“Steady, now.’’ I boosted Mama by the butt onto the steep bank. I was in calf-high water, about to follow, when I felt a hard bump at the back of my knees. Ollie. I swallowed my panic. The pond here was shallow. The slap of the gator’s tail slamming on top of the water sounded like a bomb going off.
“Watch out, Mace!’’ I heard Mama screaming, as if in a dream. “Get out of the water!’’
I didn’t want to take the risk the gator would follow me onto land. He might attack Mama—a weaker, easier prey than me. I whirled around and saw acres of teeth in a mile of jaws. It was all instinct at this point: Ollie’s to eat; mine to survive.
Yelling louder than a legion of warriors, I drew back my foot. The steel-toed boot struck the gator on the top of his snout. I did it again, aiming directly for his one good eye. I kicked at his closest nostril, shouting the whole time. Ollie backed off and began to turn. I sent a parting blow to the less protected skin of his underside, where the organs are close to the surface.
That last kick convinced him to move on to a more docile prey. In his thumb-sized brain, he was probably trying to puzzle out what had happened to his usual meal—the dead, whole chickens that never fight back.
Adrenaline still coursed through my body as I hauled myself onto the bank. Ollie had retreated to the far end of the pond. The damage I’d done was more irritation than lasting injury. A gator’s body is like an armored battleship.
As I sat, leg muscles quivering, lungs gulping in air, I was aware of Mama blubbering beside me. She ran her hands over my arms, then my legs, as if to convince herself I was whole. “My God, Mace! Wait until I tell your sisters. You fought off an alligator!’’
“Well, it was shallow water, Mama,’’ I said. “If he’d have gotten hold of me in the deeper part, it would have been the end. He’d have grabbed me in his jaws and pulled me under in a death roll to drown me. We wouldn’t be talking right now.’’
Mama shuddered. “I’m just glad you were here, Mace. I wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to do what you did.’’
“Not to mention the footwear,’’ I said.
We both looked at Mama’s bare feet, covered in mud. We started laughing. It felt good.
“Before you go bragging around town, turning me into Himmarshee’s Heroic Gator Gal, you should know a couple of things.’’ I held up a finger. “First, Ollie’s not nearly as big as those eleven or twelve-footers that have made the news. Those were some fearsome gators, taking three victims over a week’s span in different parts of the state.’’ I put up another finger. “Second, Ollie’s used to getting regular meals. If he was hungrier, he might have fought a lot harder.’’
Mama took my chin in her hands. “Don’t downplay what you did, Mace.’’ She pulled my face to hers and kissed me under my bangs. “You saved my life.’’
Tears sprang to my eyes. I rested my head on her shoulder as we sat on the bank.
“Now,’’ she patted my arm, signaling the moment was over. “Let’s get the heck out of this death pit.’’
___
Pond water squished in my boots as we made our way across the clearing, back toward the park office. Mama’s polyester pantsuit stuck to her like honeydew-green plastic wrap. It wasn’t even eight-thirty, and already the sunlight was turning white, blinding. It was going to be a scorcher, which isn’t exactly a news flash in middle Florida in September.
Birds sang. Butterflies stirred. We were about halfway across the field when a man’s voice punctured the happy bubble we’d been floating in since surviving an attempted murder and an alligator encounter.
“You two aren’t going anywhere.’’ The accent was flat. Midwestern.
Mama grabbed my hand and slowly we turned.
Bob Dixon stared at us with the deadest eyes I’d ever seen. His hand was steady on his .38.
“I should have known better than to send a woman to do a man’s job. Emma Jean is just like all of you.’’ Pastor Bob sneered at us. “Can’t be trusted.’’
Delilah’s confession about cheating on him ran through my mind.
“Every marriage has its ups and downs,’’ Mama said, echoing my thought. “You’ve committed murder and caused a lot of heartache. Have you done it all because Delilah strayed?’’
The minister blotted sweat from his neck with a white handkerchief. Then he laughed out loud, showing us his teeth. “I don’t care a fig about that fat sow. None of this was about my wife—or even about Emma Jean, though I was banging her.’’
Mama blinked in disbelief at his crude language.
“It was about money, plain and simple.’’ He shrugged and sopped again. “Jim Albert had a lot, and I wanted some. I’m not cut out to be a poor pastor in a Podunk town.’’
“But you’re a man of God,’’ Mama protested.
“Yeah, that was a mistake.’’ He picked his teeth with a pinky nail. “I’d watched some of those big-time TV evangelists get rich. Thought it could be my path, too. I tried making the DVDs; thought they’d sell a million. But they didn’t. And I didn’t want to wait.’’
“I don’t understand,’’ I said. “Who killed Jim Albert? You or Emma Jean?’’
“I don’t suppose it matters now. You’ll both be dead soon.’’ Sweat stains darkened his light blue dress shirt. He tented the wet fabric off his chest, trying to find a nonexistent breeze. “I told Emma Jean all she had to do was set up her boyfriend so the two of us could take his money and run off together. I knew all along we’d have to kill him, though. Jim Albert wasn’t the type to forgive being robbed. I figured Emma Jean was so crazy about me, I could convince her to do it. But when it came right down to it, I had to kill him. She lost her nerve.’’
Mama said, “And she lost it again when it came time to kill me.’’
I wasn’t so sure about that. If Emma Jean could have fired Paw-Paw’s gun, I’d be grieving over Mama’s dead body.
“There’s a reason women are called the weaker sex,’’ he said.
If he wasn’t holding that revolver, I might have quibbled. I probably had five inches and twenty-five pounds of muscle on the pencil-necked reverend.
I tried to reason: “Listen, you’ve got Jim Albert’s money and the hurricane cash. You can lock us in the supply shed and just go. By the time we’re found, you’ll be long gone.’’
“Great plan. And I did intend to go, until I saw that some idiot in a Volkswagen pulled behind the truck and blocked me in.’’
The sun was melting the gel in his hair. He dabbed as a glob slid down his brow.
“I thought that truck was Emma Jean’s,’’ I said.
“It is. I rode over here with her and your mother. I was in the back of the cab the whole time, crouched behind the seat under a blanket.’’ He spoke to Mama. “It was hot and I had to listen to you yammer the whole way. You talk too much.’’
She pulled herself to her full stature—four foot eleven inches. “There’s absolutely no call for you to be insulting.’’
Heaven forbid he’d insult us, I thought. Kill us, maybe—but not insult us first.
“I’ll give you the keys to the Volkswagen,’’ I said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take them. Just like I took your mother’s extra set from her neighbors when I needed to dump Jim’s body. Too bad for you Alice and Ronnie aren’t more suspicious.’’
He wiped at his neck again. He was unused to the Florida heat, which was taking its toll.
“I’ll have to shoot you first, of course. You should have paid attention to those notes and backed off. Curiosity killed the cat, you know.’’
“But we had no idea,’’ Mama said, her hand fluttering to her throat.
“It was only a matter of time until you linked me to Emma Jean, and then both of us to Jim Albert. Emma Jean was this close to confessing the wh
ole plan to you on the phone, Mace.’’ He held his left thumb and forefinger apart a fraction of an inch. “I cajoled and sweet-talked and convinced her to fake her own disappearance in the swamp instead.’’
He examined his hanky, looking for a dry spot. I took the opportunity to scan the ground for anything to get us out of this mess—a big rock, a sharp stick, even a snake sunning itself. I know how people are about snakes. Tossing him a serpent might spook him and let us get away.
When I looked up again, black rivulets ran down the pastor’s forehead from his hairline. He obviously washed away his gray. He closed his eyelids, patting gently at the stinging dye.
Continuing my survey, I finally spotted something in the tall grass: Paw-Paw’s gun. Emma Jean must have tossed it as she ran. It was ten feet away, on my left. I gripped Mama’s hand tighter. Cocking my head ever so slightly over my left shoulder, I whispered. “Bang.’’
She looked and shook her head once, a nearly imperceptible No. I answered with a tiny nod of my own. Yes.
“We all have to do what we have to do, Pastor Bob.’’ I addressed him, but the message was for Mama.
Nodding at me, she squeezed my hand and closed her eyes. Her lips moved in a silent prayer. I joined her, a little rusty, asking God for strength and guidance.
Suddenly, a distant shout shattered the park’s quiet.
“Police! Get down on the ground, Emma Jean.’’ It was Detective Carlos Martinez. “Get down!’’
Bob Dixon spun toward the command coming from the far trees. Mama and I glanced at each other. Now or never. I ran, diving into the grass. Her leather-hard foot delivered a sharp kick to the reverend right where it counted. I bolted up from the ground, aiming the antique gun. Pastor Bob dropped his weapon and doubled over, cupping his crotch with both hands.
I whistled, loud enough to call a cab south from New York City. “Over here,’’ I yelled. “I’ve got Emma Jean’s accomplice at the business end of a shotgun.’’
“I was watching before.’’ The reverend spit out the words between painful breaths. “I saw it jam. It won’t fire.’’
“You don’t want to test that,’’ I said, lowering the barrel from his heart to his groin. “This old gun is just like a woman. You have to know how to handle it right.’’
Martinez came crashing from the woods, pistol raised. His face lit with relief as he took in the scene: Mama and me, still dripping, but safe. Pastor Bob, cradling his family jewels. And my granddaddy’s shotgun, aimed and ready to do more damage if need be.
I heard the distant sound of police sirens. My eyes flickered to Martinez for a moment, just long enough to see the hint of a smile steal across his face.
“Rosie!” A bellow like an escaped bear from the Bronx zoo thundered from the woods. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m here now.’’
The expression on Sal’s face was priceless as he lumbered into the clearing. His weapon was ready. But the bad guys were already in handcuffs, on the ground.
“Looks like your backup is a little late,’’ I said to Martinez.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, chica.’’ His face was a mask.
“C’mon, it’s over now. You can admit it. Sal’s a cop, too, isn’t he?”
“Retired,’’ Sal said, holstering his weapon. His face was as pink as his golf shirt from jogging over to us in the heat. “Thirty years, New York City Police Department.’’
He leaned down to kiss my mother. “How’d you know, Mace?’’
“Well, there was the way you spoke about Detective Martinez and the police. You were awfully admiring, for a mobster. Then you called the rest of us ‘civilians,’ like cops always do. I put it together just now, seeing the way you ran over with your revolver drawn.’’ I nodded toward Martinez. “He wasn’t at all surprised, so he must have been expecting you.’’
“I’m sorry,’’ Sal said. “I couldn’t talk about it. When I was on the job, I was undercover. Jimmy Albrizio, a.k.a. Albert, was a link to one of my last cases.’’ His eyes scanned the tree line, like he was searching for something there. “A good friend, my first partner on the force, died trying to protect that weasel so he could testify in court.’’ His face got hard. Mama reached up on her tiptoes to stroke his cheek.
“When Albrizio moved south, I followed. I hoped he’d lead me to the people who killed my buddy.’’
Martinez said, “Sal’s cover was convincing. Even I thought at first he was linked to the mob and Albrizio’s murder.’’
“When you found out otherwise, y’all became cigar-puffing pals,’’ I said.
“You got that right.’’ Sal clapped Martinez on the back, man-to-man. “And now, we’d better worry about getting these two booked.’’
The two young officers who’d arrived after Martinez seemed uncertain about what to do next. Emma Jean was sobbing softly on the ground. Bob Dixon looked like he’d kill any one of us if given the chance.
“Emma Jean will go in with them,’’ Martinez nodded toward the two cops. “I’ll be taking the good reverend in myself, along with the murder weapon, his .38.’’
Pastor Bob had clammed up as soon as Martinez arrived. Mama and I filled in the blanks, telling him what the minister had revealed to us.
I stole a glance at Emma Jean. Donnie Bailey’s words ran through my head: there’s hardly a woman in jail who doesn’t claim some man put her there. Poor, desperate Emma Jean. She’d wanted Dixon’s love so badly, she went along with his murderous plans to get it. I hoped my cousin Henry could refer her to a really sharp defense lawyer.
Sal handed over a cuffed Emma Jean to the two cops. Martinez hauled Pastor Bob to his feet. As our little group walked toward the entrance, two more squad cars came screaming into the park. A caravan of other vehicles trailed them, bump-bump-bumping over the bridge.
Donnie Bailey was in his brother’s white pickup, with Police Chief Johnson riding shotgun. The chief had apparently dressed quickly. Dabs of shaving cream dotted his face. Maddie drove her Volvo. Marty leaned forward in the front seat, clutching the dashboard so hard her knuckles were white. Mama’s neighbors, Ronnie and Alice, craned their necks from the back of a custom-colored purple Chevy. The driver was Betty Taylor, Mama’s beauty shop boss and fellow Abundant Hope worshipper. Betty’s towering bouffant scraped the plum-colored upholstery of the roof. Behind Betty, nearly all the other cars from the church breakfast were rolling in.
The Himmarshee hotline had been busy. The 911 call I made from the park office about Mama’s kidnapping had sent the country town telegraph into overdrive.
I glanced at my waterproof watch, still running after the dip in Ollie’s pond. It was 9:15, forty-five minutes before opening. I hoped my boss, Rhonda, wouldn’t be mad that Mama’s supporters had gotten in without paying the two-dollar park fee.
Martinez stared at the convoy, shaking his head. “And I thought the crowd was bad that first night at the police station.’’
“Yeah, life with Mama is a circus, and I’m the reluctant ringleader.’’ I leaned down to kiss her on the top of her patchy, platinum hairdo. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.’’
___
Two weeks later, Mama dragged my sisters and me to her church to hear Delilah give her first sermon. She stepped up after her husband’s downfall. She was pretty good, believe it or not.
“I have an announcement,’’ she told the congregation at the start of the service. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to change the name of our little church.’’
There was a low murmur from the metal chairs. I leaned around Mama to raise my eyebrows at Marty and Maddie.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since Bob’s arrest. About all the things that transpired, including my own behavior. I haven’t always been kind. And some of you may know I strayed in my marriage. I lost respect fo
r my vows, which are supposed to be sacred.’’
Several men shifted in their seats. A few women picked that moment to search their purses for one thing or another.
Delilah continued. “A cornerstone of our faith is forgiveness. I need it. Some of you may need it, too. I propose we call our church Abundant Forgiveness, because that’s what I want to offer here. I intend to live my life that way. And I hope you will, too.’’
I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. “What do you say, Mace?’’ A whisper came from behind my right ear. “Do you think there’s enough forgiveness to go around?’’
I turned my head to see Jeb Ennis in the seat behind me, hat in his lap, hair soaked with sweat at his forehead and temples.
“I see that AC’s still broken in your truck,’’ I said softly.
“It is.’’ He flashed a nervous smile, looking like the shy choirboy he’d never been. “Can I talk to you outside for a few minutes?’’
As I slid out of our row, Maddie whipped her head around to see what was going on. Her harrumph followed Jeb and me all the way to the door.
Outside, Jeb put on his hat and hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of a clean pair of blue jeans. They were tight as ever. They still looked pretty darned good.
“I just wanted to make sure we’re okay, Mace.’’ His eyes searched my face. “I’m leaving for a while. I didn’t want to take off with hard feelings between us.’’
The knot in my throat surprised me. I really hoped I wouldn’t cry.
“We’re fine, Jeb. I already told you I’ve forgiven you for lying to me. And I hope you’ve forgiven me for suspecting you in Jim Albert’s murder.’’
He let me stand there and squirm for a moment before he answered. “You know, Mace, you could’ve just called me and asked about the windows in my truck that day at the park. Maybe you can understand how I wouldn’t have thought right off about rolling them down as I was pulling out, even though it was hot.’’
Mama Does Time Page 26
