When C’ndee spoke, her normally strident voice was a whisper. “Do you think Ronnie crossed the wrong people?”
Mama and I looked at her blankly.
“Back home, if someone pisses off the wrong people,” she wriggled her fingers in quote marks, “they wind up in concrete boots.”
Mama, exasperated, said, “Just say what you want to say, C’ndee. My stars and garters! I thought all you Yankees were supposed to be direct!”
“Sleeping with the fishes,” C’ndee clarified.
Ah-ha.
“That’s not how things work in Himmarshee,” I told her. “We’re just an itty-bitty town. The Mafia wouldn’t bother running things down here.”
C’ndee raised her palms in a shrug, a gesture right out of The Sopranos. “I’m just askin’. That’s all I’m sayin.’ ” She looked toward the kitchen again. “You know, I could really use some coffee.”
“Well, you can’t go in there to find some.”
“I know, Mace. I’m not stupid.” A flash of irritation surfaced. “I meant I’d be glad to run to that diner and pick up enough for everybody. I’ll bring some back for the cops, too.”
I started to protest her going, but then realized coffee might be what all of us could use. I couldn’t leave, since I’d found Ronnie’s body. Besides, if I left Mama alone with C’ndee at the VFW, Mama might kill her. And since Carlos was the Himmarshee Police Department’s only homicide detective, having to handle two murders in one morning might stretch him a bit thin.
“Fine,” I told C’ndee. “But hurry back. Detective Martinez might want to talk to you, too.”
She’d only been gone a few minutes when Carlos rushed through the door. Outside, I saw what looked like the entire department, including the police chief, arriving in three squad cars behind an ambulance.
My stomach fluttered at the sight of Carlos, just like always. It hardly seemed right to be thinking about how fine he looked, with poor Ronnie’s body growing colder in the next room. But I couldn’t help myself. The man was as gorgeous as a Spanish prince. Dark skin, black eyes, broad chest tapering to a waist without an ounce of fat. I knew how firm and muscular his body felt under that button-down dress shirt and blue-striped tie. I might have blushed, or licked the drool from my lips. Instead, I thought about Ronnie’s fate, and felt my features form into a more suitable expression.
All business, Carlos nodded brusquely at Mama and me. “Where is he?”
I pointed to the closed kitchen doors.
“Poor Ronnie,” Mama said. “This is just awful.”
“Yeah, you two have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn’t know when I left Miami that Himmarshee would end up taking its place as Florida’s murder capital.”
Before either of us could jump to the defense of our normally tranquil hometown, we heard a hubbub erupting in the parking lot outside.
“Let me through! Somebody said there’d been a knife fight. Who got hurt? Mama! Are you in there? Are you all right?”
The voice, accustomed to silencing an auditorium of Himmarshee middle-schoolers, belonged to my red-headed sister, Maddie.
“I’m fine, honey,” Mama yelled.
I went to the window and slid it open. “The fight was already over when Mama and I got here,” I said through the screen. “Ronnie Hodges is dead.”
Maddie’s hand flew to her throat, just as Mama’s had done earlier. Their gestures were the same, but their looks couldn’t be more different. Maddie towered over Mama, who barely reaches five feet in heels. And while Maddie may be the oldest sister, I never tire of reminding her that I’m still the tallest, at five-foot-ten.
Marty, the youngest, rushed across the rapidly filling parking lot. Her blond hair bounced in a braid from one slender shoulder to the other. Breathing hard, blue eyes filled with fear, she peered into the VFW window. “Are y’all okay? We were so worried, Mace! Maddie even jumped out of my car while it was still moving.” She jabbed an elbow at our big sister. “I just about ran you over!”
That poke passed as criticism from Marty. Petite and pretty like Mama, our librarian sister was normally as gentle as a baby lamb. I’m somewhere between the two of them: Not as sweet as Marty; not as scary as Maddie.
“We’re okay,” I said. “Ronnie isn’t.”
I filled them in. Maddie looked sad; Marty shuddered when I described the murder scene.
“Has anyone told his wife?” she asked.
Carlos came to the window just in time to overhear Marty’s question. “No telling what she’s heard by now. I’m still amazed at how news travels in a small town. That’s not to say it’s always accurate.”
The Himmarshee Hotline was surely humming. It wouldn’t be long before half the town arrived to check out the crime scene.
Carlos had his cop face on. “Mace, I need you to come back in and tell me exactly what you saw, and when. And then I’d like you to translate for your mother.” He nodded to the table where Mama still sat. “She’s obviously upset, since the man was a neighbor. But she keeps going off on tangents. Something about food for a hundred and fifty and some kind of tool.”
“Tulle,” I said. “It’s a fabric. You tie it around three candied almonds as a wedding favor. But believe me, Carlos, you really don’t want to know.”
A battered white Plymouth screeched into the VFW parking lot. Even after the driver parked half onto the grass and shut off the ignition, the engine continued to knock. A wild-eyed woman flung open the car door. She leaped out, eyes scanning the growing crowd.
“Uh-oh,” I said to my sisters, who still stood outside the open window. “Heads up. Here comes Ronnie’s wife. She’s probably heard something, and she’s fearing the worst.”
The three of us straightened, waiting to see what Alice would do. You could almost see the terror rising in her eyes as she checked each face, failing to see her husband’s familiar features. I’ve always been single, but both my sisters are married: Maddie for twenty years; Marty for more than ten. I imagined they were running through in their minds how it would feel as a wife to be on the receiving end of the official confirmation Alice Hodges was about to get. I didn’t need to have a husband to know it would feel awful.
As I watched from inside the window, Marty started toward Alice.
“Honey, why don’t you let me take you inside? It looks like the skies are going to open up again at any moment out here. No sense in getting wet.”
Marty’s voice was kind and soothing. I was glad she got to Alice first before Maddie steamrolled her.
“Where’s my husband?” Alice asked, her voice laced with anxiety. “Where’s Ronnie?”
“Let’s go in.” Marty spoke calmly and slowly, as if to a child. Maddie followed our little sister’s lead, approaching quietly from Alice’s other side. She didn’t say a word, which is rare for Maddie, just took one of Alice’s arms while Marty held on to the other.
I looked around for an officer. The policemen—and one woman—who’d come in behind Carlos were busy starting to shoo people from the lot. The chief was out by the street, talking to the Himmarshee Times. Yellow crime scene tape was going up. I don’t think anyone official noticed my sisters escorting a middle-aged woman in a faded housedress and sensible shoes. She didn’t register as the wife of the murder victim inside the VFW.
“Mama,” I called over to the table where Carlos had asked her to wait. “Run over to the kitchen and tell Carlos Alice Hodges just got here. Somebody needs to come take care of her.”
I knew first aid, since we’ve had our share of emergencies at Himmarshee Park. If Alice were to collapse or go into shock, I’d know what to do. But Carlos would want to talk to her. By the time a young policewoman stopped my sisters at the front entrance, Mama had found Carlos. He strode across the rental hall to the door.
“It’s okay. Let them through,” he said to the policewoman.
She stepped aside, and Maddie and Marty entered the dining room. Alice walked, white-f
aced and fearful, between them.
“Are you in charge?” she asked Carlos, and then her words tumbled out without waiting for his answer. “I got a phone call. Someone said there’d been a murder. My husband was here early this morning, preparing for an appointment. I haven’t been able to reach him on his cell phone. I’ve told him and told him not to go off and leave it lying on the front seat of his car.” She stopped talking, took a couple of shallow breaths. “What good is a cell phone if you never have it with you? I’ve told him …” Growing softer, her voice finally petered out.
Carlos nodded at me, and then to a chair at a nearby table. I pulled it over. He introduced himself and invited Alice to sit. I moved back to the window, giving them privacy.
“I don’t want to sit down.” Alice’s voice rose in anger. “I want to talk to my husband.”
Marty gently eased her into the seat, and Maddie applied a little pressure to her shoulder to keep her there.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” Carlos said, and he did look sorry, all knitted brows and sympathetic eyes. “There’s been an accident.”
An accident? Only if Ronnie had a career I hadn’t known about as a knife-throwing circus contortionist.
“Mrs. Hodges, your husband is dead.”
Alice recoiled from Carlos’ words as if he’d slapped her. “That can’t be. I just made him oatmeal this morning.” She passed a hand over her eyes, as if fixing in her mind the image of Ronnie eating breakfast. “Are you sure it’s him?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Carlos said. “He had his wallet on him with ID, and several people have confirmed his identity.”
Alice shook her head, limp gray hair falling into her face. Her hands were busy, kneading the hem of her dress. Marty leaned over and brushed a few strands of hair from Alice’s eyes. Maddie gave her shoulder an awkward pat. Carlos watched. His dark, intelligent eyes registered Alice’s every sound, every twitch.
Mama walked silently to my side. “That poor woman,” she whispered. “I can never see a new widow without thinking of that day in the hospital, twenty-one years ago, when they told me your daddy was dead.”
That’s something you don’t forget. I still remember Maddie, Marty, and me standing in the street, watching Daddy disappear in an ambulance after his heart attack. That was the last time we saw him alive.
“Honey, Alice looks like she can use a drink. The manager got here to unlock the bar and office so the police can look around. Why don’t we go see if we can find her a drop of sherry?” Mama paused. “Maybe something stronger.”
I glanced toward Alice, who was now struggling to rise from the chair. Stooping down next to her, Marty spoke softly, urgently. Maddie clamped a principal’s grip on her shoulder. Alice’s eyes were dry, and blazing with anger.
“I want to see him! You can’t keep me from seeing him!” she said to Carlos. “Just let me in there for a minute. I need to make sure it’s Ronnie.”
Alice was flying through those five famous stages of grief in record time. We’d already seen denial and anger. Now, she was bargaining. All that was left was depression and acceptance.
“I’m not sure Alice will take a drink,” I said to Mama. “I think she’s a teetotaler.”
“Desperate times, Mace.”
In short order, we found the manager and some brandy. Mama took a little nip for herself, and then got a fresh glass and the bottle, and we headed back to the dining room.
“I expect Alice will do fine after the awful shock wears off,” Mama said. “She’s a bit of a cold fish, to tell you the truth.”
“Mama! That’s a horrible thing to say. That booze must have loosened your tongue.”
“It’s not booze, Mace. It’s only brandy. And I’m just stating a fact. She’s a good woman, but that marriage has had its problems.”
“Like most marriages,” I said.
Mama, the expert, waved her hand dismissively.
“The two of them were as different as corn and beets,” she said. “Alice never missed a Sunday at church. Ronnie would rather watch football. After he got hurt at the feed store, he’d taken an interest in getting in shape. Lately, he’d really spiffed himself up. And Alice … well, you saw Alice. I don’t think a tube of lipstick ever touched those lips. She’d sooner gamble on a Sunday than step foot into Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow, even though we could work wonders for her at the salon.”
“Mama, not everyone wants to go around looking like a painted parakeet.”
I looked meaningfully at her lemon-sherbet colored pantsuit, orange-green-and-yellow floral scarf, and platinum hair. Her lips gleamed with her favorite shade, Apricot Ice.
In return, she raised a perfectly-plucked eyebrow at my ensemble: boots, jeans, and a T-shirt I’d found hanging on the bathroom doorknob that morning. It probably should have gone in the wash instead.
“I’d rather look like a parakeet than a ragged old possum you’ve dragged out of some newcomer’s attic, Mace. I’ll never understand why you don’t make more with all the physical blessings God gave you.”
“Here we go again,” I muttered, as we rounded the corner into the dining room.
What we saw next silenced both of us at once. Alice moaned, and rocked back and forth on the chair, her arms wrapped tight around her upper body. When she saw Mama, she let out the emotion it seemed had been trapped inside her chest.
“He’s dead, Rosalee! My Ronnie’s dead.” Her cry turned into a scream.
Mama rushed to her, and Alice just about collapsed on top of her, sobbing. It looked like she’d jumped right ahead to acceptance of the fact that Ronnie had been murdered. As Mama handed me the brandy bottle so she could comfort her grieving neighbor, our eyes met. I didn’t have to say a word. Mama and I both knew what I was thinking.
Alice didn’t look like such a cold fish now.
“Okay, people, there’s nuthin’ to see.” A Bronx honk blared from outside. “Nuthin’ to see here, people. Do like the officers say, now. Move along.”
I looked out the window and saw Mama’s fiancé inserting himself into the scene. His towering size, his voice, the sheer force of his personality—all these things made people do the bidding of Sal Provenza without asking questions. And that was saying something today, since he looked ridiculous in orange-and-green plaid golf knickers and a color-coordinated beret. A little orange pom-pom jiggled on the crown of the cap with every step he took.
Leaving my sisters and Mama inside with Alice Hodges, I went out to the parking lot to join Sal. The sun had broken through the rain clouds. It wasn’t even noon, and already it was hot.
As soon as Sal spotted me, he immediately stopped shepherding curious townsfolk. Worry knitted the brow below his jaunty plaid cap.
“Your mudder’s not in there is she, Mace?”
“She is, but she’s fine. Shaken up, like all of us,” I said. “Didn’t Mama tell you she had an appointment here this morning with your caterer?”
Avoiding my gaze, he tugged at the collar of his blindingly green knit shirt. Then he pulled a cigar case from the top pocket. He extracted a cigar. Tapped it. Took his time snipping off the end.
“Didn’t she?” I prodded.
He lit the cigar, puffed, and then finally looked me in the eye. “I couldn’t say, Mace. The fact of the matter is, I’ve stopped listening when your mudder talks about the wedding. I think she’s gone a little overboard.”
Overboard? Mama had plunged deep into the nuptial sea and forced the rest of us in with her. Without life jackets.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
I filled Sal in on the morning’s events, though he already knew most of the basics.
“How’d you find out about the murder?”
“Pro shop,” he answered. “Everybody at Himmarshee Links was talking about it.”
It was a relief to know Sal had been out at the new golf course community south of town. At least there was some excuse for that outfit. I’d been there, once. I’d never seen so many men
who were old enough to know better dressed in colors you’d never find in nature.
“Your cousin was here earlier,” I told him.
His face darkened. He took two nervous puffs. “How were the two of them getting along?”
“Well, there was no fistfight.”
“That’s encouraging.” He exhaled.
I waved my hand in front of my face.
“Sorry, Mace.” Sal lowered the cigar, angling his three-hundred-pound heft to block the smoke from blowing my way. “Just thinking about Rosalee and C’ndee together in the same room makes me antsy. They’ve both got pretty strong personalities.”
Mention of C’ndee made me wonder if she’d disappeared. She’d left at least an hour before for coffee, and there’d been no sign of her since. Gladys’ Diner was only a couple of miles from the VFW hall. Where was she?
Just as I was about to ask Sal to tell me more about his cousin from the North, a cherry red Mustang roared up the street. C’ndee was behind the convertible’s wheel—hair flying, sunlight glinting on a pair of over-sized, gold-framed, designer sunglasses. She parked outside the crime scene tape, and began unloading cartons of take-out coffee. She fluffed her hair, thrust out her chest, and carried a cup in each hand to the closest cop she saw. A male, of course, a new hire I didn’t recognize.
She said a few words, and then handed him both cups. Smiling, she leaned in close, and then pointed over toward Sal and me. They talked a bit more, C’ndee raking a seductive hand through her big hair. He gave back one of the cups, which she opened for him. I knew she had him when he took a sip and smiled at her.
I was like an anthropologist, observing human flirting rituals I’d heard rumored, but couldn’t replicate. If you have a question about the wing-waving courtship of the anhinga, however, I’m your girl.
Mama Gets Hitched Page 2
