Текст книги "Mama Does Time"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Maddie wasn’t as restrained. “We absolutely do not need any help from you, Mr. Provenza. Or from your ‘lore-yah’ cousin.’’

Her voice was so cold, they could have pumped it into the beer cooler down at the Booze ‘n’ Breeze drive-thru. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you and some of your New York associates aren’t responsible for this mess our mother is in.’’ Maddie moved real close to Sal, just about hissing in his face. “We’ve warned her about you, you know.’’

It’s a cliché and an unfair stereotype to assume that just because Sal is of Italian heritage and he’s from New York that he’s connected with the Mafia. But that hasn’t stopped my sisters and me from doing it. He’s been very mysterious about his past, and we watch a lot of movies. “Maddie, you apologize to Sally this instant!’’ Mama said. “I didn’t raise you to insult people.’’

My big sister towered over our mother, but she still ducked her head like a little kid when Mama used that tone.

“That’s okay, Rosie.’’ Sal patted at his impeccable hair. My sisters and I suspect he uses styling mousse. “Maddie’s just proven, once again, that even educated people can be ignorant.’’

That got Maddie’s back up. Pretty soon, we were all talking at once and nobody was listening to anybody else. All except Marty, that is. She’d edged away to the counter, where she was busy mopping up a coffee puddle from Emma Jean’s earlier spill.

Just like Mama, Marty cleans when she’s anxious. She looked like she wanted to stick her fingers in her ears, just like she used to do when our mother fought with Husband Number 2. Marty hates arguments and loud noise.

And our arguing was getting pretty darned loud. Until, suddenly, Martinez jammed his fingers in his mouth and whistled. It was long and ear-splitting, like the CSX train coming onto the crossing at Highway 98. Marty’s fingers plugged her ears. Even Maddie had her face scrunched up, like she was in noise pain.

The room fell silent.

“This. Has. Gone. On. Long. Enough.’’ Martinez emphasized every word, letting a dark glower linger on each of us. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been quiet. Honestly, I was thinking maybe one of you crazy characters might let something important slip out. That has not been the case. And that’s an understatement. I’ve never heard such a load of bullshit in my life.’’

My mother looked shocked at Martinez’s language. She was still in Southern belle mode, and damsels have such delicate ears. In fact, she could cuss a purple streak. But she always asked the Lord for forgiveness afterwards.

“You people can stand here yelling at each other until Christmas for all I care.’’ That vein was throbbing at his temple again. “But Mrs. Deveraux is coming with me.’’ He grabbed Mama by the arm and yanked her none too gently toward the door. “There was a murder victim in her car.’’

Another wail from Emma Jean.

“Your mother’s been unable—or unwilling—to explain how he got there,’’ Martinez pressed on. “I think she’s implicated. And I’m going to find out how.’’

We all started talking again.

“Por favor. Please!’’ Still hanging on to Mama with one hand, Martinez held up the other for silence.

“I’m arresting her,’’ he said when we finally quieted down. “If any of you has a problem with that, I suggest you call somebody’s cousin and get her a lawyer.’’

Martinez made good on his threat. Mama spent the night in jail.

First thing in the morning, I tossed on some clothes and set about getting her out.

Unfortunately, I caught a glimpse of myself in the Jeep’s rear-view mirror on the way to my cousin’s law office. I’m not much for primping, but the sight of my bed-smashed hair and raccoon eyes gave even me a scare. The shadows were so dark that, if I hadn’t also seen some yellow sleep crud caked into the corner of an eyelid, I’d have thought I didn’t catch a single wink over worrying about my mama.

I didn’t feel a whole lot better once I pulled up to the law office of Henry Bauer & Associates. The setting didn’t exactly spell success. First off, there are no Associates. Henry rents space in a strip mall, between a convenience store and a pawn shop. As hot as it’s been, I could smell the garbage cooking in the can on the sidewalk. It stunk like stale beer and microwave burritos.

Next door, the pawn shop’s logo showed a flattened armadillo on a highway with a word balloon over his head: Don’t Wait Too Late to Visit Pete’s Pawn!

Inside, Henry’s secretary had a blonde ponytail in a pink scrunchy. She looked like a work-study student from Himmarshee High. I gave her my name and grabbed a seat.

Henry’s got a small-town practice, covering all kinds of law. But his clients this morning mostly resembled pictures from a personal-injury textbook. Every chapter of pain and suffering. One poor guy was trussed into a cast from neck to groin. His bandaged arms and legs poked out like matchsticks. He leaned against the wall, looking just like a gopher turtle that some mean kids had flipped over onto its back.

“Mr. Bauer will see you now.’’

The secretary motioned for me to follow her. It seemed silly, since I could see my cousin at his desk behind four artificial palm trees employed as a room divider. But she stepped left to avoid the palms, so I stepped left, too.

“Mr. Bauer, this lady says she’s Ms. Bauer.’’

A mischievous grin crept across Henry’s face. “Thanks, Amber. I might not have recognized Ms. Bauer with her clothes on.’’

Amber blushed.

“We used to splash nekkid together in the kiddy pool in my backyard. That was decades ago, darlin’, way before you were born.’’

Amber looked ill at the prospect of a naked Henry at any age. He’d inherited a tendency toward corpulence from Daddy’s side of the family. Henry’s so heavy, he gave his stomach a nickname. He calls it Dunlap, as in, “My belly dun’ lapped over my belt.’’

With a final disgusted look, Amber fled past the palms to her desk.

“Do kids still have plastic baby pools, Mace?’’ Henry was thinking out loud. “Or are they considered too dangerous these days?’’

“I’m sure if anyone can prove baby pools are fatal death traps, you can, Henry.’’

“Don’t be snide. That’s your sister Maddie’s job. Where is she, by the way?’’

My sisters and I had alerted Henry the night before to Mama’s predicament. We’d agreed my work hours were most flexible, so the task of visiting our cousin the lawyer had fallen to me.

“We drew straws to come see you, Henry. I lost.’’

“Very funny, Mace. You won’t be so dismissive of my legal skills when you find out what I’ve learned about your Mama’s case.’’

I was still getting used to the fact that Mama had a case. And Henry was right: I needed him.

“Don’t keep me in suspense, Henry.’’

Since we were kids, my cousin had made me grovel for information. I Spy. Twenty Questions. You’re Getting Warm. I’ve hated guessing games ever since.

He must have taken one look at me today and refrained out of pity.

“What I’ve discovered about the man in your mama’s trunk changes the whole character of his murder.’’ He tapped a file folder on his desk. “This is good news, Mace. I think we can help her out.’’ Henry reached across the desk and gave my hand a supportive squeeze.

Sometimes, I wish I was born in South Dakota, where people are direct. It’s too damned cold up there to sit around squeezing a person’s hand. Plus, they’re usually wearing electric mittens.

“What was it you learned, Henry?’’ I pulled my hand away and put it in my lap.

“Well, first of all, Jim Albert wasn’t his real name.’’ Henry picked up a paper clip and tossed it from palm to palm. “That’s an alias.’’

“What do you mean?’’

“An alias is a name other than your given name that you’re known by.’’

“I know what an alias is, Henry. I’ve been to college. I meant, why’d he have one?’’

“The man in your mama’s trunk was running away from some very bad people.’’ As he said, “bad people,’’ Henry rolled his neck and adjusted an imaginary tie. He shot imaginary shirt cuffs from beneath an imaginary suit. In fact, he was in a short-sleeved Madras shirt with no tie or jacket.

“What in God’s name are you doing, Henry? Have you taken up yoga?’’

“He was connected, Mace.’’ His mouth twisted to a tough-guy smirk.

“Connected to what?’’ Did I mention I hate charades as much as I do guessing games?

“You’re the most literal-minded person I know, Mace,’’ Henry said, exasperated. “You don’t even seem to try.’’

He peeked around the plastic palms to make sure none of his clients was listening. They all seemed engrossed in a Judge Judy rerun on the waiting room TV. As he leaned in close, I smelled pancakes on his breath.

“You know, ‘connected.’ Like Tony Soprano?’’ he whispered. “The Godfather movies? Jim Albert, real name Jimmy ‘the Weasel’ Albrizio, was a known member of the criminal underworld in New York. He was down here hiding out.’’

So Emma Jean’s boyfriend was a mobster. I wondered if she’d known that detail when she’d agreed to become his wife. I pictured the getting-to-know you phase of their courtship:

Emma Jean: Tell me a little bit about yourself, Jim.

Jimmy the Weasel: Well, I’m from New York originally. I did free-lance work for The Family up there.

Emma Jean: How nice that you’re close to your family …

“How’d you find this out?’’ I asked Henry.

He got that superior look he always got when he knew something I didn’t. “I’m a good lawyer; a respected member of the legal community, Mace.’’ He twirled his paper clip. “You may not be aware of it, but I’ve become a pretty big fish in this little pond we call Himmarshee. Getting information is easy if you know the right people.’’

“Which doesn’t answer my question. Who told you about Albrizio?’’

“The waitress at Gladys’ Restaurant.’’

That explained Henry’s pancake breath.

“Her cousin is married to one of the police techs who handle crime scenes. As soon as they ran the fingerprints on your mama’s corpse, they knew this murder was bigger than usual.’’

I winced. “Please don’t call that poor man in the trunk ‘Mama’s corpse,’ Henry. We both know she had nothing to do with it. It’s just a question of convincing the police she’s innocent.’’

“I’ve been busy with that angle, too, Mace. The chief owes me a favor. I represented his nephew in that vandalism mess over the Confederate flag and Martin Luther King Day. I don’t know what that moron was thinking, except that he wasn’t thinking.’’

“So, the police chief …’’ I didn’t want my aching butt parked on Henry’s hard metal chair all morning.

“Well, he was pretty pissed off when he found out that new detective arrested your mama. Martinez, right? What’s he like?’’

“An arrogant jerk.’’

“Well, Miami. What do you expect? So, Chief Johnson tells me your mama taught him Sunday school when he was a kid. Said she caught him swiping a cupcake off of some other boy’s tray, and read him the riot act. Said it didn’t matter whether the thing you steal is big or little, wrong is wrong. ‘God always knows,’ your mama told him.’’

I swallowed a lump in my throat as I remembered similar lessons she’d drilled into my head over the years.

“Anyway, the chief said he’ll look into her case personally.’’ Henry tapped the file. “That Martinez was within his rights to arrest her. But the state attorney’s office has to decide whether to file formal charges. They haven’t done that yet. And they can only hold her so long until they decide one way or the other to prosecute.’’

“What can I do, Henry?’’

“Well, Martinez is going to try to get any information that’ll make your mama look guilty. You need to find something that makes it look like she’s not.’’

“Like another suspect?’’

“That’d be nice,’’ Henry said, as he straightened out the paper clip. “Find someone else who could have done it, and Aunt Rosalee’ll be out of jail and back at home before you know it.’’

Henry paused. “Hey, does your mama still make those lemon squares with the icing? I love those.’’

His mind was beginning to turn to his mid-morning snack. I started to gather my things when my cell phone rang. I fumbled in my purse past tissues, a mini-calendar, and a pack of chewing gum. No comb, of course.

When I answered, the caller was turned away from the mouthpiece, talking to someone else. Multi-tasking has meant the end of good manners.

I waited a couple of moments and then yelled “HELLO’’ again, hoping my screech would cause permanent hearing damage.

“Yeah, hold on.’’ The caller mumbled distractedly, and then went back to talking to the third person.

I punched the end button on my cell. It rang again.

“I think we were disconnected.’’

“We weren’t disconnected,’’ I said. “I hung up. It’s rude to call someone and then act like they’re not there.’’

The caller launched into a bad imitation of a Southern matron. “Well, land’s sake, where are my manners? I do declah!’’ He switched back to his normal voice, deep with the faintest trace of an accent. “I’m terribly sorry my behavior doesn’t meet your very high standards. Perdóname, as we say. Forgive me. ’’

That didn’t sound sincere, in Spanish or English.

“Hello, Detective Martinez.’’ I made an effort to keep my voice pleasant. Neutral. He was baiting me. I didn’t intend to bite.

Henry quickly scribbled a note and passed it across the desk: “Don’t talk to the police!!’’

I nodded and waved my hand to reassure my cousin. I knew what I was doing. I needed details the detective had.

“I may seem a little short because I’m kind of busy here, Ms. Bauer. I’m investigating a murder, in case you’d forgotten.’’

I wondered whether his accent would sound sexy minus the sarcasm.

“My memory’s pretty good, Detective. Are you ready to let my mother out of jail?’’

Henry grabbed the note again, added an underline and additional exclamation points, and shook the paper in my face. I turned away, cradling the phone next to my ear.

“On the contrary, Ms. Bauer,’’ Martinez said. “Recent information has come to light.’’

That’s exactly what I wanted from him: information.

“I’m more convinced than ever your mother is where she belongs,’’ he said. “I need you to come by the police department. I’d like to talk to you about your mother’s case.’’

And there was that awful word again.

It was almost 10:30 by the time I pulled into the lot at the Himmarshee Police Department. I was getting a little too familiar with the place—a low-slung concrete block building painted a depressing shade of gray. Beside it, a chain link fence topped by concertina wire enclosed an exercise yard. Across the yard was the jail, where Mama was.

From what Henry had said, the state attorney’s office still had to review her case. She hadn’t seen a judge yet. So far, the only one who was saying she was guilty was the man who’d tossed her in jail: Detective Martinez.

“Penny for your thoughts, Mace.’’

A uniformed officer tapped at my windshield. It was Donnie Bailey, who I’d babysat once upon a time. Looking at him now, all muscles and mustache, made me feel old.

“Where you at, Mace? That look on your face puts you about a thousand miles away.’’

“I was just sitting here thinking of what to do next.’’

“Listen, I’m sorry about this mess with your mama,’’ Donnie said. “I was on duty last night when they brought her over to the jail. I’m gonna see she gets treated good, Mace. Don’t worry.’’

“Thanks, Donnie.’’ I felt the threat of tears gathering behind my eyes. “That means a lot.’’

I shifted gears. “Listen, is there any chance of me getting in there to see her? I don’t want to get you in any trouble.’’

“You won’t get me into trouble, Mace.’’ Donnie’s chest puffed out, like a wild turkey in full strut. “I’m the one in charge this shift. I run the jail, and I say who comes and goes. Your Mama’s minister already made his rounds. Family visits aren’t ’til later, but we’re pretty light on inmates right now.’’

Donnie glanced at me quickly to see how I’d taken to Mama being called an inmate. I didn’t take to it too well.

“Sorry, Mace. Anyway, I don’t see a problem with you checking on your mama. With her advanced age and all, I’m sure you’re worried about her medical condition, right?’’

“Donnie, Mama’s healthier than I am.’’

He leveled a hard look at me, and I got a quick glimpse of how scary he might be on the opposite side of some bars. “What I said, Mace, is that you’re worried about her medical condition, right?’’ Donnie spoke loud and slow, like I was a particularly thick kindergartner he was trying to teach the alphabet.

“Yeah, that’s exactly right, Donnie.’’ A-B-C. “I’m just frantic to think about how all this mess might be affecting Mama’s poor old heart.’’

Not three days earlier, she’d run three blocks with her pet Pomeranian in her arms after the dog got a hold of a poisonous toad. She couldn’t get to a hose, so she’d jumped in a creek to douse out Teensy’s mouth. Then she ran all the way back with a shovel to kill the toad. Mama’s weak heart, my elbow.

“You know I’d feel awful if that poor old woman died while in our custody.’’ Donnie did all but wink. “Y’all might get your cousin Henry to sue us and shut down the jail. And where would I be? Neither jail nor job.’’

Donnie hitched up his belt and shook a ring full of keys at me. I climbed out of my Jeep and followed him, through a locked gate and onto the concrete slab that serves as the exercise yard. There wasn’t much to it: three rusty weight-lifting benches and a half-deflated basketball.

At the jail’s back door, Donnie worked a series of deadbolts. Then he leaned into the heavy steel with his shoulder. The door inched open slowly, and he stepped aside to let me walk through.

A lingering smell of disinfectant, overlaid with spaghetti and meatballs, transported me back to Wednesdays in my grade school cafeteria.

“Lunch smells decent, Donnie.’’

“Smells and tastes are two different things, Mace. Let’s just say we won’t be winning any blue ribbon awards for cooking.’’

I felt a pang of sympathy. Mama loves good food.

From the movies, I’d expected the clang of bars and the catcalls of inmates. But the only thing I heard was the jangle of Donnie’s keys and a faint squeak from his shoes.

“Like I said, we’re quiet today. This here’s the women’s quarters. Men are on the other side of the building. Normally, you’d have to use the visitors’ room, but I trust you, Mace. Hell, you changed my diapers.’’

As Donnie led the way, I couldn’t help but notice how nicely he’d filled out since those diaper-wearing days.

We kept walking until we entered an open area with cells lining the outer walls. An officer sat behind thick glass, watching a console with a bunch of lights and switches. The lock-up was quite modern for a little burg like Himmarshee. But that’s Florida: No money for schools; plenty of money for jails.

“Your mama’s in the last spot on the left down there,’’ Donnie pointed across the interior square. “We have space, but we have to give her a cellmate. It’s procedure.’’

Unless it was an axe murderer, Mama would prefer the company. She can’t abide being alone, which is probably why she’s had four husbands.

“What’s the other woman like?’’ I asked.

“Younger gal. Not violent, or anything,’’ Donnie said. “She’s in for check fraud. Says it was her boyfriend to blame.’’

“Was it?’’

“Who knows?’’ Donnie shrugged. “Just like there’s not a guilty man in jail, there’s hardly a woman who doesn’t claim she’d never have done it if not for some guy. I’d go crazy if I listened to every inmate who claims they’re innocent.’’

I tried not to take offense. Donnie was as much as grouping Mama in with that guilty crowd. I kept my mouth shut and crossed to her cell. A low-pitched chuckle sounded inside.

“I swear, Ms. Deveraux, you are a stitch.’’ The same woman laughed again. “What happened after Teensy got stuck in the road tar? Did he turn all black?’’

I smiled. That was one of Mama’s favorite stories, as her pet Pomeranian made a tar-free recovery. She loves happy endings.

“Is there an innocent old woman in here?’’ Plastering a reassuring grin onto my face, I peeked in her cell. “A gorgeous, innocent woman?’’

“Oh, my stars!’’ Mama squealed. “It’s my middle girl, Mace!’’

She was dressed in a jail-issue smock and drawstring pants, as orange as the reflective vest on a highway worker. I pretended the ugly uniform just meant Mama had gone to work in the office of a doctor with bad taste in color.

“Mace, honey, I want you to meet my roommate.’’

I slipped my hand through the bars to grip limp fingers. Mama’s twenty-something cellmate kept her shoulders hunched and her eyes on the concrete floor. If I had to guess, I’d say she’d been knocked around some. Despite a pierced nose and a wide streak of purple in her hair, she looked like the kind of woman who’d just as soon disappear.

Mama would try to fix that.

“We’re becoming great friends, aren’t we, LaTonya? When we get out of here, I’ve asked her to come visit us at Abundant Hope, Mace. Of course, our new pastor’s not real popular. But we’re hoping he works out.’’

“Donnie said he came by already this morning. That was nice,’’ I said.

Mama pursed her lips.

“What’s wrong?’’

“I’m trying to warm up to him, I really am, Mace. But the man has a strange way of offering comfort. I mean, I’m sitting in jail. Do you think this is the time I want to hear about his plans for selling his DVDs and ‘growing’ our little church?’’

I raised my eyebrows. Mama answered her own question.

“No, it is not. He’s so full of himself, I barely got a word in edgewise about my situation.’’

I sincerely doubted that.

“Mama, if you don’t like him, just tell Donnie you don’t want to see him.’’

Her eyes got wide. “I couldn’t do that, Mace. Pastor Bob is my minister.’’

“How’re you getting along in here otherwise?’’

Mama brightened. “Well, I’ve been helping LaTonya with her colors. We’re pretty sure with her brown eyes and skin tone, she’s an Autumn. It’s kind of hard to tell, what with that interesting shade of lavender in her hair.’’

LaTonya’s eyes flickered up from the floor for a second as she touched her purple stripe. It’s just like Mama to treat jail like a slumber party, all color charts and clothing tips. I’m no expert, but those orange uniforms would flatter no one—not a Winter, Spring, Summer, or Fall.

“I’m glad to see you, Mama.’’

“Me, too, Mace. But what happened to your hair, honey? It looks like a possum crawled in there and dug a nest.’’

I ignored the criticism. A woman who cuts her own hair can’t afford to be too vain. But I ran a hand through it anyway to try and fluff the flat side. “I’ve got good news, Mama. Henry’s working hard on getting you out of here.’’

Alarm registered on her face. “Henry hasn’t told his mama where I am, has he, Mace? That Irene will never let me forget it if he has.’’

By this time, the news that Mama was in jail was all over Himmarshee County, from the fish camps around Lake Okeechobee to the citrus groves that stretch to the north.

“I doubt if Henry’s said a word. Lawyers have to respect confidentiality. It’s a law.’’

I brought Mama up to date on the criminal identity of the man in her trunk.

“Poor Emma Jean,’’ she said.

“Didn’t you suspect anything funny about her boyfriend?’’

“I barely knew the man, Mace. I’d only seen him once, briefly, when he dropped Emma Jean off at bingo. He never even got out of the car.’’

I told her about Police Chief Johnson getting involved.

“He was the sweetest child in Sunday School, Mace. Loved cupcakes.’’

And I said my upcoming meeting with Martinez would give us a better idea of where things stood.

“Now, don’t make him mad, Mace. I know how you are. Just remember what I always say: you can catch a lot more flies with honey than with vinegar.’’

Maybe it was the stress, but that last part set my blood to boil. Mama’s constantly on me to be more charming, to smile more. She knows I’d sooner eat dirt than flutter my eyes and flirt.

I lashed out. “Yeah, we can see where all that ‘honey’ has gotten you, Mama. Right behind bars. By the way, I’m glad you’re having a good time in here, discussing colors and all, but I hope you know you’re in serious trouble. You better start thinking about something that will help Henry and the rest of us get you out of here. You can’t expect us to do all the work.’’

Mama recoiled like I’d slapped her. LaTonya lifted her eyes long enough to shoot me a dirty look.

“Mace, I’m perfectly aware of where I am.’’ Mama said softly, her voice laced with hurt. “I don’t live in a dream world. I know I’m in trouble. But that’s the difference between us. You worry and stew and make things worse. I put on the happiest face I can. I try to make the best out of things, even the worst things. And I trust the Lord to sort things out. It’s the way I’ve always gotten by. It’s the only way I know.’’

I swallowed, hard. I’m an awful daughter. My sister Marty would never be so mean; though Maddie might. I heard squeaky shoes and felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Mace, you need to get going.’’ Donnie couldn’t have come at a better time. “We’re about ready to serve lunch, and believe me, you don’t want to be around here for that.’’

I ducked my head, surreptitiously brushing away tears. “It’s okay, Donnie. I was just fixin’ to leave anyway.’’

I started to walk away, and then turned back to the cell. “I’m sorry I’m so horrible, Mama. I love you. You know that, right?’’

She’d always taught us, never leave mad. You never know which breath is your last.

“Mace, I’m as sure of your love as I am of the sun. Stop fretting.’’

“I promise you, you’re going to be home soon. Teensy’s going to be driving you to distraction again before you know it.’’

LaTonya glanced up, rewarding me with a smile.

“Detective Martinez is going to figure out this whole mess is a misunderstanding,’’ I said. “He’s going to charge in here himself and cut you loose.’’

I know lying is wrong. But Mama always said it’s not a sin if you lie in order to save another person’s feelings.

A uniformed stranger sat at the receptionist’s desk in the police lobby. Emma Jean probably needed time to recover from the shock of finding out that A: her boyfriend had been murdered; and B: he wasn’t who she thought he was.

The woman manning the desk had close-cropped hair and a husky build. A red-and-black tattoo peeked out from under her shirt sleeve. She was reading a copy of Field & Stream magazine. There was not a chance in hell she’d ever wear a kitty-cat pin or pour her bosoms into a pink bustier.

“Excuse me.’’

She looked up from the magazine, staring at me like I was something she’d dragged into the lobby on the bottom of her shoe.

“I’m looking for Detective Martinez. He asked me to stop by to see him.’’

Actually, he’d summoned me, like he was a medieval duke and I was a serf. But I was determined to be on my best behavior, so I didn’t dwell on that.

With a monumental effort, the woman put down the magazine and picked up the phone. She punched in a few numbers, then barked, “It’s Officer Watkins. Tell Martinez there’s a woman up here to see him.’’

She waited, listening. “How am I supposed to know?’’ She sounded irritated.

Some more listening, then, “What’s your name?’’

I stared at the Bait & Tackle shop calendar on the wall.

“Hey,’’ she raised her voice. “I said, what’s your name?’’

When I figured out she was talking to me, I told her.

“Have a seat.’’ She hung up the phone. “He’s busy, but he knows you’re out here. He’ll see you as soon as he gets to it.’’

She picked up Field & Stream again, lifting it in front of her face. I missed Emma Jean.

I was the only customer in the lobby. I didn’t think Miss Police Congeniality would mind me making a call to work while I waited. I’d already phoned in sick, but I owed my supervisor, Rhonda, an explanation. We’re close. I figured she should get the straight news from me, instead of the gossipy version from the Himmarshee Hotline.

“Hey, there. It’s Mace.’’

She’d heard all about Mama’s trouble, of course. Charging Mama as an accessory to murder was bull, I told Rhonda. I said we’re working hard on getting her out.

“I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, Mace, and I hate to pile on.’’ That was Rhonda’s warning she was about to do just that. “Remember that lady who called all hysterical over the possum? You remember, from New Jersey. She thought she had a really big rat. She’s got a new problem for you.’’

“What is it this time?’’ I asked. “A king snake in her toilet?’’

“She swears she’s seen a Florida panther prowling her property.’’

“Yeah, that’s likely. What are there, like eighty of them left? And all down in the Everglades, a hundred and fifty miles south of us. It’s probably somebody’s pet cat, hittin’ the Friskies too hard. I once had a friend with a house cat weighed thirty-one pounds. She’d toss Tiger a treat every time she walked past. That cat looked like a bowling ball with paws.’’

“Anyway, Mace, the woman’s driving us crazy. What should I tell her?’’

“Tell her the truth. Tell her my mama’s in prison. It’ll reinforce all her stereotypes. Go ahead and add that my man is a-cheatin’ and my blue eyes are cryin’ in the rain.’’

There was a long pause on the other end.

“Why would I want to do that, Mace?’’ she said, confused.

“It’s a joke, Rhonda. Like a country song? Like as long as Mama’s in prison, let’s add on the rest of the redneck clichés?’’

“Oh.’’

Rhonda, who’s black, doesn’t find anything remotely amusing about rednecks.

“All righty, then,’’ I said. “I better get goin’. Tell the New Jersey woman I’ll get out there when I can. If a panther eats her first, that’ll be one fewer fast-talking, know-it-all Yankee we have to deal with.’’

Rhonda, a fellow native Himmarsheean, was still laughing when I hung up.

I left the lobby to visit the Ladies, where I tried without success to repair my smooshed hair. I stopped at a water fountain in the hallway, loitering by a closed door to see if I could overhear anything useful about the murder. The only sound that seeped through was the tap-tap of a computer keyboard.

I returned to the lobby, where I exhausted all the details on the calendar, including counting the dots on the large mouth bass. I took my seat again, and ran through in my mind what I’d learned about Jim Albert, a.k.a. Jimmy the Weasel. I tried to imagine who in Himmarshee might have wanted a fugitive from the underworld dead.