I wondered if her fall had knocked Mama’s eyeballs loose.
“Well, thank you, Rosalee. But I’m fifty pounds too fat and twenty years too old. I’ll be seventy-nine on my next birthday, you know.’’
“I hope you plan something special. Tell me, does Mrs. Abel make a big deal out of your birthdays?’’
I had to admire her technique. Mama probably had Doc in mind for one of her bingo buddies, if he wasn’t married.
“My wife died many years ago,’’ Doc said. “In the year or two after I lost her, I didn’t have the heart to take up with someone else. But the more time that passed, the harder it got to imagine going out and starting all over again with dating and the like. I always kept busy with my work. Now, at my age, who the hell would want me?’’ He chuckled, but his eyes looked sad.
“Didn’t you have any kids? No grandkids?’’ Mama asked.
“My wife and I only had one child. A girl. She died in a car crash up near Holopaw when she was in her twenties. It was such a senseless loss. My wife never really got over it. She got sick herself within eighteen months of our daughter’s death. Cancer. She just didn’t seem to have the desire or the will to fight for her life,’’ he said.
Mama reached over the seat and put a gentle hand on his cheek. Her own cheeks were wet with tears. “Oh, you poor thing. I am so sorry.’’
My eyes felt hot. You never imagine when you meet somebody what kind of private heartache they’ve endured. I wished I could cry, or offer comfort, as naturally as Mama does.
“What was your daughter like, Doc?’’ I questioned him, staying in my emotional safety zone.
A smile lit his face. “She was lovely. And smart, too. She’d just finished college, and planned to follow my footsteps into medical school. She looked a little like Belle Bramble, that same fiery hair. She was just about Belle’s present age when she died. I think that’s why I’ve always been so fond of Belle. She reminds me of my girl, Lilly.’’
Doc seemed happy talking about his daughter. I was just about to ask him another question, when we heard a Bronx honk across the campsite.
“I’m back, Rosie! Maddie’s tent is up and I’ve got just the thing for a pre-dinner snack,’’ Sal yelled, holding up a foil-wrapped paper plate like a trophy. “This coconut cream pie’s got your name on it.’’
Doc opened the car door and eased his bulk outside. “I’ll be on my way, ladies. Maybe I’ll see y’all at dinner. Rosalee, stay off that ankle as much as you can, hear?’’
Sal, eyes twinkling at Mama, said, “Guess that means no dancing tonight, huh Doc? Me and Rosie won’t be cuttin’ a rug?’’
“Not unless you’re doing it with a pair of scissors,’’ Doc laughed.
As he walked away, he whistled that now-familiar tune. Off-key, of course. But as sad as Doc had seemed, it still sounded good.
I watched Sal—plumping Mama’s pillows, replacing her melted ice with a fresh supply. He unwrapped the pie and loaded a bite onto a plastic fork. Then he started feeding her, as if she’d wrenched her wrist and not her foot. It was kind of nauseating, but also sweet.
We’d had our differences, Sal and I. And the sound of that New Yawk accent still grated on my Southern ears. But he took such good care of Mama, treating her as if she were a pack of precious jewels. And Mama clearly loved being cosseted. Between bites, she beamed at Sal as if he were George Clooney and Brad Pitt rolled into one. And he beamed right back.
I wondered if I’d ever find someone who cared for me like that? And if I did, would I ever let him show it?
Mama’s accident, or her pre-dinner snack, didn’t ruin her appetite.
All that was left from her fried catfish was a pile of bones. She’d plowed through grits, coleslaw, and hush puppies, too. Now, she tucked into her first slice of after-dinner pie. A second slice waited on deck. With her fork almost to her mouth, the morsel stalled in midair.
“Well, look at you! Aren’t you sweet.’’ She smiled at the big-bottomed cowgirl, who had come bearing more dessert.
“I thought this might make you feel better after that awful spill you took.’’ The cowgirl glanced uncertainly at the brownie she was carrying.
“Well, honey, sweets are just the ticket when you’ve had the kind of day I had. You never can have too many, that’s what I always say,’’ Mama reassured her.
Putting down her fork, she grabbed the brownie and plate from the cowgirl. She slid it onto an upended log beside her, next to the pie and three homemade chocolate chip cookies. If folks kept bringing treats, Mama could open a bakery right here in the woods.
Visitors had streamed by continuously. Some cared; most were just curious to see how she’d fared in her ill-fated race on Shotgun. We heard the horse was okay, except for a few bee stings.
Later, a songwriter who bills himself as a performer of Florida Cracker Soul was slated to sing and play guitar. Sal and my sisters had gone to scope out seats. I was keeping Mama company until she finished eating—which, at this rate, might be at midnight.
She invited her latest well-wisher to sit with us by the fire in Sal’s vacant camp chair.
“I hate to be nosy.’’ The cowgirl settled into the seat. “But we’ve been hearing all sorts of awful things about what’s been happening to you or your daughters.’’
She glanced at me. I made my face a mask. I wasn’t about to discuss our business with this stranger. Mama, of course, had no such reluctance.
“Oh, my yes!’’ she said, taking a quick swallow of pie. “It’s been one strange thing after another ever since my middle daughter Mace and I found poor Lawton’s body. This here is Mace.’’ Mama leaned over to brush my bangs out of my eyes.
I jerked away, and then exchanged a nod with the cowgirl.
Mama began to tick off the events of the past few days on her fingers: “First, someone takes a knife and shreds poor Mace’s sleeping bag and her tent.’’
The cowgirl looked at me and gasped. I stared into the fire.
“Oh, don’t worry, honey. Mace wasn’t in it at the time.’’ Mama held up another finger.
“Second, Mace’s horse got hit with a cow whip, and ran her right into the path of a semi-truck hauling grapefruit.’’
“Oranges, Mama,’’ I corrected.
The woman looked at me, eyes as round as silver dollars. “I heard it was Trey Bramble’s girlfriend that did that,’’ she said.
When I didn’t reply, Mama cupped her hand to her mouth and whispered, “Ex-girlfriend, honey. Her name’s Austin. And that little tramp claims it was an accident.’’
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at Mama. She ignored me. I knew it was useless to ask her to stop. She’s the Niagara Falls of gossip.
Just then, I saw Sal, Marty, and Maddie heading our way from the other side of the fire. Happily, I’d be relieved of my nursemaid duties. I pushed myself up from the ground. “I’m going for a walk.’’
Mama gave me a small wave, and then raised another finger for the cowgirl. “Third, my youngest, Marty, nearly got bitten by a rattlesnake.’’
The cowgirl got closer, eyes gleaming. “And that good-looking guy from Miamuh killed it just in the nick of time, right?’’ she asked.
I tried so hard to keep my mouth shut, I bit a chunk out of the inside of my jaw.
“Oh, heavens no, honey,’’ I heard Mama saying as I stalked away from the fire. “Carlos is afraid of snakes.’’
At least she didn’t give him the credit. I paused to see what she’d say next.
“And then No. 4, as you know, was that terrifying ride I took today on Shotgun.’’ Lowering her voice dramatically, she launched into her well-rehearsed monologue. “That horse and I were just standing there as pretty as you please, when all of a sudden . . .’’
I kicked a rotten log as I left. It felt good to see it shatter into bits.
“Where you going, Mace?’’ Marty called after me.
“Oh, let her go, honey. She’s been in a sour mood a
ll night,’’ Mama said, raising her voice to carry my way. “I mean, really. I’m the one who should be cranky. I’m the one nursing cuts and bruises and a broken ankle.’’
“Sprained ankle!’’ I yelled over my shoulder.
The night was clear and getting colder. I zipped my fleece vest over my long-sleeved turtleneck. The temperature wasn’t expected to plummet like it had earlier in the week, but the air still had a nip. I might be grateful for our crowded tent tonight, even if Maddie did snore like a diesel engine.
Using my flashlight, I collected some small rocks and found a log to sit on by a cow pond. Stars twinkled. A night hawk swooped low in search of prey. I started tossing the pebbles into the water. With each plopp, I counted another reason I had to be pissed off. The biggest reason, of course, was that my family and I had somehow become targets. That was the hardest one to understand. I didn’t know who was after us. I didn’t know why. And I didn’t know how to stop them.
But I had plenty more reasons to be upset, and plenty more rocks.
Plopp: My inability to say or do the right thing around Carlos. Plopp: Mama’s compulsion to tell our family business to anyone with ears. Plopp: My perverse desire to keep things private, but to get the credit due me as long as Mama was going to blab.
Everyone assumed Carlos had rescued Marty, which pissed me off. The man had never even seen a Florida Cracker cow whip before this trip. Then he compounded his offense by trying to push me out of the way when Mama got hurt. Of course, most normal women would be grateful for the help of a man who seemed to care about her family. Most women, that is, who aren’t crazy control freaks. I hated the way he always took over, like I was some weakling.
Wrapped up in a self-righteous funk, I didn’t hear someone approaching until a voice made me jump.
“Now, there’s what I always loved about you, Mace: That sunny smile.’’
“Very funny, Carlos.’’ I could feel the frown wrinkling my brow.
“Your mother told me you’d gone off to sulk in the woods. She told me to look for water, and I’d find you.’’ He cupped my chin and tipped my face up to his. “C’mon, niña, it can’t be that bad.’’
“Oh, it’s bad all right.’’ I knocked his hand away. “And don’t call me niña.’’
He lowered himself to the log beside me. “Okay, I’ll call you niño, then. But anyone who speaks Spanish is going to wonder why I’m calling you boy instead of girl.’’ He brought his face close to mine, breath warm on my cheek. “No one would ever mistake you for a boy,’’ he whispered.
A shudder of desire nearly knocked me off the log. My skin burned where the side of his thigh touched mine. My mind spun with fantasies of me tearing off his clothes; of him pushing me onto the ground and having his way. For a control freak, I had an appalling lack of control over how much I wanted him. I felt like I was on fire. I lowered the zipper on my vest.
Plopp.
Before I could say or do something stupid, I scooted over on the log to put some space between Carlos and me. We’d tried the couple thing. It didn’t work, for either of us. Now, I could read the amusement in his eyes, even in the lantern light. I decided to extinguish that arrogant smirk by doing the one thing he’d never expect.
“Listen, I wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I acted today. Thank you for trying to help Mama. I was a jerk for pushing you out of the way.’’
If the night had even a breath of air in it, it would have knocked him on his ass. He actually sputtered before he choked out a response to my apology. “You’re welcome.’’
As long as I was doing the unexpected, I decided to go for broke.
“What’s up between you and Austin, Carlos? I won’t argue that the girl is gorgeous, but she doesn’t seem like your type.’’
He raised his eyebrows at me. “I didn’t know you cared.’’
“I’m not saying I care,’’ I lied. “I just don’t want to see her do you the way she’s done Trey. That girl is trouble, amigo.’’
He picked up one of the pebbles from my pile and skipped it across the water.
“She’s not all bad, Mace. She left the trail for a couple of days to go home and take care of her sick grandmother,’’ he said. “But as long as we’re speaking of people who are trouble, you and Trey seem like pretty good friends.’’
His tone gave away nothing; his face was a blank. I decided to stop playing games.
“Listen, I’m going to be honest with you,’’ I said. “Trey was the king of my high school, way out of my league. He was gorgeous and popular, and he could have any girl he chose. I won’t lie: I was flattered when he started flirting with me on this ride. But I don’t feel for him the same way I felt . . .’’ I paused, my eyes on the ground.
Now that I was into it, I wasn’t sure I wanted to confess. Honesty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
“The same way you felt about what?’’ he prodded, his body as still as the night.
About you, I wanted to say. I don’t feel about Trey the way I did about you.
Instead, I found some words I could hide behind. “I just don’t feel right about Trey,’’ I finally said.
“Well, that’s good to know,’’ Carlos released the pebble he’d been holding, firing it into the pond. “I’m not sure I feel right about Trey either. So, would you like me to tell you a secret now?’’
I nodded, not lifting my face.
“I’m not the least bit interested in Austin,’’ he said. “You’re the one who raised my suspicions about her, about how she might be responsible for vandalism and maybe more. Who knows? She may even be tied to Lawton’s death. I want information from her, and I’m trying to get it.’’ Another pebble sailed into the water. “It’s called police work, Mace.’’
I felt like someone had just handed me a hundred-dollar birthday check with a slice of chocolate cake on the side. I even overlooked his tutoring tone.
“Well, have you found out anything?’’ I asked, raising my eyes to his.
“No. She’s actually smarter than she seems.’’ He dropped the rest of the rocks onto the ground and brushed his hands on his jeans. “She prattles on and acts the fool. But she never gives much away.’’
“Well, see if you can find out whether she really is a novice when it comes to cracking the cow whip. I don’t believe for a minute she accidentally hit my poor horse.’’
“Yes, ma’am.’’ Carlos saluted me, but he was smiling as he did. “Any other tips to help me improve my interrogation technique?’’
I traced the ridges of the bark on the oak log where we sat. I watched moths beat themselves against the glass dome of the lantern.
“Well, there is one thing I’d like to know about interrogations,’’ I finally said.
“And what would that be?’’
“Do you ever have to kiss a subject like Austin to get her to tell you what she knows?’’
He put a hand to each side of my face and pulled me closer. “Do you mean like this?’’ his lips brushed over my eyelids, first one and then the other. “Or like this?’’ He brought the full pressure of his mouth against mine.
“Yes, like that,’’ I murmured, tasting his tongue.
“No, I’ve never kissed a subject like this,’’ he said, as he nipped gently at my bottom lip.
“Good,’’ I said, tugging at the buttons on his shirt as I drew his body to mine. “Because I don’t think that’s standard police procedure.’’
___
Belle’s hair gleamed like polished copper in the firelight. A camera around her neck, she sat with Trey on the ground by Mama. As I came into the clearing, Maddie pointed her chin at the beer can in Trey’s hand. Beside her, Marty gave me a shake of her head and a sad expression.
“Well, there you are, honey,’’ Mama called. “We were starting to think a gator crawled out of a pond and got you. What in the world have you been doing for all this time in the woods?’’
I hoped there wasn’t enough light for the
m to see me blush.
“Just sitting,’’ I lied.
Maddie raised her eyebrows. “Your vest is inside out, Mace.’’
“It’s reversible, Maddie,’’ I lied again.
Carlos and I cut our woodsy interlude short because he’d promised to play poker with a couple of retired Miami cops now living near Sebring. I returned to the campfire alone.
“Shouldn’t we be getting over to hear the Cracker songwriter?’’ I said, changing the subject. “We don’t want to miss any of his new songs.’’
Sal said, “The guy who plays bass with him got a flat tire on the way here. They’re going to start late. The fire’s nice and warm. Why don’t you have a seat with us while we wait?’’
Five sets of eyes looked up at me, all except for Trey’s. His hat was pulled down low, and he held onto that beer like it was an anchor in a fast current.
Belle gave me a friendly smile. “Please, Mace. Do sit down.’’
Her voice was strong; her eyes clear. Whatever she’d been taking last night, she wasn’t taking it now. I took a seat on the ground.
“I didn’t get the chance to thank you for coming to look for me last night in the cypress stand,’’ she said
She glanced quickly at Trey, who didn’t seem to notice.
“Don’t mention it, Belle. I know y’all are having a rough time. Anything I can do to help, I’m glad to.’’
“Oh, I’m sure you are,’’ Trey said, his words slurred by booze and what sounded like spite.
“Excuse me?’’ I said to him.
He pushed the hat back on his head so he could look at me. Tonight, it was Trey and not his sister who seemed to have trouble focusing. “I was just sayin’ I’m sure you’d be glad to help, if only you could tear yourself away from that smart-ass cop from Miamuh.’’
Sal cleared his throat. Marty started fooling with the laces on her boots. Maddie, principal-style, said, “There’s no excuse for foul language, Trey.’’
I started to defend myself when Marty caught my eye. Very subtly, she put a finger to her lips.
Belle said, “I apologize for my brother, Mace. Trey and I cut through the woods on our way here. We saw you and Detective Martinez . . .’’ She searched for the right word, “talking.’’
Mama Rides Shotgun Page 16
