Sal coughed. Mama said, “Oh my!’’ Trey jammed his hat back down over his eyes.
“Anyway,’’ Belle continued, before anyone could interrupt, “before Trey and I get going, I wanted to tell y’all how terribly sorry I am about what happened with Shotgun.’’ She reached up a hand to Mama’s good leg, resting it on her knee.
“Oh, honey, stop fretting.’’ Mama gave Belle’s hand a reassuring pat. “All’s well that ends well, and it might have ended a lot worse.’’
A murmur of assent went around our little group.
“But that’s just what I keep thinking about,’’ Belle said with a shudder. “I couldn’t live with myself if someone came to real harm riding a horse that I trained.’’
Mama was about to start her recitation about the bees, but Trey interrupted her.
“I think most people would surprise themselves with all they can live with, Little Sister. And why don’t you stop making over her like that?’’ He pointed his beer can at Mama. “All that’s happened to her is a little bitty busted ankle. Our daddy’s dead, Belle!’’
“I think you better quit while you’re ahead, pal.’’ Sal’s voice was menacing.
Trey snorted, and then glared at Sal from under his hat.
Belle pressed on, hurrying to finish her plea on Shotgun’s behalf. “He’s such a good horse. Everyone says so. Don’t they, Trey?’’
Instead of an answer, Trey gave another snort.
“Let’s go, Belle.’’ Swaying, he pushed himself up on one knee. “These people don’t want us here. You’re wasting your breath.’’
Maddie said, “Belle is just fine, Trey. You’re the one who’s drunk, not to mention rude. Why don’t you take Sal’s advice? Go back to your trailer and sleep it off before you get into real trouble.’’
Trey dropped his beer can, then his hat. He cursed when he stepped on the hat while he was trying to get up.
“Just leave me alone!’’ he shouted, now on his knees. “Don’t any of you touch me.’’
Sal whispered, “Why don’t you let me help you get him home, Belle?’’
“No,’’ she said firmly as she stood. “Believe me, it’s better if I handle him alone. I’ve done it before.’’ Pain and exhaustion showed in her eyes as she gazed down at her brother.
“Let’s go, Trey.’’
“You’re the boss, Little Sister.’’
The way he said it, it sounded like a sneer. Then again, Trey was pretty drunk.
Belle hooked both of her arms under one of Trey’s shoulders, helping him haul himself to his feet. For her size, she had surprising strength. Or maybe it was just practice.
For once, we were all silent. The fire crackled. Sparks glowed. Shadows danced. None of us said a word as the two Bramble siblings walked away, Belle staggering every so often under her brother’s added weight.
Stomps and whistles followed the last chord of Jerry Mincey’s song, “Plantin’ Yankees.”
“Thank you, folks,’’ he nodded to the crowd, a smile showing above his salt-and-pepper beard. “We’re gonna take a little break, but don’t go away. We’ll be back before you know it.’’
The music was almost forty-five minutes late getting started. But once Jerry launched into his Florida Cracker repertoire, the crowd was with him all the way. He sang of ancient Indian legends and modern over-development; of the days when rivers ran clear and cowmen moved herds of half-wild cattle across open lands.
“Some of Jerry’s songs make me so sad.’’ Marty took a sip from a cup of hot chocolate. “Everything about Florida has changed.’’
“I can think of a few more changes I’d like to see,’’ Sal said. “Can’t somebody do something about the bugs? And Florida is too hot for humans most of the year.’’
Maddie harrumphed. “You know, Sal, I-95 leads north just like it does south. You could always go back home, where everything is so much better,’’ she said. “While you’re at it, why don’t you take about a million of your fellow transplanted New Yorkers with you?’’
Mama gave Maddie’s arm a pinch. “Hush! There’s no call for you to be rude.’’
Maddie rubbed her arm. “Ow, Mama! I’m just telling him like it is. That’s what Northerners like, don’t they? They like people to be straightforward and direct, no beating around the bush.’’
“In other words, rude,’’ I put in.
“Here we go.’’ Sal threw up his hands. “We gonna fight the Civil War all over again?’’
Maddie was winding up to defend the Motherland when a scuffle erupted behind us in the open-air theater. We all turned our heads to find the source of the shouting and stumbling.
“You’re a son-of-a-bitch,’’ Trey yelled. His face was red; his body swayed. The dented cowboy hat was crooked on his head.
“That’s the alcohol talking, and I’d advise it to shut up.’’ Johnny Adams kept his voice calm, drained of emotion. “I think you’d show more respect for your father than to get stinking drunk and go picking fights before we’ve even had the chance to bury him.’’
“We?’’ Trey blinked hard, shaking his head. “You don’t have nuthin’ to do with my daddy’s funeral. You weren’t his friend.’’
People seated nearby started standing up, moving their chairs and coolers out of the way.
“And you’ve got balls,’’ Trey continued, “telling me to show respect.’’ He slurred the word. “Like you did? Oh yeah, you respected Daddy so much you went and sued him to try to get all our money!’’
First Belle, and then Wynonna, materialized out of the crowd and sidled closer to Trey. He didn’t seem to notice them. He lunged, shoving Johnny in the chest.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Trey.’’ Johnny took a step back, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I’m warning you: Shut your mouth and sit down.’’
“Or you’ll do what, chicken-shit?’’ Trey brought his face close enough to spray Johnny with spit. “Taking me on is a little different than rolling around in the dirt with an old man with a heart condition, isn’t it?’’ He pushed Johnny again. “Oh, I know about that knock-down drag-out y’all had the night before Daddy died.’’
Wynonna and Belle exchanged a confused look.
“And I know you never got over Daddy stealing the only woman you ever loved.’’
At this point, most of the crowd looked at Wynonna. Mama whispered to Marty and Maddie, “Not that woman; another one. Mace and I will explain later.’’
Slitting his eyes, Johnny stepped toward Trey. “Now, you’ve gone too far.’’
Uh-oh, I thought. I started to get out of my chair to intervene, but Sal stopped me.
“I’ve got this, Mace. I’ve had lots of practice.’’
Heaving himself to his feet, Sal headed toward the fight. A couple of other men saw him moving in, and did the same. Before Trey could react, they had him surrounded, arms pinned harmlessly to his sides. His right leg flew up in a kick, but the boot missed connecting with Johnny or anyone else. Sal and the other two men dragged him backwards out of the crowd, kicking and shouting all the way.
Jerry re-took the stage, starting right in with “Narcoossee Lucie.” Trey yelled and cussed from outside. But his shouts quickly grew distant. By the time Jerry and his partner on upright bass got to their show-closer, “Osceola’s Tears,” Sal was easing himself back into his seat.
“What happened?’’ I whispered.
“He’s fine. We got his boots off and got him into bed in his family’s RV. He’ll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.’’
I thought of Trey’s drinking; his love-hate relationship with his daddy; his squandered brains and talent. Sal may have said otherwise, but Trey was far from fine. And a morning hangover was the least of his troubles.
___
“There’s Johnny, Mace!’’ Maddie jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow. “Let’s go talk to him.’’
“Don’t be so rough, Maddie! I have eyes. I can see the man.’’
“Stop squabbling,’’ Marty said. “Hey, do you think Johnny has any hot chocolate left?’’
The three of us had been on our way to Maddie’s tent to turn in. About twenty feet from the food trailer, we stopped and watched as Johnny finished his cleanup.
The mini-concert was over. Sal and Mama had headed off to Home Sweet Cadillac. Carlos must have caught up again with his fellow lawman from the FDLE, because he hadn’t come to the show. And, after Trey’s drunken scene, none of the Brambles returned either.
Marty shivered in the chilly air. She’s only about half mine or Maddie’s size, and her body never seems to have enough energy to keep her blood circulating right. Her hands and feet, especially, are always cold.
“Can’t hurt to ask Johnny for something warm,’’ I said to her.
“Forget the hot chocolate,’’ Maddie whispered in my ear. “I want to hear how Lawton stole his woman.’’
Johnny answered our hellos with a frown.
“I don’t have any more pie for your mama. Tell her I said she’s had enough, hurt ankle or not.’’
I was about to take offense on Mama’s behalf, when Marty chirped, “Thanks so much for spoiling her, Johnny. Sometimes Mama’s sweet tooth makes her forget her manners. I hope she didn’t get too greedy?’’
“Well, three pieces is a lot of pie,’’ Johnny grumbled.
I didn’t mention Mama had actually eaten four pieces over the day, plus the chocolate chip cookies.
“Well, we appreciate it,’’ Marty said.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got any hot chocolate?’’ Maddie asked, as direct as any Northerner.
Johnny stopped wiping down a folding table and looked at her hard.
“Sorry,’’ Maddie said. “I was just asking because our little sister is iced to the bone. She’s prone to catching colds.’’
Marty gave a delicate cough. Johnny caved.
“Oh, all right. I’ve got about one cup left in the urn. I was just about to toss it.’’
He put a mug on the table and lifted a silver serving urn almost upside down. The final cup flowed. He’d stripped off his long sleeves to a white T-shirt underneath. Cords of muscle stood out on his thick arms. If Johnny had wanted to go up against Trey, he probably could have taken him, especially with all the booze Trey had obviously consumed.
“You showed a lot of restraint tonight,’’ I said. “Trey was itching for a fight.’’
Johnny stared into the dark distance.
“Well,’’ he finally said, “his father was a good friend, once. And I won’t take advantage of a man who’s mixed grief with liquor. That’s a bad combination.’’
I wondered whether he spoke from personal experience.
“That sure sounded like a lot of nonsense Trey was yelling, didn’t it?’’ I asked, watching Johnny’s face to see what it might reveal.
“Hmmm,’’ he said, showing nothing as he handed Marty the cup of chocolate.
Maddie decided to go with directness again: “Was there any truth to what Trey said?’’
Johnny clattered the urn upright onto the table. I hoped its parts weren’t breakable.
“Well?’’ I asked. “Was there?’’
A vein throbbed at his temple. He looked at me like he wanted to take that swing he hadn’t taken at Trey.
“I’m not in the habit of telling my personal business to strangers.’’ His eyes were dark; his voice cold. “Now, if y’all don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.’’
Marty had been quiet, sipping steadily from the mug he gave her. She drained it and put it down on the table. “Thanks for the chocolate,’’ she said.
He turned his back, crossed the cook site, and stomped up the stairs into the food trailer.
“Well, that was rude!’’ Maddie said.
“Shhh!’’ Marty scolded. “He’ll hear you.’’
As we left, Maddie and I each took one of Marty’s elbows, pulling her close to share the warmth of our bodies.
“Did y’all notice anything funny about Johnny?’’ she asked, once we’d put ample distance between us and his trailer.
“He was in a T-shirt, even though it’s cold,’’ Maddie offered.
“His eyes were hard,’’ I added.
“Think about his hands,’’ Marty said.
I’d been concentrating on Johnny’s face. When Maddie didn’t speak either, Marty said, “His right hand was red and swollen.’’
“So?’’ Maddie said. “He works around hot food and fire. He probably burned it.’’
Marty said, “Maybe so.’’
“What else, Marty?’’ I asked.
“Well, I just thought it looked an awful lot like my hand did that time in the orange grove, when I got stung by those bees.’’
Marty crouched at the entrance to the tent, nerves showing as she shone and re-shone the flashlight into the corners. Maddie and I had already laid the sleeping bags outside, turning them inside out.
“See, Marty?’’ I said. “No snakes.’’
She peered inside a bag. “I know I’m being a scaredy cat,’’ she said. “I’m sorry.’’
“Don’t you apologize, Marty. The one who should be sorry is the one who stuffed that rattlesnake in Mace’s jacket.’’ Maddie gave her own bag a good shake. “And he—or she—will be sorry once we find out who it was.’’
“My money’s on Austin,’’ I said, tossing my bag onto the tent’s canvas floor. “I know she snapped that whip at Val on purpose. She’s also the best candidate for shredding my tent.’’
Marty followed my bag inside, the flashlight’s beam strafing any possible hiding place. “Jealousy is a good motive, Mace. But what about her snake phobia?’’
“Oh please, Marty! You are so gullible. Can’t you just see Austin pitching a fit at that reptile house so that big, strong Trey would take her in his arms to comfort her?’’ Stretching my legs half out the zippered door, I pulled off my heavy boots. “Austin’s exactly the type of woman who would pull that damsel-in-distress crap.’’
“We all know you’re not that type, Mace.’’ Maddie put a toothbrush and a bottle of water on top of her sleeping bag. “Would it kill you to pretend, just a little, that you could use some help from Carlos? Men like to be needed, you know. And you about bit off his head when Shotgun threw Mama.’’
I made a face, but I wasn’t sure she could see me in the lantern light.
“I’m rolling my eyes at you, Maddie,’’ I said. “By the way, how come you never simper around, all helpless, with men?’’
“I don’t need to, Mace. I already have a husband.’’
“It must be this relic of a tent,’’ I said. “I think somebody just opened a time warp into 1950.’’
“Could you two please stop bickering?’’ Marty put a hand on each of our arms. “You’re making my head hurt.’’
Maddie and I were quiet for a few moments, like two kids reprimanded by their favorite teacher. I tugged off my jeans, leaving on my socks and long undies to sleep in. Maddie went outside to brush her teeth. Marty wrapped a woolen scarf around her neck, tucking the ends into the collar of a long-sleeved thermal T-shirt.
“Hand me one of those flashlights, would you, Mace?’’ Maddie leaned in. “I need to use the little girl’s room before bed.’’
I handed over a light, along with a wad of toilet paper. “Oh for God’s sake, Maddie. You don’t need to walk all the way to creation and back to find the portable potties. Just use that clump of brush out there by the horse trailer.’’
“I will not!’’ She summoned her most dignified tone. “Principals do not squat in the bushes, Mace. Suppose a student spotted me? They’d snap a picture on their cell phone and it’d be all over YouTube by first period tomorrow: Me, doing my business. It’d be tough after that to exert my authority.’’
As Maddie stalked off into the darkness, Marty and I snuggled into our sleeping bags. It made me think of when we were kids, sharing a room with twin bed
s. Maddie, of course, had claimed her own room.
“I’ve been thinking about all the things that have happened, Mace. If Austin is responsible, like you say, then how does that tie in with your notion about Lawton being murdered?’’
It was too dark to see the confusion on Marty’s face. But I knew it was there. I was equally as confused.
“I haven’t put all the pieces together yet, Marty. Maybe Austin’s not just jealous about Trey and me. Maybe she had something to do with Lawton’s death, and she doesn’t want me around to find out what it was.’’
I heard Marty’s soft breathing as she pondered that possibility.
“Then how do those bees figure in, Mace? And Johnny Adams? And Wynonna and Trey?’’ Her voice had an uncharacteristic note of skepticism. “And what if Lawton’s death was just a heart attack? What if everything is completely unrelated?’’
Marty’s question hung in the air. The horses noisily munched hay outside in their temporary paddock. Bullfrogs croaked from a far pond. Night creatures scrabbled in dry brush.
“I don’t know, Marty,’’ I finally answered her. “I was a lot more willing before last summer to believe in unrelated coincidences. Don’t you remember all the things Jim Albert’s killer did to scare us off the trail?’’
“I do. I also remember the nasty notes and threats, and you haven’t gotten any of those on this ride. Why do you think that is, Mace?’’
Truthfully, I didn’t know what to think. Maybe I was over-reacting.
“I mean . . .’’ Marty breathed deeply, then continued, “Shotgun running away with Mama might have been an accident, and maybe Johnny really did burn his hand. And maybe Austin didn’t mean to hit Val. And Trey and Wynonna both deny there’s something between them; maybe they’re not lying. And suppose some teenager thought it’d be funny to rip apart your sleeping bag and soak it with red wine . . .’’
“Okay, enough! Now you’re giving me a headache.’’
She patted my cheek. She was wearing mittens.
“Sorry, Mace. I guess we only know a couple of things for sure: Lawton Bramble is dead . . .’’
Mama Rides Shotgun Page 17