Maddie and I only stayed a little while after he left. We all were tired. And I had a long drive ahead to get home.
The streets of downtown Himmarshee were just about deserted. The yellow light blinked at Main and First. The sign at Gladys Restaurant was dark. A few cars were still parked at the Speckled Perch restaurant, where the bars open past midnight. Behind the wheel of Pams VW, I replayed in my mind some of the odd events of the evening: Delilahs cutting remarks before church; my fight with Jeb; the mutilated toy dog.
As I sped past the courthouse on my way to State Road 98, I caught a glimpse of a familiar car from the corner of my eye. I slowed and peered toward the far end of the government lot, where the light is dim. Sal Provenzas big Cadillac was parked next to a light-colored sedan. The two vehicles sat drivers-side-to-drivers-side, like squad cars sometimes do.
As I passed, Sal torched a fat cigar. I could clearly see his profile in the flickering glow. But who was in that other car, parked in a deserted spot for a clandestine meeting near midnight?
When Sals lighter flared a second time, I nearly ran Pams car into the war memorial on the courthouse square.
Carlos Martinez leaned from his drivers window with an equally large cigar between his lips. Sal, smiling, fired him up. The detective puffed, and settled back in his seat with a contented look. As he exhaled, a smoke cloud swirled around the two men.
Sal relit his own stogie. Martinez said something. They both laughed. From my vantage point, now getting more distant in the rearview mirror of the VW, it looked like the investigator in Jim Alberts murder and the man we all thought might be the killer were the oldest and best of friends.
I slammed on my brakes and did a U-turn.
The putt-putt-putt of the ancient VW made a stealth approach unlikely. By the time I navigated off the road, into the police department lot, and all the way to their corner in the back, Sal had started his car and gunned it. Pedal to the metal, he screeched out the exit like Dale Earnhardt Jr. in the last lap at Daytona.
As I sputtered up, Martinez got out of his car and leaned against the drivers door. He looked completely relaxed; casual. Just an average, hard-working cop, enjoying a cigar at the end of a long day. Of course, his smoking pal happened to be the very same man Martinez had said was criminally linked to the dead mobster. And that wasnt the least of it. Hed all but told me Sal was a suspect in that mobsters murder.
I brought Pams car shuddering to a stop, and turned off the key in the ignition. Martinez walked over to the VW to greet me. We meet again so soon, Ms. Bauer.
Oh, can the act, Detective. Its been a long day. Im as tuckered out as a plow horse after forty rows. Why were you just sharing a smoke with the man you implied might have murdered Jimmy the Weasel?
I like a woman who cuts to the chase. He smiled down into the drivers seat.
Im thrilled, I said. And I like a man who isnt a pathological liar. What the hell is going on?
He looked right then left, like there might be someone lurking in the vast rows of vacant parking spaces. He turned around and peered behind us. Then he took a step around the front of my car and scanned the road Id just come from. Unless someone was hovering over our heads or hiding underneath one of our cars, there wasnt a soul to overhear him.
I cant really talk about the investigation. He pressed his lips together like a crooked cop on the witness stand whod just invoked the Fifth Amendment.
Thats it? I asked. You cant talk about it? Thats all youre going to say?
I wish I could say more. I really do.
I started counting, but only made it to two.
Maybe Chief Johnson will be more forthcoming when I share with him that I saw you chumming around with a murder suspect, I snapped. What do you think hell say about that?
His big brown eyes filled with disappointment. Do whatever you have to do, Ms. Bauer. I will say this: the situation with Sal Provenza is a very delicate one. You going around spreading tales when you dont understand what youre talking about could compromise the investigation into Jimmy Albrizios murder. Youre not Agatha Christie, you know. The last thing the police need is some half-cocked civilian, meddling in crucial matters and trying to solve the Big Case.
My hands squeezed the steering wheel. My knuckles were white. This man had a way of getting on my last nerve. I get your point, Detective. You dont have to insult me while youre at it. I turned the key. Now, if youll excuse me, Im going to take my dumb civilian self home and get some rest.
The car stalled. So much for a dramatic exit. I pumped the gas again. It finally started on the fourth try.
Good night. I raised my chin and stared straight ahead, trying to appear as dignified as possible for a woman who was driving the Little Engine That Couldnt.
I glanced into the rearview mirror as I pulled out of the police lot. Martinez was leaning against his car, puffing away on that stupid cigar and watching me disappear.
___
As the VW rattled down the dirt drive that leads to my cottage, the outline of three masked bandits flashed in the headlights.
I cursed. Stupid raccoons!
The creatures seemed to be struggling to get the tops off my garbage cans. A smart-ass detective from Miami might put me in my place. But, by God, Id shown those raccoons. Im not an experienced animal trapper for nothing. My garbage was trussed up tighter than Fort Knox. The lids on top of the cans were snapped down; bungee cords secured the tops to the handles.
I was feeling pretty good, until I got a little closer and saw the coons had busted the vault. They were picnicking on leftover chicken and cantaloupe. The biggest one looked as pleased as a fat man at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
I flashed the brights and blew the horn. They just looked up and blinked. Most of my country neighbors would have simply shot the varmints. But Im soft about animals. I parked the car, headed to my shed, and picked out a rake. Then I turned the hose on them, holding the rake ready in case they ran at me instead of into the woods. As they scampered away, I swear that biggest one aimed a look out of
Terminator
at me over his shoulder.
Ill be back.
Just try it, you little bastard, I yelled.
Hump-backed, they loped toward the line of cypress trees and Sabal palms that mark the edge of my property. Im getting out the smelly stuff, I shouted after them. Well see how yall like it when you come sniffing around for dinner and the stench of laundry bleach knocks you over instead!
So this is what Id descended to: a crazy woman living alone in the woods, warring with raccoons. I grabbed my purse from the car, tossed a tarp over the seats in case of rain, and headed for my cypress-wood cottage.
From the front porch, I took a moment to appreciate what I love about living so far out. The stars lit the black sky. Cattle lowed in a distant pasture. The scent of orange blossoms from a grove hung in the air. There was also a whiff of manure, fortunately faint, from the Big Lake Dairy. It had drifted over Highway 98 and across the marshes of Taylor Slough, traveling west on a slight breeze.
Inside, the gator jaws gaped on my coffee table, waiting for my keys. The answering machine light blinked. I wanted to ignore it and hit the sack instead. But given all the recent crazy events, I figured Id better not.
You have one message,
an electronic voice intoned
. First message
.
Mace, honey? Its your mama.
Like I couldnt tell. I started sorting mail as she carried on her conversation with my machine.
You will never believe who called me up here after yall left. None other than Pastor Bob Dixon, from church. Abundant Hope, that is.
Like theres another Pastor Bob.
I may have been wrong about him, Mace. He seemed awful sweet on the phone. He went on and on about how Delilah told him youd come to church with me, and how nice that was. Said it sure would be wonderful if youd come more often.
Nice try, Mama.
Anyway, he said the real reason he called is he wants to talk to me about Emma Jean. I told him we were really more acquaintances than friends. But he told me that didnt matter; she needs a friend right now. Pastor Bob said I should stop by the church sometime tomorrow to see him and Delilah. Theyre hatching a plan to see if we cant get poor Emma Jean some help.
I kicked off my boots, opened the refrigerator, and got a beer. If Mama had a point, I may as well get comfortable while I waited for her to find it.
After she threw that fit at church, he said its obvious shes hurting. I never would have believed it of Emma Jean, Mace. But with all thats happened in her life, it seems like shes gone plumb crazy. First, her little boy disappeared, like I told yall. Then she finds out Jim was cheating. And now he gets killed.
Thirty seconds remaining.
Well! These machines sure dont give you much time, do they? Anyway, I was wondering whether youd run me by church in the mornin, about 8:30? Id ask Maddie, but she has a sixth-grade assembly. And Marty will still be feeling poorly. I worry about her so much with those awful headaches, Mace. And now shes got the responsibilities of that new job. What do you suppose we can do about her migraines, Mace? Anyway, Id sure appreciate the ride. I wish youd wear that sweet Kelly green blouse with the bow at the neck. You look so
Beep
.
End of message.
I look so so what? So much like the wife of the Jolly Green Giant in a ruffled collar? So much like a leprechaun on growth hormones?
I knew how poor Teensy must feel, having to suffer the humiliation of Mama dressing him in a yellow slicker when it rains and a reindeer sweater at Christmas. He even has a tiny set of antlers to match the sweater. Fortunately, I get to choose my own clothes. The Kelly green horror would stay at the back of my closet, where it belongs.
Finally, I was able to peel off the jeans Id been wearing for what seemed like a week. I dropped them on the floor, changed into my PJs and fluffed the pillows on my bed. Suddenly, the phone shrilled, sending my stomach somersaulting around the burger and fries and ice cream.
In a country town like Himmarshee, people turn in early. When the phone rings past midnight, the news is never good.
The caller was a woman, her shaky voice so soft I could hardly hear it.
Mace? Im awful sorry to call so late.
My heart thrummed. Is my mama okay? Has anything happened to my sisters?
Oh, honey, Im sorry I scared you. She took a long breath. Theyre all fine, so far as I know. This isnt about anybody but me.
The acrobats in my gut took a break. The bass drum in my chest slowed to a normal beat. I waited, trying to let her proceed at her own pace. She was clearly in distress. But my compassion extends only so far at 12:44 am.
Then I heard a familiar wail.
Hey there, Emma Jean. I raised my voice to compete. Dont cry now. Its going to be all right.
I didnt
sob
know who else
sob
to call, Mace. Your mama always talks about how smart you are. I liked the way you handled yourself at the police department. Not too bossy, like your older sister. And not too much of a scaredy cat, like that younger one. Emma Jean paused to blow her nose. I need someone with a good head on her shoulders to tell me what to do.
I gazed with longing at my fluffy pillows. They looked like two white clouds that had floated down from heaven to carry me off to a blessed sleep. On the other hand, we all wanted to know what the hell was up with Emma Jean.