I knew your mother real well. I mean, I
know
her. She corrected the past tense. Mama wasnt dead; she was just accused of killing someone else. I was in her Sunday school class.
You and half of Himmarshee, I thought
.
But I was silent, preparing for the punch line
.
I wanted to tell you Im sorry about her being in jail. She sat, looking down to straighten the already perfect lines of her knee-length skirt. I dont think she belongs there.
We dont either.
No, I mean its impossible she did what the police say.
I sat up straight, fatigue forgotten.
She continued, My mother plays bingo at the Seminole reservation, just like your mom. They were together at the casino yesterday, all afternoon. They had dinner there, and then played into the evening. At one point, before dinner, my mother got to feeling awfully cold. They keep the place air-conditioned like an ice house.
I drummed my fingers on the bench.
Anyway, Ms. Deveraux told my mom she had a jacket in the trunk of her car. The two of them left the casino and walked way out into the parking lot to your mothers turquoise convertible. Ms. Deveraux opened up the trunk. My mother said she moved aside some fishing tackle and a cooler before she found that jacket. And there sure was no body inside her trunk.
I felt like I was Samson, the Bible strongman, and the Lord had just lifted the heavy pillars of the temple off of my hands. I wanted to hug her, but settled for grinning like an idiot.
Thats fantastic! I jumped off the bench. Your mother needs to tell that to the police.
The teacher stood up, too. She already did. My mother called and told me a detective questioned her this afternoon. Spanish accent. Kind of rude, my mother said. He didnt seem all that interested in her story about bingo, until she got to the part about Ms. Deveraux and her jacket.
I grabbed her by the arm. Whatd he say?
Well, he wanted to know all about it. When, where, and how. My mother told him she saw clear into the back of Ms. Deverauxs trunk. He argued with her, saying your mother might have collected the body from somewhere else before she wound up at the Dairy Queen.
I sat down again, thinking about why Martinez was trying so hard to indict Mama. Did he have something against bingo-playing grandmas?
Did your mother tell the detective anything else that could be helpful? I asked.
The teacher rolled her eyes toward her forehead, like she was replaying her conversation with her mother in her head. She touched the hem of her skirt. She did tell him there was no way Ms. Deveraux could have snuck away. Your mother was on a hot streak all night. All the other ladies gathered round to congratulate her when bingo was over. She wound up going home with the two-hundred-dollar pot.
And that platinum-haired imp had never said one word about winning $200.
Listen, would your mother be willing to go to the police department with me and tell her story over again? If we cant get Detective Martinez to listen, well just go over his head to Chief Johnson.
She didnt hesitate a moment. Absolutely. Well do anything we can do to help Ms. Deveraux.
Soon, the kids and the red-haired teacher were gone.
I fed the animals and closed up the park. It was late. Id catch up my sisters by cell phone on my ride home. I couldnt wait for a hot shower. All I wanted was that, and the fried chicken stuck in my fridge since last night, when Mamas call had interrupted my supper.
My hand was on the doorknob to leave when the office phone started to ring. I wanted so bad to head on out and let the answering machine pick it up, but I was scared it could be someone trying to reach me at work with news about Mama.
I picked up the phone, and would come to wish I hadnt.
Mace? Its your mothers friend, Sal.
I looked with longing at the exit sign over the door in the parks office. Id been so close.
What can I do for you, Mr. Provenza? Hed asked us a hundred times to call him Sal, but my sisters and I addressed him more formally because we knew it irked him. At least Maddie and I did. Marty had barely said six words to the man in the year Mama had been dating him.
Its about Rosalee.
My heart skipped a beat. Is she okay?
Shes fine, so far as I know.
I let out my breath.
But me and her arent, Sal said. I tried to see her today at the jail, and she refused my visit. Thats why you and me need to talk. Tawk. I dont think she loves me anymore.
I felt like Robert De Niros shrink in the movie
Analyze This
.
Then maybe you should have been truthful with her upfront, I said. Why didnt you tell us last night at the police department you had ties to Jim Albert? Or, should I say, Jimmy the Weasel?
Pause. How do you know about that?
Detective Martinez told me. And Im betting he told Mama, too. Thats probably the reason she wont see you. She cant abide a liar. Martinez is very interested in how youre involved with a New York gangster, who then turns up dead in the roomy trunk of your girlfriends car. And, frankly Mr. Provenza, Im interested in that question, too.
There was silence on his end of the phone. I could hear him taking raspy breaths. Sal really should give up smoking.
Im sorry, Mace, he finally said. I cant go into all of that. Especially not on the phone. Im out at the golf course, just finishing up eighteen holes. I played like crap. All I could think about is your mother. Mudder
.
Would you consider swinging by here on your way home?
The golf course, the centerpiece of a posh new development along a canal off Lake Okeechobee, wasnt on my way home. I live north; the new course is south. But Sal seemed to be a key to Martinezs case against Mama. I wanted to find out why.
Please, Mace? There are some things I wanna tell ya, face ta face. The harder Sal pleaded, the more his boyhood in the Bronx seeped into his speech.
I finally agreed to meet him at the golf course, which is out in the middle of nowhere, ten miles past the last trailer park in the Himmarshee city limits. He told me hed wait at the snack bar, next to the pro shop.
When I got there, it was dark. Two floodlights illuminated the ornate pillars marking the entrance to the community.
Himmarshee Haven
, they said in cursive script.
Luxurious Country Living
. Talk about your oxymorons. Most of the country lives I know have very little luxury.
The Jeep bounced over a series of speed bumps as I made my way past Victorian-style homes with gingerbread trim and two-car garages. Most driveways featured golf carts parked behind white picket fences. Not a single double-wide trailer or swamp buggy in sight.
I parked in the golf courses nearly deserted lot. There was no sign of Big Sals big car, but I decided to go inside anyway. I killed some time looking over the merchandise in the pro shop. Not that I play golf. But Marty does. I bought her a three-pack of those little ankle socks with the pom-pom that sticks out above the back of her golf shoes. The pom-poms were pink, mint green, and baby blue. Marty loves pastels.
As I handed over my credit card, I asked the college-aged kid at the register whether hed seen a gargantuan golfer with a heavy New York accent.
Sure, Big Sal. The kid sucked on a breath mint. I could smell cinnamon clear across the counter. He was in here about thirty, forty minutes ago. Then he got a call on his cell phone and high-tailed it outside. I heard the tires on his Cadillac squealing as he pulled out of the lot. Guess he was in a hurry to get somewhere.
He pushed my receipt toward me across the glass display case, which held dimpled golf balls and leather gloves. Sign that, would you? And Ill need to see some ID.
I gave him my drivers license. He held it up and inspected it like he was a customs agent at the airport and I was smuggling heroin. Hmmm, youre thirty-one? I would have pegged you as younger. Its not a very flattering picture. He flipped a sun-bleached lock off his forehead and smiled at me, showing off even, white teeth. Youre much prettier in person, especially your hair. I like the way it shines.
As he handed back my license, his fingers lingered against mine for a couple of beats too long. I couldnt believe it. The kid was coming on to me. Must be the new do.
Thanks. I yanked away my fingers and slipped my ID back into my wallet. He put the socks in a little bag, and handed it to me as I headed for the door.
I was still smiling to myself as I climbed into my Jeep and started on the long drive home. Now, there was date potential, I thought: a pro-shop smoothie young enough to be my nephew. Maybe wed drive to Orlando and I could take him on the teacup ride at Disney.
My post-flirtus buzz didnt last long. Soon, I started wondering what the hell had happened to Sal. Why had he stood me up? That led to me worrying about how Mama was doing. It must be just about dinner time at the jail, which couldnt be a good thing for someone who loves food. Before long, I was trying to fit together all the bits and pieces Id discovered that day. I needed to prove to Martinez that Mama had nothing to do with Jim Alberts murder.
I tried to picture me sharing some information that might replace his customary scowl with a smile. And then my brain took a quick, unexpected detour: how would those lips actually feel against mine I wondered. I traced a finger across my mouth and felt a warm twinge. Where the hell had that thought come from?
I quickly reined in my brain, and returned to worrying about Mama.
The road wasnt crowded. I was deep in thought, puzzling out the pieces of her case. Occasionally, an unwanted image would intrude of Martinezs face, of his strong hands; of his thick hair. Then, my mind would conjure Mama in her cell, and Id feel guilty.
I didnt notice the other car on my tail until I saw headlights flash in my rearview mirror. Maybe Id let my speed taper off. I glanced at the speedometer. Nope, holding steady at sixty-six mph. Thats fast enough that no one should be riding my tail, lights flashing crazily. Peering into the mirror, I saw nothing but a white glow with a dark blob behind it. I couldnt even say if the blob was car or truck.
Slowing, I waved my arm out the Jeeps window. There wasnt another oncoming car until next Tuesday.
Go around, fool
. He had plenty of room to pass, yet he stayed plastered to my bumper.
I eased over as far as I could to the right shoulder, giving a wide berth. It was probably a carload of teenagers, tanked up on testosterone and cheap beer. No way was I going to get into a pissing match with that mess. I slowed down some more, doing about forty now.
Thats when I felt a jolt from behind. I heard a hard, solid bump, high up on the back of my Jeep. It jerked me off the road, onto the rough shoulder. I wrestled with the steering wheel, fighting to keep control. The Jeep bucked like a rodeo bronc coming out the chute. My tires spit weeds and gravel. I tried to steer left, back to smooth pavement. But the other driver blocked my path.
Like freeze frames in my headlights, a mailbox, four garbage cans, and a barbed wire fence whizzed past. Then my lights swept across the white-gray expanse of a concrete culvert. It looked enormous, looming dead center in my sights.
And then I saw nothing but black
I saw that white light that everybody always talks about, gleaming in front of my eyes. A mans voice called my name, softly, as if from a great distance.
Are you there, Daddy? I murmured. Have you come to take me over to the other side?
I heard knocking.
Im not ready to go yet, Daddy. I havent been able to find out who really killed that man in Mamas trunk. Shes still sitting in the Himmarshee Jail.