Mama Gets Trashed

I shielded the phone’s screen from the sun and examined the dress. It was smiley-face yellow. I thought it looked cheerful. Mama ran the Color Me Gorgeous franchise at Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow beauty parlor, so she considered herself an expert in what shades of clothing did and did not match which skin tones. I had less fashion sense than the guys at the feed store, so I didn’t really see the problem.

“Maddie and her yellow dress is hardly a crisis, Mama. I’ll give you a crisis. If we don’t recover your ring, and Sal finds out you lost it even before he’s had the chance to pay it off because you got blitzed on too much sweet pink wine—’’

“—Say no more, Mace.’’ She took back the phone, and slipped it into the pocket of her orange-sherbet-colored pantsuit. “I’ll take that corner over there by the fence. I see a bunch of white paper towels and some empty cans of that dog food Teensy likes. Maybe that’ll be the trash from my house.’’

Picking up a broken broom, Mama began using it to delicately poke at garbage piles. I had to smile at the look on her face when she lifted the broom handle to examine what was stuck to the end and a banana peel dropped down her blouse. I was about to say something smart-alecky, when a sparkle of light shining between a bunch of spoiled beets and a flat bike tire caught my eye.

I walked over to get a closer look. A fishy smell about knocked me out. A week’s worth of leftovers from Jimbob’s Seafood Shack moldered. Sure enough, though, I saw the unmistakable glint of a diamond.

“I found it,’’ I yelled, only to hear Mama’s excited shout at the same moment.

“I’ve got it!’’ she cried from across the dump. “I found my ring.’’

She was waving, and the sun reflected off the big rock returned to her hand. If Mama had found her diamond, what exactly had I found? Kicking aside some crab shells and rotten shrimp, I lifted the bike tire. Up came a stained sheet tangled in some snapped-off spokes. Underneath was the body of a scantily clad woman, with one hand flung out. Against the deathly pallor of her wrist, a diamond bracelet glittered.

two

A lace-up bodice of black leather barely contained the upper half of the young woman’s body. On the bottom, she wore a short leather skirt, also in black, with fishnet stockings. Dark hair fa

“Do you know her?’’ I asked Mama.

She shook her head, eyes riveted on the body. Considering the heat, the girl couldn’t have been dumped too long ago.

“Me neither. I’d say she’s in her twenties, maybe thirty. Younger than me.’’

Mama nodded. To my surprise, tears pooled in her eyes. I put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t cry. You know this isn’t the first time we’ve found a body, unfortunately. We can say a prayer for her, if you want. Either way, this poor gal is past caring.’’

Mama plucked a sherbet-hued handkerchief from her pocket. “I can’t help it, Mace. Seeing her dumped here like household garbage just breaks my heart. I think of how I’d feel if harm like this ever came to you or your sisters. She was somebody’s daughter.’’

Now I felt the sting of tears, too. Mama grabbed my hand. We recited the verses of Psalm 23, Mama filling in where I faltered: The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want …

When we finished, I raised my head and looked around the dump. I added a silent prayer that God would receive the soul of the dead girl into heaven. If she did get the chance to sit beside Him, I hoped she wouldn’t remember what had brought her to such an end on earth.

I had the urge to cover her again with the bed sheet. But I’d already called the police, and I knew we should disturb things around the body as little as possible. We retreated a short distance away to wait. We both pressed close to my Jeep, seeking the small amount of shade the vehicle provided.

The morning was young, but the sun was already demonstrating its hot hold on middle Florida. Even at eight a.m., it was sweltering. Mama had made me promise I’d swing by before work at Himmarshee Park to bring her to the dump. Now, all I could think of was how many places I’d rather be. She consulted her mirrored compact, dabbing with the handkerchief at her mascara. It was melting from the heat and her earlier tears. I squinted past her toward the open gate.

“Here comes a car. That’s got to be Carlos,’’ I said.

Mama licked the tips of two fingers and spit-patted my unruly bangs. “Your hair’s a mess, Mace. It looks like a bunch of raccoons crawled in there and threw a party.’’

I ducked out of her reach. She offered me her mirror, and got a scowl in return.

“Mama, this is a murder scene. I doubt whether a little hair frizz

is going to be the paramount issue on my boyfriend’s mind.’’

“He’s not just your boyfriend anymore; he’s your fiancé. You better get used to saying the word.’’

Out came her Apricot Ice lipstick. While Mama attended to her face, I watched Carlos Martinez climb from the driver’s side of his unmarked car. A homicide detective with the Himmarshee Police Department, he was also my fiancé. I was still having a bit of trouble getting my head around that description. Not the homicide part. I was used to that, since Mama and I had managed to encounter him at an unusually high number of crime scenes over the last couple of years. It was that word, “fiancé,’’ that threw me.

It had only been a couple of months since he popped the question. Before that, we’d traveled a rocky road, romantically speaking. We might be officially engaged, but I still kept expecting us to plunge into a relationship pothole or run ourselves off the pavement into a ditch at any moment.

“Yoo-hoo, Carlos!’’ Mama sounded like we were at the malt shop and she was saving him a seat. “We’re over here, honey!’’

“Shhh! I’m the one who called him to come out here, so he knows where we are. He sees us,’’ I whispered. “And don’t forget there’s a body lying over there just a few yards away.’’

“Well, I know that, Mace! I prayed over that gal just like you did. But just because she’s gone to meet her Maker is no reason for me to be rude to my future son-in-law.’’

Carlos walked toward us, the sun casting a golden glow on his face. Despite the serious circumstances, I felt the same tingle I always got at the sight of this gorgeous man. With his black hair and eyes, his jaw set in grim determination, he looked like a Spanish conquistador charging into battle. He might be dodging garbage piles instead of galloping over the plains on an Andalusian steed, but he still looked mighty fine doing it.

He waved, and allowed us a fleeting smile. “You two are in the bad place at the bad time again, aren’t you?’’

Born in Cuba, moved up to Himmarshee from Miami, Carlos sometimes got his English vernacular mixed up.

“Absolutely. Wrong place; wrong time.’’ I pointed to where we’d discovered the body. “She’s over there. Earlier, Mama found a broken broom handle. We stuck it in a trash pile to mark where the girl is.’’

“And you’re sure you don’t recognize her?’’

We both shook our heads.

“She’s not from Himmarshee,’’ I said. “She’s wearing some kind of sexy, black-leather getup. I can tell you I’ve never seen anything like it on sale at the Home on the Range Feed Store and Clothing Emporium.’’

He raised his eyebrows. “You should know better than to make snap judgments, Mace. You’d be surprised what people are like behind closed doors; even people in little bitty towns like Himmarshee.’’