Mama Gets Trashed

The country station on the radio started playing Hunter Hayes’ song, “Wanted.’’ I was quiet for a couple of moments, thinking. “Let’s go to the other end of the intelligence scale. What about Jason, the golf pro? He invited me to party with the swingers tonight, and then never showed up. Why?’’

Mama punched the radio to find another station. “Who knows? Maybe he fell asleep and slept right through it. We would have too, if I hadn’t set three alarms to wake us. Who starts a party at three o’clock in the morning? I’ve never heard of such a thing.’’

I was about to say she’d never heard of a swingers’ party, either. Then I remembered her comments about spanking and Brazilian waxes, and I kept my mouth shut. If it turned out Mama knew more about swinging than I did, I didn’t want to know why.

“There’s more to Jason than meets the eye,’’ I said. “I got the impression he has some real feelings for the mayor’s wife.’’

“No way!’’

I nodded. “If nothing else, that shows he’s more complicated than some golf course gigolo, out for a good time and a few extra dollars.’’

The sky outside was still dark. I tuned the radio away from talk and back to country music. Mama aimed the rear-view toward her so she could check her lipstick.

“What about Mrs. Mayor?’’ She pursed her apricot lips. “Maybe Jason had a thing with Camilla and Beatrice was jealous. She certainly looks strong enough to strangle a little bitty thing like Camilla.’’

“Yeah, she’s a big’un all right. But she’s out of shape, and flabby in the arms and shoulders. Moving the body by herself would be a challenge. She would have needed help.’’

Mama tapped her cheek, considering. “Didn’t Elaine do all that research and find out Beatrice’s family was in waste hauling up north? She’d know how things work at the dump.’’

“What’s to know? At our dinky dump, you pretty much drive up and dump. It’s not one of those state-of-the-art ‘solid waste landfills.’ ’’

Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I kept time with Carrie Underwood’s “Good Girl.’’ We were all alone on the lonesome road. An image came to mind of me fleeing in my Jeep, pursued and under fire.

I thought of the mayor’s wife, talking about shooting skeet. I remembered the receptionist saying the hunting trophies in His Honor’s office had actually been bagged by Mrs. Graf.

“You know,’’ I said, “Beatrice Graf is an excellent markswoman. It could have been her shooting at me, trying to scare me away from looking into the murder. If the mayor was fooling around with Camilla, Beatrice could have killed her because she was jealous. Or, she might have been afraid he’d compromise his political standing. No political standing for him, no high profile for her as the First Lady of Himmarshee. That’d be a reason for her to want Camilla out of the way.’’

“I don’t see that,’’ Mama said.

“Why not?’’

“First of all, she’s fooling around herself, with that fine-looking Jason. Being jealous about the mayor would be like craving hamburger after you’ve filled up on filet mignon. Second, didn’t she say she’d been out of town when we found the body?’’

“That’s what she said; the mayor acted like he didn’t agree. I didn’t confirm the alibi.’’

“Let’s hope Carlos has. Before you broke up, he might have told you that kind of information.’’

I looked at her sideways. “On what planet? Bizarro world? Carlos never shares any information with me. Besides, we are not broken up.’’

I tried to sound more certain about that than I felt.

We were both quiet for a time. The re-tuned engine of Mama’s vintage car purred. The tires thrummed on the highway. The fresh scent of a sudden rain shower blew in through the open windows. The rain passed so quickly, I didn’t bother to close them.

“What was that crazy thing you said, accusing Prudence of killing her sister? That was rude, Mace. Even for you.’’

“Prudence would be even ruder, if she did murder her sister.’’ In my mind, I saw her sitting in Camilla’s home, waiting for the bank to call. “She stands to inherit her sister’s estate. Money has always been a powerful motivator.’’

I slapped the steering wheel. “Dammit! I just remembered another thing that bothered me about her. Remember di

Mama waved a dismissive hand: “A fetish collar is a fetish collar.’’

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I didn’t want to pursue my mother’s familiarity with fetishes. I summed up instead: “How much do we know about Prudence anyway?’’

“We know she was in Atlanta when Camilla was killed.’’

“Right.’’ I rubbed my eyes. “I’m so tired, I’m not thinking straight about anything.’’

Suddenly, I smelled the dump more than I smelled the damp air of dawn. I knew we were getting close to the county line. My little cottage wasn’t far beyond that. Maybe I’d be able to grab a couple of hours of sleep before I had to be at work at ten o’clock.

I flew past a garbage truck, idling on the shoulder of the road.

“That truck’s out early,’’ I said.

Mama yawned.

“Crap! Did I forget to put out my cans? No, wait. This is Saturday.’’

A bigger yawn.

We passed the next couple of miles in silence. In my periphery, I caught Mama nodding and blinking, trying to stay awake. My own eyeballs felt like somebody had scuffed them with sandpaper. Slowing as I neared the turnoff to my house, I maneuvered the convertible onto my oak-lined drive. That brought her back to life.

“I-I-I wi-wi-wish yo-yo-you’d ge-ge-get th-th-this dr-dr-driveway pa-pa-paved.’’

“Stop being such a baby,’’ I said.

Easing Mama’s car into my front yard, I killed the engine. She immediately pulled her smart phone from her pantsuit pocket. “I’ll just be a minute,’’ she said. “My phone’s almost out of juice, but I want to text Sal. I’m going to tell him I’ll be on my way just as soon as I stop at your house to tinkle.’’

“WTMI, Mama. Waaaaay Too Much Information. Why didn’t you go before we left the truck stop?’’

“Did you see those toilets? I decided to hold it. I don’t have to go too bad now, but I sure will by the time I drive home. You live out in the boonies, Mace.’’

“Yes, by design. I’m exactly thirteen miles from you. My lucky number.’’

She stuck out her tongue. I stood there waiting for her, until I realized she was still typing.

“You know, you could have used the bathroom already and been on your way if you didn’t have to tweet your every movement.’’

“I’m not tweeting. I’m texting.’’

“Whatever. I’m going to bed.’’ I tossed the keys I was holding through the window and onto the floorboard.

She waved me off. “Sal’s up. He’s texting me back. You go ahead. I’ll be right in.’’

As I left, she was still in the car. Head buried in her phone, she was texting like mad.

The sun hid below the horizon, but a pink and yellow glow began to color the sky. An early-rising mockingbird sang a welcoming tune. I whistled a few notes in return, letting Florida’s feathered symbol know I appreciated the cheerful greeting.

I was just about to open my front door when a shot blasted out from the woods. Everything that unfolded next happened really fast.

I heard a hiss, and smelled propane gas.

Mama yelled, “Take cover, Mace!’’

My eyes flicked toward her. An instant later, they took in the sight of an above-ground propane tank in the side yard. I barely registered the sound of a second shot, before I saw a flash of light sparking through the air. Mama hit the ground, next to her car. I screamed her name.

I heard nothing in reply except the boom of the propane tank exploding.

fifty-one

Are there rocks in heaven?