Текст книги "Mama Gets Hitched"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

A battered white Plymouth screeched into the VFW parking lot. Even after the driver parked half onto the grass and shut off the ignition, the engine continued to knock. A wild-eyed woman flung open the car door. She leaped out, eyes scanning the growing crowd.

“Uh-oh,” I said to my sisters, who still stood outside the open window. “Heads up. Here comes Ronnie’s wife. She’s probably heard something, and she’s fearing the worst.”

The three of us straightened, waiting to see what Alice would do. You could almost see the terror rising in her eyes as she checked each face, failing to see her husband’s familiar features. I’ve always been single, but both my sisters are married: Maddie for twenty years; Marty for more than ten. I imagined they were running through in their minds how it would feel as a wife to be on the receiving end of the official confirmation Alice Hodges was about to get. I didn’t need to have a husband to know it would feel awful.

As I watched from inside the window, Marty started toward Alice.

“Honey, why don’t you let me take you inside? It looks like the skies are going to open up again at any moment out here. No sense in getting wet.”

Marty’s voice was kind and soothing. I was glad she got to Alice first before Maddie steamrolled her.

“Where’s my husband?” Alice asked, her voice laced with anxiety. “Where’s Ronnie?”

“Let’s go in.” Marty spoke calmly and slowly, as if to a child. Maddie followed our little sister’s lead, approaching quietly from Alice’s other side. She didn’t say a word, which is rare for Maddie, just took one of Alice’s arms while Marty held on to the other.

I looked around for an officer. The policemen—and one woman—who’d come in behind Carlos were busy starting to shoo people from the lot. The chief was out by the street, talking to the Himmarshee Times. Yellow crime scene tape was going up. I don’t think anyone official noticed my sisters escorting a middle-aged woman in a faded housedress and sensible shoes. She didn’t register as the wife of the murder victim inside the VFW.

“Mama,” I called over to the table where Carlos had asked her to wait. “Run over to the kitchen and tell Carlos Alice Hodges just got here. Somebody needs to come take care of her.”

I knew first aid, since we’ve had our share of emergencies at Himmarshee Park. If Alice were to collapse or go into shock, I’d know what to do. But Carlos would want to talk to her. By the time a young policewoman stopped my sisters at the front entrance, Mama had found Carlos. He strode across the rental hall to the door.

“It’s okay. Let them through,” he said to the policewoman.

She stepped aside, and Maddie and Marty entered the dining room. Alice walked, white-faced and fearful, between them.

“Are you in charge?” she asked Carlos, and then her words tumbled out without waiting for his answer. “I got a phone call. Someone said there’d been a murder. My husband was here early this morning, preparing for an appointment. I haven’t been able to reach him on his cell phone. I’ve told him and told him not to go off and leave it lying on the front seat of his car.” She stopped talking, took a couple of shallow breaths. “What good is a cell phone if you never have it with you? I’ve told him …” Growing softer, her voice finally petered out.

Carlos nodded at me, and then to a chair at a nearby table. I pulled it over. He introduced himself and invited Alice to sit. I moved back to the window, giving them privacy.

“I don’t want to sit down.” Alice’s voice rose in anger. “I want to talk to my husband.”

Marty gently eased her into the seat, and Maddie applied a little pressure to her shoulder to keep her there.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” Carlos said, and he did look sorry, all knitted brows and sympathetic eyes. “There’s been an accident.”

An accident? Only if Ronnie had a career I hadn’t known about as a knife-throwing circus contortionist.

“Mrs. Hodges, your husband is dead.”

Alice recoiled from Carlos’ words as if he’d slapped her. “That can’t be. I just made him oatmeal this morning.” She passed a hand over her eyes, as if fixing in her mind the image of Ronnie eating breakfast. “Are you sure it’s him?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Carlos said. “He had his wallet on him with ID, and several people have confirmed his identity.”

Alice shook her head, limp gray hair falling into her face. Her hands were busy, kneading the hem of her dress. Marty leaned over and brushed a few strands of hair from Alice’s eyes. Maddie gave her shoulder an awkward pat. Carlos watched. His dark, intelligent eyes registered Alice’s every sound, every twitch.

Mama walked silently to my side. “That poor woman,” she whispered. “I can never see a new widow without thinking of that day in the hospital, twenty-one years ago, when they told me your daddy was dead.”

That’s something you don’t forget. I still remember Maddie, Marty, and me standing in the street, watching Daddy disappear in an ambulance after his heart attack. That was the last time we saw him alive.

“Honey, Alice looks like she can use a drink. The manager got here to unlock the bar and office so the police can look around. Why don’t we go see if we can find her a drop of sherry?” Mama paused. “Maybe something stronger.”

I glanced toward Alice, who was now struggling to rise from the chair. Stooping down next to her, Marty spoke softly, urgently. Maddie clamped a principal’s grip on her shoulder. Alice’s eyes were dry, and blazing with anger.

“I want to see him! You can’t keep me from seeing him!” she said to Carlos. “Just let me in there for a minute. I need to make sure it’s Ronnie.”

Alice was flying through those five famous stages of grief in record time. We’d already seen denial and anger. Now, she was bargaining. All that was left was depression and acceptance.

“I’m not sure Alice will take a drink,” I said to Mama. “I think she’s a teetotaler.”

“Desperate times, Mace.”

In short order, we found the manager and some brandy. Mama took a little nip for herself, and then got a fresh glass and the bottle, and we headed back to the dining room.

“I expect Alice will do fine after the awful shock wears off,” Mama said. “She’s a bit of a cold fish, to tell you the truth.”

“Mama! That’s a horrible thing to say. That booze must have loosened your tongue.”

“It’s not booze, Mace. It’s only brandy. And I’m just stating a fact. She’s a good woman, but that marriage has had its problems.”

“Like most marriages,” I said.

Mama, the expert, waved her hand dismissively.

“The two of them were as different as corn and beets,” she said. “Alice never missed a Sunday at church. Ronnie would rather watch football. After he got hurt at the feed store, he’d taken an interest in getting in shape. Lately, he’d really spiffed himself up. And Alice … well, you saw Alice. I don’t think a tube of lipstick ever touched those lips. She’d sooner gamble on a Sunday than step foot into Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow, even though we could work wonders for her at the salon.”

“Mama, not everyone wants to go around looking like a painted parakeet.”

I looked meaningfully at her lemon-sherbet colored pantsuit, orange-green-and-yellow floral scarf, and platinum hair. Her lips gleamed with her favorite shade, Apricot Ice.

In return, she raised a perfectly-plucked eyebrow at my ensemble: boots, jeans, and a T-shirt I’d found hanging on the bathroom doorknob that morning. It probably should have gone in the wash instead.

“I’d rather look like a parakeet than a ragged old possum you’ve dragged out of some newcomer’s attic, Mace. I’ll never understand why you don’t make more with all the physical blessings God gave you.”

“Here we go again,” I muttered, as we rounded the corner into the dining room.

What we saw next silenced both of us at once. Alice moaned, and rocked back and forth on the chair, her arms wrapped tight around her upper body. When she saw Mama, she let out the emotion it seemed had been trapped inside her chest.

“He’s dead, Rosalee! My Ronnie’s dead.” Her cry turned into a scream.

Mama rushed to her, and Alice just about collapsed on top of her, sobbing. It looked like she’d jumped right ahead to acceptance of the fact that Ronnie had been murdered. As Mama handed me the brandy bottle so she could comfort her grieving neighbor, our eyes met. I didn’t have to say a word. Mama and I both knew what I was thinking.

Alice didn’t look like such a cold fish now.

“Okay, people, there’s nuthin’ to see.” A Bronx honk blared from outside. “Nuthin’ to see here, people. Do like the officers say, now. Move along.”

I looked out the window and saw Mama’s fiancé inserting himself into the scene. His towering size, his voice, the sheer force of his personality—all these things made people do the bidding of Sal Provenza without asking questions. And that was saying something today, since he looked ridiculous in orange-and-green plaid golf knickers and a color-coordinated beret. A little orange pom-pom jiggled on the crown of the cap with every step he took.

Leaving my sisters and Mama inside with Alice Hodges, I went out to the parking lot to join Sal. The sun had broken through the rain clouds. It wasn’t even noon, and already it was hot.

As soon as Sal spotted me, he immediately stopped shepherding curious townsfolk. Worry knitted the brow below his jaunty plaid cap.

“Your mudder’s not in there is she, Mace?”

“She is, but she’s fine. Shaken up, like all of us,” I said. “Didn’t Mama tell you she had an appointment here this morning with your caterer?”

Avoiding my gaze, he tugged at the collar of his blindingly green knit shirt. Then he pulled a cigar case from the top pocket. He extracted a cigar. Tapped it. Took his time snipping off the end.

“Didn’t she?” I prodded.

He lit the cigar, puffed, and then finally looked me in the eye. “I couldn’t say, Mace. The fact of the matter is, I’ve stopped listening when your mudder talks about the wedding. I think she’s gone a little overboard.”

Overboard? Mama had plunged deep into the nuptial sea and forced the rest of us in with her. Without life jackets.

“Tell me about it,” I said.

I filled Sal in on the morning’s events, though he already knew most of the basics.

“How’d you find out about the murder?”

“Pro shop,” he answered. “Everybody at Himmarshee Links was talking about it.”

It was a relief to know Sal had been out at the new golf course community south of town. At least there was some excuse for that outfit. I’d been there, once. I’d never seen so many men who were old enough to know better dressed in colors you’d never find in nature.

“Your cousin was here earlier,” I told him.

His face darkened. He took two nervous puffs. “How were the two of them getting along?”

“Well, there was no fistfight.”

“That’s encouraging.” He exhaled.

I waved my hand in front of my face.

“Sorry, Mace.” Sal lowered the cigar, angling his three-hundred-pound heft to block the smoke from blowing my way. “Just thinking about Rosalee and C’ndee together in the same room makes me antsy. They’ve both got pretty strong personalities.”

Mention of C’ndee made me wonder if she’d disappeared. She’d left at least an hour before for coffee, and there’d been no sign of her since. Gladys’ Diner was only a couple of miles from the VFW hall. Where was she?

Just as I was about to ask Sal to tell me more about his cousin from the North, a cherry red Mustang roared up the street. C’ndee was behind the convertible’s wheel—hair flying, sunlight glinting on a pair of over-sized, gold-framed, designer sunglasses. She parked outside the crime scene tape, and began unloading cartons of take-out coffee. She fluffed her hair, thrust out her chest, and carried a cup in each hand to the closest cop she saw. A male, of course, a new hire I didn’t recognize.

She said a few words, and then handed him both cups. Smiling, she leaned in close, and then pointed over toward Sal and me. They talked a bit more, C’ndee raking a seductive hand through her big hair. He gave back one of the cups, which she opened for him. I knew she had him when he took a sip and smiled at her.

I was like an anthropologist, observing human flirting rituals I’d heard rumored, but couldn’t replicate. If you have a question about the wing-waving courtship of the anhinga, however, I’m your girl.

“That woman had better watch herself.” Mama had sidled up to me. “She might just come on to the wrong man.”

Sal grabbed her in a bear hug. “I’m so glad to see you, Rosie! Now, be nice.”

“Honey, I’m a Southern gal. I’m always nice.”

Tossing a last sultry look over her shoulder at the young cop, C’ndee grabbed two cartons of coffee cups, ducked under the tape, and sashayed toward us across the parking lot.

“My gawd!” She pushed one of the cardboard, four-cup holders into my hands without asking. “I thought I’d never get out of that diner. Must everyone tell the check-out girl every detail of their lives? ‘How’s your daughter, Donna? Still off at college?’” C’ndee affected an overdone down-South accent.

“ ‘Oh, she’s fine, honey. Having a little trouble with English lit, and of course she’s packed on a few pounds. The Freshman Fifteen, they call it. And she’s dating a boy we absolutely cannot stand. He’s from New York …’

“Aaaargh! How do you people ever get anything done?”

As if the flashy convertible wasn’t enough in a town full of pickups, C’ndee’s impatience for niceties nailed her as an outsider. In Himmarshee, everybody knows—and cares—about everybody’s business.

“Well, we could stand out here and yammer all day. Or, we could get a few of those coffees inside,” Mama said pointedly. “Carlos could definitely use one, what with all the goings-on and the grief pouring off Alice.”

“How is she?” C’ndee’s voice was filled with concern that appeared surprisingly genuine.

“About like you’d expect.” Mama’s face was grim. “It’s an awful shock.”

We were all silent for a moment. Finally, Sal said, “Well, why don’t we go pass out some of these cups, C’ndee? They’ll appreciate the coffee.”

“It’ll have to do,” C’ndee said. “You can’t get a good cup down here. Not like up North. It’s not even imported.”

“As far as I know, all coffee is imported, C’ndee. It doesn’t grow in the United States,” I pointed out.

She ignored me. “I’m just sayin’ it’d never fly in New Jersey.”

C’ndee strutted away, with Sal on her heels. Mama whispered, “Speaking of flying in New Jersey, where’d That Woman park the broom she flew south on?”

“Hush,” I whispered back. “She did offer to go get all those coffees.”

“Humph,” Mama said.

I added three sugars and sipped. The coffee tasted great to me. As we watched the two of them passing out cups, I thought about all that had happened this morning. Mama was quiet, too.

“Maybe C’ndee will grow on us,” I finally said. “Remember how long it took us to warm up to Sal?”

She nodded. “And now he’s going to be your new step-daddy.”

“Hopefully, the last in our long line of step-daddies.”

Returning, Sal stuck his big head in between Mama and me. “You know what they say, girls: Fifth time’s the charm.”

“I believe the saying is ‘third time,”’ C’ndee butted in.

Mama’s back was to both of them. She stuck her finger in her mouth and crossed her eyes. Gag me. Very mature. I hid my smile behind the rim of my cup.

And then in a flash, Mama’s face became serious. I turned to see Marty leading Alice out the front door of the VFW. Her arm was around Alice’s thick waist. A foot taller, Alice leaned onto Marty for support.

A murmur passed through the crowd. Those in the know were likely telling those who weren’t that Alice was Himmarshee’s newest widow. I heard a few gasps. As the two women inched toward Marty’s car, Sal shook his head sadly, the golf beret’s pom-pom bobbing. Mama grabbed my hand and squeezed. C’ndee, uncharacteristically, cast her eyes to the pavement.

Marty got Alice settled in the passenger seat, buckled her in, and then moved to the driver’s side. She motioned to us over the roof, the universal hand signal for I’ll call you. I glanced at Alice, and saw her staring out the car window at our little group. I gave her a small wave. No response.

Marty got in, fastened her own belt, looked for her keys, and then started the engine. Through it all, Alice’s intense stare never wavered. I looked at Maddie to see if she noticed the odd look. She gave me a half-nod, and a shrug. As Marty backed out and drove past, Alice twisted herself around to continue to stare. C’ndee lifted her gaze for just a moment, but long enough for the two women’s eyes to lock.

C’ndee quickly ducked her head again. But not so quick that I didn’t notice her face turn as red as her Mustang convertible under the heat of Alice’s glare.

“So, tell me again what we have to do?” Maddie asked.

We were in my Jeep, on our way to the golf course community where Sal played. I’d gotten an emergency call from a newcomer who’d been taken with the notion of country living, until the country came to call.

“Some lady has a snake in her laundry room,” I explained. “She wants me to come get it out.”

After being cleared by Carlos to leave the VFW, I offered Maddie a ride back to work. The deal was she’d tag along with me first. The posh new development at the county’s south end was bringing in new people with Northern accents, city attitudes, and lots of money to spend.

We used the fifteen-minute ride to hash over details about Ronnie’s murder.

“Suppose it was a teenager, looking to rob the place for money to buy drugs.” Maddie said. “What if it was one of my former students?”

Drugs were becoming a scourge for the young people of Himmarshee. Like a lot of rural kids, they were turning out of boredom to some pretty scary stuff. Methamphetamine and crack were a far cry from the pot and booze we’d fooled around with as teens.

“I don’t know, Maddie. Drug addicts prefer the path of least resistance. It’s not easy to kill a man Ronnie’s size with a knife. You’d have to really be motivated.”

“Something personal, then?”

I shrugged. “Hope not. That seems worse somehow.”

I started searching along U.S. Highway 441 for the turnoff to Himmarshee Links. We passed a cattle ranch with a For Sale sign tacked onto a barbed-wire fence. “Will Sub-Divide,” it said, which wasn’t a good omen for the agricultural way of life in middle Florida.

“I’m not fond of snakes,” Maddie announced. “I’m staying in the Jeep.”

“Suit yourself.”

My sister shuddered. “I hate to agree with Mama, but climbing into small spaces after critters the way you do … it’s an unseemly job for a woman, Mace.”

“Excuse me?” I looked at her sideways. “That pothole in the road must have jolted us clear back to 1950.”

We were coming up on the grand entrance for Himmarshee Links, all red brick pillars and geometrically trimmed hedges. Would it have killed them to plant something native? Some saw palmetto, or marlberry for the birds?

Maddie said, “You know that’s not the way I mean it, Mace. You’re free to do any job you want. It’s just that this one is kind of icky, isn’t it?”

“Icky? You’ve been spending too much time with your seventh-grade girls. You’re starting to sound like a twelve-year-old.”

I punched on the radio. The country station was playing Carrie Underwood’s “All-American Girl.”

“Besides, Maddie, trapping’s only part-time. It brings in a few bucks to add to my pay from Himmarshee Park.”

The manicured fairways of the golf course stretched out on both sides as we drove into the subdivision. Stopping to wait for a golf cart to cross the road ahead, I tracked a flash of brightly colored sportswear on the driver’s side. Before, when this land was wild, I’d watched the wings of birds in flight and the white tail flags of leaping deer.

“Remember all the animals we’d spot out here when we were kids, Maddie?”

“No.” Maddie changed the radio to her favorite, Dr. Laura. “That was you communing with the woodland creatures, Mace. I’ve always been partial to civilization.”

A tasteful wooden road sign pointed the way to the golf course’s clubhouse ahead.

“You want to stop by the eighteenth hole? See if you can wrestle another nuisance gator out of a water hazard?”

I looked over to see if Maddie was making fun of me.

“What?” she asked, eyes all innocent.

“Just that you called me Gator Gert for two months after that job. And making those mating grunts every time you saw me got real old, too.”

“Sorry, Mace. I couldn’t resist. Truth is, we were proud of you. There aren’t too many women alligator trappers in Florida …”

“Our cousin’s the official trapper. I just helped.”

“The point is you’re skilled. Which came in pretty handy last summer when Mama got herself into that mess with the murder.”

I glanced at Maddie again. She looked serious.

“I mean it, Sister. I hate to think what would have happened to Mama if you hadn’t been there.”

“We’re not going to hug now, are we?”

“Not a chance.” Maddie grinned. “Speaking of Mama, I hope she doesn’t get herself into trouble again. She was there when Ronnie’s body was found.”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who found him, and I can vouch for her whereabouts.”

Maddie’s hero Dr. Laura was belittling a caller. I punched the button back to the country station. Joe Nichols sang “It Ain’t No Crime.”

“I’m not sure exactly where Carlos and I stand these days. But I’m pretty sure he knows Mama and I wouldn’t conspire to murder her neighbor.”

“Speaking of Carlos, what’s up with you two, anyway? We’re all sick to death of you going back and forth, forth and back. Y’all need to either go, or get off the pot.”

“Elegantly put, Maddie.”

“I thought he’d be your date to the wedding. Now Mama tells me you asked her to invite him separately. Why’d you do that?”

“Quiet. I’m looking for the address.”

She snorted, meaning she wouldn’t give up.

“Okay, fine. I didn’t want the added pressure of being a couple at the wedding. All sorts of expectations go with that. What if we break up for good? Carlos will be in all the wedding pictures.”

Maddie was silent for a moment. “That’s ridiculous, Mace. Given Mama’s track record, even the groom could be out of the picture before the wedding album is bound. You’re making excuses. Lame ones, too.”

I slammed on the brakes. “Dammit, I passed it. I told you I needed to concentrate.”

Backing up, I scanned addresses. You could tell the leisure pursuits of the residents by their mailbox designs: some were shaped like largemouth bass; the others looked like golf balls perched on tees. I passed two bass before I came to a ball.

“Looks like we’re here.” I pulled into a circular driveway, parking behind a silver Lexus.

“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, Mace. Once you’ve made this cul-de-sac safe from rampaging snakes, we will talk about your sorry love life.”

I got out, slamming the Jeep’s door. Maddie had to know I’d sooner face the snake.

_____

A blonde of indeterminate age answered my knock. She took a step back when she saw my get-up. I held a forty-inch rod with a hooked end, and snake tongs with a rubber-coated jaw. My leather gloves were lined with Kevlar; extra long cuffs shielded my wrists and forearms.

It was probably just a yellow rat snake or an Eastern garter, which I could have plucked out by hand and plopped into a pillowcase. But it didn’t hurt to be prepared if the specimen was more lethal. Besides, the customers felt they got their money’s worth when I showed up looking ready for war.

“Are you the snake woman?”

“Guess so,” I answered.

“Thank God you’re here! I nearly had a heart attack when I went in to get my clothes out of the dryer.” She smoothed her already perfect hair, bobbed precisely to the chin. “No one told us when we bought here the place was crawling with snakes.”

I wanted to ask where she expected them to go after the developers plowed up the snakes’ homes and plopped down tract housing. Instead, I said, “Well, the good news about snakes is they keep the rat population down.”

She gave me a funny look. Hard to tell if it was a grin or a grimace with all the Botox in her face.

I figured I’d better make some polite conversation, work on my customer relations. I nodded toward the Lexus. “Nice car. Do you like it?”

“It’s getting ruined with all these bad roads down here.”

“Yep, you don’t see too many fancy cars in these parts.” An image of C’ndee’s snazzy red Mustang flitted through my mind.

“Funny, I just saw another Lexus early this morning, at Gladys’ Diner in town. Deep green. First one I’ve seen down here.” She patted her non-existent stomach and gave me what could have been a guilty look. “I’m hooked on that little spot’s pancakes and sausage.”

She motioned me into the living room. It was as blinding as a blizzard—white leather sofa, plush white carpet, a decorator’s collection of white reeds in a ceramic floor vase. I hoped the mud from the puddle in the VFW parking lot—not to mention Ronnie’s blood from the kitchen—wasn’t still stuck in the tread of my boots.

We passed down a long hallway. Family photos in white frames hung in neat groupings on the walls. Kids with good teeth and resort tans posed with surfboards, tennis rackets, or snow skis. They grew up as we progressed, until the last few pictures showed them cradling young children of their own.

So the blonde, with her stylish Capri pants and pale pink toenail polish, was a grandmother. Funny, she didn’t look a bit like Maw-Maw, who’d had a comfortable, generous lap, and gray hair tucked up into a granny bun.

“It’s in there.” With a shudder, she pointed a pink fingernail at a closed door off the hallway. “Be careful.”

As I opened the door, the blonde plastered herself against the opposite wall, side-stepping down the hall. I thought about making a fake rattling sound, to really convince her I was earning my fee, but decided against it. I didn’t want her to faint right there on the floor.

I closed the door behind me and stepped to the dryer.

A beautiful corn snake, orangey-brown with black-bordered reddish blotches, was coiled near the vent. He’d probably been enjoying the serpent’s version of a dry heat sauna.

“Don’t worry, fella, I’m not gonna hurt you.” I whispered, since it wouldn’t do to let the client know I’m friendly with the enemy. “We’re gonna find you a nice, new home.”

I leaned toward the snake, my hook at the ready.