Mama Sees Stars: A Mace Bauer Mystery

by Deborah Sharp

  I quoted John 3:16: “For God so loved the world, he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’’

  Kelly’s eyes shone. “So you know then. I was asking forgiveness for damning Norman’s soul to hell.’’

  “You mean when you spit on the ground.’’

  She nodded. “Only God has the right to decide who is rewarded with eternal life, and who suffers the fires of hell.’’

  Sam gave her arm an encouraging pat.

  “I’m not big enough to forgive Norman for what he did to me, and to others. But I can ask God to help me get there; and to forgive me when I fall short.’’

  Shortly after Kelly’s surprising revelation that she’d been saved, she and Sam said they had to go.

  “Why don’t you come with us to breakfast?’’ she asked.

  “Thanks for the invite.’’ I waved an arm at the horses in the corral. “I’ve still got lots of work to do, though.’’

  So I wouldn’t feel like such an antisocial liar, I did get to work. As they left, I began brushing down the horses. By the time I got to the pony, Sam and Kelly had disappeared from sight.

  Combing out the little guy’s mane, I stared into the empty pasture. Across the way, the cow pen caught my eye. That started me thinking about how Mama and I found Norman’s body on the fence. I thought of what Kelly had said about asking for God’s help.

  All my life, I’d learned that God hears you no matter when or where you pray. I wondered what made Kelly traipse all the way out here to have her conversation with God.

  Why did she want to stand in the same spot where Norman was murdered to seek forgiveness?

  I know what you did to my daughter.

  Omigod, I thought. Not again.

  “That’s the way I think it sounds better, but my husband Sal likes it the other way. Mace says she can’t tell the difference, either way. Which way do you think has more emotional weight, Jesse?’’

  Mama had cornered the young star outside her trailer. Jesse sat in a camp chair, a floppy sun hat protecting her fair skin. The brim was turned up, so she could watch Mama’s repeat—and repeat—performance. On the empty chair next to Jesse sat Mama’s library copy of An Actor Prepares, sticky notes marking several pages.

  “Try it the first way again, Rosalee.’’ Holding a hunk of bread, she pointed at Mama, like a conductor signaling with a baton.

  Now I was certain Jesse was on drugs. There was no way she could listen to one more rendition of Mama’s line without resorting to violence. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a stash of happy pills in the back pocket of my jeans.

  I called out to Mama, and she whirled at the sound of my voice. “Honey! You’re just in time. I’m getting acting tips from the most talented, most beautiful young star in Hollywood.’’

  She picked up her autograph book, hidden by the thick acting text, and waved it at me. “Jesse gave me her John Hancock, too. I’ll treasure it forever and ever.’’

  Mama was really stirring it up.

  “Sorry, Jesse,’’ I said. “You’ll have to forgive my mother, if she’s bothering you. She’s not used to being on a movie shoot. Her enthusiasm runs away with her manners sometimes.’’

  Jesse winked at me. “No prob. I don’t mind at all. I expect to be coaching her next on how to accept her Academy Award.’’

  “Speaking of coaching, are you still up for a horseback lesson later?’’ I asked.

  “Don’t think so,’’ she said. “I broke down and confessed to Paul that I’m not a very good at the horse thing. He says we may not need me riding; just sitting in the saddle will do.’’

  “Lucky,’’ I said.

  “You know it. I’m a pretty good actor, but I don’t think I could sell having grown up galloping on horseback through the Florida wilds.’’

  Mama shook her head. “I bet you could, honey. Jesse won an Oscar when she was just eleven years old, Mace. You were the youngest winner ever, weren’t you, honey?’’

  Jesse absent-mindedly picked off pieces from the bread and tossed them on the ground. “Not quite,’’ she said. “Tatum O’Neal was younger.’’

  “Oh, that’s right. I saw that on IMDb.’’

  I looked blankly at Mama.

  “Internet Movie Database, sweetheart. You really have a lot to learn about the Wide World of the Web.’’

  While Mama crowed about all she’d learned on the ‘‘Wide World of the Web,’’ I was wondering how winning that prize affected Jesse. How do you live up to achieving that kind of success before you’ve even hit puberty? Maybe you’re so afraid of failing, you don’t even try.

  A few mourning doves and a blue jay had discovered the crumbs. Jesse studied the birds as they edged closer to us. Suddenly, they startled and scattered. Mama’s face brightened at something over my shoulder. I turned to see Paul Watkins’s wife coming from around back of Jesse’s trailer.

  “Yoo-hoo,’’ Mama sang out. “Over here, Savannah!’’

  Jesse let out a sigh of what sounded like exasperation. But when I looked at her face, all I saw was a cool smile.

  “What’s this?’’ Savannah’s drawl was music to my Southern ears. “Are y’all having a hen party without me?’’

  “What the hell is a ‘hen party’?’’

  “It’s an old-fashioned term from our generation, Jesse,’’ Mama explained. “Think of it as Girls Gone Wild, without the going wild.’’

  “It’s not that old-fashioned.’’

  Savannah sounded miffed, and Mama seemed to catch her tone. “I didn’t mean to say we’re old, honey.’’

  Savannah arched a perfectly groomed brow. “Who’s this we, Kemo Sabe? I’m at least fifteen years younger than you are, Rosalee.’’

  I saw on Mama’s face that she was weighing whether to argue that point. But since it would involve her having to state her own age, I knew she’d decide against it.

  “Whatever you say, Sugar.’’

  That “sugar’’ didn’t fool me. The temperature in the air between Mama and the normally sweet Savannah had just dropped by ten degrees. Maybe the director’s wife had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. Or, maybe she’d looked over to see Paul’s pillow hadn’t been slept on at all. Whatever, she was in some kind of mood.

  Jesse smirked as she shredded more bread. The birds were returning, cautiously. “Wise decision not to challenge her, Rosalee. Savannah likes things her way.’’

  “Yes, I do. Especially when my way is the right way.’’

  “Oh, I forgot: Savannah is always right, too.’’

  “About some things I am. Yes.’’

  “About some things, oh yes!’’ Jesse cupped her hands under her chin and put on a mocking drawl.

  Mama’s head swung back and forth between Savannah and Jesse like a one-eyed dog in a butcher shop. I probably looked the same way, trying to decipher what the two of them really meant behind the words they spoke. I caught Mama’s glance. She shrugged.

  Savannah took a couple of steps toward Jesse. The star tossed the rest of her bread to the birds. “I have to go.’’

  “Don’t, Jesse … Please.’’ Savannah reached a hand to the younger woman’s cheek; Jesse swatted it away.

  “Don’t beg, Savannah. It’s so unattractive.’’

  Getting up, Jesse folded the hat brim to shield her face from view. “I’m going inside. I need to rest, and I don’t want to be bothered.’’ The three of us watched as she flounced up the steps to her trailer.

  “Thanks for the autograph,’’ Mama called after her. “Does that mean our rehearsal is over?’’

  The door slammed shut behind Jesse. The birds took flight.

  “Guess so,’’ I said to Mama.

  “Well, that was rude,’’ she said.

  “What did you expect?’’ Savannah snapped. “You had no right to bother Jesse with your stupid lines. She’s a big star.’’

  Mama looked like she’d been slapped by one
of her fellow teachers at Sunday School. Then she got peeved.

  “For your information, Jesse offered to help me with my lines. And I don’t recall her getting all ticked off until you arrived on the scene.’’

  Savannah stared at the door of the trailer. I thought I saw some movement behind the window blinds, but the door stayed firmly shut. Savannah marched up the steps and banged at it. Once. Twice. A third time. In between, she called out Jesse’s name, pleadingly. Not a sound came from inside. Finally, she gave up, backing down the steps. She didn’t say a word to us as she left, never even glancing our way.

  “My goodness, who licked the red off of Savannah’s candy?’’ Mama asked.

  I shrugged, keeping my eyes on Jesse’s trailer. “There’s no figuring out these Hollywood people, Mama. They’re like aliens from another planet. I’m not even sure they breathe oxygen.’’

  Now, I was sure I detected the blinds move. A moment later, the door inched open. Jesse’s smooth cheek and upturned nose appeared around the edge.

  “Is she gone?’’

  Mama and I nodded.

  “Thank God!’’ She came back out, clutching the sun hat to her breast, her red hair pulled back in a casual ponytail. She looked like the teen-aged girl she’d so recently been.

  “What was that all about?’’ I asked.

  “You don’t have to say, if it’s private,’’ Mama added. “We’re not gossips.’’

  Well, I thought, at least one of us isn’t a gossip.

  Jesse sighed. “I stopped caring about gossip a long time ago, Rosalee.’’

  I didn’t believe that for an instant. Jesse, and the rest of this Hollywood pack, seemed to thrive on drama. And gossip was a big part of that. Still, I wanted to know what had just happened.

  “Well, then?’’ Mama prodded.

  “Savannah thinks she’s in love.’’

  “With her husband?’’ Mama’s brows V-ed into a frown.

  “Not even close.’’ Jesse winked at me.

  Things were becoming clear, but Mama wasn’t seeing.

  “How long?’’ I asked.

  “Not long,’’ Jesse said. “We hooked up right before I got the part.’’

  “Don’t tell me: Savannah helped influence her husband to hire you,’’ I said.

  Another wink.

  “Would one of you please tell me what’s going on?’’ Mama asked.

  “Savannah’s in love with me, Rosalee.’’

  I saw the satisfaction on Jesse’s face, as she watched Mama pick up her jaw from the ground. If shock was what she’d wanted, that was what she got.

  “Buh … buh … but you’re both women,’’ Mama sputtered. “And Savannah is married!’’

  Jesse waved the sun hat. “Your daughter and I already had this conversation about sexuality in Hollywood. It’s fluid, right Mace?’’

  “What’s that supposed to mean?’’ Mama asked.

  I wasn’t about to go there. Mama would start reciting Bible verses right and left.

  “Hollywood is a different world, that’s for sure,’’ I said. “My attitude is you can live your life however you want, as long as no one gets hurt. Fact is, Savannah looked hurt to me.’’

  Jesse shrugged. “Don’t be so sure about that. The reason I backed off wasn’t because Savannah is too old for me. It was because she’s crazy. Believe me, beneath that sugary Southern exterior beats a cold, vengeful heart.’’

  With that, Jesse looked toward the sky. Clouds were rolling in, but there was still sunshine enough to give Jesse a bad burn. She stuck the hat back on her head, and settled herself again in her camp chair.

  “Now,’’ she pointed at Mama. “Time to rehearse!’’

  I hurried away, with the aspiring actress’s umpteenth line reading echoing in my ears.

  The wind moaned. Sheets of rain slanted down sideways from a dark gray sky. With each furious gust, the plastic panels of the catering tent flapped and shuddered.

  “Are we having a hurricane?’’ Paul Watkins peered out nervously at the storm-tossed sabal palms. Fronds were shaking loose, blowing end over end across a sodden landscape.

  I added a couple of packets of sugar to the cup of coffee in front of me. “This is nothing; just a little thundershower,’’ I said. “They’re as common this time of year as the splat of love bugs on windshields in springtime.’’

  When the storm kicked up, most of the stars had sought shelter in their trailers. I’d found refuge in the food tent, where I spotted Paul. He was alone, for a change. I decided to take advantage of that fact, and invited myself to sit down. Talking about the weather was a good way to work up the nerve to ask him what I really wanted to know.

  “Say, Paul …’’

  “Hmmm?’’ He was still focused on the fury outside.

  “Something’s been bothering me.’’

  “There’s nothing wrong with the livestock, is there?’’

  “No, the horses and cattle are fine.’’

  Turning, he raised an eyebrow. I forged ahead. “Where were you the morning that Norman Sydney was murdered? Why was Johnny Jaybird shooting that scene with the galloping horse?’’

  I knew what Savannah had told me. I wanted to hear what her husband would say. Seconds ticked by as he stared at me, the storm outside the window seemingly forgotten.

  “Do you work for the police in addition to being an animal wrangler?’’ he finally asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Has the studio hired you to look into the case?’’

  “No.’’

  “Then it’s really none of your business, is it?’’

  “But …”

  He grabbed my wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong for such a skinny guy. “But nothing,’’ he said. “It’s not your business. Do you understand?’’

  I nodded, and tried to pull away. He tightened his hold. “I asked you a question.’’

  “Yes,’’ I said. “I understand.’’

  He let go, leaned back in the chair. I rubbed at my wrist as he returned his attention to the storm. Paul’s reaction made me even more suspicious about his whereabouts. There was more than one path to that answer, though.

  I stole a quick glance at Carlos, nursing a soft drink in the corner of the tent. He sat with his back to the wall and his cop shield up. He didn’t meet my eyes. From his closed-off body language to the hard set of his jaw, everything about him signaled he wanted to be left alone by everyone, and most especially by me. The message was unspoken, but clear: Walk through the force field at your own peril.

  I wasn’t about to take the risk. I’d just have to find another way to discover what Paul had told the police.

  The director jumped as a deafening thunder clap rattled the cups and spoons on the table. He looked so spooked, I felt a little sorry for him.

  “Don’t worry,’’ I said. “The storm will blow itself out in a couple of hours.’’

  “Hours?’’ He put his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. “Why did I ever think I should shoot this film in Florida?’’

  “Y’all should have come down during winter. That’s the dry season. We hardly ever get rain in the winter.’’

  “Figures. This production and I have been cursed since Day One.’’

  “Cursed, huh? Norman Sydney might say the same thing. But he can’t, seeing as how he was murdered.’’

  I shot Paul a dark look.

  “You’re right.’’ At least he had the sense to look chagrined. “I need to keep things in perspective. It’s not life and death. It’s just a movie … and the last chance I’ll ever get to resurrect my career.’’

  His head fell back into his hands.

  “Why so glum, chum?’’ Mama’s tone was chipper, as she placed a plate full of biscotti on the table between Paul and me. “These cookies are as hard as the gravel they’re using to patch State Road 70. That’s how they’re supposed to be, C’ndee claims. Watch out you don’t lose a filling, Mace.’’


  When Paul didn’t raise his head to acknowledge her, Mama seemed a bit put out. She was not used to being ignored by men. I, on the other hand, was becoming quite accustomed to it.

  “Have a seat, Mama.’’

  Still she stood. I knew she was waiting for Paul to pull out a chair. When he made no move to do so, she huffily seated herself.

  “Don’t mind if I do sit, darlin.’ Isn’t this rain something?’’

  Paul finally looked up. “It’s something, all right; something that’s burning through buckets of money with weather delays.’’

  “Can’t you just change things around to shoot some inside scenes?’’ I asked.

  “We’ve shot all the interiors. The whole reason we’re here is to get the exterior shots. I wanted this film to look like authentic Florida. No glimpses of mountain peaks or California redwoods where they aren’t supposed to be.’’

  He stared outside to the rain-battered palms again. “What is that scraggly, ugly-looking tree anyway?’’

  “It’s a sabal, also called a cabbage palm,’’ I said. “It’s Florida’s state tree.’’

  “Better watch out, Paul. Mace takes the symbols of her native state seriously. She doesn’t like to hear them criticized.’’

  “Right,’’ I said. “I can poke fun at Florida, but you can’t, as an outsider. It’s like family. I can say my big sister is bossy, and my mama’s a little ditsy. But no one else better say it.’’

  Mama narrowed her eyes. I dunked a biscotti into my coffee and swirled.

  “And I might call my daughter a stubborn mule who doesn’t know how to keep a man happy, but that’s only because Mace knows I’m saying it out of love. She knows I only want her to be the best she can be.’’

  Paul looked over at Mama. She gave him one of her adoring smiles, and added an eyelash flutter, too. He rewarded her with a leer.

  “I bet you know how to keep a man happy, don’t you, Rosalee?’’

  Reaching across the table, he covered her hand with his. I could see him stroking one of her fingers suggestively.

  “Now, Paul, don’t be a bad boy!’’ She leaned away, neatly sliding her hand out from under his. “I’m a married woman.’’