Mama Sees Stars: A Mace Bauer Mystery (16 page)

The cab of Jeb’s
pickup smelled like a vat of mosquito repellent. With dusk coming on, the insects were ravenous. We’d fled the banks of the cattle pond for the relative shelter of his truck. But it was hot, so we had to crack the windows. We’d both bathed in the stuff to ward off the biting swarms.

The bugs buzzed at us in frustration, seemingly determined to find a patch of unprotected skin. They wouldn’t find it on me. Even my earlobes were coated with the spray.

Jeb leaned in and gave me a kiss. I stiffened. He sat back against the bench seat, wiping his sleeve across his mouth to get rid of what must have been the acrid taste of repellent. He slapped his neck, where one of the insects landed on a spot he must have missed.

He lifted a lock of my hair, and then ran his finger down my neck and into the V of my blouse. I wanted to feel a shiver of desire for Jeb. Instead, I got a picture in my mind of the last time Carlos’s fingers had traveled that same trail. A deep longing for what Carlos and I had shared hit me like a kick in the gut.

I pulled away, snapping the top button closed on my Western-style blouse. Jeb and I shifted, each edging as far as possible toward our respective doors on the truck.

“Late in the year for the mosquitoes to be so bad,’’ he said.

“Rain didn’t help,’’ I answered.

Despite our long history, an uncomfortable strain hung in the air between us like a thick fog. Maybe it was the close quarters of the truck. Or maybe it was the fact that Carlos’s scowling image slid in front of my eyes every time I looked at Jeb.

“How’s the ranch doing?’’

“Okay, but it’s been hard to get ahead,’’ he said. “I’m still paying off debts from that trouble I had a while back. The movie people hired a cattleman out of Osceola County to supply the stock, but he had a family emergency. Bad for him; lucky for me. I can sure use the extra cash.’’

“Still gambling?’’

He traced a pattern on the steering wheel. “No way. That bad habit of mine about ruined my life.’’

Neither of us spoke. The truck was so quiet, I could hear him breathing. I watched the second hand of his wristwatch jumping away the seconds on a luminous dial. Finally, I took a breath and said, “This isn’t going to work, Jeb.’’

He sighed, and it sounded more like relief than disappointment.

“I was wondering which of us would be first to say it.’’ He patted my knee, friendly like. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. Of course, I might still be game for a little somethin.’ Truth is, I think your mind is on someone else.’’

I stared out the window. It would be dark in an hour or so. The woods around the parking area were already filled with deep shadows.

When I didn’t respond, Jeb said, “Why don’t you try to make it right with Miamuh? It’s as plain as the balls on a bull that you’re in love with the guy.’’

“It’s complicated.’’

“Hell girl, love usually is.’’ Laughing, he brushed a hand through
his hair. “And speaking of that, I thought I was going to be Dr. Love tonight. Looks like I turned into Dr. Phil instead.’’

When I looked over at him, he gave me a wink. “I know a lot about love, see. I’m usually the one to ‘complicate’ things up.’’

“How is that girlfriend of yours, anyway?’’

“She left me. Again. I’ve been thinking maybe a fling with Kelly Conover would make her jealous enough to come running back.’’

I snorted. “Good plan. Why don’t you try something for a
change that doesn’t involve you cheating on your girlfriend?
Besides, do you really think you’ve got a shot with every man’s Hollywood fantasy woman?”

“Like I said before, can’t fault a guy for trying.’’

We both chuckled, our laughter like sunlight burning off the tense fog between us. Impulsively, I slid next to him, threw my arm around his neck, and pulled his face close so I could kiss his cheek. Jeb looked startled, and then gave me a sweet goodbye kiss right on the lips.

I drew away, and started to make a joke about how Dr. Phil probably wouldn’t accept a kiss as his pay. The words died in my mouth. Carlos’s car was parked on the driver’s side of Jeb’s truck. He’d chosen just the wrong moment to come retrieve something from his front seat. In the flash of his dome light, I could see him watching us. The look he shot me was pure disgust.

“Shit,’’ I said.

Jeb turned and saw him, too. “You can say that again.’’

Carlos grabbed a bag from his floorboard and slammed the car door. I was certain I’d have felt the ground shake if I’d been standing there. He stalked off, something he’d been doing a lot of lately. I resisted the urge to jump out of Jeb’s truck and follow. Really, how could I explain away what Carlos had seen with his own eyes: me and my old beau in the front seat of his pickup, kissing and hugging like high school sweethearts? I could tell him I’d just informed Jeb that things wouldn’t work between us, but Carlos wouldn’t believe it.

I was defeated before I could even try.

“Mace, I’m sorry …’’ Jeb started to speak, but I held up my hand to stop him.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Let me just sit here for a minute and calm down. I need to get my head straight. I’m expected at my mama’s for pizza in a half hour or so, and want my game face on.’’

I sat there, wondering what was wrong with me. Why couldn’t I get this love thing right? Even with her record of lousy marriages, Mama had managed to do it perfectly at least twice, once with my daddy and now with Sal. Both my sisters were happy, in long marriages with men who adored them. Why couldn’t I commit? Why couldn’t I find contentment like that?

Jeb picked at a cracked piece of vinyl on his dashboard. Finally, he looked at me, his face worried. “Do you want me to say something to Carlos? I can explain how you were just letting me down easy.’’

“God, no.’’ I thought of how proud Carlos was, how it would gall him to have Jeb butting in. “That’d just make it worse.’’

I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the awful gnawing in my stomach. I told Jeb goodbye, and had my hand on the door to leave when a cell phone shrilled nearby.

There was just enough light in the sky to make out Barbara Sydney. She was striding with purpose toward a fancy Jaguar, parked a couple of vehicles away from us. She barked out a hello in that harsh Boston accent. “This is Barbara,’’ she confirmed. “Hang on a minute.’’

Shifting the phone away from her mouth, she looked to the left and to the right. We must have been hidden from her view by the shadow of a tall van that was parked right next to us. We could see her, but apparently she couldn’t see us.

“Okay, I cannot be the source of this information, right?’’ She glanced over each shoulder, and continued walking. “I’ll sue your ass to Sunday and back if you quote me by name. This is strictly on background.’’

Barbara’s voice paused as she listened to the caller. Jeb raised an eyebrow at me. I put my finger to my lips.

“I wanted you to know the latest news from this nightmare of a project,’’ she said. “There’s been an attempt to poison someone in the cast.’’

She kept walking, phone to her ear.

“Nobody, so far. But a raccoon keeled over dead today. Our redneck animal wrangler says it ate a poisoned sandwich …” she paused, listening for a moment.

“How the hell would I know what kind of sandwich? My fear is Toby Wyle might be the target.’’

Toby Wyle
? I mouthed the name to Jeb. He mouthed back at me:
Redneck wrangler
?

“The cops are looking into it, right.’’

That was the last thing we heard Barbara say as she opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat of the pearly white sedan. The interior light stayed on for a moment or two after she shut the door. It was just long enough to tell she was still talking full speed into the phone, as she gunned her engine and roared out of the lot.

As the Jaguar sped past us, I wondered: Could Barbara have been the mystery driver of the light-colored vehicle that nearly killed Toby in the parking lot?

“Hurt her again, and
I’ll kill you!’’ The sound of a sharp slap—and the frantic yelping of a Pomeranian—punctuated the angry words.

“Ouch, Jeez!’’

“Shhh, Sal, you’re not supposed to say anything. Use your actor’s physicality. React.’’

Physicality
? Surely the book Mama checked out about the Actor’s Studio must be due back at the library by now.

The yapping grew louder. On the other side of Mama’s front door, I could hear her and Sal, along with the scrabble of pedicured paws clicking against the tiled entryway.

“I can’t help it, Rosie. That really stung. I think you’re supposed to pull your punches, honey.’’

I stood on the front stoop, debating whether I was up to the Mama-Sal-and-Teensy circus. The promise of Pizza Night enticed me onward, though. I may have been lovelorn, but I was also hungry. Not counting the brownie, I’d barely had a bite to eat since breakfast.

I opened the door, nudging aside Mama’s pet with the toe of my boot. Of course, Teensy was extremely put out. The little Pomeranian high-tailed away from me, taking a flying leap onto the back of Mama’s peach-colored sofa.

“Teensy! You know better than that,’’ she yelled. “Get off of that couch.’’

As usual, the little yapster paid no mind to his mistress. Burrowing deep between two lemon-sherbet accent pillows, Teensy made himself comfortable. Head resting on his front paws, he lay on the couch and fastened his eyes on Mama and Sal.

They stood, center stage on a wide expanse of peach-colored carpet. Sal rubbed his cheek. Mama gave me a cheery wave. “Hey, darlin!’ We’re running my lines.’’

“Line, Rosie. There’s just the one.’’

“Well, not if you count it by sentences, Sal.’’

I walked over and lifted Sal’s chin. In the peach-colored glow coming from Mama’s Lucite chandelier, I could see a hand-shaped outline starting to show on his cheek.

“That’s got to smart.’’ I leaned closer for a better look. “You should know by now, Sal. Mama’s never been one to pull her punches.’’

She pouted, prettily. “I surely did not mean to hurt him. But the scene has to be believable. Some drunken cowpoke has just gotten fresh. I’m angry. I’ve had all I can take with all these men pawing at me.’’

“
Ruby
,’’ Sal said. “Ruby has had all the pawing she can take.’’

“Well, of course, Sal! We all know I’m not Ruby. I’m ACTING here.’’

Mama stood on tip-toes and put a hand toward his cheek. Sal bobbed out of reach like a glass-jawed boxer. His palms went up in surrender.

“Don’t come any closer! I’m okay.’’

“So,’’ I said, “Sal’s the stand-in for the drunken cowpoke?’’

He bowed from the waist, pretending to doff a cowboy hat. “At your service, purty lady.’’

Mama harrumphed. “You can offer to serve Mace all you want, darlin,’ but she won’t take you up on it. She prides herself on being independent; not needing anyone. Plus, she’s as stubborn as Grandpa Pete with a pork chop.’’

“We don’t have a grandpa named Pete.’’

“It’s a saying, Mace.’’

“Well, it doesn’t make any sense. Why would a pork chop make someone stubborn?’’

Rolling her eyes, Mama heaved a dramatic sigh: “See what I mean, Sally? Mule-headed.’’

He ignored her, a defensive tactic he’d picked up from my sisters and me. “Any progress on Carlos?’’ he asked. “Are the two of youse getting along any better?’’

My response was a scowl, which must have been surly enough to scare him. Sal pressed his lips together, scurried over to the couch, and scooped Teensy up from between the pillows. Without another word, he and the dog hastened to the safety of the kitchen.

Mama looked at me, her face creased in sympathy. “Oh, honey!’’

A part of me wanted to collapse into tears, and fall into her comforting embrace. But when she leaned over to brush the bangs from my eyes, I jerked my head away. Old habits die hard.

She tsked. “You surely do make life a lot more difficult than it has to be, Mace. Why do you try to push away everyone who loves you?’’

That was a pretty good question. I was still searching for some way to answer, when Teensy let out a yip and tore out of the kitchen. The little dog threw himself at the front door like he’d been shot from a cannon. Each time Mama had a visitor, Teensy believed he was the sole defense against whatever invading force was about to overrun the helpless humans inside. Right now, he was barking at a pitch high enough to make my ears bleed.

A shout came through the window from the front walk. “Mama! If you don’t muzzle that animal, I swear I’m going to skin him alive and make him into a clutch purse.’’

Mama swooped down and put her hands over the dog’s ears. “Hush, Maddie! You’ll hurt Teensy’s feelings.’’

Sal followed the dog to the door. As Mama opened it, he took a pizza box from each of my sisters’ hands. Once Mama and Sal got married, he started taking part in our weekly tradition. It had always been Girls’ Night, but neither my sisters nor I minded him joining in. He helped us keep Mama in line. Lord knew, we needed all the help we could get.

After we’d fixed our drinks and settled into our usual chairs, we divvied up the pizza. I piled three everything-but-anchovy slices on my plate. Between Maddie and Sal, I never knew if I’d get the chance to eat my share. Marty cut her slice of plain cheese into tiny pieces, and slid her crust onto Maddie’s plate. Mama rolled up her slice like a cigar, and took a nibble from the end. Sal covered his with a gale of red pepper flakes, and then ate half the piece in a single chomp.

When he swallowed, he held the remainder of his piece up for our inspection: “I know you girls don’t like to hear this, but this sure ain’t New York–style pizza.’’

“That figures,’’ I said, “since we don’t live in New York.’’

“Thank you, Jesus,’’ Mama added.

“Funny, the fact that Himmarshee pizza is substandard never seems to stop you from eating it,’’ Maddie said.

He finished the first slice, and shook pepper flakes on a second. “I’m just saying …’’

The sound of chewing and drink-sipping rounded the table. Teensy skittered from chair to chair, seeking the softest touch. He bypassed Maddie and me entirely, focusing on Marty, Sal and Mama. At least Marty dropped her morsel for Teensy on the floor; Mama fed the dog from her hand, and then kept eating with the same hand.

“Mama, that’s just gross. Dogs’ mouths are filled with bacteria,’’ I said.

“So are people’s mouths, honey. That doesn’t mean I’d run and wash my face if you gave me a kiss.’’

“So now you’re saying your daughter has the same standing as your dog?’’

Even though I knew what Mama meant, I was in a bad mood and itching for a fight. She gave me a long look, like she was weighing whether to rise to the bait.

“Well, honey, I’m not saying you and Teensy have the same standing. Some days, I like the dog a little bit more.’’

“Ooooh, snap!’’ Maddie said.

Marty, the family diplomat, smoothly changed the subject to one she must have known would effectively keep Mama and me from bickering. “Sal, you’ve been helping Carlos and the police. Who do they think killed the movie producer?’’

We all went quiet as Sal licked pizza grease from his fingers. Mama handed him a napkin, which he folded, unused, and placed beside his plate. “They don’t have a whole lot yet, to tell you the truth. It’s still early in the investigation. They do know the victim was killed where he was found.’’

“Really?’’ I said. “Out in the open like that?’’

“Well, there was no blood trail. You and Rosie might have walked right in on a homicide in progress if that morning’s horse scene hadn’t taken so long to film.’’

An image of Norman splayed on the fence ran through my mind. Who had brought about such an undignified end for such a powerful man?

“I’m surprised nobody heard the shot,’’ Maddie said.

“Suppressor.’’ A quartet of puzzled looks were aimed at Sal.

“Commonly called a silencer,’’ he clarified. “And the weapon was small caliber.’’

I digested that detail, along with the pizza.

“What about all the other strange things that have happened on the set?’’ Mama asked. “Does Carlos think they’re related to the murder?’’

Sal extracted another piece from the “everything’’ box. “That’s still unclear.’’

“Did the cops find out where that sandwich Tilton had came from?’’ I asked.

“Tilton told them a whole basket of food was left in the fridge in his trailer. He assumed it was from the production office,’’ Sal said. “He ate one of the sandwiches in the morning, with no ill effects. The second one was the one the raccoon got.’’

Sal shoveled the pizza slice into his mouth. With her usual precise timing, Maddie asked him a question just then. “Is Carlos still looking into whether someone tampered with that light that nearly killed Mace?’’

He put up a hand until he could swallow. “All I know is he’s considering every aspect. He’s under an awful lot of stress, Maddie. It’s not the best time to ask him about Mace.’’

Mama must have pinched him under the table, because Sal suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth. “Jeez, sorry Mace. I meant stress from the case. I wasn’t implying you’re the reason for his stress.’’

The four of them looked at me with sad cow eyes. “I don’t need your pity.’’ I pushed an uneaten slice and a few stray black olives around my plate. “I couldn’t care less what Carlos thinks about me. I’m doing fine.’’

Glances were exchanged, but no one challenged me on that flat-out lie. Mama topped off her glass with sweet pink wine, and then offered the box to me. I waved it away.

“Well, let’s see if you are doing fine.’’ Maddie began to tick off points on her fingers. “You’ve managed to piss off a man who loves you, punch out one who doesn’t, and all while someone else might have tried to kill you. Oh, yeah, and that devil Jeb Ennis keeps hanging around like a pit bull after a bitch in heat.’’

Maddie displayed her hand, with the pinky the only digit left un-ticked. “I’d say you’re doing just Jim Dandy, Mace.’’

Raising her brow, Mama hefted the wine box toward me again. This time, I motioned her to tip that sucker over and keep on pouring.