“Yes, I absolutely do,’’ I said. “Can we start working on it right now, please?’’
His eyes went all hot and liquid. I felt a shudder of desire. We moved toward each other, and kissed. His mouth tasted sweet, like cinnamon breath mints overlaid with Coke. He laced his fingers into my hair, and pulled my face roughly to his. Willingly, I went. Fingers fumbled with zippers and buttons. The bowl tumbled off the couch. We tore at one another’s clothes.
Anger. Confusion. Love. Lust. All the emotions that had been racing through my body crystallized, and then melded into one powerful urge. We became one, and the flame of hurt I’d felt when I saw him with Kelly was extinguished, right there on the couch. Just to be sure, we put the flame out again.
After we were spent, he chuckled.
“Not exactly the after-glow response I’d hoped for.’’ I gave his shoulder a playful punch.
He picked a crushed tortilla chip from my hair and showed it to me. I had to smile, because I had spotted a big glob of salsa on his bare chest. I swiped the salsa onto my finger, and then dabbed it on the chip. He popped the combination into his mouth.
“Not bad,’’ he said.
“I’ve got a leftover slice of Mama’s butterscotch pie in the fridge,’’
I said. “Want something sweet?’’
“I just had something sweet.’’ He gave me an exaggerated leer.
I was about to ask if he was ready for thirds on that particular treat, when I heard the sound of country music floating through the night air. Outside, a truck was jouncing into my yard. Carlos raised his eyebrows at me. I shrugged, grabbed a long T-shirt, and went to the window to look out.
Uh-oh. The pickup was big, white, and very familiar. The engine stuttered to a stop. A door squeaked open, and then slammed.
“Mace! You home, darlin’?’’
The words were slurred. The accent was country, and also familiar.
“It’s me, sweetheart. Jeb Ennis!’’
Boots shuffled on the gravel path outside. Step. Stumble. Stumble. Step.
“I told you I could still find my way here.’’ Jeb’s shout was slurred. “I’m a little drunk, but not too drunk to get busy.’’
A knock sounded at the door. Carlos had already put on his pants and shoes. He was gathering his keys and wallet.
“Please stay,’’ I told him. “I’ll get rid of Jeb.’’
He stood in front of the mirror on the dresser in my bedroom, buttoning his shirt. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“I had no idea he was coming out here, Carlos.’’
The knocking turned into pounding at the front door.
“Open up! I reconsidered our little chat in my truck. I love you. I’m gonna change, just like you always wanted. That’s a promise.’’
Carlos slipped his wallet in his back pocket, patted it. “That sounds like a pretty good offer to me. I’d take Jeb up on it. Like he said, it’s what you’ve always wanted.’’
“I’m not interested in Jeb. I’m interested in you. I thought I’d just proved that.’’
I glanced at the couch, its pillows all askew. I hoped I wasn’t blushing.
He focused those lasers of his on me. “That was just sex, Mace.’’ His voice was ice. “Anybody can do that.’’
The knob on the front door rattled. “I’m tellin’ you, sweetheart: I love you!’’
Carlos unlocked the door and yanked it open. The surprise on Jeb’s face when he saw him standing there was almost comical. But I wasn’t in a laughing mood. As Carlos stalked past Jeb, I followed him out onto the porch.
“Please, don’t go.’’
I hated the desperate note I heard in my voice. I hated it even more when Carlos coldly shook off the hand I’d placed on his arm. He didn’t bother to answer as he hurried down the steps. I ran after him into the yard, leaving Jeb standing on the top step with his mouth hanging open.
“Carlos …’’ I called as he got into his unmarked cop car.
“Your cowpoke is waiting for you.’’ I heard the sneer in his voice. “Maybe you two can saddle up and ride off together into the sunrise, after he sobers up.’’
With that, he swung the door shut and gunned the engine. The Crown Vic spit grass and gravel as Carlos tore out of my yard and out of my life.
Watching him go, I caught sight of Jeb weaving drunkenly on the porch steps. As Carlos roared past, Jeb turned his head to look. That made him lose his balance, and he tumbled backward to the ground.
“Hey, darlin’, how ’bout a little help?’’ Smiling a dopey grin, Jeb reached out a hand for me to pull him up.
I stepped over him without a word, somehow resisting the urge to aim a kick at his head. I stomped up the stairs and through my front door. Then I slammed it on my drunken first love and the rest of my regrets.
The next morning, the mood on the movie set was subdued. Long faces, hushed voices, very little chatter. Maybe everyone was feeling the effects of the previous night’s bash at the Eight Seconds Bar.
Or maybe I was just looking at the world through depression- gray glasses.
I’d been holding a private pity party since Carlos peeled rubber out of my yard. Jeb must have gotten tired of banging at the locked door. When I peeked out the window, he was snoring on the front porch. I heard him start his truck and drive away just after six a.m.
Good riddance. I was furious at him for ruining my reunion with Carlos. Jeb’s timing always was better in the rodeo than it was in real life.
“What’s wrong, Mace? You haven’t even touched your breakfast.’’
Marty’s soft voice brought me back to the present, and the table outside the food tent where I sat with my sisters. She picked up my fork and handed it to me. I laid it down again beside my uneaten scrambled eggs.
“Are you going to finish those home fries?’’ Maddie asked.
I pushed the plate her way. “Knock yourself out.’’
The sight of Maddie dousing everything with ketchup made the coffee I’d swallowed roil around my otherwise empty stomach. “I’m not feeling very well.’’ I started to rise, when Marty tugged at my sleeve.
“Sit down, sister. Tell us what’s wrong.’’
“Nothing wrong with these potatoes,’’ Maddie said around a mouthful of mostly ketchup. “What’s put you off your feed this morning, Mace? Not that I’m complaining.’’
“I don’t want to talk about it.’’
“Carlos?’’ Marty asked.
To my horror, I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes again. I don’t think I’d cried so much since we had to put down my favorite dog when I was ten.
Passing me a folded napkin, Marty waited for my answer. Her blue eyes were full of sympathy.
Finally, I nodded yes to her question.
“Oh, honey!’’ She scooted close and rubbed my back.
“Could you pass the salt, please?’’ Maddie said.
Marty slammed a hand down on the tabletop.
“What?’’ Maddie looked up from her—formerly my—breakfast plate. My dejection finally seemed to register on her radar.
“Well, why didn’t y’all say something? I’m not a mind-reader.’’
Marty rolled her eyes. “Honey, tell me what happened with Carlos. I bet it’s nothing that we can’t fix.’’
“Well, that’s one bet you’re going to lose, Marty,’’ I said.
I filled them in on everything that had happened, beginning with Carlos dancing with Kelly at the bar. I continued through the romantic make-up session at my cottage, minus the multiple X-rated details. Then, I ended with the interloping ex-beau plummeting off my porch.
“So, did you invite Jeb to sleep over then?’’ Maddie picked at a few remaining pieces of greasy, charred onions on the plate. My stomach clenched.
“I don’t love Jeb, Maddie.’’
“That hasn’t stopped you before.’’
When Marty saw I wasn’t rising to our big sister’s bait, she stepped in. “Can’t you see M
ace is really hurting? She needs encouragement, Maddie. Not criticism.’’
“I wasn’t criticizing,’’ Maddie said. “I was stating a fact.’’
“Well, cut it out!’’ The heat of Marty’s glare was so unaccustomed, so intense, it raised a guilty look like a welt on Maddie’s face.
“Sorry, Mace,’’ Maddie said, adding an awkward pat of my hand.
I shrugged and then heaved a big sigh. I hated this sad-sack version of me, but I couldn’t seem to help it. All I wanted was to go back home and pull the bedcovers over my head. But I couldn’t. The horses had to be cared for. If Jeb was still on a toot, or sleeping it off, he might not show up to handle his cattle. I might have to do that, too. Not to mention, Mama’s dancehall scene was scheduled for shooting later in the day. She’d kill me if I missed it. I may be miserable, but I didn’t want to be murdered.
I sighed again.
Now, both my sisters were staring at me in that sad way you look at someone in the hospital who you know won’t be coming home. Suddenly, Marty brightened. “You need a distraction!’’
Maddie clapped her hands, like a first-grade teacher promising finger-painting. “Exactly! Let’s see if we can figure out who killed the producer.’’
“I don’t care who killed him,’’ I said.
“Really? You don’t care if a murderer gets away with it? You don’t care that the same person may have tried to kill you by rigging that light to blow?’’
Maddie searched my face. “Aha!’’ she cried. “I saw that spark of interest in your eyes just now. Of course you care.’’
I toed the dirt under the bench seat with my boot. “Maybe a little.’’
“Excellent,’’ Marty said. “Let’s survey the suspects.’’ Her head swiveled to all sides of the base camp. “Greg Tilton, at fifty paces.’’
Maddie and I shifted to follow the direction of her nod.
Tilton was talking to a couple of crew members, a cup of coffee in his hand. When he noticed us looking, he saluted with the cup and gave his trademark smirk. All of us quickly looked away.
“Well, I for one don’t trust him.’’ Maddie spoke under her breath. “What’s he hiding behind that annoying grin?’’
“You’re still mad because of the way he tried to force himself on Mace,’’ Marty said.
“Aren’t you?’’ Maddie asked.
Before Marty could answer, I said, “The man has problems. He’s said he’s sorry. He probably never meets anyone who says no.’’
“Excuses!’’ Maddie said.
Marty sneaked another glance at Tilton. “He even stopped me on my way in this morning. He wanted to tell me how sorry he was. He said he’s changed, and asked me to make sure Mace knows that.’’
“She’s been there, heard that,’’ Maddie said. “I wonder why he didn’t talk to me?’’
“Probably scared off by the way you scowl at him. Kind of like you’re doing now,’’ I said.
Maddie snapped her head back toward us. “Why does everyone say I scowl?’’
“Because you do.’’ Marty patted our big sister’s cheek. “Anyway, he was a perfect gentleman.’’
“Humph,’’ Maddie said. “So was Ted Bundy.’’
“It was so weird this morning,’’ Marty said. “I stood there, staring at the guy I daydreamed about all through middle school. I must have filled a whole notebook, practicing my future signatures: Marty Tilton. Mrs. Greg Tilton. Greg and Marty Tilton.’’
Maddie said, “I drew lace-bordered hearts around the name of my crush: Scott Baio.’’
I groaned. “Not the guy from Joanie Loves Chachi?’’
“He was adorable,’’ Maddie said. “Whose name did you practice, Mace?’’
“John W. Jones Jr.’’
My teen crush garnered blank looks from both sisters.
“Three-time world champion rodeo bulldogger in the 1980s,’’ I said. “Plus, he had dreamy eyes.’’
They laughed, and I joined in, feeling a bit more like myself again. I looked around, and my gaze settled on Sam Dobbs, knocking on the door of the production trailer. Kelly wasn’t with him. I tried not to imagine her off somewhere, keeping company with a certain detective.
“Are you thinking of him as a suspect?’’ Maddie’s eyes followed mine to Sam.
“Honestly, the guy’s barely said two words to me. I don’t know much about him, except he’s crazy about Kelly.’’
Maddie said, “Well, he’s a man, so that makes sense.’’
“I was just remembering last night; he was trying to pretend he didn’t care if Kelly was cuddling up to someone else at the bar. He was acting, just like I was.’’
As Sam disappeared into the trailer, some small scrap of information about him tried to surface in my mind. All I kept seeing, though, was our eyes meeting in the mirror behind the bar, two sorry-ass kindred souls.
“What about that guy?’’
Marty’s whisper forced me to refocus. Being lovelorn was distracting me from sleuthing. She pointed out the dapper assistant director, head bobbing as he talked into a cell phone.
“How much do we know about Johnny Jaybird?’’ Maddie asked.
I knew quite a bit, at least about his sexuality. I didn’t share it with my sisters, though. Maybe I identified with the way the poor guy was being jerked around by Toby.
“Getting shot makes Johnny seem more like a victim than an aggressor,’’ I said.
“Maybe he got shot because he was the aggressor,’’ Maddie said.
Johnny slipped his phone into his pocket, and cocked his head across the camp toward Jesse’s new trailer. After her close call, the police commandeered her former trailer as a crime scene. A temporary trailer was hauled in. Toby and Jesse sat in front of it now, in camp chairs.
“I’ve got my eye on Toby,’’ Marty said. “That parking lot ‘accident’ seems fishy.’’
I raised my brows at my little sister, who rarely suspects anybody of anything.
“For one thing, the timing was too perfect,’’ she said. “For another, nobody else saw or heard a thing.’’
I recalled Toby looking artfully disheveled after the near-miss. The question was, how artful?
“Toby’s not the murderous type,’’ Maddie said with her usual certainty. “Remember that movie where he played a Cub Scout? He was as sweet as speckled pup.’’
“Acting, sister,’’ I said.
“Maybe.’’ Maddie nodded thoughtfully. “But a certain innocence, even purity, shines through.’’
“He didn’t look so pure strutting out of Jesse’s trailer the first time I saw him,’’ I said.
“What about motive, though?’’ Maddie asked. “Greg Tilton might have wanted Norman and Toby both out of the way, so his role wouldn’t get cut. But what would Toby’s motive be? You said Norman liked him; and he’s clearly the apple of Barbara’s eye.’’
“Hmmm,’’ I said.
“What?’’ both sisters asked at once.
“About Norman …’’ I looked around, saw no one listening in. “Savannah told me he was a predator, and he wasn’t fussy about gender. Maybe he forced Toby …’’
Marty picked up my thread. “… and Toby hated him for it. Maybe he shot Johnny as a way to explain away his fingerprints on the gun. Maybe Toby used that same gun to kill Norman.’’
“Was it the same gun, Mace?’’ Maddie asked.
“How should I know? Carlos isn’t even talking to me. Even if he was, he wouldn’t share ballistics details.’’ I made my tone a little less peevish. “It’s a good theory, sisters. But Jesse and Toby made a big deal of letting everyone know they were ‘shagging’ all that morning that Norman was killed.’’
“So they said.’’ Marty looked pointedly toward the young pair.
They giggled and tussled together, as cute as a couple of kittens.
“They do look awfully chummy,’’ Maddie said.
Were they chummy enough to provide each other with alibis fo
r murder?
“Rolling.’’ The camera operator was ready to film.
“Action.’’ Paul spoke in a normal tone of voice, and his command was relayed via headset to the assistant director, who repeated it to the scrum of cast and crew members surrounding Mama.
“I know what you did to my daughter.’’ Mama leaned close to the actor playing the drunken cowboy. Her eyes spit fire; her voice was low and threatening. In her flaming red wig, movie make-up, and dancehall-girl gown, she looked gorgeous. “Hurt her again, and I’ll kill you.’’
The actor playing the drunken cowboy backed up a step. His face registered shock and surprise.
“Cut.’’
Mama looked off the set of the pretend dancehall to where Paul sat in his director’s chair. He was studying the scene on a video monitor.
“Did I do something wrong?’’ she called.
Johnny Jaybird patted her arm. “You were great,’’ he whispered. “Paul will have us do take after take. That’s normal. Each time, you hear ‘Action’, just act like it’s the first time you’ve done it.’’
I thought it was kind of him to reassure her. As the crew set up to repeat the shot, she glanced over to where Sal, my sisters and I were watching. I flashed a thumbs-up; Sal mouthed, Beautiful! Beaming with pride, Maddie blew a kiss. Marty clasped both hands over her heart.
As filming continued, more spectators drifted over to the dancehall set. Mama performed her lines over and over. I had to admit, she hit it right each time, energy never flagging.
“She’s really good,’’ Marty said, as the camera crew stopped to change positions for the second half of Mama’s Hollywood moment.
“You sound surprised.’’ I smiled at her.
Mama’s enthusiasm seemed contagious. Maybe it was just because it was getting close to the end of the last day of filming, but I did notice more smiles and fewer scowls on the set. Even Barbara nodded and poked me in the ribs after one of Mama’s takes.
“Can’t argue with Paul’s eye,’’ she said. “Your mother’s good as the dancehall girl, even if it will cause me problems with the union. Anybody from the Screen Actors Guild asks, your mother should say she’s weighing whether to join.’’
Mama Sees Stars: A Mace Bauer Mystery Page 22