Mama Gets Trashed (A Mace Bauer Mystery)

by Sharp, Deborah

  “Sounds like Rhonda.’’

  “I’ll get to the point: I’ve found out some things about our mayor. If you’re going to fight him on that development he’s pushing, you might be able to use the information as ammunition against him.’’

  She seemed so eager. I didn’t want to tell her I already had one pretty big battle on my hands. Proving Kenny was innocent of murder had to take precedence over saving Florida from another development scheme. The sad thing was, even if we stopped this one, another ill-conceived project would pop right up to take its place. Out-of-control developers were the state’s version of Whac-A-Mole.

  Elaine pulled a notebook from her purse and shuffled through the pages. “First, the honorable Bill Graf is into some pretty weird things.’’

  “So I’ve heard. You mean sex, right?’’

  Her head jerked up from the notebook. Surprise showed on her face. “Yes, and it’s creepy! One of my fellow teachers has a niece, just out of high school. She interviewed for a filing job in the city manager’s office. The mayor followed her out to the parking lot at City Hall, and then asked if she’d consider ‘hooking up’ with him and his wife. It was pretty clear he didn’t mean for a nice family dinner.’’

  “What a sleaze ball.’”

  “Clearly.” She touched the tip of her pencil to her tongue, then made a check mark in her notes.

  The door to the park’s office opened. Rhonda stuck out her head. “You two found each other?’’

  I nodded. “I’ll be in soon, and then I’m yours for the rest of the day. I’ll even spread that pile of mulch on the nature path.’’

  A city crew had dumped it, smack dab at the beginning of the path. Rhonda had been calling ever since to try to get somebody to come back to even it out. Hey, if a little manual labor would get me back on her friendly side, I was not above lifting a shovel. She shook her finger at me and closed the door.

  Elaine consulted her notes again. “Next, he was connected to a business up north that got into trouble for trying to bribe some local government officials.’’

  That I had not heard. It looked like the Himmarshee paper fell down on reporting the stories it ran about the candidates in our recent elections. I wasn’t surprised. Newspapers nationwide were struggling to survive. The local paper was so short-staffed and strapped for the advertising that paid its bills I was amazed it still managed to publish anything at all.

  “Was that case common knowledge?’’ I asked.

  Elaine lowered her eyes, suddenly modest. “No, it was a little bitty town in Rhode Island, and the charges were pretty small potatoes. But I’m a good researcher. It’s a passion of mine, along with supporting the hapless St. Louis Rams.’’

  She paged through the notes. “The company belonged to his wife’s family, so the mayor’s name wasn’t directly involved. No charges were filed against him, though his wife worked there when the trouble arose. Now, I can’t say whether our mayor managed to cover his tracks, or he really didn’t have anything to do with their business. I intend to keep looking into it, though.’’

  “Why are you so interested in all of this?’’

  She looked out across the breezeway, her gaze lingering on Himmarshee Creek and then the cool greenness of the woods beyond. “You know, I love it here. I didn’t like the mayor, even before he showed such disregard for the kids’ safety in the parking lot. I liked him even less when I found out he had plans to bring in a lot of big development to ruin this place.’’

  She turned to me, her eyes meeting mine. “Maybe someone else would be a better mayor for Himmarshee.’’

  I waited for her to go on. A cardinal chirped from an oak branch, filling the silence.

  “You?’’ I finally asked. I sure as hell wasn’t mayoral material.

  She chewed her lip. “Is that crazy?’’

  I shook my head. “I’ve heard nuttier ideas. You’re smart. You show great attention to detail. You love the community, and you love kids. The town could do a lot worse.’’

  She grinned. “Mayors here serve a two-year term. I’ve got time to decide.’’

  “And gather more dirt on His Honor in the meantime.’’ I stuck out my hand. “You’ve already got my vote.’’

  We shook, and said our goodbyes.

  “I better get to work before Rhonda explodes.’’ As I walked toward the office, I started making a list in my head:

  Return phone calls. Spread mulch. Feed animals. Decide how to tell Maddie her husband had shagged a murder victim …

  The sound of Elaine calling me from the breezeway stopped me at the door. “Sorry,’’ I said, “what’d you say?’’

  “I forgot to mention Mrs. Graf’s family’s business. It was trash hauling.’’

  My hand was on the knob when Rhonda yanked open the door. The scowl on her face told me she was not happy.

  forty-one

  I held back my sister’s hair as she retched over the toilet in the bathroom Kenny had remodeled for her thirty-fifth birthday. I remembered how excited she’d been: They’d splurged on beautiful, custom glass tiles, forming a cobalt-blue border around the shower. The tiles were still in fine condition.

  I couldn’t say the same for Maddie.

  She coughed, and blew her nose. Shaking, she sat back on her heels. Her breath came out as a shudder.

  “You done?’’

  She nodded. “I’m sorry, Mace.’’ The words were muffled by a washcloth pressed over her nose and mouth.

  “Don’t worry about it.’’ I tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “I love you. What’s a little barf between sisters?’’

  She shifted the cloth, revealing a weak smile.

  I didn’t mention it wasn’t the first time today I’d watched one of my relatives upchuck. I hoped Kenny’s behavior hadn’t triggered an epidemic of family vomiting.

  Earlier, at work, I’d finished my chores. I groveled until I patched things up with my boss. When not chasing down murderers or dealing with family drama, I was a reliable employee. Rhonda was a forgiving sort, usually willing to meet me more than halfway.

  I left the park and headed for Maddie’s house, dreading the conversation I knew we needed to have. I brewed chamomile tea and sat her at the kitchen table, where I broke the news that her husband was in fact a cheating bastard. It seemed she was taking it pretty well. Then I got to the part about the swingers’ club, and how Kenny may have been the last person to see Camilla Law before she was murdered. Maddie clapped a hand over her mouth and galloped for the bathroom.

  She threw up two full cups of chamomile tea, turning the water in the toilet bowl bright yellow. I flushed.

  “Did you eat anything today, sister?’’

  She shook her head, putting two fingers over her lips to cover a burp.

  “You have to eat, Maddie.’’

  Even as I said the words, I thought how weird they sounded. Maddie never needed encouragement to eat. Usually, we encouraged her to stop. She collected herself, and began getting up from the bathroom floor. I helped her to sit on the bathtub edge. Then I gathered the balled-up, soggy tissues from the countertop, and tossed them in the wastebasket. One hit the rim, bouncing onto the floor behind the toilet. I got on my knees to pick it up. The angle brought my face right over the top of the wastebasket.

  I spotted a white plastic test stick at the bottom, peeking out from a rolled up wad of toilet tissue. There was a miniature display window near the tip of the stick. A plus sign, for positive, beamed in bright blue.

  The water ran in the sink. My sister brushed her teeth. My mind raced.

  “Is there something you want to tell me, Maddie?’’

  _____

  We were in Maddie’s kitchen again. She had a glass of room-temperature ginger ale in front of her. Outside the window, night had fallen. Maddie was so still, I could hear the bubbles fizzing in the carbonated drink.

  “How far along are you?’’

  She rested a hand lightly on her stomach. �
�It can’t be too far. My periods had gotten kind of irregular over the last couple of years, but I remember having one when Pam was home from college.’’

  “So that was mid-summer, and this is September. About two months, then?’’

  She shrugged; sipped the ginger ale.

  “What are you going to do?’’

  Her eyes cut me like laser beams. She slammed down the glass, sloshing soda all over the table. “I’m going to have it, of course.’’

  “You do have choices, Maddie. A baby may not be the best thing for you right now with …”

  My words trailed off when I saw her reaction. Her face darkened. Her hands flew to her stomach, as if she were shielding the embryo inside. I left the rest of that sentence unspoken: … with a cheating husband who could be facing murder charges.

  Even if Kenny was innocent—and I wasn’t 100 percent sure he was—he might have to go to court to prove it. It wouldn’t be cheap, and it wouldn’t be easy. You could say the same about Maddie, giving birth at her age with one problem-plagued pregnancy behind her.

  “I’m having this baby, whatever else happens. After all the trouble I had bringing Pam into the world, I wasn’t supposed to be able to get pregnant again. God must have a reason for sending this child my way now.’’

  I was less devout than my sister was. I didn’t give voice to the question looping through my brain: What if the Big Guy upstairs had made a mistake?

  She drank some more soda, and then squared her shoulders. Her voice came out sounding strong, much more like normal Maddie. “I’ll tell you one thing. This kid will never see the sad-sack version of me you’ve had to witness lately.’’

  She stood and leaned toward me across the table. In her eyes, I saw a spark of the old Maddie igniting. “I’m going to do something I should have done as soon as I discovered Kenny was running around on me.’’

  She stalked into the laundry room, returning with two empty clothes baskets. I followed her down the hallway to hers and Kenny’s bedroom. She threw the baskets on the bed and started tossing in his clothes. I saw the sleeve of that fancy shirt, tangled up with several pairs of vibrantly colored men’s briefs. If the phone number in Kenny’s pants pocket hadn’t been enough to make Maddie suspicious, those sexy “manties,’’ or men’s panties, should have nailed it.

  When the baskets brimmed, she nodded to me. “Grab one, would you?’’

  I did, and trailed after her through the house to the back door. She flicked on an outdoor flood light, turned the knob with one hand, and kicked the door open. Outside, she entered the utility shed where they stored garden supplies, tools, and a grill. She tossed a can of lighter fluid in her basket, and then scrabbled on a high shelf until she found a long box of matches. She was just about to walk out when she spotted a half-empty golf bag with some spare clubs inside.

  “Can you get that golf thingy?’’ she asked.

  Shifting the basket to one hip, I hefted the golf bag over my shoulder.

  Maddie marched to the fire pit in the yard. How many backyard barbecues had I attended here, with Kenny as the attentive host?

  You like your burger medium-rare, right Mace? Let me get you another beer.

  Maddie turned her basket upside down, kicking everything into the hole but matches and lighter fluid. Little puffs of old ash rose around the mound of clothes.

  She looked at me, waiting. I stood, considering the wisdom of what we were about to do. I remembered a similar scene in Mama’s backyard, after she finally got fed up with Husband No. 2. It was childish and immature and a waste of the good money spent on the lout’s clothes.

  But I recalled the satisfied smile that spread across Mama’s face as flames consumed the possessions of her unfaithful husband. It was the first time in months Mama had seemed like herself.

  I chucked the contents of my basket onto the pile. Then I threw in the golf bag, too. As the bag slid sideways, a Florida Gators cover bobbed atop one of the golf club heads. The plush, toothy University of Florida mascot seemed to be grinning.

  “Light that sucker up!’’ I said.

  Maddie doused the pile with lighter fluid. Scraaaatchh went the match. Whuuuuff went the clothes. Once the flames really got going, I stole a glance at my sister’s face. No smile in the golden glow; but her jaw was set with renewed strength.

  _____

  Damn! I was halfway down the steps on Maddie’s porch when I realized I’d forgotten to tell her that Mama and Marty wanted to help. My inclination was to bring them in. If Kenny hadn’t killed Camilla, we needed to find out who had. To clear Kenny, I could use their assistance. Well, Marty’s anyway. Mama’s help was often more curse than blessing.

  I turned back to the front door. Maddie had removed the spare key from the flowerpot once the whole mess with Kenny intensified. My hand was almost on the doorbell when I noticed something strange hanging in the place of the door wreath. I distinctly remembered the wreath being there when I arrived. As I’d waited for her to let me in, I’d straightened a silk sunflower and brushed some dust from a clump of fake berries.

  Now, the point of a silver knife pinned a note to the door. From the knife dangled a black leather collar, complete with a leash. It resembled the collar that encircled Camilla’s neck when Mama and I found her body at the dump. My breath quickened. Instinctively, I looked over my shoulder, scanning the dark hedges and the street beyond. All was silent. On the wooden porch, no planks creaked. No breath sounded, aside from my own.

  I squinted to read the scrawled message under the knife:

  Kenny’s a murderer. He must pay for his crime. Try to get him off, and someone in this family dies.

  forty-two

  My first thought was of Maddie: She could not see this.

  Was she in danger? I wanted to hide the threat and the sex gear, as if by doing that I could protect my sister from heartache or harm.

  I snatched the knife, along with the collar and leash, from the door. The note I slid into my pocket.

  The fact I was tampering with evidence might have given me pause, if not for what happened next. A car door slammed, as loud as a shot in the quiet night. An engine gunned. Tires screeched. A vehicle roared past—no headlights, careering wildly from side to side on the narrow street. It was large, dark, and there was a Graf for Mayor bumper sticker on the back.

  All the windows were dark in the homes of Maddie’s neighbors, early-to-bed retirees with notoriously cautious driving habits. One of them might be a Graf supporter, but I’d never heard squealing tires on her street before. Was the speeding car linked to the note and kinky accessories? I raced to my Jeep, determined to find out.

  Swerving into the road, I gave chase to the fleeing car. The headlamps were now lit; twin taillights glowed red in the distance. The driver blew through the stop sign at the end of Maddie’s street, and turned in a wide arc onto the highway leading away from town. I paused at the sign, and then jammed my foot on the gas to follow. My Jeep shimmied trying to match the other driver’s speed. The big car had a head start and greater horsepower. I was losing him.

  I urged my old Jeep onward, but as the miles passed, the taillights ahead grew smaller and smaller. When they were barely pinpricks, I knew I’d never catch him. Pounding my steering wheel in frustration, I eased off the gas. No sense in blowing a valve or some other crucial engine part on a lonely road in the middle of nowhere. I pulled my purse onto the seat, and started feeling around inside for my cell phone. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I didn’t know how Kenny was involved. But I intended to call Maddie to tell her not to open her door to anyone—including her husband.

  Picking through the purse, I felt the sharp point of a metal spike on the collar. I pulled it out, hearing the clink-clink-clink of the chain attached. I was fuzzy on the details of how and why people got a sexual kick out of being leashed and dragged around like a dog. In my experience with dogs, even they don’t seem to enjoy it that much.

  If the spiky collar was sharp, it would
be nothing compared to the knife I’d also dropped in my purse. I wanted to find my phone, but I didn’t want to sever a thumb. With a hand on the wheel, I dumped the purse’s contents on the passenger seat. The phone slid under the seat.

  Slowing, I ducked down and felt around under there. I encountered an empty cup that once held sweet tea from the drive-thru; and something soft I hoped was a dirty sock. With the phone finally in my grasp, I straightened up again. Bright lights shone in my rear-view mirror.

  “Where’d you come from?’’ I muttered into the night.

  I moved to the right, so he could pass me. He sped up, staying glued to my bumper. When I pressed the on button on my phone, the screen lit. I quickly glanced at it. No bars. Not good.

  Behind me, the driver revved his engine. Lights flashed, blindingly bright. We were alone. This stretch of highway, leading north through ranches and citrus groves, was deserted. I felt for the tire iron normally stashed under my seat. Almost at the same moment, I remembered leaving it in Henry’s minivan that morning, after we confronted Kenny.

  The headlight glare compromised my ability to see who was behind me. But my ears were perfect, and I knew the sound of gunfire when I heard it. A shot pinged off my right bumper. Another pop, and the mirror on the driver’s side shattered. Shit. That was close.

  I hunkered down as much as I could and started watching the dark shapes of trees and brush along the shoulder of the road. Somewhere along this desolate stretch was an abandoned cow pen. Rarely used and almost overgrown, the dirt-road cutoff to the pen was hard to see. I prayed I hadn’t passed it.

  With the black night all around me and the high beams behind me, I couldn’t be sure what type of vehicle was chasing me. My four-wheel-drive Jeep, though, could handle rough terrain. And there it was, just ahead: A bullet-riddled sign from a long-gone ranch, a forgotten cattle brand in barely legible red. On splintered legs, only a few feet off the ground, the wooden sign served as target practice for local yahoos.