Текст книги "Mama Does Time"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Jake knew all about it, even down to the fact that the body was discovered in the trunk of “some lady’s convertible.’’ We didn’t mention the “purty’’ gal in front of him was that same notorious lady. He also knew about Albert’s loans to strapped ranchers.

“Yep.’’ A stream just missed my boot. “Some of these boys ’round here bit off more than they can chew. Ranching’s a tough bidness. Only the strong survive.’’

“Who was borrowing?’’ I asked.

Jake opened his lips just enough to spit. Not a word escaped.

“Clarke Simmons?’’ I named one of Florida’s best-known cattle men. Jake’s thin shoulders shook with laughter. When he started wheezing, Marty patted his back until he quit.

“Simmons has got more gold than Midas,’’ he said with a final cough. “That fellow from the drive-thru could have borrowed money from him.’’

“Jeb Ennis and I go way back,’’ I said. “I know he’s been having some cash-flow problems.’’

Jake narrowed his eyes at me. “Yep.’’

“It’s a shame. Jeb sure did work hard to build that ranch,’’ I said.

“Now, that might be true. But Jeb’d do better to keep his mind on his bidness. You can’t serve two masters.’’

I waited for the wizened old man to go on. He straightened the hat on his head.

“He borrowed money from just about ever’body here, even a few bucks from me. But he always had one excuse or t’other about why he couldn’t repay. Don’t piss on my back and tell me it’s rainin’, that’s what I always say.’’

Marty leaned down so she could look under the hat brim, directly into Jake’s rheumy green eyes. “What do you mean? Was Jeb in trouble? Who were his masters?’’

“The cattle, that’s one. They’ll keep a man up nights, always needing something. You feed, you breed, you sell for what you can, and then you start all over again. Year in, year out. Raising cattle is gamble enough for most men. But not for Jeb.’’

“Jake, honey, just tell us what you got to tell us,’’ Mama said. “Who was Jeb’s other master?’’

“More like ‘what was,’ Ma’am.’’ He spit. “Gambling got t’hold of Jeb Ennis. He’s lost near all that he owned. That boy never took to heart that old advice about not betting the ranch.’’

“I don’t believe my eyes, Mace.’’ Mama gripped my arm so tight I was afraid the skin was going to pop like an overcooked sausage. “It’s that awful man.’’

I followed Mama’s gaze through the front window of Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow, where I’d brought her after the livestock market. Pastor Bob Dixon stood in the salon behind his wife, hands resting on Delilah’s shoulders. Seated in a mauve chair, she was covered from the neck down with a drape in deep purple. She looked like a large grape with a stem of wet hair.

“I won’t blame you if you don’t come in, Mace.’’ Mama turned her back to the window, just in case the minister and his wife could read lips. “You do not need to subject yourself to that man-wolf for another minute.’’

She clearly thought I was unpracticed at fending off unwanted advances from men.

“Don’t worry about it, Mama. I’m an adult. Besides, I don’t think he’s going to attack with his wife sitting right there. She looks big enough to take him if he got her mad.’’

Mama’s gaze returned with mine to the scene on the other side of the window. Pastor Bob smiled into the mirror at Delilah, the morning sun glinting off his teeth. It lit a silver cross on the lapel of his brown-checkered sport coat. His small hands looked as fragile as baby birds against his wife’s sturdy shoulders. Seeing the two of them together, I realized Delilah wasn’t just bigger; she was a good fifteen years older than her husband.

“He is a puny one,’’ Mama finally agreed. “Even so, I can give D’Vora your money.’’

With everything I’d had on my mind, I left the shop without tipping D’Vora for cutting my hair. I’d wanted to get back to apologize ever since.

“I’m used to tusslin’ with gators and snakes, Mama. How bad could one pint-sized pastor be?’’ I pushed open the door to a jingle of bells. “Hang onto my arm … a little looser, please. We’ll present a united front,’’ I whispered as we stepped inside.

“Good morning, Rosalee.’’ The minister and Delilah spoke in unison.

“Y’all remember my middle girl, Mace.’’ Mama’s tone was cool. Not as icy as Maddie’s, but heading for winter. The two of them nodded politely. I gave them a tight smile back.

Betty, the shop’s owner, bustled out of the back, greeting us as she wiped her hands on a lilac-colored towel. I’d never realized purple came in so many shades.

I smelled the usual mix of shampoos, conditioners and permanent solution. Another scent fought for dominance—fruity, like overripe watermelon and bananas that have started to blacken. As we got closer, I realized it was Delilah’s perfume. I backed away, putting my hand over my face as if I was scratching my nose.

Betty stopped at the counter in front of Delilah’s chair and rustled through the drawer for a comb and a handful of hair rollers. She looked up at me in the mirror. “Mace, you’re not blowing out that haircut like D’Vora told you to, are you? She’s going to get on you when she gets back from the bank, which should be any minute now.’’

My hand went to my hair, made wild by the humidity and Pam’s convertible. “No, Ma’am, I guess I’m not. I usually just open the windows in my Jeep and hang my head out to let it dry. It saves a lot of time.’’

Betty looked horrified.

“Well, guess I’d better let you ladies get to your womanly ways.’’ Pastor Bob patted his wife’s shoulders as he spoke.

He seemed oddly comfortable in the salon. I couldn’t imagine Carlos Martinez or Jeb Ennis hanging around a beauty parlor. But Pastor Bob, with his bleached teeth and buffed fingernails, seemed to feel right at home.

“Every time I bring Delilah in, I think she can’t get any more beautiful than she already is.’’ He beamed a whitening-strip smile to the mirror. “But then I come back to pick her up, and darned if I’m not wrong.’’

He leaned toward Delilah, who offered up her plump cheek for a kiss. “I’ll be back for you in a couple of hours, Mother.’’

“I’ll be right here, Father. Betty’s going to make me into a new woman, so I do hope you recognize me.’’

He put his hand on her face and gazed into her eyes. “Mother, I’d know you in a crowd of thousands. That’s how it is with soul mates, isn’t that right, ladies?’’

He glanced at us for approval. Mama smiled reflexively, but I was busy choking back vomit. I hate when married couples call each other “Mother’’ and “Father.’’ It’s creepy.

Through the front window, I saw D’Vora hurrying along the sidewalk, breasts jiggling in her tight smock. Pastor Bob saw her, too. He dropped his hand from his wife’s cheek like it was a burning coal, and rushed to open the shop’s door. He stepped aside just enough so D’Vora would have to rub up against him as she brushed past. His eyes got a familiar gleam.

“It’s D’Vora, isn’t it?’’

She raised the bank deposit bag in her hand to cover her chest, and gave him a “My, what big teeth you have’’ look.

“I don’t believe you’ve taken us up on our invitation to come worship at Abundant Hope and Charity Chapel. Mother, have you seen this pretty young lady at church?” His eyes never left D’Vora’s cleavage.

I glanced at Delilah. Her own eyes were full of hurt and resignation.

“No, Father, I haven’t.’’ Her lips barely moved as she studied her hands, folded on top of the drape. If she hadn’t been so mean to Mama at church, I might have felt sorry for her.

“Thank you anyway, sir. Ma’am.’’ D’vora nodded at Delilah as she sidestepped around the minister. “But I’m happy at my own church. I’ve been going ever since I was baptized. Thanks for thinking of me, though.’’

Everyone in the shop knew exactly what the minister had been thinking about D’Vora.

“Well, maybe you’d like one of my DVDs, then. Half-price, for you.’’

Delilah didn’t give her time to answer. “Hadn’t you better get to your errands, Father?’’

Pastor Bob put a hand to his chin, thoughtful like. He was probably just wiping off drool. “You betcha,’’ he finally said, as D’Vora disappeared into the back room. “I’ve got a long list to tackle. See you soon, Mother.’’

Delilah followed her husband with her eyes until he was out the door, down the sidewalk, and out of sight of the window. She continued staring until, finally, she let out a little sigh and a tiny shake of her head. What would run through your mind if you had a husband who would come on to another woman like that, right in front of you? Delilah looked like she was trying to convince herself of something. I wondered what it was.

“Okay, let the girl talk begin.’’ Betty shook her magenta comb like a conductor’s baton. It broke the shameful feeling we’d shared at seeing Delilah humiliated. “Who’s got news about Emma Jean Valentine?’’

We spent the next fifteen minutes dissecting Emma Jean’s disappearance. I filled them in on finding the abandoned car and visiting her house. Mama revealed the fact that she might have been cheating on Jim Albert. Delilah perked up at that gossipy morsel.

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell tales,’’ she said, waiting for the go-ahead to do just that.

“Mace and her mama are trying to find out who really killed Emma Jean’s boyfriend. Whoever did it may have kidnapped her, too.’’ Betty’s eyes bored into Delilah’s in the mirror. “You’d only be helping Emma Jean to tell what you know.’’

Delilah paused just long enough to take a deep breath before beginning. “Well, I will say I couldn’t believe that scene she pulled the other night at Abundant Hope. All of that about how the wicked woman who’d been cheating with her boyfriend attends our little church? And the way she tried to stare down the evildoer? Talk about a sinner casting stones!’’

Mama wrinkled her brow. “What are you saying?’’

“I’m saying I know for a fact Emma Jean had a secret lover. And I’m saying the man’s a member of our church.’’

“Are you sure?’’ Betty asked, whipping some of Delilah’s wet hair around a pink roller.

“Absolutely. Every couple of months, I collect all the hymnals and give them a good dusting.’’

I wasn’t at all surprised Delilah was a fastidious housekeeper.

“The last time I did it, I found a love note tucked into one of the books. It wasn’t addressed by name; Emma Jean had written My Dearest Darling Man at the top. She talked about how she could barely stand to see him in church with his wife, knowing she couldn’t have him.’’ She angled her head toward Betty, who was wedging the last roller into an even row. “And then she said things were heating up. You know who was going to ask her to marry him, she wrote.’’

She looked at each of us to make sure we were listening. We were.

“What should I do about it? That’s what she asked her ‘darling man.’ ’’

“How do you know Emma Jean wrote it? I can’t believe anyone would sign their name to a note like that,’’ I said.

“She didn’t sign her full name. The whole thing was printed, on a typewriter or a computer. There were just the initials at the end, EJ. Beside them, there was a red stick-on heart, like the ones little girls put on their notebooks. Get it? The initials stand for Emma Jean, and the heart for Valentine.’’

We were all quiet for a few moments, digesting Delilah’s theory. Betty combed and rolled; rolled and combed.

“Who do you think it was, y’all?’’ D’Vora peeked from the back room, where she’d fled to escape Pastor Bob. “Who was doin’ the dirty thang with Emma Jean?’’

“That’s what we need to find out, honey,’’ Mama said. “Maybe whoever it was loved the ‘dirty thang’ so much he killed poor Jim Albert so he could keep doing it with Emma Jean.’’

With a mountain of meat loaf and mashed potatoes in front of him, my cousin Henry was holding court from a corner table at Gladys’ Restaurant. Making a point, he waved his fork in the air like he was a judge and the fork was his gavel.

I stopped for a minute just inside the front door, feeling the sweat on my neck drying in a blast of cold air. The air conditioner felt so good, I lifted the hair from my collar and let the chill wind blow away the heat that had accumulated from outside.

Charlene, the waitress, ran an obstacle course between chairs and tables. Plates were stacked in a line along her left arm like planes waiting to take off in Atlanta. There was a blizzard of white order slips in the kitchen window, waiting for the cook.

Just about every seat was taken. The courthouse crowd was there, the men in neckties; the women in pantsuits or dresses. Three ranchers in blue jeans tipped back in their chairs, toothpicks in their mouths and pie plates scraped clean on their table. A couple of retirees from the RV park sipped coffee at the counter, their faces sunburned under bass-fishing hats with bands of breathable mesh.

I dropped my hair back onto my neck and started toward Henry’s table. Marty leaned forward, smiling as she listened to whatever our cousin was saying. Maddie’s arms were crossed against her chest, her face scrunched into a disapproving glare. She looked up as I approached.

“You’re just in time, Mace. Henry is entertaining us—and all three adjoining tables, I’m sure—with a story about his neighbor’s pot-bellied pig. Apparently, the poor creature suffers from severe flatulence.’’

“Pfffbt.’’ Henry forced air through his lips. “Pfffbt, pfffbbbttt.’’

“Complete with sound effects.’’ Maddie shook her head in disgust. “Henry, I’ve got middle -school students with better manners and more maturity than you.’’

He poked her gently in the arm with his fork. “Chill out, Maddie. If you wind yourself up any tighter, only dogs will be able to hear you fart.’’

Marty burst out laughing.

“Mace, please sit down and try to get your cousin under control. Marty only eggs him on.’’

While Maddie looked at me, Henry palmed a salt shaker from the table.

“Byuck, buck, buck, buck.’’ Clucking, he lifted his butt off the seat, reached down, and brought up the white shaker in the center of his hand. He offered it to Marty. “I believe this egg is yours, Madam Egger-on.’’

The harder Marty giggled; the madder Maddie got.

“All right, you two. We all know Maddie is fun to tease.’’ I took a seat. “But get serious, now. I’ve got some news you’re not going to believe.’’

I told them about the note Delilah found tucked into a hymn book.

“Maybe Emma Jean was cheating with that choir director,’’ Henry said. “He always looks you in the eye a little too hard. I don’t trust him. It’s like he’s trying to sell you on the notion he’s a better person than you.’’

“That’s not a hard sell in your case,’’ Maddie sniffed. Henry stuck out his tongue in reply. “Besides, I don’t think someone who only shows at church for weddings or funerals is qualified to judge others, Henry.’’

Maddie became a Methodist when she married Kenny. We all agreed it was a better fit for her, as the worship at Mama’s church can get pretty emotional and uninhibited. Those characteristics aren’t in my older sister’s repertoire.

Marty spoke before Henry and Maddie had the chance to start another round. “What about Al Small, from the insurance agency? Doesn’t he go to Mama’s church?’’

Marty dated a vegetarian in college, and both of them embraced Buddhism. The boy’s long gone, but the diet and religion stuck. At first Mama believed Marty would burn in hell for worshipping a false idol. But even she eventually came around. The Buddhist philosophy of never hurting a living thing is a good match for my gentle sister.

“Al and Anna Small do belong to Abundant Hope,’’ I told Marty. “Why do you ask?’’

“Anna’s in the book group I run at the library. She’s been bad-mouthing her husband in between discussion questions. She says she wants a divorce. Al’s been cheating.’’

I couldn’t imagine anyone writing “dearest darling man’’ to portly, balding Alvin Small.

“What about Pastor Bob?’’ I shifted in the chair. “Y’all heard he hit on me. Then, he just about devoured poor D’Vora, even with Delilah sitting right there in the beauty shop chair.’’

Henry shoveled some green beans onto his fork. He stopped it midway to his mouth. “Naw. It doesn’t fit, Mace.’’ He gave his head a firm shake, as confident as a defense attorney who just caught the prosecutor’s key witness in a lie. “First of all, if the pastor went after you and D’Vora, then Emma Jean’s too old for him. He likes ’em younger. Second, she’s not hot enough.’’

Maddie looked like she accidentally ate the lemon slice out of her iced tea. “Eww, Henry. I hope you’re not implying you think Mace is ‘hot.’ First-cousin hanky panky is almost incest.’’

Henry swallowed the fork load of beans. “Calm down, Maddie. I’m not saying I want to jump Mace’s bones. Though any red-blooded male who isn’t her cousin might.’’ He swiped a biscuit through a pool of gravy on his plate. “I’m just speaking objectively, as a man. Mace is a fine-looking woman with a beautiful build.’’

“Ewwww,’’ Marty and Maddie said in chorus, as I blushed.

Henry polished off the biscuit, then eyed the final meat loaf morsel. My sisters had waited on me to order lunch. But Henry claims his blood sugar gets screwy if he doesn’t stick to a strict meal schedule. Charlene was so busy she could barely breathe, let alone get back to take our order. So, as we waited with empty stomachs, we were treated to the spectacle of Henry plowing through lunch.

He speared the meat loaf sliver and pointed his fork at us. “And how do you know the note is from Emma Jean, anyway?’’

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“Find another woman with the initials E.J. at that church … hell, in the whole town, or just about anywhere, really. That’d be enough for a good attorney to establish reasonable doubt. ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that note could have been in that hymnal for years. Maybe a church-going woman named Elaine Johnson worked at the music-book company and slipped it in there for safekeeping. Maybe one of the teenagers at Abundant Hope did it as a prank. Anyone with a computer could have produced that note, ladies and gentlemen.’’’

Henry looked at us, pleased with his performance.

“You’ve got a point, Henry.’’ Maddie handed him a napkin. “But you might want to check your chin first for a glop of gravy if you ever do that bit for a real jury.’’

___

Charlene finally delivered the orders we gave her: A cheeseburger and extra-crispy fries for me. Chicken-fried steak for Maddie. A vegetable plate with biscuits for Marty. Henry couldn’t decide between the cherry and coconut cream pie, so he got a slice of both. I pitied the unfortunate client whose Friday afternoon appointment coincided with Henry’s crash from his sugar high.

He waited until I had a mouthful of burger to say, “Maddie told us you have some suspicions about Jeb Ennis, is that right, Mace?’’

“Wuuuhh,’’ I said.

“Why am I asking, or why were you suspicious?’’

Maddie slapped his shoulder hard, nearly knocking a clot of coconut pie off his fork. “Hell’s bells, Henry. Can’t you see Mace’s mouth is full of food? Just tell us what you know about that devil, Jeb.’’ She shot a look full of meaning at me. “I can already predict, it’s gonna be something bad.’’

Marty glanced at me with a guilty look on her face. We hadn’t told Maddie about our trip to the livestock market, or about what Old Jake had said about Jeb.

“One of my clients did a little work for Jim Albert,’’ Henry began. “Let’s say his line of work is ‘enforcement,’ and just leave it at that.’’ He spiked a quarter of the cherry pie slice with his fork and gobbled it down. “Anyway, this man says Jeb was into Jim Albert for quite a bit of dough.’’

The hamburger turned to dust in my mouth. “That’s old news, Henry. Jeb himself told me he’d borrowed from Jim Albert.’’

I still felt protective, even as the evidence mounted against Jeb. For some stupid reason, I didn’t want my family, and especially Maddie, thinking badly of him. Did I harbor some fantasy that we’d end up together, riding off into the sunset?

“So he talked about the loan, huh?’’ Henry said. “Did he tell you he owed more than $250,000?’’

Marty’s eyes went wide. Maddie let out a low whistle. I tried to conceal my shock.

“That gives Jeb two powerful reasons for whacking Jim Albert,’’ Henry lectured. “Number one: money. He couldn’t possibly pay that much back, not and keep his ranch. Number two: self-preservation. It’s as strong a drive for us as it is in the animal world. Jim Albert was a dangerous man. Kill or be killed.’’

I stirred my coffee, which had gone cold. I still hadn’t said a word.

“I know you loved the guy, Mace.’’

I started to protest, but Henry held up his fork. “Don’t deny it. I kid around, but you’re like a sister to me. It broke my heart to see how bad Jeb hurt you. You loved him, young or not.’’

“That’s what I told her, Henry. Any man that could do Mace like that might be capable of much worse.’’ Maddie leaned over and patted my arm. It was such a rare gesture, it almost made me cry.

“You want Jeb to be innocent.’’ Henry’s voice was soft, his eyes kind. “But you have to face the facts, Mace. This sordid romance or affair or whatever it is that might have been going on at Abundant Hope? That’s just a distraction. Your ex-boyfriend takes the prize as the likeliest killer in Himmarshee, Florida.’’

Each of my sisters grabbed one of my hands and held on.

Henry pushed his pie plate away, even though there was almost a half a piece left. He looked into my eyes: “Let’s put it this way, cousin. I’m a damned good lawyer. But I wouldn’t want to walk into court right now with Jeb Ennis as my client.’’

“Warm you up again, hon?’’

I put a hand over my ceramic coffee mug. “No thanks, Charlene. I’ve already had enough to be peeing like a racehorse all afternoon.’’

My sisters had to return to work. Henry was back at his law office, probably terrorizing his teen secretary with bad jokes and the sounds of bodily functions. I was alone with the afternoon Himmarshee Times on the table and a third cup of coffee sloshing around in my gut.

Mama called much earlier to ask us to hold off on dessert. But she’d been delayed. It was almost two-thirty now. I stuck around to wait for her, since my new schedule has Fridays off. Rhonda, my supervisor, decided I needed a day before the weekends to recharge my friendliness.

“You need to work on your attitude, Mace,’’ she’d told me.

Rhonda was referring to the credo I have for park visitors: There are no stupid questions; only stupid people.

While I waited, I paged through our newspaper’s slim pickings. The mayor and the bank manager of a First Florida branch squinted in a picture, their feet in dress shoes resting on shiny shovels. In construction hardhats, they looked like big-headed ants in business suits. I checked out the listings for births and deaths, making sure I didn’t owe anyone a card. I read about the chances this season for the Brahmans, Himmarshee High’s football team. Reflecting the town’s cattle-raising roots, the team’s mascot is a two-thousand-pound Brahman bull. His name’s Bubba, and he’s got his own e-mail address on the Internet.

And then I spotted a small item next to the police blotter, usually a repository for vandalism reports and drunken driving incidents. I scanned the story:

Storm Funds Missing