Текст книги "Mama Gets Hitched"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

The Jeep’s tires hummed as I drove over the little wooden bridge at the entrance to Himmarshee Park. All usually felt right with the world when I heard that sound. But today a lot felt wrong in our little town.

Ronnie was dead, a fact I couldn’t forget because I kept seeing a filmstrip in my head. Darryl Dietz could have had a motive to kill him, based on what the stepson told me. And where did C’ndee fit in the equation? Had she just been playing with Darryl, or was it something more? And why hadn’t she let on how very well she knew Himmarshee’s only caterer?

A leafy tree canopy shaded the narrow lane. It was like driving into a green cave, with the dim coolness doing its best to soothe my mind. Alongside the winding road to the parking lot, butterflies flitted in the yellow tickseed that grew in sunny patches. I turned off the radio and tuned in to the outdoors. Frogs croaked in Himmarshee Creek. A pileated woodpecker rat-a-tat-tatted on a dead pine. A gator bellowed from the distant swamp. I started to feel some of the stress leaving my body, like a reptile shedding skin.

My heartbeat quickened as I rounded a turn into the parking lot. A white, late-model sedan sat under the shade of a sabal palm. It was an unmarked police car. Carlos’ car. We’d gotten along pretty well at Mama’s last night. Maybe we could reconnect, enter a more lasting up in our up-and-down relationship. There’s always hope, right?

Within minutes, I was out of my Jeep and on the nature path to the park office. Drawing near, I saw him through the big windows that look out onto a hardwood hammock, thick with gnarled oaks and black tupelo. He was laughing at something Rhonda had said. I paused in the shade of a hickory tree, wanting to watch him for just a moment in an unguarded state. It seemed like the two of us were always walking on tippy-toes around each other.

He sipped a small cup of take-out coffee, which reminded me of the first night I met him in the lobby of the Himmarshee Police Department. I remember being bowled over by his looks—black hair, skin the color of buttery caramel, dark eyes that hid plenty of secrets. I’d had all I could do back then to stay mad at him for hauling Mama’s butt into jail.

And now? He still looked as yummy as a buttered biscuit. But I didn’t have trouble any more staying mad at him. And I’m not sure why, or what that means. Sometimes, I try to make sense of human behavior by looking to the animal world. Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a Sandhill crane, which chooses its partner for life.

As I opened the door, Carlos smiled and held up a large-sized cup: “I brought café con leche for you and Rhonda.”

He’d been beside himself with happiness when he discovered a Cuban restaurant—more of a gas station with a tiny food counter—on the outskirts of Himmarshee. They only served breakfast and a couple of lunch specials. But the café Cubano flowed all day, giving Carlos the fix he needed. Sipping the super-sweet, high-octane brew seemed to make him feel more at home in Himmarshee.

I took the cup he offered. “You the man!”

Cuban crack, he called it, and the stuff was addictive. I drank mine mixed with three-quarters steamed milk. Carlos’ poison was the traditional cafecito, a tiny, sugared shot of pure caffeine.

My boss picked up her cup from her desk and lifted it toward us. “Here’s to a summer without hurricanes.”

“Here’s to the two most beautiful women I know,” he responded.

With Rhonda’s dark skin, I couldn’t tell if she was blushing. Probably not. Unlike me, she’d surely heard tons of such toasts before. They both looked at me, waiting.

“Uhmmm,” I said eloquent as always. “Here’s to finding Ronnie’s killer.”

And to murdering the moment. Carlos’ face hardened.

“Yeah, we’re working on that, Mace. It only happened yesterday.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

I tried to shovel out of the hole I’d dug. “I wasn’t criticizing.”

“That’s how it sounded,” he said.

“Sorry you’re so sensitive.”

“Now, that’s what I love.” Carlos glared. “An apology that’s actually an accusation.”

Rhonda averted her eyes, staring at the phone on her desk. I’m sure she was willing it to ring and rescue her. When did Carlos and I become one of those couples who embarrass everyone by bickering in public?

I reached out to touch his arm, but he sidestepped me. “Let’s start over again,” I offered.

His face was still stony; but a relieved look flickered across Rhonda’s features.

“Thank you for the coffee, Carlos.” I grinned at him. “You are really, really, really, really the man!”

A tiny smile chipped at the granite in his jaw.

“And I am sorry,” I continued. “It’s just that Ronnie’s been on my mind because of what I found out today at a fish camp at the southern end of Lake Okeechobee.”

Carlos lifted an eyebrow.

Here’s where I had to tie on those toe-walking shoes again. He hated it when I went off investigating. But there was no way I couldn’t share with him what I’d learned. Rhonda’s hand hovered over a stack of maintenance requests as she waited to see what I’d say next. No sense in making Carlos doubly mad, spilling information about a possible suspect with her listening in.

“Why don’t we go outside?” I said to him. “It’s nice and cool in the breezeway, and I’ll buy us something sweet from the vending machine to go with the coffee.”

Carlos gestured for me to lead the way.

“Okay if I take a few minutes, boss? When I come back, I’ll see if I can’t get a track hoe out here to dig another pond for the little critters to drink from. One without an alligator in it.”

Rhonda lifted her hand, shooing us toward the door. “I know you’ll take care of it, Mace. And, Carlos, gracias por el café con leche.” Her Spanish accent was as perfect as everything else about her.

We settled onto a wooden bench with our snacks—a package of lemon cookies for me; a gooey cinnamon bun for Carlos. And then I told him what I’d discovered about C’ndee and about Darryl.

“What’d the knife look like?”

“Long and thin, like a filet knife. Big, but not big enough to behead that hog. As for killing Ronnie? I don’t know much about what kind of blade you’d need to knife somebody to death.”

Carlos’ face was grim. “You’d be surprised at the kind of damage any knife can do if you hit the right spot.” He took a swallow of his coffee. “How’d this Darryl act?”

I wasn’t about to let on how frightened I’d felt. Carlos would just get angry.

“Like a sorry-ass redneck, showing off with a scary knife.”

He peered into my eyes. “Did he threaten you, Mace?”

I didn’t want to outright lie, especially when the truth might reveal a pattern of behavior.

“Yes,” I admitted.

“¡Coño!” I don’t know why you do things like that, Mace. Going out there alone? Do you have a death wish?”

“No.” I studied the toes of my work boots.

“Well that’s the way it looks to me. You’re not a police officer. It’s not your business to run around asking questions, especially to someone who might turn out to be a killer.”

He chomped off a hunk of the cinnamon bun, probably wishing it were my head.

I tried to make my voice neutral, not antagonistic. “It kind of is my business, Carlos.”

“Yeah, why’s that?”

“Well, Ronnie was catering Mama’s wedding …”

He interrupted, “Not that stupid wedding again!”

I felt myself getting huffy on Mama’s behalf. I may have agreed her wedding was ridiculously over-the-top, but Carlos still shouldn’t call it stupid.

“I’m just saying that makes us involved, whether we want to be or not. And now that I know C’ndee was involved with Darryl, and then with Ronnie, and now she’s catering Mama’s wedding …”

“What?” he said.

I couldn’t believe what was about to come out of my mouth. “It’s just that I don’t want anything else to happen to ruin Mama’s Special Day.”

He scowled at me.

“I’m not talking about the wedding flowers being a little wilted, or the appetizers coming out cold. I mean, I don’t want anybody else to get hurt. We both know Mama manages to wind up in the middle of things. Suppose she comes to harm? You know it’s happened before.”

It didn’t escape me that I sounded as paranoid about Mama as he did about me. I guess seeing someone you care about survive some close calls will do that to a person.

The angry lines in his face softened. He took another, smaller, bite of the bun. Chewed thoughtfully. Finished his coffee.

“I’ll grant you, your mother manages to get herself into some serious messes. That still doesn’t give you the right to meddle in a murder investigation. You shouldn’t be sticking your nose into things that aren’t your business.”

It was amazing how much that part about me being nosy sounded like Darryl. All Carlos needed was a shiny knife and a Lakeport drawl.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll be sure to hire an armed guard the next time I want to go out to a fish camp. Which incidentally, I’ve visited many of in the past. I’ll bring backup the next time I want to talk to some mean redneck. Which incidentally, I’ve probably dated worse guys than Darryl and lived to tell about it.”

I jammed a lemon cookie in my mouth so I wouldn’t say something I’d really regret. He waited for another outburst. I didn’t speak, just took another cookie from the pack and started on that. This time, I took off the top part and slowly licked all the cream filling from inside.

When I caught him staring at my mouth, both of us quickly looked away. He made me so angry. So why did I feel a sudden warmth spreading somewhere south of my belt?

Carlos cleared his throat. Stood up. It gave me a little thrill to see him try to subtly adjust the front pleats on his dark blue dress slacks.

“I’ve got a lot of work to get back to,” he said. “Please don’t take this to mean I approve of what you did, Mace, but I’ll definitely check out what you found out about the knife-wielding Mr. Dietz.”

That was as close as he’d come to a thank-you.

“What about C’ndee and Ronnie? What do you think that connection means?”

Crossing his arms, he stared at me, cop-like: “The case is still under investigation.”

“So I spill all the information I have, and you offer me nothing in return?”

He gave me a know-it-all smile, which really chapped my butt. “Sure, Mace, I’ll tell you everything I know and have it all over the Himmarshee Hotline before dinner.”

I felt a pout forming on my mouth, which I know doesn’t look as charming on me as it does on Mama. “I’m not a gossip, Carlos.”

“No, but your mother is. And you’re only one degree of separation from her.”

“Okay, just tell me if there’s anything I should know to keep Mama safe.”

He gazed into the trees, thinking. Maybe he remembered some of her prior scrapes, because he relented a little. “I will tell you Ronnie Hodges wasn’t exactly what he seemed.”

I raced through a yellow-turning-red traffic light on Main Street. A pothole loomed. I swerved to miss it. The Jeep zoomed past the Dairy Queen on the left; Pete’s Pawn Shop on the right. An eeeeek sounded from the passenger seat.

“My stars and garters, Mace! Would you please slow down? You know you’re not Dale Earnhardt, may he rest in peace.”

I eased off the gas. Mama had a point. I do love to go fast.

“Thank you.” She unclenched her hands from the dashboard and settled back into her seat. “Now, what do you think we should do about Alice?”

Mama had asked me to pick her up after work at Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow, and then go with her to look in on Ronnie’s widow.

“I’m not sure there’s anything we can do, Mama. Her husband’s just been murdered. She’s going to need time to deal with that. The best we can offer is to let her know we care.”

Mama angled the rearview mirror toward her, so she could repair her wind-blown hair. As she fluffed and straightened, I said, “Trying to drive with no mirror is a lot more dangerous than going a few miles over the speed limit.”

“Try thirty miles. You were doing at least fifty-five when you blew through that red light, Mace.”

“Yellow light.” I turned the rearview back. “Why can’t you just use the mirror on your visor?”

She reached into her purse for her compact. “That stingy, cloudy thing? It won’t give me the full effect.”

I looked at her platinum-hued ’do. It was smashed on one side, swirled into some kind of circle on the other, and standing up in spikes on the top of her head. It looked like she’d come under attack by a badger bearing styling mousse and a teasing comb.

“Sometimes you don’t want the full effect,” I said.

Even though I slowed down, we still made it to Mama’s in no time. Downtown Himmarshee, such as it is, is only three miles from her house on Strawberry Lane. Pulling into the driveway, I could see the porch light on next door at Alice’s. It was just five-thirty p.m., and still sunny. The light had probably been burning since the police processed her porch last night.

The drapes were drawn in the front windows. The day had been hot, and Alice’s flowers wilted in their gaily colored pots. Mama’s gaze followed mine to her neighbor’s home.

“Looks sad, doesn’t it?” she said. “What is it about a house after someone dies? You can almost imagine that somehow it feels the loss, too.”

I wasn’t sure about that. But the house definitely looked empty. Alice’s car was likely still at the VFW. I hadn’t thought yesterday to look behind the hall to see if Ronnie’s truck was parked in the back near the kitchen. I’d have to ask C’ndee if she saw it when she rushed in late to meet us. Come to think of it, there were quite a few questions I wanted to ask C’ndee.

Mama’s compact clicked shut, bringing my mind back to the present.

“You ready, Mama?”

When we got to Alice’s front door, I knocked softly at first. We could hear the TV blaring, even though the windows were closed and the air conditioning unit hummed next to the porch. When there was no answer, I knocked a little harder.

“Nobody home,” a woman’s voice called from inside. “Go ’way.”

Mama and I looked at each other.

“Alice, honey, is that you?” Leaning forward, Mama yelled into the crack at the edge of the door. “I’m here with my middle daughter, Mace.”

A couple of moments passed. Then the TV volume went down. “S’open. C’mon in, Ros’lee.”

As soon as we stepped into the house’s dark maw, the smell of hard liquor hit me like a fist to the face. A half-empty bottle of bourbon sat on a high counter in a dim shaft of kitchen light. Alice slouched in a recliner in the living room, illuminated by the blue glow of an ancient rerun of Law & Order. The guy who played Mr. Big in Sex and the City was still a cocky young Detective Logan with the NYPD.

Alice let out a snuffling sob.

“Oh, honey!” Mama hurried to her side.

“I’m all right, Ros’lee.”

Mama hesitated just a second before she laid a hand on Alice’s shoulder. I had to credit her for not letting her face show the shock she surely felt at her neighbor’s appearance. Bits of brown-looking food and what smelled like bourbon made a trail of stains on Alice’s ratty pink robe. Her hair was limp and greasy. The bathrobe gaped open, revealing Alice wasn’t wearing anything but Alice underneath.

“Mace, honey, why don’t you go see if you can rustle us up some coffee?”

With Alice now staring blankly at the TV screen, Mama jerked her head twice toward the kitchen. I got the message.

I might have been resentful that she sent me on an errand while she got down to the business of comforting Alice. But the truth is I’m awful at emotion. Mama and Marty are the ones with the gift. Maddie usually manages to give offense when she thinks she’s offering comfort. And I just clam up, as tongue-tied as a fifth-grade boy trying to talk to his first crush.

Alice could definitely use some coffee, and I was happy to have something useful to do. Her coffeemaker was on the counter, and the paper filters in the cupboard overhead. As I hunted around the kitchen for cups and spoons, I heard Mama murmuring in the next room, urging Alice out of the chair.

“Honey, you’ll feel so much better once we get you into a shower.”

Soon, the coffee was brewing. Steps sounded from the living room. One set was light; the other heavy. I knew Mama was helping her into the bedroom, because I’d hear the two of them stumble slightly every so often. I probably should have assisted, but my face burned at the memory of that gaping robe. Seeing Alice emotionally naked was somehow even worse.

Her bathroom must have been right behind the kitchen. I was relieved when I heard the water running through the wall.

While I waited, I straightened up, trying to make myself useful. I washed a few dishes; tossed away a paper plate half-filled with brown, crusted-over franks and beans. Opening blinds and turning on lights, I headed back to the dining room where I’d seen the bottle of booze.

Alice was devout, and we’d always believed she didn’t approve of drinking. If she’d slipped, the fact that someone had butchered her husband was a pretty good excuse. I figured I’d put the bourbon away anyway, take away temptation. If she wasn’t accustomed to liquor, drinking the remaining half might kill her.

As I stepped up to the counter, my boot hit something solid. Three cardboard boxes were shoved underneath, lined up against the wall. I glanced toward the closed bedroom door.

Darryl Dietz’s voice replayed in my head, accusing me of being a nosy bitch. While I resented the second part of that description, I had to admit he had a point with the first. I opened the flaps on the closest box.

A brown-checkered sport coat lay atop a jumble of men’s clothing. I remembered Ronnie wearing that jacket last summer to a prayer breakfast at the VFW. The next box contained big, heavy men’s shoes.

I peeked over my shoulder. The door was still closed.

I opened the last box, crammed full of framed photos. Right on top was a picture of Ronnie and Alice, young and smiling. Their hands were clasped together on a gleaming silver knife, poised to carve the first slice from their wedding cake.

I laid the picture on the carpet. Quietly, I extracted another: Ronnie, fishing in Taylor Creek. The next one showed him at the counter of the Home on the Range Feed Store and Clothing Emporium, before his injury. He’d worked there until a pallet of feed bags toppled onto him. Beneath that picture was a cap-and-gowned Ronnie, shaking hands at a podium and holding a high school diploma.

Except for that one wedding photo with Alice, all the shots were of Ronnie. Cross-legged on the floor with framed pictures all around, I was pondering how one box can sum a man’s life. But what of the moments a camera didn’t capture? A box of those memories might reveal a different life.

“Finding what you need, Mace?”

Mama’s sharp voice made me jump. I tried to keep the guilty look off my face.

“What are you doing messing around in there?” Alice looked less drunk now than angry.

“I … Uhmmm.” There really was no excuse. “I just wondered what was in the boxes.” Alice stalked to the counter, and bent to close the flaps on the first two cartons. She held out her hands. “I’ll take those.”

“Sorry.” I gathered up the pictures and handed them over.

Mama shot me a dirty look. Alice slammed framed photos back in the box. I hoped the glass wouldn’t shatter with the force, just because she was mad that I was a nosy bitch.

_____

“My, that coffee smells good!”

Mama’s cheery words dropped like stones into the strained silence. We’d left the scene of my crime to sit at Alice’s kitchen table. I traced a border of morning glories on a blue plastic placemat. Alice stared at the refrigerator. Following her gaze, I saw she’d forgotten to pluck one last picture of Ronnie from underneath a magnet on the door.

“I’m …”

“Thank …”

Alice and I started to speak at the same time. Our eyes met, and both of us looked away.

“Honey, we’re guests in your home. Why don’t you go first?” Mama patted Alice’s hands, which were folded in the prayer position on her placemat.

“I was going to say thank you, Mace, for making the coffee.”

“And I was going to say I’m sorry for looking through your personal things. I don’t know what got into me.”

“I didn’t raise her that way,” Mama sniffed.

Alice sipped from the cup I poured, gave a little shrug.

The television still droned in the next room. But in the kitchen, it was so quiet I could hear a clock shaped like a blue teapot ticking on the wall. Air whooshed from a ceiling AC vent, rustling blue-checked curtains above the sink. Mama’s spoon clinked against her cup as she stirred her coffee. Finally, Alice gave a long sigh.

“I suppose y’all are wondering why Ronnie’s things are packed up.”

Mama’s eyes met mine over our coffee cups. “Well, now that you mention it, honey.”

Alice raised her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I know it’s strange, but then everything has seemed strange since Ronnie died. This morning, when I came home from your place, Rosalee, I saw him everywhere I looked in here. The more I saw, the more I remembered how he died.”

She rubbed her eyes. “I got those boxes from the shed, and started throwing in anything of his I could find. The more I drank, the better an idea it seemed.”

“What idea was that?” I asked.

“That if I could only get rid of all those reminders, maybe Ronnie wasn’t really dead. Maybe his murder was just a dream.”

She lifted her face to us, eyes brimming with tears. “It didn’t work, you know?” Her voice was as small as a child’s. “I filled three boxes and Ronnie’s still dead.”