Текст книги "Mama Gets Trashed"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Maddie sniffled. “Bastard!’’ She plucked a napkin from a holder on the table and blotted roughly at her eyes. “Don’t mention a word of this to Mama.’’

“Lord, no!’’ I said.

“I want to show you something else.’’

I followed Maddie down the hallway to their bedroom. Pictures of her with Kenny and their daughter, Pam, hung along the walls. She jerked open the closet door and removed a hideous yellow-and-peach-colored golf outfit. The cap was a plaid tam-o’-shanter, complete with a yellow pom-pom.

“That looks like something from the Sal Provenza resort-wear collection,’’ I said.

“I know, except my idiot husband paid for it with our money.’’ Maddie dropped it on the bed in disgust.

“Will you investigate for me, Mace? Find out who he’s running around with?’’

“Oh, Maddie …’’

I let my words trail off. I was reluctant to delve into something so personal. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Maddie with what I was afraid I’d find out about her husband.

She put a hand on my arm. “You know how to get to the bottom of things, sister. Besides, I just don’t think I can face it alone, whatever he’s up to.’’

She wiped a tear from her cheek. “Will you, Mace? Please?’’

“It’s probably just a big misunderstanding.’’

“I don’t think so. It’s not just the perfume-stink and the fancy clothes. He bought a set of golf clubs. Got them second-hand off Craig’s List, but still. And, last weekend, when I wanted to go to the Pork Pit, Kenny said we should try that new bar and grill that serves wine by the golf course. He called the Pork Pit a ‘cholesterol nightmare.’’’

“That doesn’t sound like the Kenny I know,’’ I said. “I didn’t think he could pronounce cholesterol.’’

“That’s exactly my point.’’ Maddie blew her nose. “Please?’’

How could I say no?

nine

Lights shone on the ornate sign for Himmarshee Links Country Club. The mechanical arm at the guardhouse rose, allowing my Jeep to roll right through the entrance. The geniuses who ran the place milked their members to build the guardhouse, but then cheaped out when it came to hiring someone to actually work the gate as security.

What did they hope to guard against with that gate and little house? With all the alligators that populated the water hazards, it seemed like at least one threat was already inside the perimeter of the golf course community. I kept the skull of one such critter as a key receptacle on my coffee table at home. The gator had been deemed a nuisance after it became a bit too comfortable sharing space with golfers. My cousin, a state-licensed trapper, enlisted me to help him wrestle it from a pond near the eighteenth hole.

Turning into the parking lot, I remembered something else about the golf course. I’d met the pro once, a strapping young guy with sexy blue eyes and a full head of sun-kissed curls. Josh? Jason? He’d come on pretty strong. Even though I was an engaged woman, I pondered for a moment on whether he’d remember me.

Inside, I didn’t have to wait long for the answer to that question. The hunky pro stood next to the hostess stand in the club’s dining room. He put his hand over his heart and spoke to me, even before I could state my business.

“Better call heaven. I think they’re missing an angel.’’ His voice was a deep purr; a smile crinkled the darkly tanned skin near his eyes.

“Really?’’ the hostess raised her eyebrows at him. “You think that’ll work for you?’’

He looked wounded. “Even beautiful women like to hear they’re beautiful.’’

The hostess took me in with a practiced glance: No makeup, rain-dampened work clothes, the grainy scent of animal chow no doubt still wafting off me. She didn’t appear to agree I was heaven’s missing angel.

“How have you been?’’ I asked the pro.

His face was a blank.

So much for my stunningly memorable beauty. “We met here a couple of years ago. I came in asking questions after a body had been discovered in my Mama’s convertible?’’

A dim light lit in his eyes. Forty-watt smart. “Oh yeah, questions. I remember now. Your mother’s married to Big Sal, right?’’

“She is indeed,’’ I said.

So he remembered Mama, but had only the foggiest memory of meeting me. I shoved aside my bruised ego and re-introduced myself. His name was Jason, not Josh. I asked if he had a few minutes to talk, told him I’d buy the drinks. The hostess shot eye darts at me the whole time. Jason guided me to a table at the far edge of the dining room, near the bar. The 19th Hole. Cute.

“Do you know Kenny Wilson?’ I asked, once we were seated.

He cocked his head, appearing to think about it. “Not by name. What’s his handicap?’’

A cheating heart, I wanted to say, but I knew Jason was probably talking about golf. “I have no idea.’’

“What’s he look like?”

“Forties, overweight, though not as much as he used to be. One of his golf outfits has yellow and peach in it.’’

“That doesn’t narrow it down much.’’

Stroking his chin, Jason turned toward the bar. Behind it, a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties reached up to put away wine glasses in the wooden racks over her head. Each time she stretched, the hem of her blouse rose in the back to reveal a tramp stamp. The tattoo snaked its way south from the waistband of her hip-hugger skirt, down past the curve of her butt.

“Hey, Angel,’’ Jason called to her. “Can you come over here for a few minutes? And bring us a couple of …” His eyebrow rose in a question.

“Just a Coke,’’ I said. “I’ve got a long drive home.’’

“A couple of Cokes, please.’’

When the barmaid turned to us, I got a better look. Pretty, in a hard way: Heavy makeup, skirt too short, blouse too tight, showing plenty of cleavage. She set up a cocktail tray with two cans of soda and two glasses of ice. Brushing a strand of bright blonde hair from her eyes, she approached the table.

“Angela Fox, this is …’’ The blank look flitted onto Jason’s face again.

“Mace Bauer,’’ I completed the introduction for him.

“Sorry,’’ he said. “Your beauty must have shorted out a few of my brain cells.’’

I didn’t doubt Jason was short a few million cells, but I suspected something other than my beauty was to blame.

“Mace is some kind of investigator,’’ he added for Angel’s benefit.

“Not exactly,’’ I said.

Her brow furrowed. “Are you looking into that woman who was found murdered at the dump?’’

“Why? Do you know something about that?’’

“No,’’ Jason butted in quickly. “Angel’s just curious. Everybody’s talking about it.’’

“Actually, I’m looking into something personal,’’ I said.

She placed the sodas on the table, tucked the tray under an arm, and reached out to shake my hand. “Angel’s short for Angela, but nobody calls me that.’’

Her grip was pleasantly firm. I never trusted a woman whose hand plopped into mine like a gutted black crappie. “What can I do for you, Mace? I can’t take much time away from the bar.’’

“Have a seat for a few minutes.’’ Jason poured one of the Cokes; half a can in his glass and half in mine. “It’s really slow before dinner.’’

She glanced around the almost empty room, and then stared pointedly at the empty chair. Jason jumped up to pull it out.

“That’s a good boy,’’ Angel said.

He beamed, like the classroom screw-up who’d just managed to impress the teacher.

When she’d settled herself, she looked me in the eyes. Hers were sharp, assessing. I couldn’t quite place her accent, but it definitely wasn’t local. Up north, somewhere. I got right to the point, asking her about Kenny.

“Sure, I’ve seen him around. Nice guy; sells insurance. He doesn’t seem like much of a golfer, though.’’ She turned to Jason. “You know him. He uses a set of beat-up Callaways. He’s got a big pickup with mud flaps and a No. 3 for Dale Earnhardt on the rear window.’’

Jason looked through some sliding glass doors to the lighted parking lot beyond. The grilles of a couple of Lexuses and a Mini Cooper pointed toward the clubhouse. Kenny’s Ford F-350 would stick out in that lot like a fat man at an organic restaurant.

“Oh, yeah: Ken,’’ he finally said. “He’s got a terrible left hook.’’

Not knowing a hook from a slice, I brought the conversation back to my purpose. “Do you know who he plays golf with out here? My sister’s married to him, and she suspects somebody he’s been hanging around with owes him a lot of money he doesn’t want to tell her about.’’

I’d learned most people are more comfortable poking their noses into problems about money than love.

“I really dig the way you talk,’’ Angel blurted out. Under lashes thick with mascara, her eyes were wide and interested. “That little ol’ country gal accent is so adorable.’’

I think I was still in diapers the last time someone called me adorable. It’s not a word usually applied to a woman who stomps around in work boots wrestling nuisance critters.

“Thanks,’’ I said. “But back to Kenny …”

She lowered her voice to a seductive purr: “You know, I’ve always wanted to taste something country fresh.’’

“Down, girl!’’ Jason slapped playfully at her wrist.

The glare she gave him did not seem playful. With a contrite look, he stood and shoved his offending hand into a pocket. “I need to get back to the pro shop. Watch out for Angel, Mace. She’s a devil.’’

I had no doubt he was right. “Wait a minute,” I said as he walked away. “What about Kenny?’’

“Can’t tell you much.’’ He spoke over his shoulder. “He usually just picks up a game when somebody’s short a player. Sometimes, he fills in for a threesome with our potty-mouthed mayor.’’

The mayor? I was so surprised, I choked on my Coke. An errant swallow started a coughing fit, which didn’t subside until Jason was back at the cash register in the pro shop. Angel handed me a napkin.

“Do you know anything about that?’’ I finally managed to ask.

“The mayor?”

I nodded, the napkin pressed to my lips.

“Tosses his clubs and swears like a sailor whenever he makes a bad shot, which is a lot.’’

“I meant about him and Kenny.”

She shrugged. “Neither of them is a very good player, so they’re evenly matched. It’s just a round of golf. It’s not like they’re best friends. At least I don’t think they are. I barely know your brother-in-law.’’

My mind refused to form an image of Kenny golfing with Himmarshee’s mayor. Then again, I hadn’t been able to picture him cheating on my sister or wearing that plaid tam-o’-shanter cap, either.

“The mayor’s wife comes out here a lot, too,’’ Angel said. “Her book group meets right over there.’’ She nodded at a round table for ten in the center of the dining room. Couples were beginning to filter in for dinner.

“She runs the group?’’ I asked.

Angel raised her brows. “Have you met Mrs. In-Charge?’’

“’Nuff said.’’

“She’s always spouting off about some ‘important’ book, tossing around a lot of big words like character arc and narrative tension. I don’t understand half of what she says. Of course, that could be because …’’ She cocked back her head and made the hand motion for drinking.

“She’s a boozer?’’ I asked.

“Big time. And the more she drinks, the more she likes to hear herself talk.’’ Angel took a swallow of Coke from the glass Jason left. “I’m not much for reading anyway. My dad always used to say street smarts are better than book smarts.’’

“They aren’t mutually exclusive. Reading’s not just a way to learn about things, it’s a great way to escape reality. Get into an imaginary world.’’

“I don’t need to escape. How about you, Mace? Do you like to try new things? Escape your usual world?’’ Her voice had gone all low again. She reached across the table and stroked my wrist.

I pulled away and held up my hand to display the ring Carlos gave me. “I’m engaged.’’

“That’s all right. Maybe your fiancé would like to come out here and play, too?’’

I suspected she wasn’t talking about golf. Ducking her question, I looked at my watch. Those sharp eyes of hers didn’t miss the gesture. She pushed back her chair and stood.

“My shift’s over. The dinner crew is coming on, and I’m going home. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.’’

Her apology sounded more reflexive than genuine. I dug in my pocket; found a damp ten-dollar bill. I put it on her tray. “Keep the change.’’

Her face lit up. No smirk or seduction now. It was the first truly happy smile I’d seen from her. Money was clearly a strong motivator for Angel Fox.

ten

After I left the bar, I roamed around a bit, waiting to see if Kenny would wander in to the country club. I perused some golf-related art: a bronze sculpture of two old-timey looking players, bags slung over their shoulders; framed posters of greens and fairways at legendary courses; portraits of famous golfers from Ben Hogan to Bubba Watson.

I checked out the driving range, and then made a pit stop in the ladies’ locker room. Its plush carpet was Kelly green, patterned with miniature golf balls and clubs. The place was immaculate. I didn’t detect a whiff of sweat. It smelled sweet, like vanilla candles and maraschino cherries. The sink countertop offered an array of folded hand towels, fancy body lotion, and complimentary combs. I popped one into my purse, preparation for the next morning I left the house without remembering to brush my hair.

Outside, I caught up with a few phone calls. I confirmed with Mama that I’d see her for church in the morning; and then checked on Maddie. Kenny still hadn’t come home. According to my wristwatch, I’d been killing time for at least forty-five minutes. If Kenny planned to show later, I’d have to miss him. Carlos and I had dinner plans.

On the way to my car in the parking lot, I glanced in through oversized windows and saw the dinner crowd. The women were tanned and tight, wearing lots of makeup and jewelry. The men slapped backs and downed dark whiskey from rocks glasses. Angel was still behind the bar. When she saw me staring, she ducked her head, and got busy polishing a brandy snifter.

I kept walking. So her shift wasn’t over after all. Big deal. She wasn’t the first worker dependent on tips to tell a customer a convenient lie. I decided to turn and give her a friendly wave, signaling no hard feelings. When I did, I saw she’d lifted her face to watch me leave. Her eyes were slits; her expression was arctic.

For some reason, an image of the gator my cousin and I had wrestled out of the golf course pond flitted into my mind. I wondered whether another of the big reptiles had moved in to take his place. At least in the wild, you know which animals are predators and which are prey. Unlike people, they don’t have the capacity to conceal their true nature.

_____

Carlos’s phone rang. He answered, listened for a bit, and then eyed me warily.

“I need to take this outside,’’ he said to the caller. Tucking the phone protectively to his chest, he turned from me and walked out the kitchen to the back door. I heard it shut. A few moments later, there came an indistinct murmur from the farthest corner of his apartment’s courtyard.

Jeez. A girl eavesdropped a few times, and he never let her forget it.

Surveying the table, I spooned up the last flecks of a custardy flan from a dessert bowl. Those flecks and crumbs from a loaf of Cuban bread were all that remained of the yummy supper he’d had waiting when I arrived. Bowls of thick garbanzo bean soup, fried plantains, and a cup of café con leche. I was so stuffed I felt like a hot water bottle filled to bursting. I trundled off my kitchen chair and into the living room, intent upon collapsing on the couch.

A framed, vintage travel poster of Cuba held a place of honor on the main room’s wall. A hefty cigar rested in an ashtray; a treat Carlos allowed himself a couple of times a week. Photos of family members were displayed on a small table next to the couch: His grandfather, on horseback at the cattle ranch the family owned before Fidel Castro took power. Carlos’s older brother, who died in a tragic accident when the two were just boys. His parents, standing on an airport tarmac facing an uncertain future as Cuban exiles. His beloved grandmother, cooking picadillo in Carlos’s Miami kitchen.

There were photos of Carlos in police uniform in Miami, but no pictures of his late wife. That loss may still have been too painful for him to remember.

The door slammed shut. I heard the hollow thud of his shoes hitting the tiled floor in the hallway. By the time he made it to the living room, I was stretched out on the couch with my feet on a pillow and the button at the waist of my work pants undone.

“Comfortable?’’ he asked with a grin.

“Like a pig in slop.’’ I shifted a bit on the couch and patted the space beside me. “Was that call about the girl we found dead at the dump?’’

He groaned.

“What? I’m just wondering if you’ve had any breaks in the case.’’

“You mean have I solved it yet? This is only the second day.’’

“I’m not criticizing, Carlos. I’m just wondering if you’ve found out any more about how she got there. You managed to identify her pretty quickly.’’

“Her purse with the wallet still in it was under the body. Can we talk about something else?’’

“So between that and the bracelet, we know it wasn’t robbery.’’

“Mace!’’

“Okay, okay.’’ I picked up the remote. “You want to watch TV?’’

He shook his head. “Is there any flan left?’’

“Uhmm … sorry.’’

“I’ll forgive you for eating my share of the dessert if you get off your butt and help me clean up.’’ He patted my stomach. “Maybe it’ll burn off some of those extra calories you scarfed down.’’

I waggled my eyebrows at him. “I know another way to burn calories. And it’s a lot more fun.’’

I tugged at his belt. He nestled closer and kissed me.

“Well, I guess cleaning the kitchen can wait,’’ he said, his dark eyes smoldering.

_____

Later, Carlos handed me a water glass. I dried it, and put it away in the kitchen cabinet. His glasses were arranged neatly by size, like Little Leaguers in a team picture. The first time I was at his apartment, I was impressed that he had a full set of dinnerware and glasses made of actual glass. The guys I’d been used to dating had nothing in their cabinets but oversized plastic cups from McDonald’s and a motley assortment of foam beer huggies. You don’t show up as a shirtless suspect on Cops without drinking a lot of beer.

He handed me a clean plate, the last one. The drain in the sink made a sucking sound as the dishwater disappeared. “Want some more coffee?’’

“Naw, I need to get some sleep. I promised Mama I’d take her to church in the morning, and she gets really upset when I snore in the pew.’’

“Will you see your sisters afterwards?’’

Carlos knew they wouldn’t be in church, since Marty was a practicing Buddhist, and Maddie found Mama’s religion a bit too heart-on-your-sleeve-Christian. She preferred the more restrained worship at the Methodist church. Thinking about Maddie made me worry again about what Kenny was up to.

“Mace?’’

I realized I was still standing there next to the sink, holding the wet plate. It dripped onto the tail of the white dress shirt Carlos had loaned me to wear to bed. After we made love, we’d showered and changed into nightclothes.

I swiped the dish towel across the dinner plate, and placed it in the cabinet on the top of a same-sized stack of china.

“I think I will have a bit more coffee,’’ I said, holding up my thumb and forefinger, an inch or two apart. “Un poco café, with lots of leche.’’

Once I had my milky coffee, we sat at the table. The spoon clinked softly as I stirred, staring at a calendar on the refrigerator. It was only six days until Kenny’s party.

“Is everything okay, niña? You seem distracted.’’

Carlos looked across the table, his eyes warm with kindness and concern. I’d seen every kind of emotion in those eyes: dark with anger; burning with desire; narrowed in suspicion. But for some reason, it was the kindness that really did me in. I’m sure Kenny must have looked at Maddie that way a million times. It made me feel like crying.

Instead, I blew on the café con leche to cool it. “I’ve got some bad news about Maddie’s husband, Kenny.’’

“Is he sick?’’

“Yeah, sick of being married. He’s cheating on her.’’

“No way!’’

“Yep. She’s asked me to nose around and see what I can find out about who he’s running around with.’’ I sipped at the coffee. “It’s a secret, Carlos. You can’t tell anyone. And for God’s sake, don’t say anything to Mama.’’

He added another spoonful of sugar to his espresso-sized cup, a cafecito. “I’m a detective. I’m used to keeping secrets.’’

I smiled at him. “You can say that again!’’

We drank, sitting comfortably together in the kitchen. The clock ticked on the wall. A drip of water fell from the faucet. I’ve never been one to fill in a silence with chatter. Fortunately, Carlos was the same way. I thought about what he said about keeping secrets.

“What do you suppose was the murder victim’s secret?’’ I finally asked.

He shook his head, lips pressed tightly together above the rim of his cup.

“I mean, a librarian? Dressed up like that? Who’d imagine it?’’

“Who indeed?’’ He sipped his coffee.

“It’s not like I’m interested in the case. I didn’t even know the woman. I’m just curious how she wound up like she did. Dressed like that? Strangled?’’

When Carlos didn’t answer, I lifted the top off the sugar bowl and peered inside. It needed more sugar. No surprise. He was as big

of a sweet freak as I was.

“And now,’’ I continued, “with Kenny cheating? It just makes me wonder the kinds of things people hide; even people you see every day.’’

Carlos put his cup down. “Everybody is hiding something, niña.’’

“I’m not. What you see is what you get with me.’’

He gave a short laugh. “Really? You may think of yourself as no-nonsense and straightforward, but you’re a bundle of hidden motives and contradictions.’’

“I am not!’’ I said, insulted.

“Are too.’’

“For example?’’

He brushed a bit of hair from my face; caressed my cheek. “Just look at how long it took you to admit you wanted to be with me.’’

“Ha! I think I made it pretty clear I wanted to be with you, almost from the first minute I saw you. Well, as soon as you let Mama out of jail, anyway.”

“I’m not talking about sex.’’

“Really? That’s too bad.’’

He smiled—that slow, sultry smile that always knocked me off balance. “Well, we can talk about sex.’’ Holding gently to my wrist, he raised my left hand. The light over the kitchen table caught the diamond on the engagement ring. “But only if you admit first you played games and kept secrets before you accepted this.’’

I was silent, watching the ring as it sparkled and gleamed. The sight, a symbol of our commitment, still gave me a thrill. But now it was tinged with another emotion, some niggling fear that burrowed like a tick into my happiness.

It was Kenny’s fault for hurting my sister. For betraying her love. I’d always looked up to the two of them as a perfect couple, everything a long and happy marriage should be. If he could cheat on Maddie, anything could go wrong with any couple. Even Carlos and me.

“Mace?’’ He released my wrist. “You were going to confess?’’

The question in his voice brought me back to the kitchen table, to the present. To the future, with Carlos.

“Okay, I admit it. I wasn’t entirely upfront about my feelings for you. I’m not even sure I was telling the truth to myself.’’

“Now, that’s what I like to hear, you admitting to having a bundle of secrets!’’

His kiss was slow; sweet. When we drew apart, he traced the line of my lips with his finger. He continued, following a well-traveled trail down my chin, along my neck and down, down, to the buttons of the shirt I’d borrowed. I melted. He moaned.

“And now …” His fingers were performing magic beneath the cotton fabric of the shirt. “Now, I think we can talk about sex.’’

Threading my fingers into his thick hair, I pulled his face to my breasts.

“Talk?’’ I said. “That’s all? You know, we wouldn’t want anyone to accuse us of being all talk and no action.’’

With that, we got down to action.

eleven

Morning sunlight streamed through the window in Carlos’s kitchen. He whistled, scrambling eggs on the stove. I handed him the bowl of cheddar cheese I’d grated. Carefully, he extracted small pinches and sprinkled it over the eggs so that no section got more or less than any other section. I grinned at him.

“It’s not surgery, Carlos. I usually just toss it all in there. It gets scrambled up anyway.’’

“Anything worth doing is worth doing correctly.’’

“Right.’’

“Exactly. That’s what I said.’’

“No, the saying is …”

Right, correctly. What difference did it make? Maybe the idiom was off a tad, but the meaning was clear. I lined up little slices of cherry tomatoes across the eggs, as neat as columns of numbers. I was rewarded with a knowing smile from Carlos.

“Now you’re getting the hang of it.’’

I set the table and then took a seat while he popped bread from the toaster and plated our breakfast. When he placed the eggs in front of me with a waiter’s flourish, I got a warm feeling in my stomach. I don’t think it was just hunger, either. I felt taken care of. Content.

“I could get used to this.’’

“Careful, Mace. I might take that to mean you want us to move in together.’’

Suddenly, the warm feeling in my gut tightened into a knot. It was too soon. I wasn’t ready. We’d only been engaged two months. Who knew whether it would last between us? When Maddie and Kenny wed, hadn’t she thought her marriage would last forever? Until death do us part.

The familiar words from the wedding vows made me think of the murdered woman, Camilla. No doubt she was not ready for death to take her. I saw her lifeless body in my mind’s eye, discarded and left to decay in the dump. I stared at my untouched food.

“Is something wrong? Your eggs are getting cold,’’ Carlos said.

“It looks great.’’ I took a couple of bites, pushed the food around my plate. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was. Maybe I ate too much garbanzo bean soup last night.’’

“Not to mention more than your share of flan.’’

Outside the window, a cloud passed over the sun. The kitchen fell into shadow. What was wrong with me? I had a good man, who’d just cooked my Sunday morning breakfast. So why was I obsessing about a murdered woman? Why was I feeling trapped?

“Look at the time,’’ I said, glancing at the kitchen clock. “I’ve got to get home to change into church clothes.’’

“So soon? You’ve barely eaten a thing.’’

I scooped the eggs onto my toast and made a sandwich. “I’ll finish it on the drive home.’’

“We’ve got to talk, Mace.’’

Thankfully, his cell phone rang at that moment, saving me from having to explain my mood change. How could I do that when I didn’t understand it myself? He grabbed his phone from the kitchen counter and checked the caller ID.

“I should take this.’’

I’ll call you. I mouthed the words, hand-signaling a phone to my ear.

He answered his cell, and then burst into rapid-fire Spanish. I couldn’t comprendo a word. Even as he spoke to the caller, he held up a wait-a-minute finger to me. His puzzled frown followed me as I walked toward the door.

_____

The music minister at Mama’s church hit the first chords on his portable piano. “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.’’ I hoped that was true, because I felt a bit short on the friend front that morning. I was playing games with a man who loved me. I’d already insulted both Mama and Sal. And I’d slipped up and called the pastor by the wrong name.

Even the little boy in the pew beside me pinched me on the thigh when I slid in and gave his head a friendly pat. It wasn’t shaping up as my best Sunday morning ever.

We were still standing outside on the sidewalk before services at Abundant Forgiveness Love & Charity Chapel when Mama started sniping about my fashion missteps.

“Is that the only clean blouse you had in your closet, Mace?’’ She picked some lint off my wrinkled collar. “You know what I always say about black fabric: It picks up everything but men and money. Not to mention, it’s more appropriate for a funeral than for Sunday worship.’’

I took in her watermelon-colored pantsuit, accessorized with dangly earrings and bangle bracelets in the same shade of reddish-pink as her scarf. And Mama was calling me out on my wardrobe choices? I lifted her fingers off my collar.

“My blouse is navy blue.’’

“Uh-huh.’’ Mama dug around in her purse, and then held out her tube of Apricot Ice. “Here you go, honey. This won’t make up for that nest of knots in your hair … did you even brush it this morning? But it will perk up your complexion a bit. I wish you’d listen to me when I tell you that those drab shades aren’t your best choice. You should be wearing the vibrant colors from Color Me Gorgeous’s winter palette. ’’

“My complexion is fine.’’ I started to run a hand through my hair. When my fingers snagged in snarls, I realized she was right. “Speaking of color, you’ve got Apricot Ice smeared all over your incisors. I guess your eyes aren’t what they used to be.’’

She whipped out her mirrored compact; rubbed a finger over her teeth. “My eyes are fine, sweetheart. They’re sure good enough to see you got up on the wrong side of the bed today.’’

Sal draped a massive, bear-sized paw over each of our shoulders. I squirmed to get away, but he just drew Mama and me closer. “What’s the problem with my two favorite girls? I want youse two to stop all this fighting. How’s about a kiss to make up?’’

“Jeez, Sal, you smell like a humidor.’’ I waved a hand in front of my nose. “Didn’t you tell Mama you were giving up cigars?’’

His smile faltered, and his grip loosened on my shoulder. He flashed a guilty look at Mama, who was now regarding him through narrowed eyes. Good. Once they got going at each other, I was off the hook. As the minister approached to bid us hello, I had a momentary stab of conscience over stirring up trouble. I think I was breaking that commandment to honor thy father and mother. Or, in my case, thy mother and fourth stepfather. And there we were, right outside God’s house—even if it was a storefront in a strip mall next to the Pork Pit barbecue joint.

“Good morning, Mace.’’ The minister took my hand. “What a pleasure to see you after such a long time.’’

“It hasn’t been all that long, Reverend Idella.’’

Sal smirked. Mama poked me in the side.

“It’s Delilah, dear.’’ She gave my fingers a gentle squeeze before she moved on to greet the next, likely more faithful, member of her flock.