side, I was not above lifting a shovel. She shook her finger at me and closed the door.
Elaine consulted her notes again. “Next, he was connected to a business up north that got into trouble for trying to bribe some local government officials.’’
That I had
not
heard. It looked like the Himmarshee paper fell down on reporting the stories it ran about the candidates in our recent elections. I wasn’t surprised. Newspapers nationwide were struggling to survive. The local paper was so short-staffed and strapped for the advertising that paid its bills I was amazed it still managed to publish anything at all.
“Was that case common knowledge?’’ I asked.
Elaine lowered her eyes, suddenly modest. “No, it was a little bitty town in Rhode Island, and the charges were pretty small potatoes. But I’m a good researcher. It’s a passion of mine, along with supporting the hapless St. Louis Rams.’’
She paged through the notes. “The company belonged to his wife’s family, so the mayor’s name wasn’t directly involved. No charges were filed against him, though his wife worked there when the trouble arose. Now, I can’t say whether our mayor managed to cover his tracks, or he really didn’t have anything to do with their business. I intend to keep looking into it, though.’’
“Why are you so interested in all of this?’’
She looked out across the breezeway, her gaze lingering on Himmarshee Creek and then the cool greenness of the woods beyond. “You know, I love it here. I didn’t like the mayor, even before he showed such disregard for the kids’ safety in the parking lot. I liked him even less when I found out he had plans to bring in a lot of big development to ruin this place.’’
She turned to me, her eyes meeting mine. “Maybe someone else would be a better mayor for Himmarshee.’’
I waited for her to go on. A cardinal chirped from an oak branch, filling the silence.
“You?’’ I finally asked.
I
sure as hell wasn’t mayoral material.
She chewed her lip. “Is that crazy?’’
I shook my head. “I’ve heard nuttier ideas. You’re smart. You show
great attention to detail. You love the community, and you love kids. The town could do a lot worse.’’
She grinned. “Mayors here serve a two-year term. I’ve got time to decide.’’
“And gather more dirt on His Honor in the meantime.’’ I stuck out my hand. “You’ve already got my vote.’’
We shook, and said our goodbyes.
“I better get to work before Rhonda explodes.’’ As I walked toward
the office, I started making a list in my head:
Return phone calls. Spread mulch. Feed animals. Decide how to tell Maddie her husband had shagged a murder victim
…
The sound of Elaine calling me from the breezeway stopped me at the door. “Sorry,’’ I said, “what’d you say?’’
“I forgot to mention Mrs. Graf’s family’s business. It was trash hauling.’’
My hand was on the knob when Rhonda yanked open the door. The scowl on her face told me she was not happy.
forty-one
I held back my
sister’s hair as she retched over the toilet in the bathroom Kenny had remodeled for her thirty-fifth birthday. I remembered how excited she’d been: They’d splurged on beautiful,
custom glass tiles, forming a cobalt-blue border around the shower.
The tiles were still in fine condition.
I couldn’t say the same for Maddie.
She coughed, and blew her nose. Shaking, she sat back on her heels. Her breath came out as a shudder.
“You done?’’
She nodded. “I’m sorry, Mace.’’ The words were muffled by a washcloth pressed over her nose and mouth.
“Don’t worry about it.’’ I tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “I love you. What’s a little barf between sisters?’’
She shifted the cloth, revealing a weak smile.