Текст книги "Mama Gets Hitched"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“Call an ambulance,” someone shouted. “C’ndee’s been shot!”

Women screamed. Teensy howled. Chairs overturned. Guests scrambled for the door or ducked for cover under tables. The DJ sailed off the stage, knocking the pastor’s lectern onto the dance floor. Gun drawn, Carlos guided me as we crouched behind it. His eyes scanned the room. So did mine.

I’d lost sight of Mama and my sisters. Several tables had been flipped onto their sides. I prayed they’d have the good sense to hide behind one of them.

“Everyone remain calm. I’m with the police.” Carlos’ voice was loud, carrying over the strains of “YMCA” on the sound system. Someone wisely yanked the plug on the Village People. “Stay down and stay safe. Nobody move.”

I heard some sobs. A few whimpers. A muffled bark.

And then I saw a flash of pink, the only upright body in the place, moving toward the kitchen door and the exit beyond. “Back of the room by the prime rib,” I whispered to Carlos. “Eleven o’clock.”

“Stop!” He spun toward the moving figure, his voice crackling with authority. “Police!”

Alice Hodges hesitated for a second. And then she reached behind a fake silk dogwood and hauled out the hiding bride. Gun held now against Mama’s head, Alice dragged her backward into the center of the room. Oddly, what I noticed was Mama’s four-foot train, trailing through pieces of prime rib and jus that had spilled onto the floor from the carving table. If Mama got out of this mess, she’d be mad about that. But at this moment, terrified was all she was. Her eyes were huge; her face as white as her gown. If, as Mama had said, the Lord was going to smile down on her wedding today, I prayed he’d get started soon.

Alice waved the gun around the room, getting everyone’s attention. “If anybody tries to stop me from leaving, I’ll kill Rosalee.”

None of us doubted she would.

Time seemed to have stopped. But in reality, only a few moments had passed since the gunshot sounded. I hoped someone had dialed 911 before Alice showed herself. I glanced toward C’ndee, who sat slumped against Rabe on the floor behind one of the tables. His arm was around her, holding her up. The red stain was growing on the napkin.

The hall was as hushed as a church. Whoever had Teensy must have muzzled him. All eyes focused on Mama, but surely not in the way she would have wanted. Suddenly, she squared her shoulders. Then she turned, ever so slowly, to look into the face of the woman who threatened to shoot her.

“You can’t do this, Alice.” I was proud of Mama. Her voice barely shook. “We’ve been neighbors. Friends. You’ve worshipped beside me. The Bible says one burdened with the guilt of murder will be a fugitive down to the grave. You know what the Lord wants you to do. Put down that gun.”

Alice shook her head. “It’s too late, Rosalee. Things have gotten out of hand.”

Carlos motioned for me to stay; then he started inching his way across the floor toward Alice. Of course, I followed right behind him, crawling on my belly, and hoping my giant skirt stayed hidden behind a row of overturned tables. Fleetingly, I realized slithering through spilled wine and food and who knows what else on the floor would ruin the Scarlett gown forever. I had no idea why, but I felt sad about that.

With a plea in her voice, Mama continued, “It’s never too late to do the right thing.”

“You’re wrong, Rosalee. At this point, I have nothing to lose. All I wanted to do was protect our livelihood. That fool husband of mine was finally starting to make a go of it, when she entered the scene.”

Face flushed with rage, Alice pointed the gun to where C’ndee had fallen.

“She made him happy, Ronnie said. That fool thought the Yankee bitch loved him.” Alice shook her head, incredulous. “That morning in the VFW’s kitchen, he told me he wasn’t too old to want happiness. He was going to leave me and share our business with her.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t let that happen. The knife was right there. It was like a sign.”

“So you killed Ronnie because you were jealous of C’ndee?”

Alice’s laugh was a harsh cackle. “Not in the way you think, Rosalee. I couldn’t have cared less about the fornicating. I was jealous about them going into business together. And, then, once the deed was done with Ronnie, once he was out of the way, I knew I didn’t want her as my business rival.” She glanced in C’ndee’s direction. “You heard her crowing just now, bragging about how good she is. I had to shoot her. You eliminate the competition, by whatever means necessary. That’s the most basic rule of commerce.”

I wondered if that’s the way they teach it at Harvard Business School.

“Well I’m sorry about all that, Alice. I truly am.”

Uh-oh. I recognized that fed-up tone in Mama’s voice. It told me we’d better hurry.

“Still and all, none of that gives you the right to ruin My Special Day.” Like Bridezilla in full tantrum, Mama stomped a white satin heel on top of Alice’s big toe. Howling in pain, Alice instinctively reached down to grab her sandaled foot. In the process, she dropped the gun.

Carlos and I leaped into action. He tackled Alice, who went down like a tin shed in a hurricane. I grabbed Mama, and pulled her behind an upended table.

“Watch the train, honey!”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her it already had bits of rib fat and bloody juice permanently embedded. Why ruin her Special Day?

Teensy must have escaped, because the little dog scrabbled across the floor, sailed above the overturned table, and landed with a yelp on Mama’s head. A big voice boomed from the bathroom hallway.

“Hold on for the toast, Rosie! I’m on my way!” The shock on Sal’s still-green face was almost comical as he rounded the corner into the dismantled dining room. “What the hell?”

An ambulance siren sounded in the distance. Rabe was helping C’ndee stretch out on the floor. Linda-Ann sat beside her, holding her hand. C’ndee grimaced with every move, but her color wasn’t bad. That was a good sign.

Guests emerged from under tables, dusting off their fancy duds. My sisters found Mama and me. Carlos kept a firm hold on Alice while he scooped her gun off the floor. He pointed Sal toward his wounded cousin-in-law.

“Could you check on C’ndee’s condition so you can brief the paramedics when they arrive?”

“I’ll live,” C’ndee called out, her voice surprisingly strong.

Sal’s years of experience kicked in. Seeming to appraise the situation in seconds, he started shouting commands. “All right, everybody move back. Give her some room.” He knelt beside C’ndee. “The authorities are on their way.”

Carlos started toward the door with Alice in custody. I touched his arm. “You saved Mama’s life. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“I have a couple of ideas.” He gave me half a grin, and then turned serious. “You were right there with me, even though I warned you to stay behind. We did it together.”

“I guess we make a pretty good team.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, niña.”

With Mama’s bare feet in his lap, Sal tenderly probed the big toe on her right foot.

“I don’t care what that paramedic said, Sally. I think it’s broken!”

“You just jammed it when you stomped on Alice’s foot, Rosie. It’ll feel better in a few days.”

An ambulance crew had come for C’ndee. After they established her wound wasn’t as serious as we feared, Mama sought medical advice for her aching toe. I admired the paramedic’s restraint in not telling Mama what she could do with her toe as he loaded C’ndee into the back of the vehicle.

A surprising number of guests stayed after the excitement was over. Chairs and tables were straightened; broken glass swept up; ruined food thrown in the trash. The DJ retook the stage. Linda-Ann slow-danced past us on the dance floor, entangled with Rabe.

“I guess Mr. Animal Rights is history,” I said. “I saw the two of them screaming at each other outside in the parking lot just before Alice shot C’ndee.”

Marty said, “Linda-Ann broke if off. She told me in the Ladies she suspected Trevor put that dead hog’s head on Alice’s porch. She said between that and those awful pig costumes, she couldn’t love a man like him.”

Something about that wild pig on the porch had been bothering me. Finally, I had it: “Does anyone else remember Alice saying she grew up on a hog farm?” I asked. “I wouldn’t put it past her to have butchered that poor creature herself.”

“Makes sense.” Maddie nodded. “Based on how she killed Ronnie, she knows her way around a knife.”

Images of that bloody scene in the kitchen pushed their way into my mind. I wondered if I’d ever stop reliving the morning I discovered Ronnie’s body.

“Hey, Mama,” I said. “Did any of those bottles of wine survive the mess in here? I could use a little glass of something alcoholic.”

She slapped her forehead. “Sal and I missed our good luck toast. We can’t start married life without it!”

She motioned to the DJ to bring her the microphone. She limped to the stage to speak to her guests.

“Well, y’all, this isn’t exactly how I planned things. But I am grateful we survived. Let’s scare up whatever glasses weren’t broken, and bring in some booze from the bar. My groom and I are going to have us that toast!”

The DJ cranked up the perfect song, “We Are Family.”

“I wouldn’t turn down a piece of prime rib, either,” Mama added. “I haven’t eaten a bite.”

Raising her voice over the music, she struck a Scarlett pose: “As God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again!”

_____

It was late. The toast had been made. The wedding was almost over. Mama and Sal were about to take off. But there was still one thing to do before they left.

Mama stood on the stage, her back to the hall, her bridal bouquet raised high over her head. The remaining guests counted down. One. Two. Three.

Toss!

She gave a mighty heave. The flowers soared above the heads of the short girls in the front row. They floated past the divorcees and Mama’s widowed bingo buddies in the middle. And, as if guided by invisible wires or my mama’s brain waves, they plopped smack into the reluctant grasp of a tall single gal hiding behind everyone else.

Mama spun, and then squealed with joy when she saw who caught the bouquet. Me.

“See, Mace? I told you the Lord was going to smile down on my wedding today.”

About the Author

Like Mace Bauer’s, Deborah Sharp’s family roots were set in Florida long before Disney and Miami Vice came to define the state. She does some writing at a getaway overlooking the Kissimmee River in the wilds north of Okeechobee, and some at Starbucks in Fort Lauderdale. As a Florida native and a longtime reporter for USA Today, she knows every burg and back road, including some not found on maps. Here’s what she has to say about Himmarshee:

Home to cowboys and church suppers, Himmarshee is hot and swarming with mosquitoes. A throwback to the ways of long-ago southern Florida, it bears some resemblance to the present-day ranching town of Okeechobee. The best thing about Mace and Mama’s hometown: it will always be threatened, but never spoiled, by suburban sprawl.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title_Page

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

About_the_Author

Table of Contents

Cover

Title_Page

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

About_the_Author