Mama Sees Stars

Текст добавлен: 17 сентября 2016, 22:30

Текст книги "Mama Sees Stars"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Женский детектив

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

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“I tell you girls, when that shovel smacked me, I saw stars!’’

At the horse corral, Mama brought my sisters up to speed on what happened. My fingers explored what felt like a small mountain range of bumps on the back of my head.

“It was only the handle that hit you, Mama.’’

“Still …” she cut her eyes at me, and continued her story, “I didn’t know if I’d be able to stand up, until I heard Mace calling out for me to rescue her.’’

Not surprisingly, in Mama’s tale she had the lead, not the supporting, role. I didn’t care. Fact is, if she hadn’t stumbled onto the scene, I might not be here. I’d be torn and trampled; maybe even dead.

My sisters had been stuck in a backup on State Road 98, after a tractor-trailer jackknifed across both lanes of the highway. Mama and I were drying out, after the storm’s fierce winds blew the weather system north. The rain clouds were probably pouring misery over Disney World right now, derailing the vacation dreams of legions of tourists.

The security guard we’d met on the first day of filming had accompanied Maddie and Marty to the corral. “You can’t be too careful,’’ he’d said, with a smitten glance at my little sister. “It’s getting dark, and I didn’t think these ladies should be out here alone. Not with a murderer on the loose.’’

That’s when Mama and I pointed across the pasture to the cow pen. Savannah was trussed up and tied to the fence. Once the guard picked his eyeballs off his chest, he radioed base camp to call the cops. Then he went to stand watch over Savannah, who made it pretty clear her confessional mood was over.

“That woman is crazy,’’ she shouted, gesturing toward me with her chin. “I want her arrested! She tried to kill me.’’

Since I was the one with the goose eggs on the back of my head, and the welts where I’d been hogtied, the guard looked doubtful about Savannah’s claims. The fact that Marty vouched for my non-homicidal character only confirmed his initial decision.

Now, word seemed to be spreading. One of the Teamsters was easing a big generator truck into the pasture, as crew members hurriedly laid cable and set up movie lights. Soon, dusk would seem as bright as noon.

Tilton loped toward the corral. Toby was right on his heels, followed by a loose knot of cast, crew and production types. There was Jesse, and Johnny Jaybird; Kelly, and her love-struck shadow, Sam. I didn’t see Barbara or Paul. I wondered if Norman’s ex-wife was even now turning over the director to the law? Or, was she so obsessed with the man she was helping him escape?

I ran my thoughts past my sisters and Mama. “Savannah said Paul did what she told him to do. He helped kill Norman, and stage the other threats and ‘accidents.’’’

“Maybe so,’’ Maddie said, “but he probably didn’t agree to share a murder rap.’’

“I don’t know, girls.’’ Mama, watching the stars approach, patted her hip through the fabric of Ruby’s gown. Had she hurt herself rolling on the ground? “Paul didn’t seem like a bad sort to me. He wore a cross in his ear.’’

Catching my eye, Marty shook her head and grinned.

As Tilton drew near, I could see him waving something over his head. “Mace!’’ he yelled.

My sisters whirled at the sound of his famous voice. Mama’s fingers scrabbled at her hip through the voluminous folds of the dress.

“Put out your hand,’’ Tilton said, as he reached my side.

Considering the red outline revealing how hard I’d whacked him with the mane comb, I expected a handshake shock, or maybe a poisonous spider. There were plenty of witnesses, though, so I flipped my wrist and opened my palm.

In the center, he laid a chocolate and pecan treat, still in its plastic package. Savannah City Confections, the wrapping said.

“This was in the food basket with the sandwiches I gave to the cops. I forgot I’d taken it out, and put it away for a late-night snack.’’

“Maddie, run get that gift bag off the horse trailer.’’ I pointed to Savannah’s beribboned present, now sodden and bedraggled.

She gave me a look.

“I could have a concussion, sister!’’

Marty nudged her, and she hurried to get the bag. When she brought it back, I shook out a collection of treats with the same label I’d seen before. Pralines, pecan clusters, and chocolate chunks with veins of marshmallow.

“It was Savannah,’’ Tilton said, “She tried to poison me.’’

I narrowed my eyes at him. I knew what Savannah had said about the tainted sandwich. Why would she cop to all the other crimes, and deny that one? Then again, she’d been eager all along to cast suspicion on Tilton, to try to ruin his image. He stared into my face, his eyes shining with honesty.

I still hadn’t made up my mind whether it was truth or acting, when Mama sidled up to the movie star. Her hand darted to her full skirt like a sparrow after a crumb. She pulled out a little autograph book and miniature pen.

“Now that our shoot—and the shooting—is over, would you do me the honor?’’ She jabbed the pen at his hand like a student nurse trying her first IV.

His eyes flashed irritation for a second, then the corners crinkled into a good-natured smile.

“Why not?’’ He shrugged. “You sure worked for it.’’

Sirens wailed in the distance. “Carlos!’’ I wasn’t even aware I’d said his name aloud until Marty clutched my hand and squeezed. Maddie patted my back.

Tilton signed with a flourish and handed Mama back her pen and book. Tucking away the set in the gown’s cavernous pocket, she brought out a tiny mirror and her tube of Apricot Ice.

“Here you go, honey.’’ She offered both to me. “It was a miracle these didn’t break or get lost the way we tumbled across that ground. I’d say that’s a sign our Lord wants you to spruce up a bit before Carlos gets here.’’

Mama’s ‘miracle’ seemed kind of paltry, compared with Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead or feeding a multitude with just two fish and a few loaves of bread. Still, I had walked away from what seemed certain death, or at least grave danger. I wasn’t about to argue with a sign.

“Hand it over,’’ I said to Mama. “Anybody have a hairbrush? Maybe a breath mint?’’

D’Vora slapped a rolled-up magazine against the counter at Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow. Her glittery purple nail polish sparkled in the sunshine pouring in through the salon’s front window.

“Y’all are NOT going to believe this!’’

She displayed the front cover of People. A headline screamed, Murderous Movie: What Really Happened in Florida?

“Does it say if Paul, the director, has turned up yet?’’ I asked D’Vora.

Betty looked at her over the poodle perm of the bank president’s wife. “How about the shop? Does it talk about Hair Today?’’

Mama grabbed for the magazine. “Let me see. Does it mention I’m in the movie?’’

“Well, I didn’t have time to read it.’’ D’Vora ducked out of Mama’s reach, hugging the magazine to her ample breast. “I ran right over as soon as I saw the magazine in my mailbox.’’

It’d been fifteen days since the movie people packed their gear and exited Himmarshee; two weeks since Savannah was arrested on murder charges. We all gathered around the counter as D’Vora flipped open the magazine and leafed through the pages. The banker’s wife got up, too, her protective cape billowing around her like a lavender sail.

The first page of the article showed a big picture of Savannah, sitting in leg shackles in a hallway of the courthouse before her first appearance. Shackles. You’ve got to love our criminal justice system in Florida.

She’d entered a plea of not guilty, of course, and everybody expected her high-powered attorney to try to cast suspicion anywhere but on Savannah. The photographer had caught the same crooked smile Mama and I had seen when we first met her; the same mad gleam in her eye I originally took for playfulness. Her attorney was right beside her, whispering in her ear. He looked a lot less playful than she did.

Photos of the stars of the movie ran along the right-hand side of the page.

“Ooooh, there’s that Greg Tilton. He’s gorgeous.’’ Mrs. Bank President clutched a hand over her heart.

Tilton would no doubt be pleased his picture was first: top billing. “I could have been killed!’’ The caption underneath was a quote from the action hero.

Jesse looked horrible in her photo, not to mention high. “Oh, my! I didn’t know they were allowed to use a picture of her shooting somebody the bird.’’ Mama tsked. “That poor gal still hasn’t learned that the media can be an actress’s friend.’’

Betty raised her painted-on brows.

“Mama is referring to the article about her role in the movie that Buck Aubrey put in the feed store newsletter,’’ I explained.

Mama patted her hair. “Publicity is publicity, Mace.’’

“Listen to this, y’all. It’s about Toby.’’ D’Vora began to read.

“The young star surprised Hollywood insiders when he agreed to appear as grand marshal in next year’s Gay Pride parade in Long Beach, Calif. Wyle said, ‘I look forward to a day when all people will be treated equally and accepted for who they are, whether they’re straight or gay; black or white; Christian or not …’”

“That doesn’t sound like too much to ask, does it, Mama?’’

“Hmm,’’ she said, but didn’t rise to my bait.

“The next bit is about the assistant director,’’ D’Vora said. “Did y’all know him?’’

“Awful man. He screamed at me the first day on the set,’’ Mama said.

“Jonathan J. Burt,’’ I said. “And I’d hardly call it screaming. He only threatened to kick her out because Mama ruined a scene when she ran in front of the cameras, waving her arms and carrying on. Then the poor guy got shot. What’s it say about him, D’Vora?’’

“He’s taking a position to monitor Hollywood movies for the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Def … Defam …”

“ ‘Defamation,’ ’’ Mrs. Banker helped out. “Our oldest son is gay.’’

If Mama had intended to do a biblical discourse on homosexuality, the revelation by the wife of a community pillar cut her short.

“Still no sight of the director,’’ Betty said, reading over D’Vora’s shoulder.

“Well, Paul won’t get away with it,’’ Mama said. “If Carlos has to hunt him down personally, he’ll catch him. Carlos Martinez always gets his man.’’

At the mention of Carlos’s name, Mama gave me a quick, guilty glance. An uncomfortable silence descended. Only Mrs. Bank President was unaware of the history, hard feelings, and pain attached to that name.

Betty changed the subject. “How do you suppose they’ll finish the movie without a director?’’

“I’m sure Barbara already has a list of names to bring in somebody else,’’ I said. “Norman Sydney was about to fire Paul, which is why Paul had such a powerful motive to get rid of him.”

A pout parked itself on Mama’s face.

“What?’’ I asked.

“I just hope the new director recognizes the star quality Paul saw in me.’’

“Well, Paul saw something in you, all right.’’

When Betty and D’Vora snickered, I felt bad. “I’m just kidding, y’all. Mama did a fantastic job with her scene. She killed. Right, Mama?’’

She fluttered her lashes modestly. “All I did was employ the methods of the great acting coach, Lee Strasberg. I tapped into my ‘affective memory.’’’

“Say what?’’ D’Vora scrunched up her face like she was doing calculus.

“Don’t ask,’’ I said.

“What happened to Paul’s girlfriend, Barbara?’’ Mama asked. “Did she help him get away?’’

“She says no,’’ I said. “She was busy making arrangements to get her ex-husband’s body back to Hollywood. They had the funeral two days after Savannah was arrested.’’

D’Vora’s periwinkle-shadowed eyelids suddenly went wide. She pointed out the front window. “Don’t look now, Mace, but there’s your gorgeous ex.’’

Carlos stood on the sunny sidewalk, squinting into the beauty parlor. Worried frowns passed between the four other women in the shop.

Betty aimed her comb toward the alley behind the shop. “Go on and run out the back door, honey.’’

I thought of how I’d lain in the dirt by the cow pen, praying I’d survive. I remembered the image I’d conjured of Carlos’s face, and what I promised myself if I escaped.

“No need, Betty. I think I’ll go out the front.’’

As I passed, Mama’s mouth dropped open so wide you could have run a John Deere tractor inside. Carlos smiled as I stepped out the door. I ran to him, eager to fulfill my vow to throw myself into his arms and never leave. Ever since the movie people departed, I’d been fulfilling it every chance I could.

I saw the astonishment on Mama’s face, now pressed against the window. She hadn’t suspected a thing about Carlos and I getting back together. As we stood in front of the shop, kissing in full view of Himmarshee’s biggest gossips, I heard a horn blow on Main Street.

A battered white pickup rattled past. Jeb Ennis leaned out the window, waving his cowboy hat. A silly grin split his face. He shouted, “Hey! Why don’t you two lovebirds go get a room?’’

We pulled apart. Carlos’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “That sounds like a pretty good idea, niña. We can go to my apartment. I rented us a movie.’’

I gave him a long look.

“I’ve had enough of Hollywood,’’ I said. “How about we skip the movie, and go straight to the matinee?’’

_____

Carlos and I snuggled together on his couch. To build back the energy we spent on our movie-free matinee, Carlos made us a snack of buttered popcorn. It filled a bowl on my lap.

Smoothing a strand of my mussed-up hair, he smiled at me. I grinned back, hoping there were no stray kernels caught in my teeth.

“How come you keep staring at me?’’ I asked.

“Just happy to have you here, niña.’’

I kissed him. “The feeling is mutual.’’

I dug to the bottom of the popcorn bowl, searching out my favorite half-burned, half-popped kernels. My fingers found a foreign object that didn’t feel at all like popcorn. It was circular and hard, with something pointy on top. Fishing it out, I placed it in the palm of my hand. Surrounded by a few stray kernels, a diamond winked at me from a golden band.

I looked up at Carlos. His dark eyes met mine. I saw love, and strength, and maybe a bit of nervousness there.

“Is this what I think it is?’’

He nodded. “Even with all our ups and downs, we belong together, Mace. I love you; and I think you love me, too.’’

It was my turn to nod. “I realized just how much in that cow pen, when I thought I’d never see you again.’’

He lowered himself from the couch to the floor, where he got onto one knee. “I want us to be together.’’ He gently took the ring from my hand, and then held it up to me. “Will you marry me?’’

I swallowed and took a deep breath. Then I said yes.

When he slipped the ring on my finger, I wasn’t surprised at all to see it was a perfect fit.

The End

Charles Trainor, Jr.

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

Dedication

Acknowledgments