Текст книги "Mama Gets Trashed"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

“Tow truck’s on the way.’’ He spit out the words, looking like each one cost him dearly.

“I’m sorry …”

He thrust out his wrist, giving me the silent signal for “talk to the hand.’’

“But …”

“Don’t even start. There is no possible excuse. You could have been killed.’’

I stared at my fingers, folded across my knees. He was right, of course. And if he was this mad at me now, how would he feel when I revealed what I knew about Kenny and Camilla?

“So, this person who was chasing you—”

“—People,’’ I said. “I left Maddie’s house chasing one car. Then another car came out of nowhere and started chasing me. I’m certain the two were linked.’’

“That remains to be seen. But you’re positive someone was shooting from the vehicle behind you?’’

“Yes.’’ I pointed to the brush-heavy cutoff. “My Jeep’s through there. You can see for yourself.’’

“I intend to.’’

He eased the car over the cattle grate, and we bounced for a while without speaking. “Good thing you brought an SUV,’’ I ventured.

He gave me a curt nod, vein still throbbing.

Pointing out the windshield, I indicated where the cattle trail intersected the potholed drive. “That’s where I think he got stuck. I could hear the tires spinning in the sand.’’

The car, of course, was gone now. The driver likely had help getting unstuck.

I continued giving Carlos directions. He rolled to a stop, and parked a short distance from my Jeep. The gate was dented and bowed out, caught in my front bumper. If I’d have been going much faster, I might have driven right through it. We got out of the SUV, and I stood by while Carlos sprayed himself with insect repellent.

“Mind if I use that?’’

He tossed me the bug spray. “It’s a free country.’’ The can landed in the dirt.

He pulled on a pair of gloves and went to examine the Jeep. We both were being careful to try to preserve any evidence that might prove useful. Shoeprints or fingerprints. Discarded trash or cigarette butts. Hair or a shred of fabric. He crouched to take a closer look at the tires.

“Looks like he used a knife,’’ he said.

Now seemed as good—or bad—a time as any to confess. “I might know something about that.’’

Carlos barely uttered a word as I told him about the swingers’ club at the golf course and the collar and knife I’d found on Maddie’s door.

“You took it?’’

I nodded.

“I wish you hadn’t done that.’’

“Me, too.’’

“That’s evidence, now gone. What possessed you?’’

“I didn’t want Maddie to see it.’’

He raised his eyes, consulted the clouds. I had the feeling he was counting to five. “I know Maddie is a bit prudish, but she’s a grown woman. She’s probably heard about such things before,’’ he finally said.

He still didn’t hold the piece he needed to have the puzzle make sense. Reluctantly, I pulled the note from my pants pocket. “This is what I found with the knife and the rest stuck to Maddie’s door. I’m sorry; my fingerprints are on it.’’

“Of course they are.’’

He read it silently, his eyes widening. Then, he read it aloud, articulating every word:

“‘Kenny’s a murderer. He must pay for his crime. Try to get him off, and someone in this family dies.’’’

I waited for him to say something. He just kept staring at the note.

“Remember when I told you Kenny was cheating on Maddie? The person he was cheating with was Camilla.’’

The pulsing vein looked ready to burst right through Carlos’s skin.

_____

The ride back to town felt like it unfolded in slow motion. Carlos was so angry, I could almost feel heat radiating off his body. I tried to explain. He stared out the windshield at the road—jaw clenched, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Finally, he turned to give me a glare—quick, but singeing.

“You deliberately withheld information.’’

“Only until I could tell Maddie. I didn’t want her to find out about Kenny by reading in the Himmarshee Times you’d arrested her husband on suspicion of murder.’’

A beat-up car in front of us traveled at twenty-five miles an hour under the speed limit. Carlos pulled past as the driver nervously regarded the marked SUV in his rear-view mirror.

“The issue here is trust.’’ He glanced at me. “I have to be able to trust you. Right now, I don’t. You lied to me. You compromised my investigation. You compromised my job.’’

“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything. Besides, why is all this on me?’’ I asked. “Maybe if I felt I could trust you, I would have told you about Kenny. I didn’t want to test you though; make you decide between my family and a convenient suspect.’’

His grip tightened on the wheel.

“We all know how well that turned out in the past,’’ I added.

“Coño, Mace!’’ He spit out the Cuban cuss word. “Are we never going to forget that incident with your mother?’’

“You mean the incident when you moved up from Miami, thought you knew everything, and tossed Mama in jail?’’

“When I thought I knew everything? Isn’t that the frying pan calling the pot black?’’

Now probably wasn’t the time to comment on his grasp of popular sayings. “I don’t think I know everything,’’ I muttered.

“No, you don’t think you do. You’re positive you do. And that’s what keeps getting us in trouble. Well, this is my job. My life. And you keep sticking your nose into it, thinking you know best.’’

“It’s my life, too, Carlos. This is my family.’’

He put a hand to his forehead; squeezed that spot above the bridge of his nose where his headaches began. “Do you hear us? Each of us says ‘my.’ My life. My job. My family. Are we ever going to say ‘our’? Will two people who feel so separate ever be able to build a life together?’’

His voice was quiet. He didn’t sound angry; just resigned. I thought about his question. I didn’t know how to answer it. Instead, I turned my head to look out the window. When we passed the livestock auction on the outskirts of town, I finally spoke.

“Could you drop me at Mama’s?’’

“Whatever you say.’’

With my hands on my lap, I wiggled the engagement ring off my finger. When he pulled up at Mama’s curb, I opened the door and got out. “The answer to your question is no.’’ I stood on the street, leaning into the car.

Confusion settled on his face. I held out my hand, palm open. The ring winked in the morning light.

“No, we cannot build a life together.’’ I pushed the ring toward him. “We do seem too separate.’’

He stared at the ring, making no move to take it from my hand. “Close the door, Mace. Your family’s waiting. I have to get to work.’’

Yanking his cell phone from his pocket, he sped away without a backward glance. I watched him go. In my sweating palm, I clutched our engagement ring. Was the promise it symbolized now broken?

forty-four

“Was that your handsome fiancé I just saw, peeling out of here like Dale Earnhardt at Daytona, God rest his soul?’’ Mama stepped off her front stoop and peered down the street. “How’d you make him mad this time, Mace?’’

If only she knew. “I didn’t do anything.’’

She tilted my chin so she could look in my eyes. “You’re not a good liar.’’

I leaned against the wall to kick off my work boots at her front door. Last time I visited, I tracked a smear of possum poop across her peach-colored carpet. I thought she was going to ban me for life from Pizza Night.

Mama rubbed at a dab of dirt on the door jamb where I’d propped my hand. I pretended I didn’t see her rolling her eyes.

“Who’s here?’’ I asked.

“Me, Sal, Marty, and Teensy, of course.’’ She smiled down at the dog, prancing around her ankles. He gave a little yip.

“So,’’ she said, “is the engagement off?’’

I’m sure my face registered my surprise. How did she read minds like that?

Mama pointed at my left hand. The ring finger was bare. I patted the pocket of my jeans; felt the prongs on the diamond through the denim fabric.

“I took it off to spread some mulch at the park,’’ I said.

“Sure you did.’’

Marty poked her head out the front door. “Did you tell Mace about Kenny?’’

Mama aimed a pointed look at my ring-less finger. “Don’t think you’ve heard the last from me. We’ll get to Carlos and you later.’’

If there still was a Carlos and me later.

Marty smoothed my hair; lifted out a twig. “You look like you slept in the woods, Mace.’’

Since that wasn’t unusual, neither of them questioned my lack of response.

“About Kenny, he’s staying with Henry,’’ Marty said. “After last night’s Wednesday services, they spent hours with Reverend Delilah in the chapel at Abundant Forgiveness.’’

Mama wet her finger with spit, and swiped at what I assumed was a streak of dirt on my face. “Because of Delilah’s history, she has special expertise with cheating husbands,’’ she added.

“What time were they at the chapel?’’ Images tumbled through my mind: A shots-fired car chase; me galloping through the woods, trying to escape an unknown pursuer; my long night on a hard floor at the abandoned ranch.

Marty cocked her head at Mama in a question. Mama took over the narration: “It was late, Henry said. After you and I left the radio station yesterday, Henry and Kenny spent the rest of the day at Henry’s law office. They were planning strategy.’’

Marty added, “Henry had him spend the night, keeping an eye on him. He says our brother-in-law may be guilty of being stupid, but he’s not guilty of murder.’’

I let out a breath I hadn’t even known I was holding. If Henry never let Maddie’s husband out of his sight, Kenny could not have been the person shooting at me. Now, I just had to find out who was.

“According to Henry, all Kenny cares about is getting his wife back,’’ Mama said. “He says he’s never seen a man so full of remorse.’’

Marty toed Teensy out of the doorway. She led the way inside and across Mama’s new plastic carpet runner to the kitchen. It appeared to be completely poop-resistant. I tried not to wince as I sat down. Once we were settled, Sal carried three oversized mugs to the table.

“Coffee’s just brewed,’’ he said. “I figured you girls could use some coffee if we’re going to decide how to keep Kenny out of jail.’’

We began to discuss strategy: Marty would discover as much as she could about Camilla from the library and Camilla’s sister, Prudence. Mama would sift through the useful—and useless—gossip at Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow. Sal would grill some of his cronies at the golf course. I planned to discover who wanted to scare me off the search for the real killer.

The phone on the wall rang. Teensy started yapping. I swiveled to answer the call, and spilled my coffee when I hit my sore knee on the table. Mama jumped up to sop at the caffeinated puddle now dripping onto Marty’s lap.

“It’s Henry,’’ I said, as Sal tried in vain to shush Teensy.

“What the hell’s going on over there, Mace?’’ Henry raised his voice to be heard.

“The usual,’’ I answered.

Mama tried to grab the phone from my hand. “What’s Henry saying?’’

“I’d tell you if I wasn’t having so much trouble hearing him between you yammering and your ridiculous dog yelping.’’

Sal scooped Teensy off the floor, covering the dog’s ears with his bear-sized hands. “Don’t listen to Mace. She’s just a big meanie. Daddy’s widdle boy is not ridiculous, is he?’’

Forget the dog’s ears. Mine were hurting from Sal’s baby talk.

“Sorry. What, Henry?’’ I said into the phone.

“I talked to your fiancé. He wants Kenny to come in for questioning.’’

I thought of Maddie. My stomach clenched. “What’d you say to him?’’

“Say to whom?’’ Marty asked. “Say what to whom?’’

“I said Kenny certainly would come in. He has nothing to hide. I told Carlos I’d be present as counsel, of course.’’

“Tell us what’s going on, Mace,’’ Sal demanded.

I put the mouthpiece aside and told them. “Carlos wants to question Kenny.’’

Marty gasped. Mama nodded. “Been there, done that,’’ she said.

I stepped into the hall, cupped my hand over the phone, and whispered my latest news: The threatening note and my highway adventure.

“I can’t hear a word Mace is saying,’’ Mama griped.

“She’ll tell us when she gets off,’’ Sal tried to appease her.

“Mace always did try to keep secrets,’’ Marty said.

On the phone, Henry said: “Someone’s trying to frame Kenny.’’

“Then why are they chasing me?’’ I asked.

“Who’s chasing you?’’ Mama had stepped into the hall, and was lurking beside me. I plugged my ear with a finger so I could hear Henry’s answer.

“They don’t want you looking into this murder,’’ he said. “Like it or not, cousin, you’ve got a reputation. Kenny’s a convenient suspect. Camilla’s real killer doesn’t want you or anyone else unraveling this particular whodunit.’’

Marty sidled up, tapping on my shoulder. “Ask him what time Kenny’s supposed to be at the police department.’’

I started to repeat the question. “I heard her,’’ Henry said. “Carlos wants to see him today at six o’clock, sharp.’’

“I hope he’s not using the rest of the day to get an arrest warrant,’’ I said.

“Arrested? Did Henry say Kenny’s going to be arrested?’’ Sal shouted from the kitchen.

Mama wailed. The dog howled. Marty went pale and chewed at her lip.

“I better go,’’ I finally said to Henry. “This is exactly how rumors get started.’’

forty-five

A skinny blonde with bad teeth sucked on a cigarette in front of the police department. Her protest sign, message side out, was propped against a scrub pine: No Mercy for Murderers!!

I didn’t recognize her. But there were plenty of people in the crowd I did recognize. I’d made plans to meet up at the station after work with Mama, Marty, and Sal. We wanted to be there to show our support for Kenny when Henry escorted him in to answer Carlos’s questions. From the looks of the crowd, it seemed Kenny would need it.

I spotted D’Vora. When I waved, she ducked her head and got busy fiddling with the clasp of her purse. I crossed over and tapped her on the shoulder. “What are you doing here?’’

“I dunno.’’

“Well, you must have come for some reason.’’

She raised her head. “I heard the cops were going to arrest Kenny for killing Camilla.’’

“That is not true, D’Vora! Carlos only wants to ask him some questions. He may have critical information, since he was among the last people to see her before she was murdered.’’

She fooled with the clasp. Snap. Unsnap.

“But then you knew that, right?’’ I asked.

Snap. Unsnap. Snap. Unsnap. Snap.

I persisted. “How’d you find out Kenny was coming in?’’

“I stopped at Gladys’ today for a take-out coffee. Charlene told me while I was standing at the counter, putting sugar in my cup. Her nephew’s girlfriend’s mama works as a police dispatcher. She said Kenny was probably guilty.’’

D’Vora went back to playing with her purse, while I unraveled the genesis of a ruined reputation. The mother told her daughter, who told her boyfriend, who told his Aunt Charlene, the waitress at Gladys.’ She told D’Vora, and who knows how many other customers. D’Vora buzzed back to Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow, town beehive for gossip. With its usual efficiency, the Himmarshee Hotline went on to convict Kenny hours before he even showed up at the police station.

It didn’t matter that he was appearing voluntarily. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been charged. The killing of Camilla Law had shaken the community. The community wanted justice—preferably instant justice.

I scanned the crowd of looky-loos, perhaps a few dozen people. I was surprised there weren’t more.

A TV news crew from Orlando had made the trip, drawn south by the scent of sex and violence wrapped up in one scantily clad murder victim. A couple of teenaged girls with blown-out hair and freshly glossed lips waved at the camera. The reporter was interviewing Junior Odom, a hulking man-child in bib overalls and a bare chest. Junior normally spent his days sitting on an overturned milk crate behind the supermarket, playing with a ball of string. Everyone knew he wasn’t right in the head. Why did TV people always gravitate to the one person who was sure to make the town look bad?

I asked D’Vora the question right out: “Do you think Kenny did it?’’

Snap.Unsnap.Snap.Unsnap.Snap …

“Look at me!’’ I grabbed her hand. “Do you think he murdered that woman?’’

She pulled away, rubbed at her thumb. “I know what I saw with my own two eyes: The two of them bumpin’ boots in Kenny’s truck. And I know about men.’’ Her tone was defiant. “Maybe they were having sex, and things got out of hand. Maybe somebody threatened to tell Maddie, and Kenny got scared. How much do we really know about him anyway?’’

I stared at her, incredulous. “He’s lived here his whole life, D’Vora. I bet he sold insurance policies to your parents and their parents.’’

She crossed her arms over her chest. “He wasn’t born here.’’

“You’re right. He moved here in the third grade, from one county over.’’

I could see she’d made up her mind. That worried me. If D’Vora, with her ties to Mama and the rest of my family, was ready to see Kenny fry for murder, then public opinion was definitely building against him.

“Just keep an open mind, that’s all I’m asking. There are things going on in this town that you would not believe. Shady things. Suspect people. Kenny got himself caught up in some dangerous games; but I am certain someone else killed Camilla.’’

She raised a skeptical brow. “You’re certain?’’

Until that moment, I hadn’t said it out loud. But yes, I was certain. I’d seen Kenny cradle his newborn daughter, tears of joy in his eyes. I’d watched him care for Maddie through miscarriages; through a cancer scare; through the years of them growing older and comfortable—maybe complacent? Always, I’d seen nothing from him but love for his family and kindness toward others. He may have set out to have a middle-aged fling. Many men do. But murder? No way.

I nodded. “I’m certain.’’

She shrugged. “Well, I guess we’ll see if your detective beau agrees with you.’’

On that troubling thought, I went off to find Marty, Mama, and Sal. After my morning phone call with Henry, I’d provided all of them a condensed version of last night’s events. I’d told them about the note and sex collar, the shooting, and my collision with the gate. All I left out was my blowup with Carlos. I couldn’t even begin to explain that.

The three of them had commandeered a picnic table in the shade, where some of the police department’s civilian staff liked to eat lunch. I hoped someone discovered something that would link anyone else but Kenny to Camilla’s murder. I joined them, planting my flag on our pro-Kenny island amid an ocean of anti-Kenny forces.

At the TV crew’s urging, Junior displayed his sign, complete with misspellings, for the camera: A Eye for A Eye. Venjance for Camela.

“I’m amazed he got the word ‘eye’ right,’’ Sal said.

Mama tsked. “It’s a good thing Maddie’s not here to see all this.’’ She pointed with her chin to the glamour-girl teens. “Those two are locals. You know they must have had Maddie for their principal in middle school.’’

“Maybe that’s why they’re standing with the anti-Kenny people.’’ I winced as Marty pinched my arm.

“I simply cannot believe D’Vora. That traitor!’’ Mama harrumphed. “Look at her over there, gossiping with the stringy-haired blonde with the sign.’’

Heads together, the two women whispered. Whatever D’Vora revealed made the blonde rear back. Her penciled-on eyebrows arched up like arrows.

“The mood out here is pretty ugly,’’ Marty said. “Whatever happened to the concept of ‘innocent until proven guilty’?’’

“Speaking of,’’ I said, “did y’all find out anything useful today? Anything that will help prove somebody else is guilty?’’

Mama spoke first. “Those sex swingers are trying to get some new members. Some gal I know from bingo came to the salon today. Told us we should start offering Brazilian waxes to take care of …” Mama cupped her hand to her mouth; lowered her voice to a whisper “… hair down there.’’

When Marty looked at her blankly, Mama made a ripping motion over her groin. “Apparently, being bald downstairs makes things sexier when they have an orgy.’’

“Rosie!’’ said Sal, shocked.

“I’m just telling you what she said. Anyway, she’s trying to recruit some new members. She invited me to come sometime.’’

Sal choked, barely able to get the words out. “Absolutely not!’’

Mama narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t need you to tell me no, Sally. I’m a Bible-believing, churchgoing woman. I don’t even have to ask myself What Would Jesus Do? I can pretty much guarantee you He would not sign up for a swingers’ party.’’

“I’ve got some information, too, though mine isn’t Triple X-rated like Rosie’s.’’ Sal aimed a pointed look at her.

She smoothed at her hair. “Not TripleX, Sally. One X, at the most.’’

When had Mama become such an expert on the relative shadings of X-ratings?

“Whaddever. I think it’s relevant. We all know something has been going on out at that golf course. Kenny’s been involved. Camilla was, too.’’ Sal pulled a cigar from his pocket. “Angel and I had an interesting conversation about the club pro today.’’

“Angel?’’ Mama’s mouth was tight with disapproval. “Talk about X-rated.’’

Sal, wisely, ignored her. “She said not to buy Jason’s dumb, good-guy act. He knows a lot more than he pretends to. He pulls a lot of strings out there, Angel said, in cahoots with the mayor’s wife.’’

“Humph! I’m not sure I trust that barmaid. She’s definitely no angel.’’ Mama folded her arms over her chest. “By the way, I hope you’re not intending to light that stink-bomb cigar out here. It’s sure to give Marty a migraine.’’

“I’m fine, Mama. Really.’’ Marty offered Sal an apologetic smile.

He gave the cigar a last, loving stroke before he slid it back into his shirt pocket. “Angel is just a hardworking gal, trying to make an honest living.’’

I wasn’t sure about Sal’s assessment of Angel’s upstanding character. But I could see a storm brewing on Mama’s face. I wasn’t about to let us get sidetracked by one of her jealous snits. I changed the subject.

“Marty, what’d you find out at the library?’’

“Something interesting: Prudence is applying for Camilla’s old job.’’

“And the body’s not even cold? That’s kind of weird,’’ I said.

“I thought she’d be going back to Atlanta,’’ Sal said.

Marty shrugged. “Apparently not. Prudence told my boss it made her feel close to her sister to stay in her house, right here in Himmarshee.’’

Mama tapped her cheek, thinking. “Hmmm. Now what do y’all make of that?’’

All of us were quiet, perhaps considering the question. Something about Prudence and her sister’s house tugged at my brain. She’d confessed she and Camilla were estranged. I reran the mental filmstrip of the barbecue dinner at Mama’s, and the look that flickered so briefly over Prudence’s face. I suspected the rift went deeper than she admitted. She wouldn’t be the only person in the world to wait until a relative is dead to wish she’d reached out to reconcile in life.

As I glanced around the crowded parking lot, my attention was diverted by the arrival of Elaine Naiman. I was shocked to see her limping through the ranks of the Kenny-haters. When she waved and smiled at me, I realized she was coming over to join our small group instead. Sal got up to give her his seat.

“How’s the ankle?’’

“Better, thanks.’’ She eased herself onto the bench; wiggled her foot slowly. “It’s not as swollen, but it’s still a bit sore.’’

She peeked over both shoulders and hushed her voice, like a spy trading secrets. “I’ve got some news.’’

Four expectant faces gazed at her. She gave me a quizzical look.

“They’re family,’’ I answered the question she hadn’t voiced. “They know everything I know. We’ve all been trying to find information that will make anyone but Kenny look guilty.’’

“Well, I’m not sure this will help, but guess what I found out about our friend, the mayor.’’

“What?’’ Sal, Marty, and I asked at once.

Mama put a pout in her voice. “She said ‘guess.’”

I felt my eyes roll. “It’s not a game, Mama. It’s a figure of speech. Go on, Elaine.’’

“He’s into rough sex; and I know where he indulges his fantasies.’’

forty-six

The insistent blare of a car horn made me jump. The protestors in front of the police department stirred. Henry piloted his Lexus through the jostling throng. In the passenger seat, a white-faced Kenny stared straight ahead.

A whisper grew into a wave of sound.

“That’s him!’’ someone cried.

“It’s Kenny Wilson, the murderer!’’ said another.

Mama climbed on top of the picnic table. “Y’all should be ashamed of yourselves!’’ She was using her Sunday school teacher’s voice, and it carried across the crowd. “A lot of you have known Kenny all your lives. He is not the killer. He might have information the police need to find out who is. That’s the only reason he’s here.’’

Some members of the crowd looked embarrassed, eyes on the ground. Others, more bold, shouted Mama down: “Justice for Camilla!’’ one yelled.

Another voice rang: “No mercy for murderers!’’

The hissing began as Kenny opened the car door. The volume grew, until the whole parking lot sounded like a writhing mass of snakes. Junior stepped forward, shaking his sign in Kenny’s face. Henry batted it away. My brother-in-law stuck his hands deep in his pockets, hunching his shoulders as if he wanted to disappear. The skanky blonde leaned in and spat. A glob of mucous coursed down Kenny’s cheek. He tilted his head, trying to wipe it off with one raised shoulder.

“Killer!’’ The blonde’s veins popped on her scrawny neck; her voice throbbed with hatred.

The TV camera caught everything.

I was just glad Maddie wasn’t there. Her husband was a pitiful sight, the very picture of shame and humiliation. Was it seeing friends and neighbors taunt and belittle him? Or, God forbid, was it guilt over what he had in fact done?

Henry and Kenny had almost made it to the entrance when the front doors swung open. Carlos stepped out. The reporter surged forward, the cameraman right behind her.

“Is Kenny Wilson a suspect in the murder?’’ She thrust her microphone toward Carlos, who batted it away.

“No comment.’’

The reporter aimed the mic again, poking it at Carlos’s chin. “Are you arresting him?’’

Carlos answered the question with a nonverbal glare. He took Kenny by the elbow, pushing back the reporter and the rest of the crowd with his other hand. Our eyes met. Carlos’s were unreadable—as cold and dark as a cavern deep beneath the surface of a freshwater spring. My eyes, I’m sure, were sparking fury. Would it have killed Carlos to allow Kenny to walk under his own power through those police department doors?

I knew exactly what footage would lead the evening newscast: My sister’s husband, being escorted through a jeering crowd by a grim-faced homicide detective. His defense attorney was plastered to his side—just like every other guilty S.O.B. hauled in to perform a perp walk for TV.

When the doors closed behind the three men, I glanced at Sal. He shook his head. “That don’t look good for Kenny.’’

“No kidding,’’ I said. “And I’m fixin’ to do something about that.’’

_____

Marty and I stood outside the NoTell Motel, following up on the tip from Elaine Naiman. Someone in her book club reported a mayor sighting, along with a rumor about sexual bondage, at the sleazy hotel. My sister and I decided to see if we could confirm that.

The sun was dropping in the sky. The motel’s neon sign buzzed and popped, lighting up for the evening. Or, at least some of it was. With its burned-out letters, the sign read NoT M el. Only a few vehicles besides Marty’s were parked in the lot. Beaten and battered, they all had a lot of miles on them—not unlike the beds at the NoTell.

A cluster of aluminum lawn chairs sat empty on the pool deck, their plastic webbing frayed and gaping. Cracks and weeds cut trails across the dirty gray of the deck. A couple of feet of rainwater had collected at the bottom of the unused pool—green, scummy, and harboring who knows what kind of nasty creatures. Not unlike the motel itself.

Marty slapped at a mosquito on her neck. “Lovely place.’’

“I don’t think anyone comes here for the amenities.’’ A roach scurried onto the deck from a wadded fast-food bag. I squashed it under my boot. “You ready?’’

“As I’ll ever be. Hey, Mace, when we talk to the hotel clerk, could I be ‘bad cop’ for a change?’’

My sweet sister putting the screws to someone to extract info? “Sure,’’ I said. “Knock yourself out.’’

The front door stuck when we tried to enter the lobby. Heavy rains and humidity had swollen the old wood. I gave it a kick. It inched open, making a horror-film creak. Small and dim, the lobby looked like it was lit with a single twenty-watt bulb. It stank of stale cigarettes and fried food.

An immensely fat man sat behind the counter, watching a game show on TV. He slurped from a sixty-four-ounce convenience store soda in a superhero cup. It looked like a small keg in his hand, which was boyish and surprisingly delicate. His stained T-shirt, ripped at the neck, failed to cover the bottom third of his substantial gut.

The TV switched to a commercial, and he looked up at us. “Well, two beautiful ladies. Don’t see that too much here. Y’all can get a room for an hour; or pay the half-day rate and have yourselves a nice, long session of fun.’’

I realized he thought we were a couple. Marty must have caught on at the same moment, because her face turned as red as a cherry tomato. So much for her playing the tough one.

“We don’t need a room,’’ I said. “We’re just looking for a friend of ours. Big guy. Drives a dark sedan with campaign bumper stickers.’’

The clerk gave me a sly smile. His nametag said Timothy. “You mean His Honor, our mayor?’’

Well, that was easy.

“A police detective has already been here. I told him all about the mayor.’’

Marty and I exchanged glances. I’m sure my face looked as surprised as hers did.

“Carlos Martinez?’’ she asked.

Timothy riffled through messy stacks of papers and empty take-out containers on the counter. Extracting a business card, he held it at arm’s length and squinted to read it in the dim light. “One and the same,’’ he said. “I’ll tell you what I told him. I almost had a maid quit after the last time the mayor rented a room here with a lady friend.’’

“Was his friend Camilla Law, the woman who was murdered?’’ I asked.

“Couldn’t tell. When I saw the lady, she was carrying a whip and wearing nothing but black stockings with garters and some kind of hood. I couldn’t see her face, not that I was looking there.’’