Mama Gets Trashed

“Well,’’ Mama said, “I think it’s safe to say she wasn’t a churchgoer at Abundant Forgiveness Love & Charity Chapel. Not wearing an outfit like that.’’

“One thing’s for sure,’’ I said. “She ran out of Love.’’

Carlos gazed around the dump, his nose wrinkling at the stench

of garbage and worse. “She ran out of Charity, too.’’

Mama said, “When Mace called you, did she mention the girl’s diamond bracelet?’’

He looked at me. I gave him an apologetic shrug. “I forgot,’’ I said. “I work at a nature park and trap nuisance critters on the side. It’s not like I’m a professional detective.’’

“I’ll remind you of that fact when you go stepping your size-ten shoes all over my investigation. Speaking of the case …’’ His sentence trailed off as he started toward the dead girl. He spoke over his shoulder. “The medical examiner and the crime scene van will be here soon. You two should go. Someone will contact you later to give official statements.’’

Mama stopped him, tugging on his arm. “I just wanted to tell you one more thing. That girl might have been short on Love and Charity, but that leather bustier she’s wearing doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Between what she’s showing up top, and that string of jewels on her wrist, your murder victim had Abundance to spare.’’

three

Charlene put a plate of steaming biscuits on the breakfast table at Gladys’ Diner. It was the day after Mama and I found the girl at the dump. I helped myself to two of the flaky morsels as Charlene moved around the table, filling our coffee cups from a glass carafe.

When she got to my big sister, Maddie covered the rim of her cup with her hand. I’d never known her to turn down fresh, hot coffee before. Or little else, for that matter.

“Are you sick?’’

Maddie touched her stomach. “Woke up with a little something.’’

“It’s probably just nerves over the big party next week.’’

Mama had just started in with Maddie about the yellow dress, when the cowbells clanged on the door of the diner. Our little sister, Marty, pushed through, with the Himmarshee Times in one hand. Mama stood up and snatched the paper away, even before Marty had a chance to sit down.

“Let me see! Is there anything on that murdered girl?’’

“Don’t know, Mama. I didn’t even have a moment to glance at it before someone ripped it forcibly from me.’’

Marty had been the reliably sweet sister since the three of us were girls, but she was speaking her mind more and more these days. It was partly because she had more responsibility at her library job, but I thought it was mainly Maddie rubbing off on her. Mama seemed not to notice Marty’s snarky tone. Picking up on subtle criticism wasn’t her strong suit.

She took her seat again, and spread the purloined paper on the table. “Yes! Here it is: ‘Murdered Woman was New Resident.’’’

Maddie and I angled closer, each reading over one of Mama’s shoulders. Marty moved behind her, peering over the top of her head. “Ohmigod.’’ She barely breathed the words as she gripped the back of Mama’s chair.

“What?’’ Maddie and I asked at once. Our sister’s fair skin had paled to alabaster. She clutched a hand to her throat.

“Th … tha … that picture,’’ Marty stammered, pointing at the article’s photo of a serious-looking young woman with long dark hair and intelligent eyes. It appeared to be a reproduction of a picture on a driver’s license or employee badge.

“Did you know her?’’ Mama turned in her chair to look at Marty.

“She works with me at the library. I mean, worked.’’

“Oh, honey!’’ Mama patted gently at Marty’s arm. “Were you close?’’

Marty lowered herself into a seat at the table. “Not really. She’s only been with us for a few months. But we just sat together at lunch last week. It’s so weird to think she’s dead.’’

“What did you have?’’ Maddie asked.

Mama, Marty, and I looked at her like she’d stepped off a spaceship from Planet Clueless.

“Is that relevant?’’ I said.

“Probably not.’’ Maddie shrugged. “I just wondered.’’

“Veggie pizza,’’ Marty said.

“This says her name was Camilla Law. She was originally from England, but she’s been in the United States for several years,’’ Mama read from the paper.

“That explains her accent,’’ Marty said. “A lot of people just thought she was snobby.’’

“Maybe she came from money. That would fit with the diamond bracelet,’’ I said.

“What diamond bracelet?’’ Marty asked.

“She was wearing one when we found her,’’ I said. “You’d never seen her wear it at work?’’

Marty shook her head. “I’d have remembered that.’’

Mama tapped the article to get our attention. “It doesn’t mention the bracelet. It goes into a few details about the black leather and fishnets, but nothing about that strange dog collar.’’ She continued sca

“Let me guess,’’ I said. “He told the reporter the murder is under investigation, and the authorities will pursue all possible leads.’’

Mama gri

“Oh, it’s murder,’’ I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “People don’t die of natural causes while they’re out walking in the city dump wearing leather sex clothes.’’

Mama tapped at the paper again. “Oh, y’all … listen to what our brand new mayor, Big Bill Graf, had to say. ‘The risqué clothing this young woman was wearing in no way reflects community morals in Himmarshee. We’re all about family values here.’’’

“What a tool.” Maddie stuck a teaspoon into my coffee and stole a swallow. “Needs more sugar, Mace.’’

I moved the cup out of her reach.

“Sounds like he’s blaming the victim,’’ Marty said.

Maddie said, “So a leather … what was it called again?’’

“Bustier,’’ Mama provided.

“Right. A leather bustier is a sin, but murder is okay?’’ Maddie clucked her tongue. “A total tool.’’

“Shh,’’ I said, nodding toward a semi-private alcove at the back of the room. “Our illustrious mayor happens to be right over there, holding court.’’

A towering man, hence the nickname, Big Bill Graf had a barrel chest and a bright red face. He seemed to come from nowhere, pumping money unheard of in Himmarshee into radio advertising and yard signs. He’d won the mayoral race just a few months before.

We all quieted down, to see if we could listen in. Big Bill’s booming voice carried across the crowded restaurant.

“Like I told the Himmarshee Times …” His voice swelled with importance, as if he were recounting a personal conversation with the Washington Post. “Sexual deviance isn’t on our civic agenda. And I told that reporter his article better not infer that it is.’’

“I think he means ‘imply,’’’ said Maddie, the school principal.

Marty shushed her.

“We must look at how that young woman’s behavior implicated her murder,’’ the mayor continued.

“Does he mean ‘was implicated in her murder?’’’ Marty whispered.

I shrugged. “Maybe he means ‘precipitated her murder.’’’

“Why do people try to use big words when small ones will do just as well?’’ Mama asked.

“Especially when they use them wrong.’’ Maddie dipped a clean teaspoon into Mama’s coffee for a taste. “Too much cream.’’

“Why don’t you just order a cup?’’ Marty asked.

“My stomach’s upset,’’ Maddie answered.

“Well don’t send your germs my way,’’ Marty said.

I still watched His Honor, even though a loud table in between us had drowned out his words. Several rapt hangers-on crowded around his table, devouring every sentence. A poodle-permed woman who looked familiar gazed at him with adoring eyes.

“Who’s the big gal with the golf course tan and the red poodle pouf?’’ I asked. “She could use an emergency visit to Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow.’’