Текст книги "Mama Gets Trashed"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

He leered, showing a mouthful of decayed and broken teeth. Must be all that soda.

“How did you come to see her?’’ Marty asked.

“Another guest complained to the maid about the racket they were making in that room.’’

“Do you get many complaints like that?’’ she asked.

“Not usually. Our guests tend to be … uhmm … tolerant.” He took a long swallow from his bucket o’ beverage. “That night, though, there was the sound of screaming and furniture banging. I think the other guest was scared someone was getting murdered.’’

That word seemed to jolt both Marty and me. The clerk clarified. “Nobody was. They were into role-playing, not bloodshed.’’ He sucked on his straw; drew in air. Pulling a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew from under his counter, he refilled the empty plastic cup. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, I saw the superhero was the Hulk.

“Anyway, the maid went up and knocked at the door. His Honor yelled ‘C’mon in.’ She did, and got an eyeful. There he was, spread eagled on the bed. He was naked as a baby, except for a dog collar around his neck. Black fur handcuffs held his wrists at the headboard. His ankles were trussed up with black leather straps, tied to the footboard.’’

Timothy’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, and sent it straight to voice mail.

“The maid said he wiggled his tongue at her like a snake, pumped his pelvis up and down, and begged her to join their little party.’’

“Ewww,’’ Marty said.

“Exactly!’’ He chuckled, his laughter trailing off to a smoker’s wheeze. “The maid came running into the office in tears. I don’t have too many rules here, but nobody harasses my staff. Especially the ones who aren’t eighteen yet.’’

“So,’’ I said, “chivalry isn’t dead after all.’’

“Absolutely. When I marched over to their room, the woman answered the door. Like I told you, she was wearing this hood deal. She said they were sorry; things had gotten a little out of hand.’’

“Did the mayor say anything?’’ I asked.

“Not a peep. His head was turned to the wall. When he left, he asked me to apologize to the maid for him, and left her an envelope with fifty bucks. He slipped me a Benjamin …”

Marty cocked her head in a question.

“A hundred-dollar bill,’’ I said. “Ben Franklin.’’

“Right. He gave me the dough, and said he’d appreciate my discretion.’’

“Misspent money, huh?’’ I said.

“I told you, I don’t like people messing with my staff. I don’t owe him a thing. Besides, I voted for the other guy.’’

“Me too,’’ Marty said.

“All that sanctimonious stuff he was spouting during the campaign about family values? It really turned me off. Turns out it was all bullshit anyway. Typical hypocritical politician.’’

He inhaled more soda. “Hey, would you girls like to join me for dinner? I get off in about twenty minutes.’’

“Naw, but thanks,’’ I said. “My sister has to get home to her husband and I’m engaged.’’ I held up my left hand, remembering too late I’d removed the ring after Carlos and I argued. The lack of lobby light worked in my favor. Timothy didn’t seem to notice my finger was bare.

While we said our goodbyes, I dug into my pocket, my fingers touching the ring. It felt hot, somehow, like it was going to burn my skin. Why hadn’t Carlos said anything about the mayor while he was lambasting me for withholding information about Kenny? Who didn’t trust whom?

Marty and I were almost to the door when I stopped and turned around.

“What did the woman in the mayor’s room sound like?’’

Timothy thought for a moment. “Classy. Like the ladies on public TV.’’

“Like Masterpiece Thea-tuh?’’ Marty asked, doing her best Downton Abbey impression.

“Exactly.’’ He drained the Hulk cup; wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “She had an English accent.’’

forty-seven

The Friday morning air smelled of bacon frying and coffee brewing. Marty and I stood outside Maddie’s door, waiting for her to let us in.

“Maybe she’s feeling better,’’ Marty said, sniffing at the cooking smells. “I wonder if she’ll have pancakes, too?’’

That would be the old Maddie. She placed pancakes at the very apex of her food pyramid.

Mama parked, and hurried up the walkway to wait with us at the closed door. The kitten heels on her persimmon-colored sandals click-clicked all the way.

“Poor Maddie. She’s probably not even able to drag herself out of bed. Hang on, girls. I think I’ve got one of her front door keys in here somewhere.’’

She’d barely begun pawing through her purse, in a matching persimmon, when the door swung open. A smiling Maddie stood on the other side—hair done up neatly in a French twist; lips colored a becoming shade of pink. She quickly waved us in.

“Bacon’s about to burn. Help yourselves to some coffee.’’

She surely did look better. She was wearing her doing-battle-as-principal clothes—a dark, knee-length skirt paired with a powder-blue blouse in polished cotton. On her feet: No-nonsense pumps. Over her shoulder, Maddie spoke to Marty: “I haven’t forgotten you, sister. Instead of bacon, I’m making you eggs for protein. The pancakes are just because we like them.’’

In the kitchen, Marty and I filled our favorite coffee mugs and took our seats. Mama flitted about behind Maddie, peering first over one shoulder and then the next.

“Hadn’t you better turn that flapjack now, honey?’’ Flutter, flit. “Don’t scramble the eggs so hard.’’ Flit, flutter. “They’ll be as tough as an old saddle.’’

Maddie glanced at Marty and me and rolled her eyes. “I think I’ve got it covered, Mama. Why don’t you put out some plates and have a seat?’’ She turned again to the stove.

“You seem pretty chipper this morning,’’ I said to her back.

I didn’t add that this good mood was the last thing I expected. Maybe she hadn’t seen the late news last night, which led off with her cheating husband’s perp walk through shouting protestors. Maybe she hadn’t talked to Henry, who’d told me Kenny had spent the night at the Himmarshee County jail. Mama, Marty and I had schemed to meet at Maddie’s first thing in the morning. I’d expected us to be propping up an emotionally devastated woman. At the very least, I thought we’d be providing her with the support of her loving family.

Instead, she calmly poured batter onto a flat griddle to start another pancake. It sizzled when it met the hot pan.

“You seem surprised I seem chipper.’’ She flattened one of the flapjacks with a spatula. “Did you expect to find me with my head in the oven?’’

Mama stirred her coffee, spoon pinging against the cup.

Marty removed and re-straightened the napkins in a holder.

I contributed to the silence, my hands clasped on my lap under the table.

“Well?’’ Maddie prodded. “Did you think I’d keep moping around here forever? I talked to Henry last night. I know y’all are trying to prove Kenny had nothing to do with this awful murder.’’

She slid the scrambled eggs into a serving bowl and covered it so they wouldn’t get cold. The plated bacon went into a toaster oven. Maddie turned the temperature dial to warm. When we still hadn’t spoken, she cleared her throat.

“I want everybody to stop tiptoeing around me. I’m not dying of some terrible disease. I’m a wife who’s been cheated on. I wasn’t the first; I won’t be the last. I know in my bones my husband is no murderer. He’s only guilty of one thing, and that’s thinking with the wrong head.’’

Mama nodded. “Been there, got the T-shirt. Kenny can get in line with all the other husbands guilty of that.’’

“I appreciate everything you’ve already done to find another suspect. I’m ready to pitch in, too.’’ Maddie pointed to the answering machine on the counter. “We can start right here, right now. Listen to this.’’

She pressed play.

Beep. How does it feel to be married to a killer?

Beep. No Mercy for Murderers!

“Not that nonsense,’’ she said. “This next one.’’

After the beep, there was a long pause. Then a muffled voice spoke: The police have the wrong person in jail. Your husband didn’t kill Camilla Law. I might know who did.

Mama started to interrupt. Maddie held up a single finger, like a teacher warning an over-eager kindergartner.

The message continued.

I’m afraid to come forward. If I speak out, I could be a victim next. Tell your sister to keep hunting for the real killer. The swingers’ club holds the key.

The message ended. “Did you punch in star-69 to see the number that called you?’’ I asked.

“Of course I did: ‘Unknown.’ It was probably one of those disposable cell phones like the criminals use on TV.’’

“It sounded like they were talking through a mouthful of cotton. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, could you?’’ Marty raised her eyebrows at us.

We all shook our heads.

“Play it again,’’ Mama said.

Maddie skipped ahead to the right call.

“Wait!’’ I said, listening closely. “That’s definitely the sound of music; maybe some glasses clinking in the background.’’

“Could be a bar,’’ Maddie said.

“Great,’’ Mama said. “There are almost as many bars in this county

as there are churches.’’

“Could you hear what song was playing?’’ Marty asked me.

I shook my head.

“You need to tell Carlos about this, Mace. The police will be able to figure out a lot more than we can from the phone message,’’ Mama said. “When are you going to see him next?’’

I took a sip of coffee. Blew on it, and then sipped again.

“Oh, no!’’ Mama grabbed my left hand and dragged it out from under the table, where I was hiding it in my lap. She waved the ring-free digit at my sisters. “I knew it!’’

I didn’t want my sorry romantic saga to distract us from helping Maddie. “We have not broken up, Mama. Things are just a little tense between us. It might be better if Sal tells Carlos about the phone call.’’

Mama dug in her heels, looked like she was ready to argue. “But—”

“—Enough!’’ Maddie slapped the table between us, startling Mama and me. “As fascinated as we are by Mace’s on-again-off-again engagement, my husband is being slandered as a murderer. Is it too much to ask that we focus on finding out who really killed Camilla, so we can clear Kenny’s name and bring him home?’’

Marty raised her coffee cup in a salute. “Hear, hear.’’

Maddie rested her hand on her belly for an instant. I doubted that Marty or Mama caught the protective gesture. They didn’t know her secret yet. She got out syrup and butter for the table; and served our pancakes from the griddle.

“By the way,’’ Maddie said, “the party is still on for tomorrow night. I’m going to hold my head high and call it ‘Free Kenny Wilson Night.’ Maybe we can force the real murderer to show his hand.’’

She doused her pancake with syrup, scooped up a mess of eggs, and passed the bowl to me.

As I helped myself, the pieces of a plan to unmask Camilla’s killer began to take shape.

forty-eight

“Have you spotted anybody yet? Tell me what you see, Mace.’’

“Thanks for the spit shower.’’ I dried the inside of my ear, and returned Mama’s whisper. “And, no, I haven’t spotted anybody. It’s the middle of the night, and cloudy. I can barely see.’’

“Are you sure this is the right spot for the swingers’ soiree?’’ She spritzed my ear with each shushed S.

“You can speak up. It’s clear we’re all alone.’’

We’d driven to a secret location at the country club, stashed her car behind the closed restaurant, and took cover in the shadows of the golf cart barn. Jason had called while I was at work to invite me to the gathering.

I’d groaned into the phone. “You start at three o’clock in the morning? Are your pals vampires as well as swingers?’’

“You asked me to let you know when the next party was. Well, this is it. I’m sure you’ll find it worth your while.’’

He’d revealed the closely guarded details: On arrival, guests were to knock four times, pause, and knock once more. The code word for the night was Dandelion. The group would meet in a large apartment kept for visiting golf pros, located beside the shed where electric carts were charged and stored.

“We have to make sure we’re not accidentally discovered. As you can imagine, these kind of parties call for absolute discretion.’’

“As discreet as you can be stark naked,’’ I said. “By the way, if I do come, I won’t be taking off my clothes. I’ll only be there as an observer.’’

He laughed. “That’s what they all say.’’

My Jeep was still being processed by the cops. It hadn’t taken much effort to persuade Mama to drive me to the golf course, especially after the message on Maddie’s machine implied the swingers were the key to everything. I wanted to find out more about them, especially the mayor. I had a hunch he was involved in Camilla’s murder. I needed to know how.

I stood now at the front of the cart shed, watching the entrance to the vacant parking lot. Mama was half-concealed behind a boxy silver machine that dispensed practice balls for the driving range. I had no intention of showing my hand—or anything else—until we’d staked out the situation.

Mama reminded me—again—of her ground rules for our reconnaissance mission: “I am not taking part in any of that funny business.’’

“And you think I am?’’ I said.

“I don’t know what you’re up to now that you’ve broken things off with Carlos. Maybe you’re in the market for a little excitement.’’

“First of all, I haven’t broken it off. I told you we’re taking a rest. And second, I’m not interested in that kind of excitement.’’

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Mace.’’

Once I finished sputtering, I planned to pursue that line of inquiry with Mama. Just then, though, I heard a car approach. I raised my hand to signal her to hush. “Head’s up. Here’s our first guest.’’

Stepping out from behind the ball dispenser, she craned her neck to peek around me.

A second car followed close behind the first. In the flash of its headlights, I saw the mayor’s shapely “aide” climb from the front seat of the first car. Another young woman, the one who’d been interviewing for a job in his office, got out of the back. When the driver exited, I was not surprised to see it was Angel. She caressed the cheek of the mayor’s aide, and gave the job-seeker’s bottom a friendly pat. The aide—Ruby? Diamond?—adjusted a halter top, hefting first one breast, and then the other. Her already considerable cleavage was now pumped up to its most flattering display. Licking her lips, Angel grazed her fingers across the aide’s chest.

“I knew there was something fishy about that barmaid!’’ Mama hissed.

The trio teetered toward the apartment in tight tops, micro-minis, and impossibly high heels. Angel unlocked the door and stepped in first. Light flooded out through the windows.

Five guys piled out of the second vehicle, a red SUV. The smell of men’s cologne and cigar smoke wafted our way as they made their way to the apartment. The SUV was familiar. I’d bet it was the same one that terrorized us and several other drivers along the stretch of highway near Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow. I also recognized the tallest man in the group as the developer with the gold watch who had visited Himmarshee Park with the mayor. I’d wondered that day about his smirking innuendoes about threesomes and foursomes. Now they made sense.

I scanned the cluster of men, recognizing a couple more from the day at the park. The mayor was not with them. Jason hadn’t shown yet, either. The tallest man counted out the requisite five knocks. “Dandelion,’’ he said, and the door opened.

Next, a convertible sports car roared up. I thought it might have been a Porsche; a car not often seen among the pickups and dilapidated beaters driving the local roads. A well-preserved, silver-haired couple extricated themselves from the low-slung seats. The man’s ample stomach made me wonder how he could fit behind the wheel to drive. The woman wore something short, tight, and golden. It shimmered in the light from the windows as they approached the porch.

“Do you know them?’’ I asked in a low voice.

Mama shook her head. “Probably drove up from Palm Beach. With that hair, she’d look better in silver sequins than gold.’’

“I’m sure she’d appreciate the fashion tip. Maybe you can write a column for the newspaper: What to wear to a sex party.’’

A sharp poke on the arm made me shut my mouth.

The man from the sports car rapped five times, and whispered the code word. Angel answered the door. She draped a hand over each of their shoulders, welcoming them. Her fingers slid down their chests, giving each what looked like a nipple tweak. The woman tittered; her date returned Angel’s pinch, goosing her in the rear end.

“How many are in there now?’’ Mama asked.

I tallied up the swingers: the mayor’s gals, Angel, and the granny from the Porsche made four women. The old broad’s beau and the five guys from the SUV made six men. I held up both hands, ten fingers outstretched.

“Quite a get-together,’’ Mama said.

“No Mr. or Mrs. Mayor, though. I expected to see them.’’

She stepped around me, her eyes searching the dark parking lot. “Maybe they’re still on their way.’’

I glanced at my watch: Three-twenty-five.

“I think everybody’s here. I’m going a little closer. They might talk about Kenny, or the murder. I want to be able to see, or at least hear, what’s going on inside.’’

From what I’d seen so far, Camilla’s murder seemed to be the last thing on the party guests’ minds.

“Are you sure you want to do that, Mace?’’ Mama grabbed my wrist.

“Don’t you want to find out what they do?’’ I asked.

“I can guess,’’ she said. “I know where all the parts go.’’

After a bit of arguing, I finally left Mama hiding in the cart barn. I crept to the apartment, trying to skirt the light shining from the windows. Stealthily, I mounted the steps to the porch. I stopped in my tracks when the bottom stair creaked behind me. A ripple of fear rolled down my spine. My breath caught in my throat. Slowly, I turned …

… and saw Mama, her hands over her mouth and her eyes as wide as saucers. “Sorry,’’ she whispered through her fingers. “I changed my mind.’’

The creak may have given me a scare, but I doubted if anyone inside heard it. The music was loud, and so was the chatter. A male voice boomed, “Take it off!’’ Shrill, girlish laughter followed.

I pulled Mama onto the porch. Holding tight to her elbow, I propelled her to the darkest corner. We both inched along the side of the wall to a spot by a window. I pointed at my eye, then at the window, motioning her to look inside. At the same time, we both peeked through the glass from our respective corners. Mama gasped. I may have, too.

The two girls from the mayor’s office were naked from the waist up, writhing in an erotic embrace. The silver-haired fox from the Porsche was the male filling in the middle of their female sandwich. Mrs. Silver-Hair watched from a couch, fiddling with what looked like metal clamps on her bare breasts.

One of the suits tossed off his tie. He’d just begun to unbutton his dress shirt when I felt something jab into my lower back. “Stop it, Mama.’’

“Stop what?’’

I felt the pressure again, more insistent this time.

“No sense in standing outside looking in. Why don’t you and your mum come in and join the party?’’

The voice was clipped and ice-cold. The accent was English.

forty-nine

Prudence Law glared at Mama and me. She repeatedly slapped the palm of her hand with what looked like a horse-riding crop. She was dressed in a getup very similar to what her murdered sister wore when we found her body at the dump: leather bustier with laces and studs, black stiletto heels, and fishnet hose. Instead of the spiky dog collar, though, Prudence wore a severely symmetrical wig, in neon blue. Black fur handcuffs hung from one of the many silver buckles on her bustier.

It looked like the conservative dark suit and the white blouse with the Peter Pan collar had been moth-balled for the evening.

“Well?’’ She traced the swell of my breasts with the tip of her leather crop. “Are you interested in coming inside?’’

She lowered the crop, stroking at my groin. “You can take the meaning of that verb either way you want.’’

“Not tonight.’’ I stepped back, crossing my arms over my private parts to block the crop. “Not ever.’’

“Not so fast, honey.’’ Mama took a quick peek through the window. “I’m not saying you should go inside, but that tall one with the gold watch is kind of cute. Just keep him in mind as a Plan B man if you and Carlos don’t get back together.’’

“Sure. He’s a developer and a sexual deviant. We sound like a match made in heaven.’’ I folded both arms over my chest and looked at Prudence. “I’m not interested in your little party or my mother’s notion of Mr. Plan B.’’

She raised an eyebrow at Mama. “What about you? Interested?’’

Mama smoothed her hair. “I don’t need to get my kicks with this kind of thing. My husband, Sal, is very satisfying in the sex department, thank you very much. I’ve always loved a man who isn’t afraid to—”

“—I think we’ve got enough information, Mama.’’ I turned to Prudence. “Nice outfit. Did you find that in your sister’s closet?’’

A flicker of sadness crossed her face. Tears welled in her darkly shadowed, heavily made-up eyes. I felt like I’d just kicked a kitten. A dominatrix kitten, but still.

“Sorry. I’m just surprised to see you here. I thought you told us at dinner that dangerous sex was Camilla’s deal, not yours.’’

An image of Prudence making herself at home so quickly in Camilla’s house flashed into my mind. I suddenly knew what had been nagging at me. “In fact, you seem to act a lot like Camilla. You know a lot about her, too, considering you were so estranged.’’

She and Mama looked equally perplexed.

“What are you driving at?’’ Prudence said.

“You told me you’d never been to Camilla’s house, yet you knew exactly where to look for her booze. That hidden bottle opener, too.’’

“Our parents always kept their liquor on the top closet shelf. It seemed likely Camilla would, too. As for the other, my sister and I lived together when we were younger. I constantly misplaced the bottle opener until she thought of putting it out-of-the-way, on the wall side of the fridge.’’

As I stared at her, something about her costume tugged at my brain. Exactly what remained just out of reach. I gestured at her sexy garb, and asked a general question instead. “What about those clothes, and being here tonight? You were very clear Camilla was the one with dark tastes.’’

Mama nodded. “Mace is right. When you came to dinner, you said you disapproved. ‘For such a clever girl, Camilla could be quite stupid.’ That’s what you said about your sister.’’

Now, both of us stared at Prudence. She wouldn’t meet our eyes. Her head was down, and that bright blue wig cloaked her face. She traced a figure eight against her thigh with the leather crop.

Suddenly, I had an epiphany. “Did you want to be Camilla, the golden-girl sister?’’ Mama gasped as I blurted out the question. “You’re going to live in her house. You’ve asked for her job at the library. Did you kill your sister to take over her life?”

Prudence’s head snapped up. “So I’m the evil twin? You can’t be serious.’’

The incredulous look on her face and her derisive tone made me feel less sure of my theory than I’d felt a moment before. Mama’s sharp pinch didn’t help my confidence, either.

“I think you’ve internalized a plot from some insipid show on your American telly.’’

A long sigh escaped Prudence’s lips. They were colored blood-red, and outlined in an even darker shade. “The truth is my sister’s murder has reminded me of thoughts—desires—I thought I had extinguished.”

Quietly, she knuckled away tears. They left streaks of ultra-black mascara under her eyes. We waited for her to continue. Not even Mama uttered a word.

“Camilla and I did things like this regularly when we were young. We dressed alike.’’ She waved the crop up and down, indicating her leather garb. “We role-played. Sometimes I was the dominant one; sometimes she was. Sometimes, we both were. We liked that best. Being subjugated by identical twins excited men … us, too, to be honest.’’

“I’ve always heard English men have a thing for being spanked. Is that true?’’ Mama asked.

“Where in the world did you hear that?’’ I said.

“Around,’’ she answered, with unsatisfying vagueness.

“It is true,’’ Prudence said, “but it’s not just English men.’’

Mama’s eyes got wide. “Well, who else—”

I cut her off before she could begin inquiring into the sexual practices of all the member states of the United Nations. “How can you party with these people?’’ I asked Prudence. “One of them might have killed your sister.’’

She narrowed her eyes. “From what I hear, your brother-in-law killed my sister. I expect he got carried away. Some people aren’t capable of knowing when to stop.’’ The chilly tone had returned. “Not that it will bring back Camilla, but I take some comfort in knowing he’ll be punished. I understand Florida employs an electric chair.’’

“Not anymore,’’ Mama said. “They retired Ol’ Sparky from Death Row after a couple of condemned men caught fire during their executions.’’

“How barbaric.’’ Prudence shuddered.

“We give them the needle now,’’ Mama added.

“Kenny is not getting the needle, because he didn’t do it,’’ I said. “If one of my sisters had been murdered, I’d be out trying to find out who killed her. I wouldn’t be dressed up like Halloween for a swingers’ session.’’

Prudence glared at me, crop hitting leather-clad thigh.

“Now, girls …”

Prudence interrupted Mama, words exploding from her mouth. “The point is your sister was not murdered. Mine was. I needed a distraction from my grief. A release, if you will. When Angel asked me to come tonight, I leapt at the chance to lose myself for a few hours.”

Mama nodded agreeably. “That’s certainly understandable.’’

“Whose side are you on?’’ I asked her.

Ignoring me, Mama lowered her voice and nudged Prudence in the ribs. “So, what will y’all do in there?’’

“Wouldn’t you like to know? There’s only one sure way to find out.’’ She pointed to the door with the riding crop.

I sneaked a peek through the window. The granny was kneeling in front of one of the suits. He wasn’t wearing his suit.

If I were alone, I might have considered going inside, partly out of curiosity and partly to see what I could find out about this crowd. But with my Sunday-school-teaching mother in tow? No way. Before Mama could barge through the door, I answered for both of us.

“We’ll take a rain check. Would you do me a favor, though? Ask Angel to call me as soon as she can. I’d like to know a little bit more about tonight’s invitees.’’

“Angel’s the one with all the answers.’’ Prudence struck a mysterious tone.

“Not Jason?’’ I asked. “He’s the one who told me to come tonight.’’

She snorted. “Jason is a pretty boy-toy, nothing more. Angel calls the shots.’’

She placed the crop under Mama’s chin, lifting her face. “So you’re curious about spanking, are you?’’ She stared into Mama’s eyes, affecting a strict headmistress voice. “Have you been a bad girl, Rosalee?’’

“Never!’’ Mama said.

Prudence smiled, switched to her normal voice. “You’re supposed to say yes.’’

“Okay, yes.’’

The muscles flexed in Prudence’s slender arm, as taut as steel cords. The crop made a swish as it cut through the air. She brought it down, hard, against Mama’s bottom.

“Ouch!’’ Mama’s hand flew to her rear end. “That’s not sexy. It stung like a nest of wasps.’’

“Pain is pleasure, Rosalee. Remember that.’’ Prudence tucked the crop under one arm and lit a cigarette. A curl of smoke rose.

“That was not pleasure; it was pure pain.’’ Mama rubbed her butt. “I can tell you one thing. If Sal spanked me that hard, I’d knock him out with a frying pan. That man never even leaves a mark.”

I put my hands over my ears. “Have you never heard the phrase, ‘Too Much Information,’ Mama?’’

_____

Jason did not show, and neither did the Grafs. We stayed on the porch until the party inside moved to a more intense phase. I heard the slap of Prudence’s crop against naked flesh. There were muffled shrieks and moans of pleasure. The music switched from loud rock to seductive rhythm and blues. “Let’s Get it On,’’ indeed. When the light through the windows dimmed, I took that as our exit cue.

Crossing to the parking lot, I slid a small penlight from my pocket. “Got anything to write with?’’ I whispered.

Mama dug in her purse, pulling out a pen and a bank withdrawal slip. I shone the light on the Porsche, reading off the license numbers as she wrote them down. Sure enough, the tag holder advertised a luxury car dealer in Palm Beach County. We moved around to the other vehicles, recording each tag number. I may have come to look for the mayor, but I found several other people who shared his kinky tastes. Registered owners of vehicles are public records in Florida. I had no intention of relying solely on Angel to reveal the invitees on her party list.

I needed their names for my suspect list.

fifty

“I’m as full as a tick on a fat dog. Why’d you let me have that second piece of butterscotch pie, Mace?”

“I didn’t put a gun to your head. I told you it wasn’t a good idea to follow a big breakfast with a double serving of pie at four-thirty in the morning.’’

“I just want to climb into my nice soft bed and go to sleep.’’ Mama yawned.

We’d been wound up after our excursion to the swingers’ soiree. I suggested a trip to the twenty-four-hour truck stop in Sebring for ham, eggs, and hashed browns. I’d taken over driving halfway back to Himmarshee. As I looked across the front seat of Mama’s big convertible, I saw her eyelids fluttering, and her head dropping down toward her chest.

Now, the radio was turned up and the windows were rolled down. I told her she had to stay awake and talk to me until I got us to my house. I already regretted that, and we weren’t even halfway there.

“What do you think you’ll do about Carlos? Is it over for good? Do you think you’d be in this situation if you’d taken my advice?’’

“Hmm?’’ I said, acting distracted. “This mess with Kenny is really on my mind. I thought we could go over who we think are likely suspects to have killed Camilla.’’

Mama took up the challenge. “My money’s on the mayor. He’s as sleazy as they come, playing around with all those different girls.’’

I told her what Marty and I had discovered about his S & M encounter at the NoTell Motel with a woman with an English accent.