Текст книги "Mama Rides Shotgun"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

The scent of pulled pork rose into the air as we turned off the trail and into a sprawling pasture set up for lunch. I pointed to a line of trees in the distance. It’d be a good place to tie up the horses out of the sun. Due to the delay of me almost getting killed, most of the other riders had already taken care of their horses. We had the water troughs nearly to ourselves. Val had just lowered her muzzle into the tub to drink when Maddie and Sal ran up.

“Where in the blazes have you three been?’’ Maddie asked.

“We wuz starting to get worried.’’ Sal’s furrowed brow revealed he was well past “starting’’ to worry.

“We had a little accident, but everybody’s fine,’’ I said.

“An accident?’’ Maddie’s voice caught in her throat.

“Rosie, get down off that animal so I can see for myself you’re okay.’’

Sal stood about ten feet from Mama’s horse, his hands clasped behind his back. His anxious gaze moved from her face to the horse’s hindquarters. He’d take a step forward, and then step right back again like someone had drawn a line he couldn’t cross in the grass.

I couldn’t believe it! Big Sal was afraid of horses. Mama was riding a tiny Paso Fino, hardly bigger than a pony. If her horse and Sal were in a tug-of-war, I’d put my money on Sal. Yet, he was eyeing the horse like it was as big as a Clydesdale but crazy, ready to turn and trample him at any moment.

“I’m fine, Sally,’’ Mama said, waving her ring hand at him. “It was Mace. She nearly got hit by a tractor-trailer hauling grapefruit.’’

“Oranges, Mama,’’ I said.

We filled them in on Austin’s whip-cracking “practice’’ and my close call.

“The only good thing about the whole incident was Marty,’’ I said. “You should have seen her, Maddie. She’d have made you proud. She got right up in Austin’s face and gave her what-for.’’

Marty blushed. “And I’m feeling really guilty about that. I was so angry and scared, I threatened that girl. You know, Buddhism teaches us to never harm a living thing.’’

One of Marty’s college boyfriends had been a Buddhist. The boy was long gone, but the religion stuck—a perfect match for our normally gentle sister.

“Don’t worry about it, honey. I’m sure you can get at least one of your gods to forgive you.’’

Mama had mostly come to accept Marty’s beliefs, but she’d still get in a dig where she could over no meat and multiple gods.

I was about to stick up for Marty and freedom of religion, but a scene unfolding under the canopy of trees captured my attention. Belle Bramble sat on a log, her horse tied to an oak branch. She was crying. Carlos was crouched in front of her. I watched as he took the bandana from his neck. Holding her chin in one hand, he dabbed ever so gently at her wet face. When she gave him a brave smile, I felt the sting of unshed tears behind my own eyes.

“Mace! Mama’s on about false gods again. Marty could use your help here. What is so darned interesting in the woods?’’ Maddie’s gaze followed mine. “Well, crap,’’ she said. “Looks like Carlos has found him someone who doesn’t mind being taken care of.’’

I blinked hard.

Mama said, “If he’s so fired up about saving somebody, where was he when Mace was about to get squashed like a gopher turtle on the highway?’’

Good question. Looks like I’d missed my moment. Not that the damsel in distress role suits me. I’d have to leave that—and Carlos, too, from the looks of it—to poor, fragile Belle.

___

After I stalked off alone, I found a spot in the back of the pasture to pick at my sandwich and work on my sulk. A cattle egret hunted bugs in the tall grass by some ancient cow pens. A meadow lark warbled nearby. The cloudless sky was swimming-pool blue. Sitting in the sun with my back against the worn wood of a pen, I nursed my hurt feelings—along with the last of my lemonade. I kept replaying Mama’s litany, about how I’d probably end up all by myself.

It’s not like I didn’t have my choice of men: There was the alcoholic with the psycho girlfriend, who may or may not be his ex. And, oh yeah, he might also be diddling his daddy’s recent widow. And then there was the other one—who I had to admit I still wanted, even though he clearly didn’t want me.

Just as I was imagining a solitary life with a houseful of cats, I heard throat-clearing beside me.

“Mace, can we talk to you?’’

Deep voice; the slightest Spanish accent. Carlos. I turned my shoulders. My stiff neck followed reluctantly.

“Sure,’’ I said, careful to keep my voice even.

I tried not to stare at the hands that he and Belle had linked together. But since they were standing and I was sitting, they were right there at my eye level. A camera hung from her neck.

“Why don’t y’all have a seat?’’

That was even worse. He actually brushed a spot for her to sit on the ground. She lowered herself gracefully, like a flower folding up for the night. As soon as he sat, she reached for his hand again. His was strong, the color of buttered caramel; hers was small, as delicate-looking as a child’s. I forced myself to raise my eyes to Belle’s.

“I didn’t get the chance at the ranch house to tell you how sorry I am,’’ I said. “We saw your daddy not too long before he died. He looked happy, like he was having the time of his life. I hope there’s some comfort in that.’’

I didn’t mention Lawton’s less-than-happy reaction when Mama asked him about Trey.

“Thank you, Mace,’’ she said in a whispery voice. “It does mean something to hear you say that.’’

She was clasping Carlos’ hand so hard, the freckles were nearly jumping off her skin.

He said, “Belle and I have been talking this morning about her father’s death. There are some things that don’t seem to add up.’’

No kidding, I thought. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everybody.

She said, “Daddy was a wealthy, powerful man. He had enemies. What if someone killed him, maybe with poison? If you look around, you’ll see people with motives, starting with his own wife.’’

Belle’s intelligent eyes searched mine. I figured now was a good time to bring up some of those motives. I told them about seeing Wynonna rubbing Trey’s chest.

“Is there something between her and your brother, Belle?’’

“No way.’’ She shook her head firmly. “I don’t know what her game was, but he was passed out drunk. Besides, Trey can’t stand Wynonna. Both of us knew she married Daddy for his money. Now it looks like she’ll get what she wanted.’’

I told them about Johnny Adams, and the trouble he’d had with Lawton, both business and personal.

“So Johnny was in love with my mother?’’

“That’s what Mama told me,’’ I said.

Carlos rolled his eyes.

“I saw that,’’ I said. “Anyway, there was Johnny’s odd reaction, too. He acted so strange when Mama and I told him about your daddy dying.”

Another eye roll from Carlos.

“If you don’t stop doing that,’’ I told him, “you’ll give yourself a headache.’’

He sighed. “You’re talking about feelings and observations, Mace, not evidence.’’

“Well, I know it’s not evidence, Carlos. I’m just telling you and Belle what I’ve seen. How come cops can have hunches and real people can’t?’’

“So now I’m not a real person?’’

I ignored that. I was on a roll.

“Not to mention, I seem to remember a certain detective’s hunch last summer that turned out dead wrong. My mama went to jail because of it. I’m being extra careful to notice everything this time around.’’

“Coño, Mace.’’ There was that Cuban cuss word I’d come to know. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?’’

As I was trying to think of a snappy comeback, I glanced at Belle. She was taking everything in. I imagined not much got by those green eyes of hers, or her camera, either.

“Whatever,’’ I finally said, not at all snappily.

I swigged from my lemonade cup. It was mostly ice, but I crunched away, as if the cubes weren’t freezing my molars into glaciers. Carlos glared at me. I glared back. Belle unclasped her fingers from his and folded her hands in her lap. Then she lifted her camera and took a picture of the egret perched on a fence post. The stony silence stretched out between Carlos and me.

Just then, I heard a muffled cough from around the side of the pen. The grass rustled as someone hurried away. By the time I got up to look through the weathered slats, there was no one to see. Whoever had been there had slipped into the woods and vanished. Was it someone listening in, or just a passerby?

“What?’’ Carlos asked me.

“I heard something.’’

“I didn’t,’’ Belle said.

“Mace works in a nature park and traps animals as a sideline. She’s got hearing like a bat,’’ Carlos said.

“What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m as crazy as a bat, like the old saying?’’

“Give it a break, would you?’’ He got up and brushed off his Wranglers. “It was a compliment, Mace, not that you ever knew how to take one. All I meant was you have highly developed tracking skills and senses in the wild.’’

Belle got up, too, interrupting us before we could start another round.

“Mace, I know you had some questions about Daddy’s death, too. Your mama told me all about it when she took me to see his bod . . . bahd . . . uhm, to see him.’’

Of course she did.

“She said you were concerned about what might have been in that chili cup.’’

I nodded, waiting for Belle to go on.

“Carlos told me this morning he was a police detective, and that he’d also lost someone close to him.’’ She glanced at him. He smiled his encouragement. I felt something twist in my gut. “We talked on the trail about how you feel powerless when someone you love dies. I just want to make sure I’ve done everything I can for Daddy. If someone killed him, we need to find out who it was.’’

She looked at Carlos. He grabbed her hand and squeezed. I felt like throwing up.

“Even though I’m out of my jurisdiction, and technically between jobs, I can call in a favor,’’ he said. “The least we can do is get some tests run on the chili left in that cup.’’

“That’s what I’ve been saying,’’ I said.

“Well, where is it then?’’ he asked.

“The cup?’’

“No, Mace. The Empire State Building.’’ The scowl again. “Isn’t the cup what we’ve been talking about?’’

I wondered how soon he’d start taking that surly, Miami tone with Belle. Probably never. Something about me seemed to bring out the worst in Carlos. I bit back a smartass remark on account of Belle being in mourning.

“The cup,’’ I said, drawing out the word, “was in Doc Abel’s front seat the last time I saw it. He seems sure a heart attack killed Lawton; but he said he’d hang onto the cup on the off chance he’s wrong.’’

A funny look flitted across Belle’s face. “Hmm,’’ she said.

“What?’’ I asked her.

“Well, it’s just that I saw Doc, riding in one of the wagons this morning. I asked him about Daddy’s chili cup. He said Wynonna took it.’’

Carlos and I went looking for Doc, and found Johnny Adams, breaking down the last of lunch. He carried two big stainless steel serving pans, one stacked sideways on top of the other. The cole slaw was all but gone; a bit of potato salad was left. I looked around for plastic bowls or a stray fork, but most everything had been put away. Too bad, too. In my jealous funk, I’d imagined I was too upset to eat more than half my sandwich. Now, I could have eaten two, along with something on the side. I was starving.

Belle left to help Trey move their big RV and horse trailer to the evening’s campsite. Carlos and I stopped arguing long enough to agree we should find Doc to ask him what happened to Lawton’s cup. We’d left our horses in Maddie’s care. Mama and Marty were pitching in with Sal, helping leapfrog our vehicles and equipment ahead to tonight’s camp.

“Hey, Johnny,’’ I called. “We’re looking for Doc. You seen him around?’’

He shook his head as he kept walking. “Not since breakfast, but I’ve been busy.’’

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a bag of chips or an extra sandwich hanging around in the trailer, do you?’’ I asked.

“Nope, sorry.’’ He didn’t break stride, merely shifted the pans so he could watch the ground for holes or horse paddies. “Lunch ended more than a half-hour ago.’’

To be honest, he didn’t sound all that sorry. I wondered if Mama still had that pack of crackers she offered me on the trail?

“No problem,’’ I said. “Last night, Mama got somebody to rustle up a late dinner plate for Doc. But I know y’all are rushed after lunch, trying to finish up and move everything ahead for tonight.’’

He stopped and looked around the tins at me. “You’re Rosalee’s girl, aren’t you?’’

I nodded.

“Well, why didn’t you say so? I’ll get you a couple of pork sandwiches out of the stash I hid for myself.’’ He rubbed the swell of his stomach above his belt. “I sure don’t need ’em. I’m getting as fat as a fixed dog.’’

“I couldn’t take your food,’’ I said, knowing I’d do just that if he offered again.

“I insist.’’

Thank God!

“Audrey!’’ He put the tins on a folding table and yelled toward the trailer. “Bring a couple of those leftover sandwiches out here, would you?’’

He raised his eyebrows at Carlos. “Can I get you anything?’’

“No, Mace is the one with the hollow leg. She’s always hungry.’’ He leaned past me and offered his hand to Johnny, introducing himself.

As the two men shook, I said, “I’m sorry, hunger must have fogged up the manners part of my brain. Carlos, this is Johnny Adams. He knew Mama and Lawton Bramble way back when. He and Lawton were very old friends.’’

Johnny’s jaw went tight at the mention of Lawton’s name, but he covered it with a joke.

“Hell, Mace, I ain’t that old.’’

“Carlos is a police detective,’’ I said, watching Johnny to see how he’d react.

To my surprise, his smile broadened, though it still didn’t light those almost black eyes.

“A detective, huh? I got a nephew on the job up in Pensacola. I sure admire what y’all do. But it can be dangerous, can’t it? I think I’ll stick to the barbecue business. So far as I know, a pork rib never learned to aim a gun.’’

He glanced toward the trailer again.

“Audrey! Where the hell are them sandwiches? We don’t have all day.’’

“Hold your horses, you old grouch.’’ A pretty woman in her forties with short hair and lively eyes hurried down the steps of the trailer, two foil-wrapped sandwiches in her hand. She smiled at me. “You must have something on Johnny for him to dip into his own stash.’’

“Go on now, woman!’’ He took the sandwiches and waved her away. Audrey didn’t budge. “She thinks she can talk to me thataway because she’s worked for me forever. But if she makes me mad enough, I just might fire her.’’ His voice was gruff, but his mouth curved with the hint of a smile. It was the first one I’d seen to reach his eyes.

Audrey cupped her hand to her mouth, secret-style. “He wouldn’t survive two days without me,’’ she said in a stage whisper.

“That’s what you think, you uppity woman. You can be replaced. Just keep testing me,’’ he grumbled as he gathered up the serving trays and stalked off. “Enjoy the sandwiches.’’

I turned to offer my sympathies to Audrey for having such a crabby boss, when the joke I was about to crack died in my mouth. She was looking after Johnny with yearning all over her face. He might be oblivious, but any woman could tell in an instant; Audrey was in love.

I filed away the observation. Audrey might have an interesting viewpoint to share on how Johnny hadn’t been able to get over his tragic first love.

___

“There’s Doc, up ahead in that mule wagon. Passenger side.’’

I nodded toward a bright green wagon in front of us. An American flag waved from one rear corner; Florida’s red-on-white colors flew from the other. The wagon, about fifty yards ahead of Carlos and me, was listing to the right. The driver was a skinny old guy in suspenders and a beat-up Florida Cracker hat. Doc outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds. I’d find a tactful way later to let the driver know to add a couple of bales of hay to the left if Doc intended to go the distance.

“C’mon, let’s catch up,’’ I said, lifting Val’s reins as I clucked my tongue.

Carlos’ thoroughbred didn’t need much encouragement. The big bay was off, like the racehorse he must have been. I admired the view from the rear. The man’s butt barely left the saddle; he moved like he was melded onto the horse. Marty was right. Carlos rode like a dream. I dug in my heels and brought Val alongside.

“Hey, cowpoke, wait up. Sorry, I guess that should be ‘guabero.’’’

He winced.

“Pronunciation’s that bad, huh?’’

“Guajiro. Gwa-yee-row,’’ he sounded it out for me.

I had a flash of the two of us in his kitchen one morning, fooling around as he made me breakfast. Picking up common items, he’d drilled me in Spanish: café, he said, holding up a vacuum-packed bag of strong Cuban coffee. Cuchara, he said, handing me a spoon. Beso, he whispered, as he leaned down and gave me a kiss.

Oh, crap. Why had I screwed things up?

“Listen, let me do the talking with Doc,’’ I said, more sharply than I intended.

“Whatever you say, Mace. You’re the boss.’’

“No offense,’’ I semi-apologized.

“None taken,’’ he said with his irritating smirk.

I eased Val closer to the wagon. “Afternoon, Doc,’’ I said. “Enjoying the ride?’’

The Oak Ridge Boys’ gospel classic, “I’m in Love With Jesus,” blasted from a CD player in the front of the wagon. The driver sang along. His volume was in inverse proportion to his talent. I had a moment’s sympathy for the non-believing Doc.

“Hello, Mace.’’ Doc raised his voice, hunching up his shoulders to protect his ears. “Where’s your mother?’’

“She and my sisters are riding along somewhere, yakking it up.’’ After three days of Mama all to myself, I was more than happy to let Marty and Maddie enjoy her company for a while.

I performed quick introductions. Doc’s brow wrinkled when I mentioned Carlos was a police detective.

“I hope you’re not still on that kick about Lawton’s cause of death, Mace.’’

I was trying to think of what to say about my “kick’’ when Carlos butted in.

“Mace told me Lawton was using a cup just before he died. I agree with her it should be tested, if only to allay any doubts that anyone, including his family, might have.’’

Leave it to him to come right to the point. And, so much for letting me do the talking.

“I have no doubt what killed him. But I’m not averse to testing the cup, either.’’ Doc narrowed his eyes at me. “As I’ve already told Mace.’’

I narrowed my eyes right back. “Then why’d you give the cup to Wynonna?’’

He shook his head. “I didn’t. It’s still sitting in my car, as far as I know.’’

“Lawton’s daughter Belle said you did,’’ I said.

“Well, she’s wrong. Belle is a high-strung girl. She doesn’t always think clearly. She has problems keeping things straight, among other difficulties. I may have said Wynonna wanted the cup. I didn’t say I handed it over.’’

The Oak Ridge Boys launched into “Closer to Thee.” The mule-driver cranked the volume of his sing-along even higher. Doc put a discreet finger into the ear closest to the CD player.

“So you wouldn’t mind giving the cup to me for analysis?’’ Carlos asked.

“Not at all, officer.’’ Doc turned his palms up in a friendly gesture, but his voice had an edge. “I’ve worked with enough policemen over the years to know you’re a suspicious breed.’’

“Actually, it’s Detective, not officer,’’ Carlos said. “And having suspicions comes with the territory.’’

“Hmm, yes. I would imagine it does,’’ Doc said. “I’ll make sure you get that cup, once we reach camp.’’

___

“Mace, you need to pull that corner tighter,’’ Maddie instructed. “The tent looks all lopsided on this side.’’

Despite the morning’s delay, we made camp near Zolfo Springs by late afternoon. Maddie’s four-man monstrosity belonged at the Smithsonian as an example of early man’s recreational practices. Canvas, it weighed about two hundred pounds, reeked of mildew, and was missing a quarter of its stakes. I was doing the best I could under the circumstances.

“Maddie, instead of standing there criticizing, why don’t you go see if you can find a dead sabal frond? I can break it into long stakes for this sandy ground.’’

“You want me to go into the woods?’’ she looked like I’d asked her to cross a scorching desert on her hands and knees.

“Yes. The woods, Maddie. I know you and Kenny’s idea of camping is when the Cracker Barrel restaurant’s more than a block from your hotel, but you’ve got to help out.’’ I raised my head from untangling one of the ropes for the antique tent. “Look over there at Marty. She’s got all the tack off the horses and she’s already giving them their feed.’’

“Oh, all right then.’’ Grumbling, Maddie started for the trees. “I don’t see what’s so important about a few little pieces of wood, though.’’

Without Maddie there to criticize, I quickly got the sleeping bags from her trunk to air out. I don’t think they’d been used since Maddie’s college-student daughter was in Girl Scouts. But at least they were intact, and they’d keep my sisters and me warm.

The sun was still warm, but it was sinking. The air already carried a hint of chill. In the distance, Marty was finishing up with the horses, which meant she’d begin to feel the cold as soon as she sat down to rest. I whine like a baby when the temperature plunges, but Marty’s prone to respiratory problems and strep throat. All of us worry when she gets a chill.

I called out, “Marty, why don’t you put on that jacket I left under the front seat of my Jeep?’’

She waved at me. “Thanks, Mace. I’m just about done.’’

I draped the last sleeping bag over Maddie’s trunk. As I did, I noticed something dark and sinewy coiled in the back seat. I couldn’t believe it! They’d brought my old cow whip, the one I loaned my niece for her film class documentary on Florida Crackers.

I pulled out the whip, running my thumb over my initials burned onto the wooden handle. MEB. Mason Elizabeth Bauer. I gave it a couple of practice cracks. Yep, just as loud as ever.

“Hey, Marty,’’ I yelled over the sound.

She didn’t answer.

I walked toward my Jeep, snapping the whip the whole way. It’s amazing how the muscles remember; like riding a bicycle, I guess. “Hey,’’ I shouted. “Why didn’t y’all tell me you brought this?’’

Still no answer.

My Jeep’s door was open and Marty stood rooted, staring at my jacket unfurled on the ground. Her face was ashen and shiny with sweat. She mouthed my name over and over, like a whispered prayer.

“MaceMaceMaceMace.’’

And then I heard another sound. Low and menacing, it was unmistakable to a girl who grew up in the Florida wilds, clambering over piles of dead wood and turning up rocks.

Ssssttt, Ssssttt, Ssssttt . . .