Mama Gets Trashed (A Mace Bauer Mystery)

by Sharp, Deborah

  “I think everybody’s here. I’m going a little closer. They might talk about Kenny, or the murder. I want to be able to see, or at least hear, what’s going on inside.’’

  From what I’d seen so far, Camilla’s murder seemed to be the last thing on the party guests’ minds.

  “Are you sure you want to do that, Mace?’’ Mama grabbed my wrist.

  “Don’t you want to find out what they do?’’ I asked.

  “I can guess,’’ she said. “I know where all the parts go.’’

  After a bit of arguing, I finally left Mama hiding in the cart barn. I crept to the apartment, trying to skirt the light shining from the windows. Stealthily, I mounted the steps to the porch. I stopped in my tracks when the bottom stair creaked behind me. A ripple of fear rolled down my spine. My breath caught in my throat. Slowly, I turned …

  … and saw Mama, her hands over her mouth and her eyes as wide as saucers. “Sorry,’’ she whispered through her fingers. “I changed my mind.’’

  The creak may have given me a scare, but I doubted if anyone inside heard it. The music was loud, and so was the chatter. A male voice boomed, “Take it off!’’ Shrill, girlish laughter followed.

  I pulled Mama onto the porch. Holding tight to her elbow, I propelled her to the darkest corner. We both inched along the side of the wall to a spot by a window. I pointed at my eye, then at the window, motioning her to look inside. At the same time, we both peeked through the glass from our respective corners. Mama gasped. I may have, too.

  The two girls from the mayor’s office were naked from the waist up, writhing in an erotic embrace. The silver-haired fox from the Porsche was the male filling in the middle of their female sandwich. Mrs. Silver-Hair watched from a couch, fiddling with what looked like metal clamps on her bare breasts.

  One of the suits tossed off his tie. He’d just begun to unbutton his dress shirt when I felt something jab into my lower back. “Stop it, Mama.’’

  “Stop what?’’

  I felt the pressure again, more insistent this time.

  “No sense in standing outside looking in. Why don’t you and your mum come in and join the party?’’

  The voice was clipped and ice-cold. The accent was English.

  forty-nine

  Prudence Law glared at Mama and me. She repeatedly slapped the palm of her hand with what looked like a horse-riding crop. She was dressed in a getup very similar to what her murdered sister wore when we found her body at the dump: leather bustier with laces and studs, black stiletto heels, and fishnet hose. Instead of the spiky dog collar, though, Prudence wore a severely symmetrical wig, in neon blue. Black fur handcuffs hung from one of the many silver buckles on her bustier.

  It looked like the conservative dark suit and the white blouse with the Peter Pan collar had been moth-balled for the evening.

  “Well?’’ She traced the swell of my breasts with the tip of her leather crop. “Are you interested in coming inside?’’

  She lowered the crop, stroking at my groin. “You can take the meaning of that verb either way you want.’’

  “Not tonight.’’ I stepped back, crossing my arms over my private parts to block the crop. “Not ever.’’

  “Not so fast, honey.’’ Mama took a quick peek through the window. “I’m not saying you should go inside, but that tall one with the gold watch is kind of cute. Just keep him in mind as a Plan B man if you and Carlos don’t get back together.’’

  “Sure. He’s a developer and a sexual deviant. We sound like a match made in heaven.’’ I folded both arms over my chest and looked at Prudence. “I’m not interested in your little party or my mother’s notion of Mr. Plan B.’’

  She raised an eyebrow at Mama. “What about you? Interested?’’

  Mama smoothed her hair. “I don’t need to get my kicks with this kind of thing. My husband, Sal, is very satisfying in the sex department, thank you very much. I’ve always loved a man who isn’t afraid to—”

  “—I think we’ve got enough information, Mama.’’ I turned to Prudence. “Nice outfit. Did you find that in your sister’s closet?’’

  A flicker of sadness crossed her face. Tears welled in her darkly shadowed, heavily made-up eyes. I felt like I’d just kicked a kitten. A dominatrix kitten, but still.

  “Sorry. I’m just surprised to see you here. I thought you told us at dinner that dangerous sex was Camilla’s deal, not yours.’’

  An image of Prudence making herself at home so quickly in Camilla’s house flashed into my mind. I suddenly knew what had been nagging at me. “In fact, you seem to act a lot like Camilla. You know a lot about her, too, considering you were so estranged.’’

  She and Mama looked equally perplexed.

  “What are you driving at?’’ Prudence said.

  “You told me you’d never been to Camilla’s house, yet you knew exactly where to look for her booze. That hidden bottle opener, too.’’

  “Our parents always kept their liquor on the top closet shelf. It seemed likely Camilla would, too. As for the other, my sister and I lived together when we were younger. I constantly misplaced the bottle opener until she thought of putting it out-of-the-way, on the wall side of the fridge.’’

  As I stared at her, something about her costume tugged at my brain. Exactly what remained just out of reach. I gestured at her sexy garb, and asked a general question instead. “What about those clothes, and being here tonight? You were very clear Camilla was the one with dark tastes.’’

  Mama nodded. “Mace is right. When you came to dinner, you said you disapproved. ‘For such a clever girl, Camilla could be quite stupid.’ That’s what you said about your sister.’’

  Now, both of us stared at Prudence. She wouldn’t meet our eyes. Her head was down, and that bright blue wig cloaked her face. She traced a figure eight against her thigh with the leather crop.

  Suddenly, I had an epiphany. “Did you want to be Camilla, the golden-girl sister?’’ Mama gasped as I blurted out the question. “You’re going to live in her house. You’ve asked for her job at the library. Did you kill your sister to take over her life?”

  Prudence’s head snapped up. “So I’m the evil twin? You can’t be serious.’’

  The incredulous look on her face and her derisive tone made me feel less sure of my theory than I’d felt a moment before. Mama’s sharp pinch didn’t help my confidence, either.

  “I think you’ve internalized a plot from some insipid show on your American telly.’’

  A long sigh escaped Prudence’s lips. They were colored blood-red, and outlined in an even darker shade. “The truth is my sister’s murder has reminded me of thoughts—desires—I thought I had extinguished.”

  Quietly, she knuckled away tears. They left streaks of ultra-black mascara under her eyes. We waited for her to continue. Not even Mama uttered a word.

  “Camilla and I did things like this regularly when we were young. We dressed alike.’’ She waved the crop up and down, indicating her leather garb. “We role-played. Sometimes I was the dominant one; sometimes she was. Sometimes, we both were. We liked that best. Being subjugated by identical twins excited men … us, too, to be honest.’’

  “I’ve always heard English men have a thing for being spanked. Is that true?’’ Mama asked.

  “Where in the world did you hear that?’’ I said.

  “Around,’’ she answered, with unsatisfying vagueness.

  “It is true,’’ Prudence said, “but it’s not just English men.’’

  Mama’s eyes got wide. “Well, who else—”

  I cut her off before she could begin inquiring into the sexual practices of all the member states of the United Nations. “How can you party with these people?’’ I asked Prudence. “One of them might have killed your sister.’’

  She narrowed her eyes. “From what I hear, your brother-in-law killed my sister. I expect he got carried away. Some people aren’t capable of knowing when to stop.’’ The chilly tone had retur
ned. “Not that it will bring back Camilla, but I take some comfort in knowing he’ll be punished. I understand Florida employs an electric chair.’’

  “Not anymore,’’ Mama said. “They retired Ol’ Sparky from Death Row after a couple of condemned men caught fire during their executions.’’

  “How barbaric.’’ Prudence shuddered.

  “We give them the needle now,’’ Mama added.

  “Kenny is not getting the needle, because he didn’t do it,’’ I said. “If one of my sisters had been murdered, I’d be out trying to find out who killed her. I wouldn’t be dressed up like Halloween for a swingers’ session.’’

  Prudence glared at me, crop hitting leather-clad thigh.

  “Now, girls …”

  Prudence interrupted Mama, words exploding from her mouth. “The point is your sister was not murdered. Mine was. I needed a distraction from my grief. A release, if you will. When Angel asked me to come tonight, I leapt at the chance to lose myself for a few hours.”

  Mama nodded agreeably. “That’s certainly understandable.’’

  “Whose side are you on?’’ I asked her.

  Ignoring me, Mama lowered her voice and nudged Prudence in the ribs. “So, what will y’all do in there?’’

  “Wouldn’t you like to know? There’s only one sure way to find out.’’ She pointed to the door with the riding crop.

  I sneaked a peek through the window. The granny was kneeling in front of one of the suits. He wasn’t wearing his suit.

  If I were alone, I might have considered going inside, partly out of curiosity and partly to see what I could find out about this crowd. But with my Sunday-school-teaching mother in tow? No way. Before Mama could barge through the door, I answered for both of us.

  “We’ll take a rain check. Would you do me a favor, though? Ask Angel to call me as soon as she can. I’d like to know a little bit more about tonight’s invitees.’’

  “Angel’s the one with all the answers.’’ Prudence struck a mysterious tone.

  “Not Jason?’’ I asked. “He’s the one who told me to come tonight.’’

  She snorted. “Jason is a pretty boy-toy, nothing more. Angel calls the shots.’’

  She placed the crop under Mama’s chin, lifting her face. “So you’re curious about spanking, are you?’’ She stared into Mama’s eyes, affecting a strict headmistress voice. “Have you been a bad girl, Rosalee?’’

  “Never!’’ Mama said.

  Prudence smiled, switched to her normal voice. “You’re supposed to say yes.’’

  “Okay, yes.’’

  The muscles flexed in Prudence’s slender arm, as taut as steel cords. The crop made a swish as it cut through the air. She brought it down, hard, against Mama’s bottom.

  “Ouch!’’ Mama’s hand flew to her rear end. “That’s not sexy. It stung like a nest of wasps.’’

  “Pain is pleasure, Rosalee. Remember that.’’ Prudence tucked the crop under one arm and lit a cigarette. A curl of smoke rose.

  “That was not pleasure; it was pure pain.’’ Mama rubbed her butt. “I can tell you one thing. If Sal spanked me that hard, I’d knock him out with a frying pan. That man never even leaves a mark.”

  I put my hands over my ears. “Have you never heard the phrase, ‘Too Much Information,’ Mama?’’

  _____

  Jason did not show, and neither did the Grafs. We stayed on the porch until the party inside moved to a more intense phase. I heard the slap of Prudence’s crop against naked flesh. There were muffled shrieks and moans of pleasure. The music switched from loud rock to seductive rhythm and blues. “Let’s Get it On,’’ indeed. When the light through the windows dimmed, I took that as our exit cue.

  Crossing to the parking lot, I slid a small penlight from my pocket. “Got anything to write with?’’ I whispered.

  Mama dug in her purse, pulling out a pen and a bank withdrawal slip. I shone the light on the Porsche, reading off the license numbers as she wrote them down. Sure enough, the tag holder advertised a luxury car dealer in Palm Beach County. We moved around to the other vehicles, recording each tag number. I may have come to look for the mayor, but I found several other people who shared his kinky tastes. Registered owners of vehicles are public records in Florida. I had no intention of relying solely on Angel to reveal the invitees on her party list.

  I needed their names for my suspect list.

  fifty

  “I’m as full as a tick on a fat dog. Why’d you let me have that second piece of butterscotch pie, Mace?”

  “I didn’t put a gun to your head. I told you it wasn’t a good idea to follow a big breakfast with a double serving of pie at four-thirty in the morning.’’

  “I just want to climb into my nice soft bed and go to sleep.’’ Mama yawned.

  We’d been wound up after our excursion to the swingers’ soiree. I suggested a trip to the twenty-four-hour truck stop in Sebring for ham, eggs, and hashed browns. I’d taken over driving halfway back to Himmarshee. As I looked across the front seat of Mama’s big convertible, I saw her eyelids fluttering, and her head dropping down toward her chest.

  Now, the radio was turned up and the windows were rolled down. I told her she had to stay awake and talk to me until I got us to my house. I already regretted that, and we weren’t even halfway there.

  “What do you think you’ll do about Carlos? Is it over for good? Do you think you’d be in this situation if you’d taken my advice?’’

  “Hmm?’’ I said, acting distracted. “This mess with Kenny is really on my mind. I thought we could go over who we think are likely suspects to have killed Camilla.’’

  Mama took up the challenge. “My money’s on the mayor. He’s as sleazy as they come, playing around with all those different girls.’’

  I told her what Marty and I had discovered about his S & M encounter at the NoTell Motel with a woman with an English accent.

  “That seals it,’’ she said. “His partner had to be Camilla. They were involved in some kind of sexual game. It got out of hand. He accidentally killed her, but he couldn’t report it. Not with him spouting off all during his campaign about family values. So, he dumped her body to get rid of the problem.’’

  I knew she could be right. Still, I felt there was more to the story of the mayor and Camilla than we knew.

  “Who else had a good reason to want her dead?’’

  “You mean besides Kenny?’’ Mama asked.

  I cut my eyes at her. “Obviously.’’

  “I’m just trying to think like your former fiancé would. And speaking of that, I have some ideas about how you could win Carlos back.’’

  “Could we attend to the matter at hand?’’

  She slid across the bench seat and placed her finger with the giant wedding ring over my left hand. “This is the matter at hand. Your ring-less hand.’’

  “Mama, could you please focus on your other daughter? Her marriage is on life-support. If we let Kenny go to prison, it’s like pulling the plug. They won’t survive that.’’

  I thought about Maddie’s unborn child, and his or her absent father. I thought about that child, growing up with a convicted murderer for a daddy. I would not let that happen.

  “Suspects,’’ I said. “That’s what we need to concentrate on.”

  “Okay, what about the swinging barmaid, Miss Hotsy Totsy what’s-her-name?’’

  “Angel.’’

  “Never was a name more inappropriate.’’

  “You just don’t like her. Admit it.’’

  “True. But consider this: Angel was queen bee of the swinger set when Camilla moved in and started taking over. Camilla was younger and prettier. Plus, she had all those moves she learned with her twin sister. Angel was jealous. She killed Camilla so she could get back her power again.’’

  I scanned the oncoming lane. Seeing no traffic, I pulled around a pokey tractor. “Hmmm, that scenario has potential. But Angel seems more like a manipulator than a murder
er. If she wanted somebody to disappear, she’d design an elaborate plan or trick someone else into doing the dirty work. She’s smart that way.’’

  The country station on the radio started playing Hunter Hayes’ song, “Wanted.’’ I was quiet for a couple of moments, thinking. “Let’s go to the other end of the intelligence scale. What about Jason, the golf pro? He invited me to party with the swingers tonight, and then never showed up. Why?’’

  Mama punched the radio to find another station. “Who knows? Maybe he fell asleep and slept right through it. We would have too, if I hadn’t set three alarms to wake us. Who starts a party at three o’clock in the morning? I’ve never heard of such a thing.’’

  I was about to say she’d never heard of a swingers’ party, either. Then I remembered her comments about spanking and Brazilian waxes, and I kept my mouth shut. If it turned out Mama knew more about swinging than I did, I didn’t want to know why.

  “There’s more to Jason than meets the eye,’’ I said. “I got the impression he has some real feelings for the mayor’s wife.’’

  “No way!’’

  I nodded. “If nothing else, that shows he’s more complicated than some golf course gigolo, out for a good time and a few extra dollars.’’

  The sky outside was still dark. I tuned the radio away from talk and back to country music. Mama aimed the rear-view toward her so she could check her lipstick.

  “What about Mrs. Mayor?’’ She pursed her apricot lips. “Maybe Jason had a thing with Camilla and Beatrice was jealous. She certainly looks strong enough to strangle a little bitty thing like Camilla.’’

  “Yeah, she’s a big’un all right. But she’s out of shape, and flabby in the arms and shoulders. Moving the body by herself would be a challenge. She would have needed help.’’

  Mama tapped her cheek, considering. “Didn’t Elaine do all that research and find out Beatrice’s family was in waste hauling up north? She’d know how things work at the dump.’’

  “What’s to know? At our dinky dump, you pretty much drive up and dump. It’s not one of those state-of-the-art ‘solid waste landfills.’ ’’