I ran to help the teacher.
“Are you okay?’’
Wincing in pain, she tried to rise to one knee. She sank back to the asphalt. “The students?’’
I looked toward the bus. The driver was comforting everybody. Some had already taken their seats inside. “Fine. Probably a little shaken.’’
“I think I twisted my ankle.’’
I bent; she looped an arm around my neck. I hoisted her to her feet, steadying her at the waist. “Good thing you’re strong,’’ she said. “I’m not exactly a delicate flower.’’
“Me, neither.’’ I grinned. “Let’s get you over to the bus and the kids.’’
I quickly introduced myself.
“Elaine Naiman,’’ she said. “We’ll shake later.’’
She was pretty, in a studious-looking way: Thick, dark hair cut short; horn-rimmed glasses; a build that was sturdy but not fat. If Mama were here, she’d advise Elaine to grow out that glossy black hair. It was her best feature. And, of course, Mama would try to convince her to put on some Apricot Ice.
“I feel so stupid,’’ she said, as we slowly made our way to the bus. “I shouldn’t have brought the kids out here without an aide. But there were only ten signed up for the trip, and they seemed so disappointed when our aide called this morning to say she couldn’t make it.’’
She looked in the direction the car had gone. We could still faintly hear it, battering the boards of the bridge over Himmarshee Creek just before the park’s exit to the highway. “It’s a weird coincidence,’’ she said. “The aide had to cancel because some idiot on a cell phone ran a stop sign this morning and hit her car.’’
She shifted her weight, moaned. I paused, to give her a short rest.
“Speaking of idiots,’’ she said, “who was driving the black sedan?’’
“You won’t believe it,’’ I said. “That was Himmarshee’s mayor.’’
_____
I sneezed when I walked through the door to the 19th Hole Lounge. The smell of cologne and spilled wine was so strong, it was like a punch in the nose. Everything in the bar was overdone: the laughs were too loud; the backslaps too hard; the hair and makeup on the women too much. The only thing that wasn’t too much was Angel’s outfit. That was too little, with a midriff top that barely skimmed the bottom of her breasts.
Men stood two deep at the bar—ordering, of course. But also ogling, perhaps wondering if the next time she reached for a top-shelf bottle, the blouse would ride up and reveal everything she had.
She was trim and taut, with bumps and curves in all the right spots. Even I had to admit, her body was hot. As the comedian Dom Irrera always said, That don’t make me gay, does it?
I didn’t want to spend too much time at a place that clearly wasn’t my style. But I did want to talk to Jason. I saw him on a stool at the end of the bar. He sat with his legs spread. The mayor’s wife stood between his knees, facing him and swaying slightly. Had she been out here all day, drinking?
I edged closer in the crowded bar so I could see and hear them. A burly guy with his arm around a big-boobed blonde provided the perfect camouflage. I slid onto a seat at a high-top table, hiding myself behind the big guy and busty babe.
“Aw, c’mon,’’ Beatrice said to Jason. “It’s just a little Sex on the Beach. I know for a fact you like that.’’
Jason raised an eyebrow at her.
“Them. I mean I know you like them.’’ She giggled. “Y’know, the drinks called Sex on the Beach.’’
“You’re a naughty girl.’’ He shook a finger at her. She bit it, and then sucked, doing an excellent imitation of a banana-eating contest I saw once during Spring Break in Daytona.
Jason grinned, and extracted his finger from her mouth. He moved it south, tracing her bare cleavage. She closed her eyes and shuddered, and then placed her palm on his thigh. With a devilish smile, he lifted it, and moved it several inches closer to his lap. When she tried to kiss him, though, he bobbed his head out of her reach.
I looked around to see if anyone else was catching this action, and nearly fell off my stool when I noticed who was. The mayor sat alone, just a couple of seats away from his wife and the golf pro. He followed every move they made, his eyes glued to the mirror behind the bar. I expected him to jump up and pound Jason to a pulp. That’s what would have happened in most every bar I knew. Oddly, the mayor didn’t look angry. He looked interested, like a man watching a fascinating documentary. There was some other expression there, too, but I wasn’t sure just what. The bar was dark, and the mayor looked away when he caught me staring at him in the mirror.
Suddenly, I realized Jason was standing next to me. While I’d been preoccupied with trying to read the mayor, the pro had broken away from Beatrice.
“So, you came.’’
“Yep, been here awhile. I didn’t want to interrupt you, though. You looked like you were pretty into Mrs. Mayor.’’
“ ‘Into’ her. Good one.’’ He plucked a peanut from the bowl on my table, popped it into his mouth. “I’m just keeping the members happy. It’s part of the job.’’
“Maybe you should find another job.’’
“Why?’’ He sounded genuinely surprised. “I like it here, and I’m not hurting anybody.’’
I gestured down the bar with my chin. “Except her husband, maybe?’’
Jason’s gaze followed mine. He didn’t seem the least bit taken aback to see the mayor so close by. He smiled slyly. “Don’t be too sure of that.’’
Someone pinched my waist. Hard. A familiar voice rang out in the noisy bar. “Well, well, if it isn’t my daughter—my engaged daughter—talking to this handsome man. This handsome, single man.’’
I turned to see the Mama Glare aimed full force at Jason.
He dimpled, pouring on the charm. “I was just telling Mace about another gator we’ve found on the course. Don’t worry. I have no designs on her at all. We’re just friends. I still can’t get over the fact you’re her mom, though. You’re so beautiful; you seem far too young.’’
Mama thawed a bit.
“I know your husband, Sal. He brags about you all the time, saying how he can’t believe he managed to catch you. I have to say, though, all his bragging hasn’t done you justice. Sal’s a very lucky man.’’
Mama smoothed at her hair. Jason had her at “brags about you.’’
“What are you doing here?’’ I asked.
“Sal and I have an early dinner engagement. I was on my way to the Ladies when I spotted you.’’ She sniffed. “I smell manure. What’s that all over your boots, Mace?’
I grabbed a handful of peanuts, stuffed all of them in my mouth. Mama slid the bowl to the far side of the table, out of my reach.
“Calories, Mace. If you and Carlos ever do get married, you want to make sure we don’t have to push you down the aisle in a handcart.’’
I chewed. Mama shook her head. “Just like a cow and her cud. Where are your manners?’’ she said. “Now, why did you say you’re here?’’
“I didn’t,’’ I mumbled through a mouthful of peanuts.
“The gator. Mace helped trap our last one.’’ Jason shot me a look. “Remember?’’
Was he more clever than I gave him credit for?
“Rosie!’’ A Bronx bellow vibrated the air. Sal stood in the doorway, beckoning Mama. “Our table’s ready, sweetheart. C’mon, I’m hungry!’’
Jason waved at Sal. The big man waved back, and yelled across the room. “I’m ordering the steak, Mace—that big T-bone you liked so much.’’
Now that everyone in the lounge knew Sal’s and my meat preferences, Mama took her leave. But not before taking my peanut bowl. “Sal’s hungry, honey. And Lord knows you don’t need these.’’
When she was gone, Jason said, “Your mother’s a trip.’’
“Yeah, but no vacation,’’ I said. “So, you told me you’d fill me in on all the secrets of Himmarshee Links. I hope I didn’t waste the drive out h
ere.’’
Jason looked around, leaned in close to whisper. I thought he was going to reveal something scandalous. Instead, I felt his hot tongue in my ear. Before I could smack him, Angel grabbed him from behind by the shoulder. It must have hurt, because Jason jumped off his stool and let loose with a few curse words. He spun around. When he saw who it was, the expression on his face turned in an instant from angry to contrite.
“Manager needs to see you in the office. Right now.’’ Her tone was brusque. “You’re probably in trouble. Again.’’
“Sorry, Angel.’’
He should have told me he was sorry, seeing as I was the one whose ear he tongued. Angel didn’t bother to acknowledge his apology. She just glared at him until he scurried away.
She took the spot he left, next to me. “You’re back.’’
“Yep. Jason promised to tell me all the dirty secrets about this place.’’
She snorted. “And you believed him?’’
“Why wouldn’t I?’’
“He’s trying to hit on you. There’s nothing to tell.’’
I looked at her. She looked back, seemingly assessing me the same way I was assessing her. Could I trust her? My concern for Maddie outweighed my suspicions about Angel telling the truth.
“I’m worried about my brother-in-law, Kenny. My sister hasn’t seen him in a couple of days. Something’s going on. I’m just trying to find out what.’’
“Why do you assume it’s something out here?’’
“Because all of this mess with Kenny and Maddie started when he suddenly got interested in golf. It’s so out-of-character, I just know there’s got to be a tie-in.’’
We eyed each other. Silence stretched between us.
“I hear you know Kenny better than you let on. He likes to hang out at your bar.’’
She shrugged. “So do a lot of other guys.’’
“Can you tell me anything about his friends? What he says? How he acts?’’ I said. “It’d mean a lot to me.’’
“I don’t know his friends, but I can tell you Kenny’s a stand-up guy.’’ Angel spun a cocktail straw like a tiny baton between her index and middle fingers. “He’s a good tipper.’’
Kenny? The same man who used a five-percent-off coupon for a three-dollar peach cobbler at the Pork Pit?
She stopped spinning the straw. “He’s not in any trouble, is he?’’
I thought about Maddie, and what she might do to her cheating husband once she moved past the betrayal stage into rage. “Yeah, you could say Kenny’s in a little trouble.’’
“Well, whatever it is, it’s got nothing to do with the club. This is a family environment.’’
I looked around. Everyone was drinking heavily. Men flirted with anyone but their wives. A clutch of well-preserved women in their fifties surrounded Jason, who’d returned to the bar. One tweaked his nipple through his golf shirt; the rest giggled and urged her on like hormone-addled teenagers.
“Yeah, you’re right, Angel. This place is so wholesome I’m surprised you don’t have a spot in the bar just for Bible study.’’
I slid off the stool, gathered my purse, and headed for home. I’d need a hot shower to wash away the nasty images from the 19th Hole.
twenty-seven
“Ice cream man’s here!’’
Sal bulled his way through the kitchen door at Mama’s house, carrying two sacks filled with quart containers. Himmarshee had a brand new ice cream parlor. After I showered and ate a quick dinner at home, we’d all met up at Mama’s for a late evening sampling of their wares. No one had to twist our arms to help support local business, not when the business featured frozen flavors like Rodeo Red Velvet and Cracker Trail Coffee.
So far as I knew, the parlor had no plans to play off the local Speckled Perch Festival by naming an ice cream Fried-Perch Peach.
I fetched bowls from the cabinets; Marty got the spoons. Mama put out a couple of plates so the scoopers wouldn’t drip all over the table. Sal provided commentary as he lined up the ice cream:
“Here’s Kissimmee Kandy Kane. This one’s Chief Wild Cat Chocolate. Here’s Brahman Butterscotch, Growling Gator Tracks, and vanilla.’’
“Vanilla?’’ Mama said. “Couldn’t they come up with something more exciting?’’
“The girl in the shop told me vanilla is vanilla. No one felt inspired.’’
“Well, Maddie and I both love vanilla. They could have tried a little harder, don’t you think, honey?’’
Mama looked across the table at Maddie. She didn’t seem to realize Mama was waiting for her to chime in on the virtues of vanilla. Maddie stared off into space, tracing her finger around the rim of her empty bowl.
“What say you, Maddie?’’ Sal said. “Can you think of a cute name?’’
“Just a spoonful or two, please. I’m not that hungry.’’
Maddie uninterested in wordplay and not hungry? Silent shrugs were exchanged.
Once all our bowls were filled, I asked Sal, “How was dinner at the golf course?’’
“Delicious! That place might be a little strange, but there’s nothing off about their food.’’
Maddie suddenly went as still as a rabbit when a hawk flies over.
“Strange how?’’ Marty asked. “Mmm-mmm, that chocolate flavor is good.’’
“Well, you can start with all the women with their big bazooms,’’ Mama jumped in before Sal could answer. “That can’t be natural, can it? Fifty-year-olds showing off their boobies like strippers. It’s not right.’’
“Add to that those hideous outfits the men wear to go golfing.’’ I slid a spoonful of Cracker Trail Coffee into my mouth. Heaven.
“Hey, we never complain when you ladies want to mix it up with the jazzy colors and patterns,’’ Sal said. “Golf gives men an excuse to strut our stuff, fashion-wise.’’
“That’s not the only strutting the men are doing out there,’’ Mama tsked.
Maddie was so immobile, I wasn’t sure she was breathing.
“What do you mean?’’ Marty asked.
Mama leveled a stern look at Sal. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?’’
He grabbed for the carton of Brahman Butterscotch. With a pleading look, he held it out to Mama.
“I got this just for you, Rosie. I know how you love your butterscotch.’’
She turned, showing him the back of her head. Mama refusing butterscotch? Would the world soon stop spinning?
“Why don’t you girls ask my husband about men strutting?’’
“Which husband?’’ Marty said.
“I think she means her current one,’’ I offered.
Marty and I raised our eyebrows at Sal. Maddie regarded him seriously.
He waved a hand. “Your mother thinks I have a thing for the barmaid. It’s ridiculous.’’
Mama huffed. “Not so ridiculous when I had to wipe the drool off your chin after you got an eyeful of that mini-midriff she was wearing. Not that you were the only one staring.’’
“Everybody knows I only have eyes for you, Rosie.’’
“That’s true, Mama. It’s common knowledge,’’ Marty said.
Mama snorted. “I know one thing. That gal’s no natural blonde. Not with that olive skin and those dark eyebrows.’’
“Not a natural blonde, huh?’’ I rolled my eyes at Mama, the original peroxide-bottle belle. “The horror.’’
Teensy chose that moment to jump into Mama’s lap. Like furry sprinkles, a dusting of white dog hair settled on the ice-cream scoopers. “Gross!’’ I took them to the sink and rinsed them in super hot water.
“Do you mind, Mama?’’ Marty plucked the little dog off his owner’s lap and deposited him back on the floor. “I prefer my ice cream unadorned with shedding Teensy.’’
“Don’t pay any attention to them, darlin,’” Mama cooed to the dog. “You’ll never forget you’re mama’s baby. You’ll never forget what good care Mama takes of you, will you? Not like some ungrateful daug
hters I could mention.’’
Maddie finally moved, pushing her chair back. She’d tried just a few bites of ice cream.
“Didn’t you like it, Maddie?’’ Sal peered into her bowl. “There’s no dog hair in there.’’
“I need to make a phone call.’’ She took her cell into the living room.
I tried to steer the conversation back to the golf course again. I wanted to know what Sal thought was strange, because I certainly thought something was. “Sal, about what you said—’’
Mama shushed me. Putting her finger to her lips, she crept to the kitchen doorway to eavesdrop on Maddie. Marty followed. I began again. “The golf course, Sal—”
This time Marty put a finger to her lips; shook her head at me. Mama whispered: “I’m worried about your sister, Mace. Something’s wrong, and I aim to find out what!’’
From the other room, I could hear the faint electronic beeps of Maddie hitting the keypad on her phone. There was a pause. Then she spoke, her voice shaking with anger and frustration.
“Not voice mail again! Where are you? This is ridiculous. We need to talk. You owe me that, at least. I’m leaving another message: ‘Call. Me. Back.’ ’’
The next thing we heard was the door close on the hallway bathroom. The pipes in the old house were noisy. Water running to the sink’s faucets sounded through the wall.
In a hushed voice, Mama asked, “What do you suppose that was all about?’’
She and Marty cocked their heads at me. I shrugged.
“She doesn’t sound happy,’’ Sal said.
“No kidding,’’ Marty said. “She’s not eating, either. Maybe she’s dieting to get into her yellow party dress. Maddie’s always in a bad mood when she diets.’’
“I wish she’d rethink that dress,’’ Mama said. “Very few people can wear bright yellow. I’m lucky I’m one of them.’’
From Maddie’s misery to Mama’s lovely skin tone, another record set.
“What do you suppose Kenny will wear?’’ Marty asked.
Mama Gets Trashed (A Mace Bauer Mystery) Page 13
