Текст книги "Mama Gets Trashed"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

“I wasn’t sure how you’d drink it.’’ Her smile was apologetic as she eased into a chair facing the sofa.

“Undiluted,’’ I said, tipping the bourbon into the empty glass. I knocked back a generous swallow. It burned my throat. She sipped daintily. Light glowed through the rose-covered teacup, so fine it was nearly translucent.

“Thank you for coming by,’’ she said. “Your family has been very kind.’’

“It seems like other people have, too. You and the bartender at the golf course looked pretty close. Was she comforting you’’

The tea cup paused at her mouth. She looked at me over the rim, waited a beat. “Yes, exactly that. She apparently cared a great deal about Camilla.’’ She sipped. “Her name is Angela, I believe.’’

“And then there was that cowboy at Gladys’ diner. It looked like he was also being … kind.’’

The room was silent. We stared at each other. Prudence finally sighed. “Your family was spot-on when they described you as an amateur detective. You don’t miss much, do you?’’

I shrugged.

“Yes, well, one must take comfort where one can. If that happens to be with a bit of harmless flirting with a handsome American cowboy …’’ She raised her palms as if to surrender.

Knowing I was about to besmirch the reputation of her dead sister, I cut her some slack. Then I steeled myself with another hit of booze.

“I’m really uncomfortable asking you this,’’ I began.

She cocked her head at me.

“It’s about Camilla,’’ I said.

Her blue eyes clouded with suffering. I felt like I was crushing the life out of a baby bird.

“Would your sister have messed around with a married man?’’

Prudence carefully placed her cup on the saucer. “I think I told you Camilla and I had become estranged.’’

I nodded.

“Frankly, I didn’t know what she was up to in the last couple of years. She had certain … ‘tastes.’ We didn’t speak much about her love life, because she knew I didn’t approve.’’ She dabbed at a drop of tea on the tray. “I wouldn’t rule out adultery, or much of anything else, for that matter.’’

“So you don’t know who she was seeing before she was killed?’’

Prudence shook her head. “The police had the same question. Why do you ask?’’

I didn’t know how much to tell her. I didn’t want to give anything away about Kenny. I didn’t want to believe Maddie’s husband was involved in Camilla’s murder. But I knew he’d be a suspect if what D’Vora told me was accurate.

I’d begged the young stylist not to say anything to anyone else until I had the chance to talk to Kenny. Carlos would be angry, but I couldn’t think about that. I was more concerned with protecting my sister and her family than I was with my fiancé’s murder inquiry.

I shrugged. “I guess I just can’t break the habit of sticking my nose into investigations. The more that’s known about your sister’s comings and goings, the more likely the police can find links to her killer. Jealousy, love, lust … those are strong emotions. Strong emotions can become motives for murder.’’

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think that’s dangerous, poking into the investigation? Suppose you ask the wrong question of the wrong person? You could be hurt.’’

“Nobody’s managed to murder me yet.’’

Prudence recoiled as if I’d hit her. I felt like slapping my own face.

“I’m so sorry. That was a stupid, insensitive thing to say.’’

She gave a small nod, silently letting me off the hook. The room was so quiet, I could hear her breathing. When she finally lifted the teacup again, it clattered against the saucer.

“This has all been so hard for me.’’ Unshed tears thickened her voice.

I fished in my jeans for a package of tissues. I offered her one, but she waved it away.

“I’m fine. Really.’’

Eyes welling, lower lip trembling, she didn’t look fine.

“It’s just so bloody awful to think that in some way, my sister might have brought this killing on herself.’’

She rose from her chair and walked to a bookcase. From the bottom shelf, she extracted a photo album, bound in rich leather. She sat beside me, placing the book across our knees, and opened it to the first page. “This was us in grade school. We were inseparable.’’

Two dark-haired girls in matching outfits sat astride a pony.

“Which one are you?’’

“I’m behind Camilla. She was always the leader.’’ Prudence traced her sister’s hair in the photo, a wistful look on her face.

She turned a few more pages. “Here’s another.’’ The sisters were teenagers, crammed into a photo-booth with two boys. Eyes closed, one of the girls was entwined in a make-out session. I pointed: “Camilla?’’

Prudence laughed. “How’d you guess? It was a double-date. We were each supposed to kiss our lad as the camera snapped. I lost my nerve.’’

On the opposite page, the girls were older. In a grassy field, they posed holding over and under shotguns. “I didn’t think the English believed in firearms,’’ I said.

“We’re not the wimps you Yanks imagine us to be.’’ She smiled. “Our dad was quite active in the British Association for Shooting and Conservation. Of course, Camilla always won our competitions.’’

She paged through several photos, and then stopped. Flanked by a well-dressed man and woman, the twins leaned against a Mercedes. One of the sisters scowled at the camera, arms folded. “Camilla was cross with our parents. They’d punished her for sneaking out at night.’’

She closed the album. “That’s the last picture of the four of us. Our mum and dad were killed within the month in a crash on the M1 motorway.’’

My heart went out to her; first her parents, now her sister. “I’m sorry,’’ I said, knowing the words were inadequate.

She returned the album to its shelf. Her fingers lingered on the spine, but when she turned, her eyes were clear. Her shoulders were squared. “Yes, well. One must carry on.’’

So that was the stiff upper lip the English had made famous.

“I do wish we’d remained close.’’ Prudence’s gaze traveled around the house, lighting on a sickly looking plant in the corner; the walls of books; the framed quotation. “She never even invited me to visit. This is the first time I’ve seen her home.’’

She picked up a cushion in a vivid silk print, and cradled it to her chest. “It’s a shame we wasted so much time.’’

I thought of how close I was to my sisters. I thought about Maddie, and how I’d do just about anything to see her happy again. How hard it must be for a grieving sister to “carry on.’’

The bourbon sat uneasily in my nearly empty stomach. I needed food to soak up the alcohol. “I’ve imposed on you long enough.’’ I hauled myself off the couch. “You want to grab lunch somewhere?’’

She shook her head. “I’m waiting for a call from Camilla’s bank.’’ She indicated an array of folders on the dining room table. “I’m trying to make sense of her assets. She always was the one with a head for figures.’’

A thought surfaced: As Camilla’s closest relation, Prudence would likely inherit this home with all its expensive furnishings. I remembered the diamond bracelet we’d seen on Camilla’s wrist. How much money was in the bank, I wondered?

Even with the bourbon under my belt, I couldn’t bring myself to ask Prudence that question when her sister’s body was barely cold. Instead, I said I had to get going.

“Can I offer you some other beverage before you leave?’’

“I wouldn’t turn down a Coca-Cola to go. It’ll give me a jolt just as the bourbon is trying to make me sleepy.’’ I leaned against the kitchen entryway while she rummaged in the fridge.

“That’s another thing I never developed a taste for,’’ Prudence said. “Frightfully sweet.’’

“You would have learned to love it if you were born in the South,’’

I said. “Down here, babies are weaned on Coke.’’

“Success!’’ She pulled out one of the classic contour bottles, and then reached around to the wall side of the fridge, where a bottle opener was affixed by a magnet.

Prying off the cap, she handed me the cold bottle. “Your Coke, madam.’’

I thanked her and made my exit, drinking as I went.

Out front in my Jeep, I drained the last syrupy swig. Glancing toward the window of the house, I caught Prudence watching me. Before she stepped out of sight, I saw she’d traded her teacup for a long-stemmed wine glass. She seemed to be acquiring quite a taste for the alcohol she said she never touched.

thirty-three

Mama and I sat on a leather loveseat at City Hall, waiting to see Big Bill Graf. The phone rang on the desk of his fifty-something receptionist, a holdover from the previous mayor. Turning in her swivel chair, she angled her body away from us and answered the call.

“Bill Graf’s office,’’ she said in a practiced purr. “A Mayor Should Care.’’

“He should, but he doesn’t—at least not about scaring kids or ruining the environment,’’ I whispered to Mama.

“You’ll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, Mace. Be nice!’’ She leaned close to hiss in my ear, and then pinched my side before she sat back.

“Ouch!’’ I wheezed from the pain.

The receptionist scribbled a message on a phone pad. She hung up and swung back to give us the evil eye. “Do I have to separate you two? You sound like hissing cockroaches.’’

“Is the mayor going to be much longer? We had an appointment for one o’clock. It’s already twenty after.’’

Mama feinted with her left, and then came in with her right for another pinch, but I’d slid to the far corner of the mini-couch to escape her attack. “What I meant to say is I know the mayor’s busy with important city doings. I just wondered if we should reschedule.’’

Mama nodded approval at my smiling suck-up.

Just then, the door to the mayor’s office opened. He ushered out a young woman with long blonde curls and five-inch heels. Her dress clung to the curve of her butt and bustline like dark pink plastic wrap. He made a show of giving her a business-like handshake as he bid her goodbye.

“Thanks for coming in, Bambi.’’ His fingers caressed the small of her back as he propelled her toward the door. “We’ll let you know about the administrative assistant job. We’re still interviewing.’’

“Bambi?’’ I mouthed to Mama.

“Assistant?’’ She mouthed back.

“Maybe an assistant stripper,’’ I whispered.

The receptionist hid a grin behind her hand. “Miss Mace Bauer and Mrs. Sal Provenza to see you, Mayor Graf.’’ She began tidying papers on her desk.

The mayor turned to us, arms outstretched, grin in place. I really hoped he didn’t intend to dispense a hug. Mama rose and grabbed both his hands for a friendly shake. I hung back until I was certain he wasn’t going to end-run in for an embrace.

Claiming it was “such a treat’’ to see us again, he gestured us into his office. The walls looked like a taxidermy exhibit. Hunting trophies included a huge buck, with antlers as wide as the window; a wild boar with lethal-looking tusks; and a couple of leaping largemouth bass. An upright grizzly dominated a corner of the room, mouth open in a soundless roar.

Mama stood on tiptoes, peering up at the bear.

“Does your husband hunt, Mrs. Provenza?’’

“Only for take-out pizza and ice cream, Mr. Mayor. And please, call me Rosalee.’’

I had nothing against hunting. My personal preference, though, was to see animals alive and out in nature, where God put them. Before the mayor could meander down hunter’s memory lane, relating how he bagged each stuffed critter, I got to the point of our visit.

“You might remember I saw you and your developer pals the other day, hatching plans to ruin Himmarshee Park. I’ve been upset ever since.’’

The paper-shuffling in the outer office went silent.

“What Mace means is she wants to find out how all of us can work together to bring progress to the county while still preserving its natural beauty.’’ Mama fluttered her eyelashes.

He cocked his head at her. “Speaking of beauty, has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?’’

I muttered, “Only a million times.’’

Ignoring me, Mama rewarded the mayor with a dazzling smile and a double lash flutter.

“I’m told you were in that movie they filmed here,’’ he said. “I hear you were luminous. A real star.’’

“Make that a shooting star,’’ I said. “The part was so brief, Mama will be there and gone before you even notice she’s on the screen.’’

“Well,’’ the mayor said, “you know what they say in Hollywood: There are no small parts—”

“—only small actors!’’ Mama finished the line. “That’s just what I always told Mace!’’

The two of them chuckled together like lifelong pals. Mama was such a pushover for flattery. She was about two compliments away from being ready to drive the bulldozer to develop the park.

“When does the movie come out?’’ he asked.

“They ran into a little trouble while they were filming. It pushed back the release date,’’ Mama said.

The mayor’s fake smile turned into a sad frown. “Yes, I heard about the ‘trouble.’ A murder on the movie set won’t make it easy to woo Hollywood back. We’ll have to offer tax cuts and other incentives.’’

Not to mention a no-murder guarantee. Was everything about business with this guy?

“Getting back to the park,’’ I said, “I hope we see some public discussion before any deals are made. People here don’t take kindly to outsiders pushing through proposals without giving the natives a say.’’

“I’m not an outsider.’’ Graf puffed his chest at me. “I’m the mayor. I was elected fair and square.’’

“Of course you were.’’ Mama was employing her most placating tone. “I think Mace just meant you’re not from around here.’’

“It’s true my wife and I are newcomers. But I love this part of Florida just like I was born here. I only want what’s best for Himmarshee.’’

Sure you do, I thought. “A friend of mine writes for the ‘Himmarshee Times.’ The paper may be small, but they’re mighty when it comes to watching out for the community. I’m warning you, if there’s even a whiff of the misuse of public land, the paper will raise a ruckus.’’

“Is that a threat?’’

Just as Mama laid a hand on the mayor’s arm, ready to smooth things over, his wife bustled in through the outer office. The receptionist followed right on her heels. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor. I tried to tell Mrs. Graf you were in a meeting.’’

“Threat? What’s this about a threat?’’ Beatrice narrowed her eyes at Mama’s hand on the mayor’s arm.

Wisely, Mama slid it out of sight, into the jacket pocket of her lime-sherbet pantsuit.

“You misunderstood, darling,’’ the mayor said to his wife. “We were just talking about the threat of hurricanes this summer. We’re not out of the woods yet, are we, ladies?’’

“Let’s just hope there are some woods left in Himmarshee,’’ I said darkly.

“I’m not a fan of the woods; too many bugs and poisonous plants.’’ Beatrice shuddered. “Give me a nice, manicured golf course any day.’’

Still standing behind Beatrice, the receptionist caught my glance and rolled her eyes.

As if she sensed the mimed criticism, the mayor’s wife turned. “Run get us two coffees, would you? Cream and two sugars. Hurry. Quick now, like a bunny.’’

A hint of resentment played on the receptionist’s face before she pasted on a professional smile. The mayor said, “Thank you, Ellen. Would you mind sending in Diamond? I believe she’s in her office.’’

To me, he said, “Diamond will take down your information. We’ll let you know if the proposal for the development near the park comes up for public review. I’m all about conducting business in the open, in accordance with Florida’s Sunshine Law.’’

I’ll bet you are, I thought.

Mama said, “ ‘Diamond.’ That’s an awful pretty name.’’

“More awful than pretty, I’d say.’’ Beatrice took a seat on the mayor’s desk, assessing Mama and me with a superior look. She crossed one leathery, tanned leg over the other. I was mesmerized by the sight of the salmon-hued pom-pom on her golf sock shaking as she jiggled her foot.

“Do you enjoy golf?’’ Mama tried making conversation.

“What’s it to you?’’ Beatrice countered, plucking an imaginary piece of lint from the hem of her salmon golf “skort.’’

She seemed to sway a bit on her desktop perch. I wondered if she’d been drinking.

The mayor leaped in to the silence. “We both love golf,’’ he said. “It’s a wonderful game. I believe your son-in-law has taken it up, Rosalee.’’

To his wife, he said, “You know Kenny Wilson, dear.’’

Her face brightened. “Oh, I love Kenny. He showed me a wonderful place to shoot skeet. Not too far from here, either.’’

Skeet? Kenny? As far as I knew, Kenny’s only knowledge of the shooting sports was plinking beer can targets. What else didn’t we know about Maddie’s cheating husband?

Just then, Diamond sashayed in. Seemingly a dark-haired replica of the blonde Bambi, she had the same long curls, same curve-hugging clothes, same spike heels. Maybe they’d worked side-by-side poles at the same stripper bar.

Before the mayor could say a word, Beatrice shoved a legal pad and pen at Diamond. “The mayor needs you to get the particulars of how to reach …’’ she looked at me, snapping her fingers impatiently.

“Mace Bauer,’’ I said. “We’ve met before. Twice.’’

She waved her hand, as if she couldn’t be bothered remembering the little people. “Give your name and other information to Diamond.’’

She aimed a scornful glare at the younger woman. “You can handle that, can’t you, Miss Sparkling Diamond?’’

Eyes on the rug, Diamond nodded.

With an oily smile, the mayor put one hand at Mama’s back, the other on mine, herding us through the reception area. “I hate to rush you, but my wife and I need to discuss some family business.’’

“Family business!’’ Beatrice Graf snorted. “That’s a good one.’’

His cheeks reddened, his lips compressed to a thin line. But he didn’t stand up to Beatrice. She leaned in, so close I noted booze on her breath, along with a familiar lemony smell. Now I remembered the scent. I’d smelled it at the golf course locker room, and at Kenny’s cabin, too.

“Toodle-loo, ladies.’’ She shoved Mama into me, pushed us both into the hall, and then slammed the office door behind us.

We caught the receptionist returning, carrying two cups of coffee. I wondered if she spit in the one for Mrs. Mayor. I jerked my head toward the closed door. “She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?’’

“You have no idea,’’ the receptionist said. “Did she brag about her kills?’’

I raised my eyebrows at her.

“Mayor Graf lets visitors assume he’s the Great White Hunter, but his wife is responsible for animal death row in there.’’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Some days I picture her head up there on the wall.’’

The outer door opened. Diamond stepped into the hall—pad in hand, blank look in place. Sighing, the receptionist went back inside.

“Mace,’’ Diamond said, painstakingly putting pen to yellow pad. “Now, do I spell that with a big letter M?’’

thirty-four

Carlos spooned up some picadillo from a pan on the stove for me to taste. Flecked with olives, chopped green pepper, and raisins, the ground beef dish was a favorite Cuban recipe.

“How is it?’’

“Mmmmmm … perfect,’’ I said, licking the spoon.

“Does it need anything?’’

“Just a plate, so I can start eating it.’’

“Rice?’’

“That will take too long.’’

Carlos and I had met at his place near downtown for a late lunch. Just in time, too, because I was starving. The Coke and a package of peanut butter and cheese crackers I’d had between my visit with Prudence and the appointment at the mayor’s office was hardly enough to hold me. When he’d called to invite me over for some home-cooking, Cuban-style, I dumped Mama back at Hair Today, and jumped at the opportunity.

I tried not to think about the fact I was withholding important information from the caring man who was about to satiate my growling stomach.

“Okay, no rice. But a piece of Cuban bread, at least?’’ He peeled the white paper from a loaf of the crusty bread, and quickly sliced it into rounds.

Before he could get the bread off the cutting board and into a basket, I grabbed a slice, slathered it with butter, and popped the whole thing in my mouth.

“Nice manners. I’m going to tell your mother.’’

“Amfythimg butf thatf!’’ I said, my mouth busy with the bread.

He gave me one of his sexy smiles, and bent down to brush his lips against my forehead. “This kiss to be continued, when you aren’t chewing a mouthful of food. I have to pick my moments with you.’’

Once we started eating, conversation was kept to a minimum:

“Would you like some mojo?’’ he asked.

I shook my head. “Doesn’t need any sauce. It’s great just like it is.’’

“Were you planning to share the bread?’’

I offered him the basket, he took a piece.

I pointed at about a half-cup of picadillo left in the pan. “Okay if I finish it off?’’

He nodded.

Finally, I quit eating, and collapsed back against the chair. Carlos grinned at me.

“I don’t know where you put it.’’ He dabbed at my chin with a napkin. “I do see one little piece of an olive that got away, right there.’’

I ran a hand over my face, checking for any more errant morsels.

“Man, that was good.’’ I gave a satisfied sigh. “You’re going to make some lucky girl a very fine husband one day.’’

He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed my palm. “That’s just what I intend to do. Soon, I hope.’’

Our eyes locked. His were like deep, dark pools drawing me in. I basked in this molten warmth that washed over me. It was a feeling of contentment; of safety; of love.

“Yes, soon,’’ I said. “But first … ” I threaded my fingers through the hair at the back of his head, pulling his face close to mine. “How about us enjoying some dessert?’’

He kissed me, nipping gently at my lower lip. “I couldn’t eat another bite of food,’’ he said.

“Who’s talking about food?’’ I asked.

_____

Later, as we showered together, I rubbed Carlos’s back. “How’s that?’’

“Little higher, to the right.’’

With the hot spray of water and a soapy washcloth, I worked the familiar spot at the base of his neck. All the stress of his job often parked itself right there.

“Ahhhh,’’ he said. “Gracias, niña.’’

Hearing him thank me stirred my guilty feelings again. I was so tempted to say something about Kenny, but I didn’t. First, I had to find out more about the relationship between my brother-in-law and the dead librarian. D’Vora was pretty specific about Kenny’s truck, but she could have been wrong about seeing them together. Even if she wasn’t, there could be a reasonable explanation.

Couldn’t there?

I had to talk to someone who could help me sort out what I knew. But who?

“… about the case.’’

“Sorry, what?’’ I said. “I zoned out there for a minute.’’

“I said I appreciate the fact you haven’t grilled me about the case.’’

“Camilla,’’ I murmured.

“Yes, the murder of Camilla Law.’’

“Well, it’s really none of my business.’’

“Since when has that ever stopped you?’’

I didn’t want to tell him my real reason for not trying to pick his brain. I was afraid if I did, he’d work his detective magic and end up discovering my secrets instead. I needed to create a distraction before I spilled everything I knew. I spotted a bottle on the window ledge in the shower.

“Shampoo?’’

“That depends,’’ he said. “Do I have to tip the shampoo girl?’’

“I’m sure we can think of an appropriate reward.’’

The smolder in his smile told me he’d already conjured up a fitting idea. I put away the bottle as he wrapped his strong arms around me. I was willing and eager to collect my pre-shampoo tip.

thirty-five

Henry closed the door between his office and the reception area. He opened it again a moment later, and stuck his head out to speak to Amy, the college student who helped him run his legal practice. “No phone calls, okay? My cousin and I need some uninterrupted time.’’

I’d settled on Henry as the most likely person to help me sort out what I’d come to think of as The Kenny Crisis. He knew the law, and he wouldn’t reveal anything that would harm Maddie. It wasn’t simply a question of attorney-client—or attorney-cousin—privilege. He truly cared about my sister, despite the fact that he poked fun at her like a kid with a stick every chance he got.

“You said on the phone Kenny and Maddie are in trouble. Please don’t tell me somebody’s sick.’’ He touched a golden gavel on his desk, like a talisman.

“Kenny’s running around. He’s cheating on Maddie.’’

Henry stared at me, and then gave his head a forceful shake. “I don’t believe it.’’

I outlined the evidence. As I spoke, Henry’s face betrayed his emotions: Sorrow when I told him how devastated Maddie had been when she found out. Anger when I said Kenny had left their home, simply disappeared. Finally, shock when I revealed his apparent involvement with Camilla, and how Kenny may have been among the last people to see her alive.

I’d rarely known Henry to be speechless. But there he sat, uttering nary a word. Eventually he closed his eyes, as if to clear away images of Kenny’s actions. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Well, this is one heck of a shit-storm, Mace.’’

“Tell me something I don’t know. What are we going to do about it?’’

Henry’s face turned thoughtful. He lifted the gavel from his desk, and pounded it into the center of his palm: Smack. Smack. Smack.

Before he could injure himself, I asked if he had any water. “I had picadillo for lunch,’’ I said. “Good, but the olives were salty.’’

He took a water pitcher from a small table beside his desk, turned two glasses right side up, and poured one for each of us. I wondered if he’d reach into his bottom drawer for a shot of something stronger, but he didn’t. Just as well. Clear minds would help us decide our next step.

“There’s something else, Henry.’’

His grip on the glass tightened. “It gets worse?’’

I nodded. “It’s Carlos. I haven’t told him what I found out about Kenny and Camilla, even though it’s relevant to his murder investigation.’’

“Great. One cousin’s husband might be a murderer, the other cousin could be brought up on obstructing justice charges.’’ He put down his glass and started massaging his face again.

“Can he arrest me?’’

Henry peeked at me through his fingers. “Realistically? Probably not. Technically, yes. We all remember how Carlos once tossed your mama in the slammer without a second thought.’’

He dropped his hands from his eyes, took another minute to think about it. “He’s going to raise holy hell and prop it up on a block when he finds out you’ve withheld information.’’

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.’’ I looked out the window; wondered what Carlos was doing at this moment. Maybe he was fondly remembering his loving interlude with his lying fiancée.

“I don’t want to hinder his investigation,’’ I continued, “but I do want to protect Maddie. If all Kenny’s guilty of is cheating, maybe they can save their marriage. That becomes a lot less likely once her husband’s name has been dragged through the mud as a murder suspect.’’

He pointed at me with the golden gavel. “If Carlos asks you a specific question about Kenny, and you lie or mislead him, you’re on shaky ground, legally.’’

“I’m going to be on shaky ground emotionally if I don’t tell him what I know. We’re engaged, Henry. It’s a trust issue.’’

We both sipped at our water. A soft knock sounded at the door. Amy looked in. Conservatively dressed and serious seeming in dark-framed glasses, she was the antithesis of the “administrative assistants’’ at the mayor’s office.

“Sorry to interrupt, but it’s after five o’clock,’’ she said. “I just wondered if you need me for anything before I go.’’

Henry thanked her, told her he’d see her in the morning. I heard the outer door close, the lock slip into place.

“There’s only one thing I can do, Henry. I have to find Kenny and prove he had nothing to do with Camilla’s death.’’

“And how are you going to do that?’’

Thinking about that question, I gazed around the room. A blue blazer hung on the back of an office chair. Law volumes crowded the bookcases. My eyes lingered on an antique radio displayed on a shelf.

Suddenly, I knew what to do. “I have an idea how we can flush Kenny out from whatever rock he’s been hiding under.’’

Henry cocked his head at me.

“You and the morning show DJ from the country music station are good buddies, right?’’

He nodded.

“You think he’d do us a favor?’’

thirty-six

Henry eased his Lawyer Lexus into a spot in the empty lot at Kenny’s insurance office.

He’d phoned his radio friend, to set my plan in motion. Then we’d left Henry’s place, intent on doing what we could to find Kenny in the remaining hours of daylight.

The one-man insurance shop was closed, the door locked up tight. I looked in through the streaky windows. A small pile of unopened letters had collected on the floor inside, by the mail slot. The only thing in the trash basket by Kenny’s desk was an empty can of diet Mountain Dew, crushed.

“Maddie and I have tried calling him here,’’ I told Henry. “It rings, but the voice mail is full.’’

Henry put his face against the window. “Looks like he hasn’t picked up his regular mail for a few days, either.’’

I brushed a dirt smudge from the tip of my cousin’s nose. Kenny’s office is right on Main Street. The big stock trailers and sod trucks rumble by and stir up road dust. A fine gray powder coats all the store fronts.

I wrote a message with my finger across the dusty door: Call me, ASAP. Mace

_____

Henry worked the happy hour crowd at the 19th Hole like a politician at a pancake breakfast. With his gift of gab and easy charm, he moved a lot more easily than I did between the old and new factions of our hometown. We hadn’t found Kenny, but it wasn’t for want of my cousin trying.

Henry had slapped backs, bought drinks, and told jokes in pursuit of information. So far, the most valuable tidbit we’d uncovered was that Kenny had trouble with his bunker play and needed to work on his short game, whatever that meant. Fortunately, Henry spoke golf, so I could ask him later to translate. According to reports from the other golfers, Kenny had played a few rounds with the mayor, and he liked to talk to Angel at the bar, both things I already knew.

My ears perked up when a big-bellied retiree in plaid pants mentioned Jason.

“Sure,’’ Plaid Pants told Henry. “I know Kenny. He handles my storm insurance. Boy, hurricane coverage costs an arm and a leg in Florida. It’s more than quadruple the price of a homeowner’s policy back home. In Ohio … .”

“About Kenny?’’ I interrupted.

“Right, the pro’s been spending a lot of time with him, working on his putt. It’s all in the grip.’’