“Something new, I bet. Have you noticed he’s lost weight?’’ Mama said. “He looks great.’’
Sal scooped seconds of the Kissimmee Kandy Kane ice cream into his bowl; considered for a moment, and then plopped in another mound of chocolate, too. “Must be all the exercise he’s getting, playing golf,’’ he said. “Kenny’s making all sorts of new friends at the club.’’
From my angle, I could see Maddie, listening just outside the kitchen door. Her face was damp and her eyes were swollen. I didn’t let on she was there.
“He’d better not be getting too friendly with that barmaid,’’ Mama said. “Maddie will tee up for a hole-in-one right off his forehead.’’
“That’s a ridiculous idea, Mama,’’ Marty said. “Maddie’s not insanely jealous, like you. Besides, she has nothing to worry about with Kenny. He’s the most loyal husband on earth.’’
A stifled sob came from the hallway. Maddie rushed from the house, slamming the front door behind her. Teensy scampered to the window in the living room to watch her go. Within moments, a car engine started. Tires squealed. The dog’s fevered barking outlasted the sound of Maddie fleeing.
twenty-eight
“I don’t want to make the call, Mace. You do it.’’
Maddie held a cocktail napkin with a phone number scribbled on it in lipstick. She’d found it deep in the pocket of a pair of Kenny’s slacks. Hand shaking, she shoved the napkin at me. I didn’t want to make the call either. But this was my sister. I took the number.
I hadn’t waited around at Mama’s to hear any more of Teensy’s yapping—not to mention any further dissection of Maddie’s strange behavior. I made a quick excuse about having to be up early, and was out the door right behind her. I tailed her to her house.
Now, the two of us were in her living room. The telephone beckoned on a table between us. The room was so quiet, I could hear the motor whirring on the decorative fountain in Maddie’s front yard.
I punched in the phone number. It rang and rang, maybe a dozen times, before someone finally answered. The clink of glasses and laughter echoed in my ear.
“19th Hole Lounge; Angel speaking.’’
I pressed down the button on the phone to disconnect.
“Who was it?’’ Maddie asked.
“Nobody,’’ I lied. “They never picked up.’’
“No answering machine? No voice mail?’’
I shrugged. “Maybe they can’t afford it.’’
I folded the napkin and slipped it deep into my pocket. I wasn’t going to make it easy for Maddie to call again. I wasn’t sure how the golf course’s bar—and its gorgeous barmaid—played into Kenny’s unfaithfulness. But I’d rather find out first than let Maddie assume the worst and act rashly. Angel didn’t seem like a good person to cross without having all the facts in hand.
Later, when Maddie’s mind was less burdened, she might think about hitting redial on her home phone. For now, the number was hidden in my pocket. I tried to distract her. “Why don’t you try Kenny again?’’
“I’ve dialed that number so many times the cramps in my fingers have cramps,’’ Maddie said. “I have the feeling he’s hiding out at his hunting camp. Would you go look for him? I’m so angry, I honestly don’t trust what I might do if I find him.’’
I knew Maddie was right about that. The mood she was in, she might just shoot him and mount his head like a hunting trophy on the wall. “Absolutely, I’ll go. If I find him, I’ll fetch him home again.’’ I didn’t say I’d probably knock some sense into the cheating bastard first.
“You can find it, right?’’
“Yep, I was just out there last winter when y’all had that big pig roast. It’s almost to the Okeechobee County line, not too far from the dump.’’
Maddie nodded. “I owe you one.’’ Her voice was so soft I had to lean in to hear her.
She looked miserable. It seemed every ounce of the self-confidence she’d always possessed had been sucked out. Putting my arm around her, I pulled her close. I wanted to protect her.
“You’d do the same for me, sister. You don’t owe me a thing.’’
I smoothed at Maddie’s fiery red hair, and brushed my lips against her cheek. It tasted salty from the tears she’d shed.
_____
My Jeep bounced over the rutted entrance to Kenny’s camp, more a claustrophobic pathway than a road. Live oaks raised gnarled limbs overhead, creating a dark tunnel. I remembered how sweet bay and wax myrtle crowded in from both sides. The cramped lane gave me the sense I was sliding blindfolded into a long, narrow chute.
I tried to keep my eyes out for potholes, while my mind focused on what I’d find when the Jeep came out the other side. Even in the dark, I could see the white blossoms on a wild sour orange. The tree’s branches scratched at the Jeep, rubbing paint off my already-
battered ride.
Finally, I broke free of the woodsy tunnel and entered a small clearing. My high-beam headlights played over what would be the camp’s front yard, if Kenny had ever bothered to plant grass. No lights shone in the windows of the ramshackle camp house—a scrap-wood building with a broad screened porch and patched tin roof. Kenny’s truck was nowhere in sight. Weeds were flattened and small shrubs crushed in the area he and his hunting buddies normally used for parking. No one was parked there tonight.
The Jeep rolled over what looked like a huge anthill. I pulled to a stop about twenty-five feet from the front porch door. Grabbing a flashlight from the glove box, I got out and made my way to the structure.
I knew the camp was larger—and nicer—inside than it seemed from the yard. Kenny had put in electricity and indoor plumbing, which was a plus when it came to convincing Maddie or Mama to ever visit. Marty and I definitely got all our family’s nature-girl genes. Aiming the flashlight at the top of the door jamb, I ran my finger along the wood. There was the key, just where Kenny always hid it. Once inside the door, I flipped on the lights.
The first thing that struck me was the smell of cigarette smoke. Aside from Sal’s occasional cigars, no one in our family smoked. Kenny didn’t either, as far as I knew. Judging by the pungency, the smoke was fairly recent.
Only after the cigarette odor registered did I notice another, fainter smell. It was lemony, like perfume or cologne. I’d smelled it somewhere before. When I sat down on the couch, the sweet scent was stronger. It seemed to rise up from the cushions. I definitely preferred it to the smoke stink, or the stale beer I could smell in a bottle on an end table next to the couch.
The bottle was about two-thirds full. Cigarette ashes littered the top, and someone had dropped their butts into the remaining beer. Lovely. The ashtray on the coffee table also overflowed, and lots of those discards were stained with lipstick. I poked through the ashtray with a pencil, and found at least three different shades on various cigarettes.
It looked like more than hunting was happening at Kenny’s camp. Fearing what I’d find, I made my way to the bedroom.
The bed was rumpled, a jumble of black satin sheets and tossed pillows. No way were those linens Maddie’s. My prudish, fiscally conservative sister would be more likely to sleep on a bed of nails than on slinky, pricey, black satin.
Thong panties, bright red with lacy insets, draped a lampshade. Again, not Maddie’s. On the nightstand sat two empty cans of diet Mountain Dew, Kenny’s favorite. Next to those were three packages of condoms in camouflage colors. An unopened bottle of Dom Perignon rested on the bed.
I may be more Budweiser than fine champagne, but even I knew that was some pretty pricey hooch. Another two bottles, empty, were up-ended in silver ice buckets half-filled with water. The water was still cool to the touch, but all the ice had melted. I counted five champagne flutes. Three were on top of a bureau. The other two were on the floor by the head of the bed, one on each side. I checked them for lipstick stains. All but one had the telltale marks.
I fetched the ashtray from the living room to see if the shades matched. At
least one did—the lipstick on several of the cigarette butts matched one of the champagne glasses.
I stood there, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. No matter how I figured, it didn’t look good for Kenny. Several women had been here—or maybe just one woman with an unusually diverse lipstick palette. There was drinking—which Maddie didn’t approve of. There was the appearance of sex. And there were those camouflage condoms. Those had Kenny and hunting camp written all over them.
I hadn’t found him, but I’d certainly found something. What in the world was I going to tell my sister?
I was about to leave when I remembered the napkin with the phone number I’d shoved into my pocket. I pulled it out and held it next to the champagne flute that matched one of the cigarettes. The rosy red phone number to the 19th Hole Lounge was written in exactly the same shade of lipstick.
_____
Outside on the front porch, I let my eyes adjust again to the dark. Beneath a waxing moon, there was light enough to see the sabal fronds beginning to shudder in a gusty wind. The temperature had dropped. A storm brewed. Silvery clouds swollen with rain scudded across a black sky.
A limpkin screamed from a nearby creek, raising the hairs at the back of my neck. No matter how many times I heard the wailing cry of the bird, it always gave me a start. Not for nothing did early Florida settlers call the limpkin the Crazy Widow.
Rustling sounds came from all around the dark landscape. It might have been the wind; or maybe wild hogs. Between the mournful bird and the imminent storm, I was feeling uneasy. Soon, the weather wouldn’t be fit for man or beast—or woman, either. I had planned to look around for signs of Kenny. He might have parked the truck somewhere else on the property. But the thought of tramping through the dark woods in a pounding rain didn’t hold much appeal.
Truth be told, I wasn’t sure what I’d do with Kenny once I found him. Where would I start in trying to unravel the story of that scene inside the camp-house? I needed to think about the best way to extract the truth from him. I decided to head for home, a good night’s sleep, and a chance of staying ahead of the storm.
The breeze picked up. Leaves skittered over the tops of my boots. The wind changed direction. I smelled rain coming, and something else: the acrid odor of cigarette smoke.
I was not alone in the woods.
twenty-nine
I hurried to my Jeep, stumbling a bit over the rough ground. The wind gusted harder. Still, I could smell the cigarette. It was probably just a hunter, settling in for a smoke before the rain began. But something about this whole episode at the camp hadn’t set right with me. I didn’t intend to stick around to find out exactly who was puffing away on Kenny’s isolated property in this lonely stretch of the county.
Grabbing the handle, I flung open the driver’s side door. My fingers scrabbled nervously at the waistband of my jeans, where I’d tucked my keys. They slipped from my hand, jangling to the floor. I bent to find them, just barely catching a reflection moving across the passenger side window. In the same second, my brain recognized it as an aiming dot, and I heard the loud crack of a rifle. I ducked my head as a tree limb shattered to my left. Leaves and chunks of bark rained onto the hood of my Jeep.
Hand shaking, I retrieved the keys and jammed them into the ignition. The engine clicked, but didn’t kick over. I cursed my reluctance to spend money on a new battery. Still slumped low in the seat, I turned the key again. The Jeep started. The relief that flooded through me was short-lived.
Another rifle shot split the air. A new branch burst, this time to my right. Chips of wood dinged off the fenders. A scatter of leaves clung to the windshield. Still ducking, I hit the gas. The tires spun in the sandy soil, and finally grabbed. Backing over the ant hill, I swept the steering wheel in a wide circle. Straightening the Jeep, I thrust it into drive. Peering up and over the dashboard, I spotted the rifle’s aiming dot dancing above the tree branches.
A third shot sounded just as I made it to the potholed driveway. Whoever was shooting had aimed very high. No storm of foliage followed the last shot.
Still, I hunched low in the seat, taking no chances. Toward the end of the tree tunnel, open space appeared ahead. The paved road was within sight. I hung a wide right off Kenny’s property, jouncing over the shoulder onto the pavement. Just as I made it, the first fat drops of rain slapped against the Jeep’s roof.
My eyes searched the rear-view mirror, but I saw only darkness behind me. What in the hell had happened? It was either a hunter with appalling aim, or a marksman aiming to intimidate. I swallowed; took a deep breath. My mouth was desert-dry. The thumping of my heart echoed in my ears. My hands were so tight on the steering wheel my knuckles ached.
I was beyond intimidated. I’d been terrified. Now I was ticked-off.
_____
My mood hadn’t improved much by the next morning. Mama was pouting. I would not concede a point. It wasn’t pretty.
“Well, I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal, Mace. It’s just a tiny bit out of your way, and it sure means a lot to me. Any other daughter would be happy to give her poor mama a ride to work.’’
“You happen to have two other daughters. Why didn’t you call them?’’
Mama stuck out her lower lip. She punched the scanner button on the radio to find a Christian music station.
“Hey, I was listening to that!’’ I punched it back to country.
“You are sure in some kind of snit, girl. Who licked the red off of your candy?’’
I didn’t want to tell her my foul temper might be a result of being shot at—or at least thinking I was being shot at. I couldn’t be absolutely certain about last night. Was it the most inept hunter in the county? Maybe someone held a weird grudge against trees. Whatever, it felt an awful lot like the series of shots was some kind of message meant for me.
If Mama knew what I’d found at Kenny’s camp, let alone that I was alone out there on the wrong end of some moron’s target practice, she’d throw a fit. My stomach churned when I considered how easily those shots could have ripped into me instead of the trees. I shook off the thought, and returned to picking at Mama.
“I’m just saying that old convertible of yours is in the shop so much maybe you should get rid of it. You should have dumped it after you found the body in the trunk.’’ I glanced over, my face deadly serious. “Maybe it’s cursed!’’
Mama snorted. “You know I don’t believe in that supernatural mumbo jumbo. It’s against the Bible.’’
“So what is it, if not a curse, that you’ve stumbled upon dead body after dead body ever since?’’
Silently, Mama took out her lipstick. She turned my rear view in her direction. Surely the base was stripped by now. She Iced, then smacked her lips a couple of times.
“I’ve just been at the wrong place at the wrong time, honey. Several times.’’ She kissed a tissue to blot off the excess. “Besides, it’s not like I’ve found all the bodies stashed in the back of my convertible.’’
We were both quiet for a moment. I thought about the dead girl in the dump. Mama must have, too, because she asked, “Has Carlos found out any more about Camilla?’’
“Nothing he’s said to me. You know how he is when he’s working a case.’’
I eased to a stop on Main Street, at one of Himmarshee’s two traffic lights. She tilted the rear-view mirror back toward me. It showed me a narrow slice of the left rear window and the top of the driver’s side seat belt. Sighing, I realigned it. As the light turned green, I eased into the intersection with U.S. Highway 441.
“By the way, I did try Maddie and Marty before I called you for a ride to Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow,’’ Mama said.
“So I wasn’t your first choice? Imagine that.’’
“Marty had a doctor’s appointment bright and early. Maddie never picked up. That girl is avoiding me for some reason. I don’t understand it.’’
“Maybe she’s sick of hearing about how you hate that yellow dress.’�
�
Mama cut her eyes at me.
“What’s the problem with Marty?’’ I changed the subject. “She’s not sick, is she?’’
Mama waved a hand. “She and Sam are ready to have kids. Marty wants to have the doctor check her over, make sure she’s in good health.’’
I nearly swerved off the highway. “Kids?! What? How come nobody told me? This is big news.’’
Mama looked smug. “You don’t know everything, Ms. Smarty Pants. Of course, Marty would turn to her mama to have a talk about children. It’s not like you’re the most maternal woman on the planet.’’
I was still shaking my head about my little sister when Mama hit me with something else to ponder.
“She’ll do fine. It’s not Marty I’m concerned about, honey.’’
I motioned a 4 X 4 hauling a stock trailer to pull out from the feed store parking lot. Tipping his cowboy hat, the driver slowly turned in front of me. My raised eyebrows signaled to Mama to continue.
“It’s Maddie.’’ Mama’s forehead wrinkled with worry.
I knew I had to tread carefully. I didn’t let my face reveal a thing. “How so?’’
“For starters, she’s lost weight.’’
“Isn’t that all you ever nagged her to do? Now she has, and it’s a problem?’’
Mama folded her arms over her chest. “Something is not right. I know my girls. I just hope whatever’s wrong won’t ruin Kenny’s birthday. Maddie has worked so hard to plan that celebration for him.’’
A speeding driver in a red luxury SUV zoomed past us with inches to spare. He veered so close to a sod truck in the oncoming lane I could see the truck driver’s eyes widen. His lips formed the F-word. The SUV cut back into my lane. He darted into the car length I’d left between my Jeep and the stock trailer so as not to tailgate and spook the cattle.
Mama stuck her head out the window and screamed, “Watch your manners, buster!’’
Mama Gets Trashed (A Mace Bauer Mystery) Page 14
