Mama Rides Shotgun

by Deborah Sharp

  My mind raced. Sleep seemed impossible. Disjointed thoughts and images galloped through my brain. Lawton’s body, the chili cup, and Wynonna. Wynonna with Trey. Now, Johnny and Wynonna. I’d been half-kidding when I proposed that she was addicted to sex. But maybe she was. Had she also had a thing going with old Doc Abel?

  I thought of Doc, whistling in the woods. Then an image of him collapsed in the clearing, a bullet in his gut, pushed into my head. I saw Mama, lying still and broken in the dirt. Austin’s whip snapped at Val, and I stared head-on at a semi-truck. Marty stood, paralyzed with fear, as a rattlesnake prepared to strike. Trey and me. Carlos and Belle. Belle at peace with her camera.

  I heard Marty sleeping beside me, her breath soft and even. No snores from Maddie yet.

  “Pssst,’’ I whispered. “You awake, Sister?’’

  She twisted in her sleeping bag toward me. “I feel like a sausage stuffed in a nylon casing, and this ground is like granite. Of course I’m awake,’’ Maddie grumbled.

  “What do you think will happen tomorrow?’’

  “I imagine we’ll get through the day. Then we’ll return our horses and the three of us will squeeze into my car and we’ll head home.’’

  Maddie’s tone was practical; matter-of-fact. I didn’t buy it.

  “So you don’t think anything bad will happen?’’

  She was quiet for a long time.

  “I pray it won’t, Mace,’’ she finally said. “Now, try to get some sleep, Sister. We’ve got an early morning to make Fort Pierce.’’

  I lay there, awake, until Maddie dozed off and began to snore. She started quiet, and then got going loud enough to shake the stakes in the ground. She was definitely Mama’s daughter.

  I fumbled in the corner for my boots. That’s where I’d stashed my ear plugs so I could find them easily in the dark. I plucked out my watch: seven minutes past one.

  The night was still, aside from Maddie’s snores. The air in the tent felt close, stinking of mildew and horse hair. I peered at Marty’s face. She looked peaceful, untroubled. I hoped she was dreaming of butterscotch pie. Maddie’s mouth was creased in a frown. I wondered if she was worried about the parade, or just scolding some eighth-grader in her dream.

  Every so often, voices crackled in the distance over police radios. Sheriff Roberts’ deputies still combed the camp, looking for the weapon used to shoot Doc. I planned to speak to the sheriff before we left, tell him what I knew about Lawton’s widow and her various liaisons. Trey should have had enough time by then to confess to Belle about his wicked ways with their stepmother.

  Surely, given everything that had happened since Lawton died, there’d now be an autopsy to prove what killed him. It may not have been the chili in the cup we’d found, but I was certain it wasn’t a heart attack. And I was at least halfway certain Wynonna was involved.

  I shifted, trying to get comfortable. Maddie was right about the ground. Had it been that hard when we were kids? Hoots of laughter drifted over from somebody’s camp. I wondered who was still up, and what was so damn funny. A dog howled. A whip cracked.

  I looked at my watch again. One twenty-three. Jeez. Give the cow whip a rest.

  As if in answer, the loud pop came again. Funny how much it sounded like a gunshot.

  I waited at the mule wagons in a fragrant cloud of roses, vanilla, and a hint of butterscotch toffee. Mama insisted on dousing me for my sunrise photo session with her favorite perfume. I smelled like a florist sharing space with a candy factory inside a horse stable.

  “Trust me, Mace,’’ Mama had said. “Carlos won’t be able to resist you when you smell so sweet.’’

  I wasn’t sure about Carlos. But the closest mule sneezed as I drew near.

  For the photos, I’d chosen my last clean shirt. Denim, of course, which Marty claimed brought out the blue of my eyes. Even Maddie contributed, tying a bandana at a jaunty angle inside my collar.

  “It’ll hide the dirt creases on your neck,’’ she said.

  I glanced at my watch. Again. Six-forty a.m. Belle had said she’d bring Carlos. We were supposed to meet at six-thirty. Just as I was wondering if I’d been duped, she called my name.

  I turned, and my heart sank. Belle’s face was full of pity. She was alone; and she didn’t have her camera. I cursed Mama’s stupid cologne and the jaunty neckerchief. I smeared the back of my hand over my mouth to wipe off the lipstick Marty applied. I felt like a perfect fool.

  “Listen, Mace, I’m so sorry.’’

  Belle looked at me like I was six years old and she had to break the news that my puppy just died. She put a hand on my wrist. I shook it off.

  “It’s fine. I didn’t want my picture taken anyway. Plus, I left my sisters with all the work of getting the horses ready. I better get on back to help them break down camp.’’

  I hoped she wouldn’t hear the tears trying to force themselves into my throat.

  “I tried really hard to talk Carlos into coming, Mace.’’ Belle, too, seemed on the verge of crying. “He just flat-out refused. He’s very stubborn.’’

  Was that supposed to make me feel better? I wondered if Carlos asked about me, or even bothered to make up an excuse. But I was too proud to find out.

  As if she read my mind, Belle said, “For what it’s worth, I think he still cares about you. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he just walk over here, smile, let me shoot a few photos, and then walk away? I think it hurts him too much to be around you.’’

  When I still hadn’t spoken, she said, “Do you want me to tell him anything?’’

  I shook my head, not trusting my voice.

  “All right, then. I’m really sorry, Mace.’’ She rested her hand on my arm again. This time I left it there. “Maybe you two will iron things out once you get back to Himmarshee. I hope so, anyway.’’

  Me, too, I thought as I nodded. Still I said nothing.

  “Goodbye then.’’ Belle patted my arm and then dropped her hand, looking at me with kind eyes. “Maybe we’ll see each other again after the ride.’’

  The next time I’d see Belle would likely be at her daddy’s funeral. The thought sobered me up quick. Here was a woman mourning that kind of loss, and she was comforting me over boyfriend trouble. I suddenly felt pretty stupid. I found my voice.

  “Thanks, Belle. I know you tried. And you’re right: Carlos is as stubborn as a . . .’’

  The animal closest to us picked just that moment to stamp his foot and shake his harness. Belle looked at him and laughed. Bad as I felt, I had to laugh, too.

  ___

  “Sheriff Roberts?’’ I knocked on the side of the interview camper. “Mind if I come in?’’

  He got up to open the door, rocking the trailer with his weight.

  “I was wondering when I’d hear from you. Weren’t you one of the gals with Ms. Bramble yesterday when I stopped by to talk with her?’’

  “Yessir,’’ I said, feeling that sudden flush of nerves again.

  “I hear you’re some kind of Jessica Fletcher.’’

  “Pardon?’’

  “Murder, She Wrote. On TV?”

  “Oh, yeah.’’ I nodded, politely, I hoped. “I’ve caught a couple of old reruns. It’s not really my kind of show. Doesn’t it seem unrealistic that everywhere that woman goes, someone up and gets killed?’’

  “It’s just TV.’’ He gestured for me to sit across from him at Jack Hollister’s fold-down dining table. “Now, who do you think shot Doc Abel?’’

  Over the next fifteen minutes or so, I told the sheriff everything that had happened before Doc got hurt, beginning with Wynonna finding her husband’s body. I told him how she was involved with Trey, and maybe Johnny, too. I mentioned somebody trying to scare me and my family off after we started asking questions about Lawton’s death.

  “I think Doc knew too much,’’ I wrapped up. “Whoever shot him must have wanted him out of the way.’’

  The toothpick between the sheriff’s lips had barely moved as I spoke.
He listened closely, hardly uttering so much as an “uh-huh,’’ or a “Go on.’’ Finally, he shifted the toothpick.

  “What time do they start serving breakfast at the food trailer?’’

  “Come again?’’ I said.

  “Breakfast,’’ he repeated. “It’s been a long night and I’ve had enough coffee to float a battleship. I need some food in my stomach.’’

  Maybe Carlos was right about Sheriff Roberts.

  “Don’t you want to follow up on any of the leads I’ve given you? Don’t you have any questions?’’

  “Naw,’’ he said. “The hospital called about an hour ago. Doc Abel came through surgery like a champ. The doctors say him making it through the night is a real good sign. As soon as Doc can see us, my chief deputy’s going over to the hospital in Stuart. Doc can tell us himself who put him there.’’

  He leaned in close. His breath smelled like twice-used coffee grounds and toothpick wood.

  “I’d watch my back if I was you, though,’’ he said. “I heard you stole Trey Bramble away from some gal who’s meaner than a pit bull. I’ve seen more deadly violence over jealousy than just about any other reason.’’

  I rose to let myself out. “I’ll keep that in mind, Sheriff.’’

  Just as I opened the door, he said, “Hang on a minute, Mace.’’

  His voice carried an urgency I hadn’t heard before. I turned.

  “What time did you say breakfast was again?’’

  ___

  “Mace, honey, that’s just awful. So Carlos never even got to smell my perfume?’’

  “No, Mama. Not unless he could smell it over at his camp, which he might could have, considering you about emptied the bottle on me. But he never showed for the pictures.’’

  Picking half-heartedly at my breakfast, I related the details of my humiliating morning. It wasn’t even eight a.m., and already I’d been dissed by Carlos and dismissed by Sheriff Roberts.

  “We’re gonna fix things between you two,’’ Marty said.

  “Please don’t,’’ I said. “He already told me our relationship is too complicated. Having the family circus ride to the rescue is the last thing I need.’’

  Maddie said, “I’ll go talk some sense into him.’’

  God, no! I wanted to scream. But all I said was, “I don’t think it would help, Maddie.’’

  She harrumphed. “What about Belle? I bet she was gloating.’’

  “That was the shocking thing,’’ I said. “Belle was really sweet. She felt just about as bad as I did about Carlos standing me up.’’

  Mama’s fork hovered over my plate. “Well, honey, at least you got everything off your chest with the sheriff.’’ She speared a sausage I hadn’t touched. “All you can do is give him the information. It’s his job now to try to make sense of it.’’

  We all glanced toward Sheriff Roberts. He devoured a sausage biscuit in two bites, then gulped down a forklift-load of eggs and pan-fried potatoes with ketchup.

  “Well,’’ Mama said, “maybe not him. I hear his chief deputy is a real hotshot, though. He’s got a criminal justice degree and everything. Poor old Sheriff Roberts should have hung up his holster ten years ago. Let the young blood take over.’’

  “That’s not always easy for the old blood to do,’’ Sal said.

  He’d been quiet, fooling with his beloved cigar case. He lined up his cigars on a log, and then loaded them into the leather case. Then he removed them again. He likes to play with the stogies as much as smoke them.

  He peered inside the empty carrier. Upending it, he shook it hard.

  “My stars and garters, Sally! What are you doing?’’ Mama asked.

  “There’s some tobacco caught underneath one of the seams on the bottom,’’ he said. “I’m trying to get it out.’’

  “It’s a cigar case, Sal. It’s bound to collect tobacco,’’ Maddie said.

  He knocked the carrier against his camp chair, looked inside, then knocked it some more.

  “I know that, Maddie. I want it to be clean!’’

  He hit it firmly against the chair again. I’m sure the final few taps were solely to annoy my big sister.

  I glanced at Mama to see if she thought so, too. Her head was cocked to listen, and she wore a puzzled expression.

  “What?’’ I asked her.

  The expression was gone as quickly as it came. Her blank eyes now focused on me.

  “Nothing,’’ she said. “I was about to think of something important, but then I lost my train of thought. I guess I’m having one of those senior moments a few years early.’’

  “Fuhgeddaboutit, Rosie. You’ll be the world’s sexiest senior citizen.’’ Sal planted a loud, sloppy kiss on Mama’s lips.

  “Ewww,’’ my sisters and I groaned.

  A stiff wind blew off the Indian River, snapping parade flags and banners, and carrying the smell of the sea. Some of the horses pranced about, nervous over new sounds and scents. Their riders worked to steady them. Nobody wanted to make headlines as the Cracker Trail participant who plowed into a group of parade-goers in Fort Pierce.

  We were mounted and waiting for the signal to go, assembled in a large field serving as the parade staging area on the outskirts of downtown. I watched a petite rider wrestle with a big, skittish Appaloosa. The poor girl had probably spent the last week getting her horse accustomed to the crack of cow whips. Now, the Appaloosa looked ready to bolt for the bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway, not stopping until it got to the wide beach and the Atlantic Ocean beyond.

  I heard a syrupy voice beside me.

  “That’s a lot of animal for such a little girl.’’ It was Austin, sounding like we were the very best of friends.

  “Hmmmm,’’ I answered.

  I edged Val away from Austin’s Arabian. She’d braided golden thread in the horse’s mane, a match to her own sequined hatband. She also wore a glittery gold vest, showing off her tiny waist and ample bustline. So much for authentic Florida Cracker garb.

  “Are you still mad at me, Mace?’’

  “Not mad. Just wary.’’

  “I’m sorry about the bottle.’’ She looked down and picked at the leather of her reins. “I don’t know what gets into me. When I get angry like that, it’s like a spell takes over. I’m not myself.’’

  “You ought to try to find the antidote for those spells, Austin. They’re pretty scary.’’

  She ignored my advice-giving. “I really did appreciate it that you didn’t make a big deal about our little scuffle the other night.’’

  “By ‘little scuffle,’ you mean when you threatened to fillet me with a broken bottle?’’

  She nodded, casting her eyes down at the reins again.

  “Forget it,’’ I said. “It’s over.’’

  She raised her pretty face at me. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Mace. I feel like I blew it. I was hoping you and I could still be friends.’’

  I stared at her. Sincerity oozed from every pore. And, finally, I was fed up. I was fed up with all the crazy and dangerous things that had happened on the ride. I was tired of people who lied and left out and twisted the truth. And, especially, I was sick to death of the nutcase now smiling at me hopefully from under her stupid, sparkly hat.

  “We’re not gonna be friends, Austin,’’ I said flatly. “I’d sooner jump naked into a swimming pool filled with snapping turtles than spend another second with you. In fact, I think you need to get yourself some psychological help before you wind up killing somebody. If you haven’t already killed anybody, that is.’’

  The smile left her face like a shift in the wind. Anger sparked in her eyes. Uh-oh, I thought.

  “Looks like the parade’s getting started.’’ I began to maneuver Val into the line of horses and wagons that was forming.

  Austin screwed up her mouth like she was going to spit at me, and then turned her horse into my path. Val was blocked in by riders on either side. Austin kept pushing her Arabian closer,
forcing us to the gutter of the street. Val stumbled over a high concrete curb. I bobbled in the saddle, but held on as she regained her footing.

  “You crazy witch,’’ I said to Austin. “I should have sent you to jail.’’

  “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Mace. What’s a little horseplay between friends?’’ Her smile was chilling.

  Spurring her horse, she yelled over her shoulder, “And you better watch who you call crazy.’’

  Maddie rode up. “Who’s crazy?’’ She watched Austin dart away through the crowd.

  “She is.’’ I was shaking, more from anger than from fear. “Austin’s a total head case.’’

  ___

  “I’m so glad we made it, girls!’’

  My sisters and I flanked Mama in her mule wagon, as we made our turn onto Orange Avenue. We were on horseback. Mama was in the passenger seat with her ankle on a pillow, doling out waves like Queen Elizabeth in a peony-pink cowgirl hat.

  Spectators lined both sides of the parade route, whooping and cheering as the Cracker Trail riders streamed past. Historic murals and sturdy brick buildings hinted at olden times. Waterfront condos and sleek yachts in the city marina spoke to the new Florida.

  Ahead, the crowd erupted into shouts and loud applause. Maddie’s eyebrows went up.

  “You got me,’’ I shrugged.

  We angled our horses for a better view. Wynonna had reached the downtown roundabout on Indian River Drive. She reared up on a perfect palomino, the animal’s forelegs pawing at air. The breeze ruffled the horse’s golden mane and tail. Wynonna, dressed all in white except for her red alligator boots, demonstrated complete control. She waved her white hat over her head.

  The crowd roared its approval.

  “So much for the ban on theatrics in the parade,’’ Maddie said dryly.

  “She’s a heck of a rider,’’ Marty said. “You’ve got to give her that.’’

  “That horse is gorgeous and well-trained.’’ I sniffed. “He’d make anybody look good.’’

  Mama said, “Speaking of Wynonna, what did y’all find out about that business with Johnny?’’