Текст книги "Mama Does Time"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

“Mace, you had us so worried.’’ She let out a sigh of relief. “Donnie Bailey called to tell me about your accident. I’ve been wracking my brain for a way to break the news to Mama if you didn’t make it.’’

I expected overreaction from Marty. Mama always says her nerves are too close to the surface of her skin. But not from Maddie. “You can see I’m fine,’’ I told her. “Didn’t Donnie tell you I was okay?’’

“He did. But he also told us you were on your way to the hospital. Marty and I were afraid he just didn’t want to break the truth about how bad things were.’’

“We were afraid,’’ Marty chimed in, sniffling into the tattered tissue.

“That’s why we rushed over here to see for ourselves.’’ Maddie patted at me again. “Lord, Mace, I’m so glad to see you in one piece.’’

“Your forehead is bloody.’’ Marty tenderly brushed my hair away from the cut. “What happened? Did you swerve to avoid a possum?’’

My sisters knew I’d never hit any animal, not even a possum, if I could help it.

“I didn’t swerve. I was run off the road.’’

Alarm registered on Maddie’s face. Marty looked even more scared.

Martinez had been standing by the check-in desk, studying a sign about insurance co-payments like it held the cure to cancer. I got the feeling he was more comfortable with my family arguing than with our affection. He cleared his throat, a loud rumble in the quiet waiting room.

“There’ll be plenty of time for you to get into all that, Ms. Bauer. Now, you need to check in and let the doctor take a look at you.’’

“Y’all remember Detective Martinez,’’ I said to my sisters.

Maddie looked at him like he’d poisoned the fundraising candy for the middle-school band. “How could we forget him? He’s the man who put our poor mother into prison.’’

“Jail, Maddie, not prison.’’ I figured I’d head off another vocabulary lecture on correctional facilities. “By the way, Detective.’’ I put some ice in my voice. “I spoke to the daughter of one of my mother’s bingo cronies today. I know you have some information about Mama’s trunk being empty of any murder victim last night while she was playing bingo. Playing bingo all night long, as it happens.’’

The granite came back to his jaw. “I’m still gathering facts in relation to the investigation, Ms. Bauer. I’m not willing to go into those matters right now. Besides, I came here to make sure you get medical attention. And that’s what we’re going to do.’’

“That’s true,’’ I conceded to my sisters, “he was nice enough to give me a ride here. And he’s promised to look into why Big Sal called me to meet him at the golf course, and then disappeared before I got there. If not for that call, I’d never have been way out that way in the first place, nor landed my Jeep in a canal.’’

My sisters started talking over each other, peppering me with questions. Maddie was louder, of course. “What does Mama’s obnoxious boyfriend, have to do with anything?’’ she demanded.

“You were in a ditch, Mace? Were there water moccasins?’’ Marty shuddered.

Martinez stuck his hands into his pockets and slipped away. In a few moments, he returned with a middle-aged black woman. She had on a white coat. A stethoscope was draped around her neck. He stepped between my sisters and me and held up his hand to interrupt.

“This is Dr. Taylor,’’ he said to me. “She says she can see you immediately.’’

He turned to Marty and Maddie. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let your sister go now. The doctor’s going to examine her and run some tests. You can fill the admitting clerk in on all her insurance information. Then, I hope you’ll stick around to make sure she gets home safely.’’

“Are you saying we wouldn’t do that anyway, Detective?’’ Maddie didn’t give him time to answer. “I know you’re accustomed to dealing with lowlifes and criminals, but you don’t need to tell decent people how to act.’’

“Hush, Maddie.’’ Marty’s voice was soft but firm. “You’re not acting very decent right now. This man saw that Mace got here all right. I think we owe him gratitude, not rudeness.’’

Maddie looked as if a rat had just run over her foot in her spotless kitchen. I was surprised, too. Marty never stands up to Maddie, not even mildly.

Maddie harrumphed, but she shut up. She turned her back on the rest of us, and put her purse up tight against her chest, like a shield. She didn’t say thanks to Martinez. But she didn’t say anything else nasty, either.

As I was walking into the examining room with Dr. Taylor, I saw Marty place a hand on Martinez’s arm. She was gently steering him away from our older sister and toward the emergency room exit to outside.

___

Martinez was gone, but my sisters were still waiting when I came out after two hours, one brain scan, and a short argument over my refusal to wear a hospital gown. The gown fight I lost. But I won the scan, which was far more important. Dr. Taylor saw no evidence of damage to my hard head, so she cleared me to go home.

Maddie was asleep sitting up, snoring softly. It’s a good thing the emergency room was empty. She’d be beside herself if she ever thought someone had seen her dozing—eyes closed, mouth open, defenses down.

Marty leaned against a wall, one tennis-shoed foot propped up behind her. Eyes cast downward, she was fending off the attentions of two handsome guys in green hospital scrubs. One offered her a cup of coffee; the other looked like he was ready to offer her his heart. Happily married or not, Marty attracts men the way honey draws bears. Always has.

“I’m back, better than ever,’’ I called from the doorway.

Marty looked up with Mama’s radiant smile; Maddie rubbed drool from her chin and frowned. “Is it time for school yet?’’ she asked.

“No, the kids have a few more hours of peaceful sleep before you’re back to terrorizing them,’’ I said.

We were back to normal—except for the fact that our mother was still in jail.

Marty extricated herself from her male fan club and joined us. “I’m so glad everything’s okay, Mace. What are we going to do next?’’ she asked.

“I’m going home to a hot shower. My body’s aching like those Clydesdales from the beer commercial used me as a football. First thing in the morning, I’ll go back to visit our cousin Henry. I want to prod him for some idea what the state attorney’s office plans to do about Mama’s charges.’’

“I might know a little something about that,’’ Marty said quietly.

Maddie and I looked at her like she’d grown two heads. First she’d crossed Maddie; now she was offering an opinion. We knew our sister had gotten a promotion at the library. Was this more forceful Marty a result?

“I’m not saying anything is certain.’’ Marty cast her eyes to her shoes. “It’s just that I had the chance to talk to Carlos while you went off with the doctor.’’

“Who the hell is Carlos?’’ Maddie asked me.

I gave her a shrug.

“Carlos Martinez. The detective,’’ Marty said.

Maddie and I exchanged raised eyebrows.

“What?’’ Marty said. “That’s the man’s name. Anyway, he spent a long day asking a lot of questions about Mama. He said he heard over and over what a good person she is. He was taken by surprise at the number of people who love her for one thing or another.’’

“Mama’s lived all her life in Himmarshee, Marty. She’s popular,’’ Maddie said. “That’s not exactly a news flash.’’

“Let me finish, Maddie. He said he was just doing his job when he put her in jail. It was the only way he could think of to figure things out after all of us showed up at the police department. He said he’s not as sure as he was that she belongs there.’’

If we were Catholic and Marty was a man, she could have been a priest. She’s always been good at getting confessions.

“How do you do that?’’ Maddie asked.

“Do what?’’ Marty said.

“Get people to open up.’’

“I’m curious about that, too, Marty,’’ I said. “I just spent a couple of hours out in the country with Martinez. I never even knew his first name, let alone that he was thinking about letting Mama go.’’

“I don’t think I do anything special. I just sit there and people talk.’’ Marty weighed what she wanted to say next. “But if you really want to know, Maddie, you have a tendency to judge. That might make it harder for folks to tell you things. And as for you, Mace, you give off the impression you’re more interested in animals than you are in people. So they might be reluctant to bother you with personal things.’’

For Marty, that was scalding criticism.

“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but you did ask,’’ she said quickly. “There is one other thing.’’

“Well, go ahead and tell us, Marty. It’s not like you’ve held anything else back,’’ Maddie said.

“Carlos is starting to believe Mama might know things about the murderer that she’s not even aware she knows. He wants to find out what they are before the knowledge brings her harm.”

___

I was wound up after my sisters dropped me off at home. I stood for a long time under a hot shower, lathering with the rosemary and lemon soap that Mama claims will fight bruising. I can’t attest to its therapeutic qualities, but I can say that afterwards my skin smelled exactly like lemon chicken.

I dragged out my ancient chenille robe and slipped on thin socks to sleep in. Then I had to lower the air conditioner a couple of notches. It was still September, which means full-blown summer in Florida. In addition to the swelter, we’d already had a close pass by one storm this hurricane season. Everyone dreaded the appearance of one with better aim.

I threw back the comforter on my bed, fluffed my pillow, and climbed in. Then I proceeded to stare at the ceiling for the next fifteen minutes. The bedside clock read 2:10 am.

The aroma coming off my body reminded me of the chicken I’d stashed in the ’fridge the night before, when Mama called from jail. It called me to the kitchen.

After I polished off the chicken, I ate some tortilla chips with a bowl of my homemade salsa. It’s strong enough to blow the back of your head all the way to Guadalajara. My stomach grumbled in protest. Now, sleep really did seem a long way off.

Opening a beer, I sat down at the computer and killed off a bunch of spam. I checked tomorrow’s weather—hot, but at least no new storms—and looked at some news headlines. There was an item from Orlando about a dust-up at one of the theme parks. A disgruntled parent, who’d spent too long in line under a searing sun, decked a costumed character. The last name of the man inside the cartoon-dog suit happened to be Martinez. That got me to thinking about Marty’s new best friend, and what he might be planning next. His mysterious past had already made me curious. Since he opened up to my sister, he seemed even more interesting.

I found the news archives for the Miami Herald and typed in a search with Martinez’s name and the words “police department.” When the first story popped up, my heart skidded into my stomach.

Martinez’s pregnant wife had been murdered in their Miami home.

I awoke to the smell of coffee brewing in my kitchen. I leaned over to make sure there wasn’t a pair of men’s shoes sitting under my bed. A shooting pain in my forehead reminded me that my noggin got a pretty good knock when I crashed. But even with a concussion, I think I might have remembered having sex. That’d be like forgetting your first bite of chocolate layer cake after being on a six-month fast.

Make that an eight-and-a-half-month fast.

My head was pounding. But I managed to scan under the bed and across the floor. Nope. Nothing but worn pine planks and dust bunnies. Looks like I still hadn’t tasted that chocolate cake. The only footwear in sight was mine.

I got out of bed, grabbed my granddaddy’s shotgun from the closet, and crept to the bedroom door. I didn’t think a murderer would go to the trouble of making me coffee before he killed me, but you can’t be too careful.

Peeking around the doorjamb, I spotted a familiar hand spilling three teaspoons of sugar into each of two coffee cups on the kitchen counter. As I propped the shotgun against the wall, I suddenly felt all the pains I hadn’t realized I’d had. My shoulder throbbed. My knee ached like Great Aunt Ella’s arthritis in December. I limped out of hiding.

“I don’t take that much sugar, Maddie. Marty’s the one who likes her coffee just like yours.’’

My older sister turned around, smiling in the sunlight that streamed through my window. “Well, hey, Sleepyhead. I wondered whether you were ever getting up.’’

Leave it to Maddie to sound so uncharacteristically chipper at an inappropriate time, like first thing in the morning. I mumbled a bad word, moved slowly to the counter, and waved at her to hand over the cup of too-sweet coffee.

“You’ll be sorry you’re being such a grump after I tell you my good news, Mace. Henry called me this morning. Apparently he tried to call you, too.’’ She aimed me a look. “But he kept getting your answering machine.’’

I glanced at the clock over the sink and rubbed my eyes. Twenty ’til eleven. I must have been dead to the world.

“Henry says they’re letting Mama out. The state attorney’s office has decided not to charge her.’’

I felt tears rising. The effort of blinking really fast to stop them hurt my head, so I collapsed into a kitchen chair and just let them come.

“I know, Mace. I felt like crying, too.’’ She pulled a paper towel from the kitchen roll and handed it to me. “Those are tears of relief, is what those are. This has all been just too much, hasn’t it? Drink your coffee now. I’ll do up this mess of dishes you left in the sink. My kitchen is always spotless before I go to bed.’’

Not even my tears could deflect criticism from Maddie, who’s a toothbrush-on-your-knees-type house cleaner. I’m more from the one-swipe-of-the-mop-every-six-months school.

She made a face as she picked up a bowl with hardened salsa in the bottom. “Henry says they’re going to release her after lunch sometime.’’ She shot a squirt of dishwashing liquid at the salsa and started scrubbing. “He says he’ll give a call when we can go to the jail to pick her up.’’

Maddie mentioning jail reminded me of what I’d found on the computer about Detective Martinez. I decided to tell both my sisters at once. They’d surely have questions. And, seeing how Maddie was right in the middle of washing up for me, I didn’t want to distract her.

She lifted an empty beer bottle off the counter and held it up. “Just how much of this stuff do you drink, Mace? Do you think it’s smart to overdo it with liquor when you’ve just suffered a brain injury?’’

“Beer’s not liquor, Maddie. It’s beer. And the doctor said my head is fine. One bottle is hardly overdoing it.’’

“I’m just telling you to watch yourself. You know Daddy’s family had more than its share of drunks.’’

I had a vague memory of a family picnic that ended in a fistfight after Daddy’s brother Teddy got tossed into a jumbo-sized vat of potato salad.

“Thanks for the warning,’’ I said. “Now, I’ve got to call into work and explain why I’m so late.’’

“I already took care of that for you. Everything at the park is squared away. I talked to your boss. I caught her up about your accident, and told her how much you needed some time off. Rhonda said to go ahead and take what you need. She did mention something about a New Jersey woman with a panther, but I didn’t catch all that.’’

I counted slowly to five. It didn’t work. “I wish you wouldn’t do that, Maddie.’’

“Do what?’’

“Step into my life and take over.’’

Maddie looked wounded. “I was just trying to help.”

“Well, it’s embarrassing. I’ve already got one mother. And I can manage things fine on my own.’’

Maddie took a long look around my little house, with the dust on the kitchen countertops, my clothes in a heap where I’d left them on the living room floor, and Paw-Paw’s old shotgun leaning against the wall in the hallway.

“Hmmm.’’ There was more meaning packed into that little sound and her cocked eyebrow than into a whole half-hour lecture.

I got defensive. “Things aren’t normal right now, Maddie. Mama’s been unjustly accused of murder. Someone may have tried to kill me last night. And we still don’t know who murdered Jim Albert, and why they planned to let Mama take the blame for it.’’

Maddie dried off my beer glass. She examined it as she held it up to the light. “You’re right, Mace.’’

I couldn’t wait to tell Marty how quickly our older sister had given in. The hunt for water spots or a beer-foam mark on my glassware must have diverted her.

“Anyway, let’s not fuss at one another. This should be a happy day. Kenny wants to take all of us out to dinner to celebrate Mama’s release.’’

Kenny is Maddie’s husband of nineteen years, who loves her beyond all reason.

“That sounds great, Maddie. If Mama’s up to it, of course.’’

“When hasn’t Mama been up to anything involving food?’’

Just then, Maddie’s cell phone rang. She walked directly to her purse, found the phone in a special pocket she’d sewn inside, and answered without fumbling on the second ring. I hated my organized sister.

Maddie listened for a few moments and turned to me. “It’s Henry, Mace. He says they’ve let Mama out early. He’s at the jail, helping her to sign some papers. But he has a court hearing in a few minutes. He can’t give her a ride.’’ She spoke into the phone again. “We’re way out at Mace’s, Henry. You know she lives out in the hardwood hammock with the wild creatures. I’ll call Marty at work and ask her to go meet Mama. The library’s only a block from the jail.’’

We decided Marty would pick up Mama and we’d all meet for lunch at Maddie’s.

“You can borrow Pam’s car until the police finish up with yours, Mace. Your Jeep will probably need work after you get it dried out,’’ Maddie said.

Maddie’s daughter, Pam, was a college freshman in California, studying film-making.

I finished my coffee, showered and dressed, and was ready to go before Maddie had put away the last of my dishes.

We were mostly quiet on the twenty-minute ride to Maddie’s. I was thinking about my close call in the canal, and about everything that had happened since Mama discovered Jim Albert’s body in her trunk two nights before.

“Hey, Maddie,’’ I finally said. We were just coming up on the brick entryway to her neighborhood, with my sister driving fifteen mph under the speed limit, as usual. “Is Pam still looking for a plot for her first movie?’’

“Um-hmm,’’ Maddie murmured, careful to focus her concentration on the right-hand turn she’d made onto Whispering Pine Drive five hundred times before.

“Tell her I have a good one. It starts with a college girl’s grandma who murders a man and stuffs his body in the trunk of her vintage convertible.’’

“Not funny, Mace.’’

“Lighten up, Maddie. The worst is behind us.’’

As we proceeded at a snail’s pace onto my sister’s street, I realized I may have spoken too soon. Halfway up the block, we saw Sal Provenza parked in his yellow Cadillac, taking up two spaces in Maddie’s driveway.

Maddie couldn’t get out of her Volvo fast enough. She was beside the driver’s side door of Sal’s Cadillac before I’d even unhinged my aching body from her passenger seat.

Our mother’s boyfriend looked up, cigar in hand and a guilty look on his face. Maddie was so mad, she didn’t know which of Sal’s sins to seek vengeance for first.

“I can’t believe you have the nerve to come here, stinking up my driveway with that cigar, after you framed Mama for murder and nearly killed my sister, Mace.’’

That just about covered everything, I thought.

Sal stubbed out the cigar in his ashtray and gave Maddie a long, hard look. My sister held his stare without so much as a flinch. He patted at his perfect hair. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Maddie. But I don’t like the way it sounds. Harder people than you have tried over the years to accuse me of things. None of them has hurt me as much as hearing you say I could harm your mother.’’ Mudder. “I love Rosie.’’

He looked past my sister to watch me as, wincing, I lifted first one, then the other of my aching legs over the border of Chinese juniper that lined Maddie’s driveway. Sal must be a good actor, because a look of complete surprise flickered across his face as he absorbed my sorry state. Moving quickly for such a big man, he jumped from his car. The heavy driver’s door pushed Maddie out of the way.

Sal offered his arm for support. “If your sister wasn’t so busy attacking me, she might have realized you could use some help.’’ He leaned me against the wide expanse of his Cadillac’s hood. “What’d Maddie mean, I tried to kill you? What in the hell happened, Mace?’’

“Someone ran me off the road last night, out near the golf course. Remember the golf course, Sal?’’ I slipped into using his given name. If someone has conspired to murder you, it seems a tad formal to call him Mister.

I continued, “That’s where you called me to come all the way out there to meet you, and then conveniently disappeared before I got there.’’

“What are you suggesting? I set you up?’’ Sal looked at me like the creature from the Alien movie was burrowing out of my body. “I had a good reason for rushing out of there.’’

“Yeah? What?’’

“I got a call on my cell phone yesterday that your mother had suffered a heart attack at the jail.’’

Maddie gasped and grabbed my hand. My own heart started racing. Then I remembered, we’d already heard from Henry this morning that Mama was fine, on her way to freedom.

“Our mother’s heart is okay, Sal,’’ I said.

“But I didn’t know that then. I ran out of the pro shop so fast my shoes were smoking. I tried to call you again at the park office, but you must have already left work. I didn’t have your cell number. Besides, I figured if I was getting news of Rosalee taking ill, then you and your sisters must have heard about it, too. I knew I’d see you at the jail, or maybe at the hospital.’’

He twisted a heavy gold bracelet around his wrist, gaze fixed on the engraving that said Sal. “I didn’t even want to think about my worst fear: that the next time I’d see you girls would be at Rosie’s funeral.’’

He pulled out an oversized white handkerchief with deep red the initials SFP. He blew his nose, loud. “Sorry,’’ he said, blowing again. “Thinking about losing her still upsets me.’’

His hands were shaking. I almost felt sorry for him.

“Heart attack or not, you’ve already lost our mother.’’ Maddie’s voice was as cruel as a Christmas Eve burglar. “Mama believes, as do we, that you killed Jim Albert. We think you put his body in her big trunk, and then let her take the blame.’’ Maddie crossed her arms over her chest, purse tucked in tight, and waited for his response.

Sal carefully folded and refolded his handkerchief. He looked at the ground, and then raised his face to Maddie. There was no sadness now; just a tic in his jaw and cold anger.

“You better watch yourself.’’ His voice was a growl. “You could get into a lot of trouble making accusations you don’t have fact one to support. Mace, tell her she’s out of line, would’ya?’’

“She’ll do no such thing,’’ Maddie jumped in. “Mace and Marty both agree with me. And so does our mother, for that matter.’’

When Sal looked at me, I saw hurt, not anger in his eyes. “Is that true, Mace? Does Rosalee think I’m a murderer? Do you?’’

I paused, considering what to say. The truth was I didn’t know what to think.

“It seems suspicious, Sal. We find out you have ties to Jim Albert, ties of the criminal kind. You’re dating my mother, who just happens to have a spacious trunk in the back of her old Bonne-ville. She’s playing bingo at the Seminole reservation. The car is parked way out in the hinterlands.’’

He ran a finger around his collar, sweating in the full sun on Maddie’s driveway. “Anyone could have had access to that car, Mace.’’

He addressed the car, but avoided the topic of his ties to the murder victim.

“Everyone in town knows your mother and her turquoise convertible,’’ he continued.

“Yeah, but how many other people have an extra set of keys to the car?’’

From the flush on Sal’s face, I could see my comment hit home.

“She gave you a set, didn’t she?’’ I asked.

“You know she did. Rosalee’s always losing her keys. I have a set for safekeeping.’’

“Humph!’’ said Maddie.

“You both know I’m not the only one. A few extra sets are floating around town.’’

“True,’’ I conceded. “But how many of those other folks with Mama’s keys have also drawn the suspicions of the detective investigating Jim Albert’s murder? Just you.’’

Oddly, Sal smiled. “I wouldn’t be so sure you know everything Detective Martinez has up his sleeve,’’ he said. “Policemen play things close to the vest. They don’t share everything they know, especially not with civilians.’’

“That’s neither here nor there, Mr. Provenza.’’ Maddie put her hands on her hips. “On top of everything Mace just said, you also seem to be the most likely suspect in her near-fatal crash last night.’’

“Now, that’s where you’re a hundred percent wrong, Maddie.’’ Looping his thumbs into his waistband, Sal leaned against his Cadillac, the picture of confidence. “Why haven’t I heard you making accusations about the person who called me to say your poor mother was at death’s door, that she’d collapsed at the Himmarshee Jail?’’

My sister and I looked at each other. It was a good question.

We would have gotten the answer, too, if Marty hadn’t chosen exactly that moment to pull up in front of Maddie’s house. She was beeping her horn like Himmarshee High had just won the homecoming game. And there was Mama, grinning and waving from Marty’s front seat.

It’s kind of hard to pretend you don’t see Big Sal Provenza. But Mama was doing her best.

“Rosalee, I just want to talk to you,’’ Sal begged, placing his palms on the rolled up window on the passenger side of Marty’s car.

Mama climbed out of her seat, pushed around Sal with a withering glance, and then immediately turned a big smile on Maddie and me. “Girls, I’m so happy to see y’all. I thought I’d never get out of that place. Oh, my Lord, the food. And then a visit from that talky Pastor Bob Dixon. And those horrible cots. Mace, you saw those inmate smocks. Remind me never to wear orange again.’’

“Please, Rosalee.’’ Sal ran his hands through his hair, messing up his careful styling. “I can explain everything. I just can’t do it right now.’’

She didn’t say a word to Sal. The look she gave him said enough. Then she turned to us again, grinning as she squinted in the sun. She was like a swivel-headed doll with two expressions: ecstatic for us; furious for Sal.

“I can’t wait to have some real food, girls. Maddie, I hope you have something good in your fridge. You and Kenny aren’t still on that low-cholesterol kick, are you?’’

Sal tried again. “Rosie, honey …”

“Enough!’’ Mama cut him off. Then she glared at him for a full ten seconds.

Sal seemed to shrink in his Big-and-Tall-Man ensemble as the moments passed.

The tense silence was making Marty uncomfortable. She shot an apologetic glance at Sal, then stooped to pick a stem of juniper from the driveway border. Maddie, with her arm around Mama’s shoulders, bored a hole through Sal with her own version of laser vision. Watching the two of them staring at Sal, I could see now where Maddie had inherited The Glare.

Finally, Mama spoke: “I know you want to talk to me, Sally. I’m not ready to listen. That detective told me you lied to me about Jim Albert. I don’t know what all else you lied about. I don’t know whether I trust you anymore. I do know that right now, I’m as mad at you as a wasp with a ruin’t nest.’’

“But Rosalee …’’

Mama put up a hand. “Now, why don’t you climb back into that gaudy car of yours and give me some time to visit with my girls? I may cool down some, and we can talk later. Or maybe I won’t. You’ll just have to wait and see.’’

I had to credit Mama’s finesse. Though I did question how a woman who drives a turquoise convertible the size of a cruise ship could call someone else’s car gaudy.

She turned her back on him. “C’mon, girls, let’s go inside.’’

Maddie’s hands were at her hips, the better to stare down Sal. Mama looped one arm around Maddie’s elbow. Marty dropped the juniper and took Mama’s other arm. Then the three of them trooped off toward the house.

Sal and I looked at each other over the hood of his car.

“Well, you’re in some deep shit now,’’ I said.

“I can’t believe I’ve lost her, Mace. She’s my whole world.’’ Wold. Sal leaned his elbows on the roof of his car and dropped his head into his hands. “What am I going to do?’’

“You could start by telling her the truth.’’

He rocked his head from side to side, his crowning glory a complete fright now. “I can’t do that, Mace.’’ Misery filled his voice. “I can’t talk about the murder victim; can’t discuss how I knew Jimmy Albrizio. Don’t you think I would if I could? I’d do anything to get Rosie back.’’

Sal might be macho, but love was bringing him to emotional meltdown. As big as that man was, if he started crying I feared a flood.

“Well, what about me, then?’’ I changed the subject. “What about how I was run off the road into what could have been my grave? Can you talk about that?’’

He raised his head. “I had absolutely nothing to do with that, Mace.’’ His tone was honest, not evasive. His eyes met mine and held there, no darting about. Either he was telling the truth or he was an Olympic-caliber liar.

“It’s just that I’d have never been out there on that lonesome road if not for you, Sal.’’

“And I’m sorry about that. But I explained about the phone call.’’

“Not completely. You never said who called you with a story so terrifying that you ran out and left me swinging in the wind. You could have left me a message at the pro shop.’’

The junior Don Juan flashed into my mind. He had a message for me all right; but it wasn’t from Sal.

“I told you I wasn’t in my right mind when I left there, Mace. I was frantic.’’

“So, who called?’’

When Sal told me who’d scared him off our meeting, I just about fell down and cracked my one good knee.

___

Opening Maddie’s front door, I smelled cold fried chicken. Mama was laughing.

“What’s so funny?’’ I said, limping into the gleaming kitchen. The place was so clean, you could perform surgery on Maddie’s stainless-steel countertops.