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 perform
ing 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.
Mama Gets Trashed (A Mace Bauer Mystery) Page 5
