Mama Does Time

by Deborah Sharp

  “Do you still have that horse you were breaking when we were going together, Jeb? What was his name? The big bay, with the white blaze?’’

  “Cheyenne.’’ The smile returned to Jeb’s lips. He draped an arm casually around my shoulders. “He’s getting old, but he’s still going strong. Why don’t you come out and ride with me, Mace? I’d love to see you on a horse again. I’ll never forget the sight of you barrel-racing in that white outfit with the fringe, your black hair flying from underneath a white hat. You were a sight. Just beautiful. Still are.’’

  I looked at him, and the plan to work him for information flew out of my brain. The flecks in his eyes were liquid gold. He leaned down a bit to kiss me. I lifted my chin. I couldn’t wait to feel again the touch of his lips; the heat of his body.

  I closed my eyes …

  And heard a harsh cough. Someone was standing not two feet away, interrupting our moment with an infernal hacking. They were quite insistent. Loud, too. How rude, I thought.

  Reluctantly, I put a hand on Jeb’s chest and pushed away. I opened my eyes.

  There stood Detective Martinez, clearing his throat and staring cannon-ball-sized holes into Jeb and me.

  A door slammed. I heard the clomp-clomp of school-principal pumps on the wooden deck between the office and the breezeway.

  “What do you mean they’re Mace’s daisies, Rhonda?’’ A familiar voice boomed, scaring any wildlife within a hundred yards. “Who brought my sister daisies?’’

  Martinez’s respiratory distress had already spooked me. Now, Maddie’s approach finished the job. I scooted away, like Jeb’s thigh was the campfire and mine was the marshmallow. I moved too slowly: The sight of me cozying up to my former boyfriend stopped my sister so fast that Rhonda ran into her from the rear. Clomp-clomp-smack. Maddie looked from the two of us to Martinez, the eyeglasses on her chain bouncing on her generous bust.

  “I let you out of my sight for one day, Mace.’’ Maddie shook her head. “And you go and get yourself into all kind of mess with Jeb Ennis.’’

  Rhonda looked uncomfortable. An only child, she was unused to the goings on of dysfunctional siblings. “I’ll just excuse myself.’’ She edged backwards toward the office. “I’ve got a mountain of paperwork.’’

  It was the only time I ever envied my boss her forms in triplicate.

  Jeb stood up. “Howdy, Maddie. Nice to see you, too.’’ He put his hat back on and brushed his hands along the front of his denim-covered thighs. “Even though I’m enjoying this little reunion, it’s time for me to hit the trail.’’

  “Hold your horses, Cowboy.’’ Martinez’s voice was a command.

  Jeb looked at him, a question on his face. Martinez took his time with the answer. He extracted a cigar from his top pocket. He sniffed it, then held it up like it was a piece of art he was inspecting for a museum. Finally, he put back the cigar and stared at Jeb.

  “You’re not saddling up just yet, hombre.’’

  Maddie just about licked her chops in anticipation. “That’s Carlos Martinez. He’s a police detective,’’ she said to Jeb. “Carlos, it appears you already know who Jeb Ennis is.’’

  The two men looked at each other, measuring. Long and lean, Jeb might’ve had a few inches in height. But the burly detective outweighed the cowboy by at least twenty-five pounds. They stared across the breezeway like two bucks do, just before they crash antlers to see who gets to mate with the female deer. I couldn’t help but wonder if the doe ever gets her say.

  “Could you ladies find something else to do for a little while?’’ Martinez spoke to us, but he never took his eyes off Jeb. “I have a few questions for Mr. Ennis. I was going to visit Ms. Bauer here, to see if she could put me in touch. But it looks like I’ve been saved the trouble of traveling all the way to Wah … Wash … Watch …’’

  “Wauchula.’’ Maddie helped him out. “I believe Jeb’s cattle ranch is over in Wauchula, Carlos.’’

  “Thanks, Maddie. But your sister here already filled me in with quite a bit of information on her good friend, Mr. Ennis.’’

  Jeb shot me a look. I stared at the ground, too late to avoid seeing the betrayal in his eyes.

  “By the way, I’m not sure what you’ve got going on here, Ms. Bauer, but you need to stay out of this investigation. I’ve told you it’s dangerous. Leave police work to professionals.’’

  The superior tone in his voice propelled me to my feet.

  “If I did that, Mama would still be in jail, where the professional tossed her. I’d say the professional has made a few missteps. Wouldn’t you agree, Maddie?’’

  My sister examined the links on her eyeglass chain.

  “Maddie?’’

  “Well, Mace, I’m thinking maybe we should let bygones be bygones.’’

  My own sister, a Judas!

  “It is dangerous. During the course of a murder investigation, there’s no telling what kind of people you might come in contact with.’’ Maddie stared straight at Jeb.

  “You better not be meaning what I think you’re meaning, you old rattlesnake.’’ Jeb’s voice was low and menacing.

  “All right, all right.’’ Martinez held up a hand. “Maddie, would you mind taking your sister for a walk? I think everyone needs to cool down a little. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of things. I’m hoping Mr. Ennis can help me do that.’’

  “Absolutely.’’ Maddie sounded just like the teacher’s pet she always was. “Mace, why don’t you take me to your compound, and show me the animals? Marty told me Ollie’s getting as round as a barrel on all those chickens you’re feeding him.’’

  Maddie’s false enthusiasm didn’t fool me. She likes animals about as much as she likes seventh graders, which is to say not much. She touched my elbow. I shook off her hand. I might go, but I wouldn’t do it graciously.

  “Fine.’’ I could hear the pout in my voice. It sounded ridiculous. But something about my bossy big sister makes me act like a six-year-old.

  As Maddie and I left, I glanced over my shoulder. I wouldn’t have wanted to wander into the open space between Jeb and Martinez. It would be like stepping into standing water charged by a downed power line.

  ___

  Lifting a forty-pound bag of puppy chow to my shoulder, I edged past my sister in the tight quarters of the animal compound’s storage room.

  “Good Lord, Mace. You’re as strong as a man!’’

  “You make that sound like a bad thing, Maddie.’’

  I rested the feed sack on the slatted wood floor. Any number of animals, including skunks and raccoons, can eat moistened dog or cat food. At feeding time, I supplement the dry chow with everything from fish and eggs to fruit and yogurt, depending on the critter.

  “Drag that garbage can over here, would you, Maddie?’’ I nodded toward a fifty-gallon pail against the far wall. “I need to fill it with this chow.’’

  Maddie looked at the pail like I’d asked her to move a mountain.

  “Go ahead, Maddie. It’s empty. I wouldn’t ask you to exert yourself. I know you’re not used to lifting anything heavier than that paddle you use to scare the sixth graders.’’

  I took a pocket knife from my work pants and sliced a hole into the top of the bag. A meaty, cereal smell wafted from the sack.

  “You know corporal punishment is outlawed in the public schools.’’ Maddie couldn’t keep the note of regret from her voice. “The kids know it, too; even the sixth graders. I don’t have a lot of tools in my threat kit anymore.’’

  “I’m sure you manage, Maddie.’’

  “Maybe so. Still and all, I haven’t managed to scare you off that devil, Jeb Ennis.’’

  I looked up from the sack. Maddie was wearing her serious face.

  “You didn’t fool me for an instant, Mace, jumping awa
y on that bench. Your face was flushed. The blood was pulsing at that spot on your neck, the way it does when you’re upset or excited.’’

  I poured the feed into the plastic can without a word. The small chunks filling the bucket sounded like rain on a shingle roof.

  “I’m not gonna deny it,’’ I finally said. “I’m still attracted to the man. He was my first real boyfriend, you know.’’

  “Oh, I remember. But you’re looking at those days through rose glasses, Mace. Because I also remember you sobbing for hours on your bed the night you caught him cheating. I remember you couldn’t choke down a thing but water for three days after.’’

  My stomach lurched at the memory. Even the smell of food had made me want to throw up. Finally, on the third day, Maddie came into my bedroom with a bowl of mashed potatoes. She stretched out next to me on the bed, propping me up with an arm around my shoulders. Then she fed me spoonful after spoonful until I could eat no more. I still remember the texture of those potatoes on my tongue, mixed with some salt and a tiny bit of butter.

  It sounds overly dramatic now. But at age nineteen, sick with a broken heart, my first indication I wanted to keep living was Maddie feeding me those mashed potatoes.

  I emptied the rest of the bag into the pail and snapped the lid shut to keep out the rats.

  “People can change, Maddie.’’

  She wiped the dirt off a shelf, leaned against it, and folded her arms over her chest. “A tiger doesn’t change its stripes, Mace. And a devil doesn’t trade in his pitchfork and horns for a harp and angel’s wings. That man is bad news. He was back then; he is now.’’

  It wasn’t a conversation I cared to continue.

  “Do you want to see the animals?’’

  Maddie curled her lip.

  Most of them are nocturnal anyway, so they were asleep. Not that Maddie minded.

  “Not even Ollie?’’

  “Mace, I’ve seen enough of those overgrown lizards to last me a lifetime. Just because this one’s got a name doesn’t make him any different. I wouldn’t mind a bit if they turned every alligator in Florida into a handbag.’’ She brushed her hands together. “Let’s just go back to the office where I can clean up. I’m coated in puppy chow dust.’’

  Walking along the nature path, we heard a truck engine rumble from the parking lot. We got there just in time to see Jeb pulling out, hat on his head and a hard line to his mouth. His pickup tore over the wooden bridge. He must have been doing at least triple the park’s posted speed limit of fifteen mph.

  Maddie and I stood watching as he raced to the exit.

  “There goes the devil, running off like a scalded hound.’’ My sister’s lips tightened with disapproval.

  “He better be careful, or Martinez will cite him for speeding,’’ I said, as Jeb’s brake lights briefly flickered at a curve.

  “A speeding ticket would be the least of your friend’s troubles right now, Ms. Bauer.’’

  I jumped at Martinez’s voice, so close I could feel his breath on my neck. “You scared me.’’ I aimed an accusing glance at him. “Do you always sneak up on people?’’

  “I would have warned you of my presence, but I didn’t think you could hear me over the squealing tires.’’ Martinez pulled a pen from his top pocket. He dug out his wallet and extracted a business card.

  “I have a favor to ask of you.’’ He rested the card on his billfold and scribbled on the back. “Please take my advice and stop trying to solve this murder.’’

  He slipped the card into the pocket of my T-shirt, and his fingers lightly brushed against my breast. Inadvertent or intentional? I searched his eyes. Of course, they revealed no clues. I hoped my own eyes didn’t show that I wanted him to touch me again.

  He continued, “If you ignore my advice, as you’ve done so far, you’ll likely find yourself in trouble. You can call me at any of those numbers. I’ll do my best to rescue you, unless it’s too late.’’

  Rescue me? Smug bastard. The desire I’d felt for him fled.

  “I can take care of myself. I don’t need some man riding to my rescue …’’

  He held up a hand to interrupt. I hate that.

  “Excuse me. I’m running late, and I’m not in the mood for an argument. Just use the card, por favor. Please.’’ He pulled his car keys from his pocket. “Maddie, could you talk some sense into your sister?’’

  “I’ll do my best, Detective,’’ Maddie called after him, the teacher’s pet left in charge of a difficult student. “Take care, now.’’

  As he left, I read the card. “What a jerk.’’

  Maddie leaned over my shoulder. I held it up so she could see what Martinez had written:

  More beaus who are murder suspects? If so, pls. call.

  I thought of Jeb standing in the breezeway, looking hurt when he discovered I’d ratted him out to Martinez. I pondered on that for a while, feeling guilty, until a different mental picture came into view. It was Jeb, gunning his truck out of the park. Remembering now, I realized his windows had been rolled up tight.

  And wasn’t that odd, after how he’d complained his pickup was a hot box with no air conditioning?

  Heading home from work, I was thinking about a hot shower and a cold beer.

  The day had been a scorcher, the kind of heat that makes you wonder what those early Florida pioneers had been drinking. I could just picture it: They struck out in energy-sucking temperatures, through swamps with sawgrass so sharp it’ll draw blood. They continued on, through clouds of ravenous mosquitoes. They suffered heatstroke. They endured hurricanes. And through it all they said, “Hey, why don’t we settle here? This looks like a nice spot.’’

  It had to be something stronger than beer.

  It was almost six-thirty, but the sun still blazed. It burned against my bare shoulders as I downshifted Pam’s VW around a truck hauling hogs. That’s a stench you don’t want to trail too long, especially in a convertible with no top.

  The old car shimmied a bit as I punched it, but it rose to the occasion.

  I passed the sign for the Big Lake Dairy, and then the grand entranceway on Highway 98 for the Flying J ranch. Skeet Johnson, who owned the Flying J, had the delusion that he was J. R. Ewing and his place was like Southfork on old reruns of Dallas. In reality, he never got much past sinking the concrete pillars and attaching some fancy wrought-iron gates. Inside, he only had a hundred acres, a few mud holes, and about sixteen crossbred head. All hat and no cattle, as they say in Texas.

  Cattle started me thinking about Jeb Ennis’ visit to the park. A little sweet talk, a few soulful looks, and I’d been willing to take up almost where we’d left off all those years ago. Of course, that was before I watched him speed away from Himmarshee Park, looking cool as an ice cube in his supposedly sweltering truck.

  I came to the little bridge over Taylor Creek, which meant home was only a mile or so away. I always look to the right for the sign that says Turkey Buzzards on Bridge. Is it a warning, or a notice to the tourists taking the back roads to Disney to get out their cameras?

  As I looked today, my eye caught a glimmer of sun on metal in the high weeds that lead to Taylor Slough. I was nearly over the bridge before it registered that something didn’t look right about that silvery shine.

  I slowed on the other side, pulling off onto the shoulder. Back-tracking on foot, I peered over the bridge’s railing. From this angle, a dark-colored compact car was visible. Clambering down the incline I waded into the brush.

  The car was a Toyota. There was no one inside, though the driver’s door stood wide open. I pushed through mucky soil and fetterbush, grateful for my slacks and boots. With brush pricking at my arms, I wished I’d slipped into long sleeves before striking out into the swamp.

  I looked around the car for someone who was hurt or lost. But the on
ly sign was a long trail of flattened grass, corresponding to the path the car made off the road. At the rear, there was a Florida tag and a bumper sticker. Beef: It’s What’s for Dinner. Probably a local. You don’t see many pro-vegan messages on bumpers in the state’s cattle belt.

  Back at the driver’s side, the headlight button was pulled out. But if the lights had been on, the battery was now dead. Not even a gleam came from the headlights or the interior light. The keys were in the ignition, which was turned to the off position. I leaned in, careful not to touch anything. Something dangled from the keys in the shadow of the steering wheel.

  It was a small plastic doll with pink fluorescent hair, just like the Troll family I’d seen on Emma Jean’s desk.

  ___

  Martinez answered on the first ring.

  “It’s Mace Bauer.’’

  “That was fast.’’ He spoke before I got out more than my name. “Don’t tell me you’re already dating someone else who might have killed Jim Albert.’’

  I ignored that. “I’m out here along Highway 98. I think I’ve just found Emma Jean Valentine’s car, abandoned in the swamp.’’

  His voice was instantly serious. “Where are you?’’

  I filled him in, and agreed to wait until he arrived.

  Sunset was still a good hour away, but you couldn’t tell it by the bugs. Waving one hand around my ears, I searched with the other through the VW’s front trunk. My fingers clasped a metal canister. Success! Bug spray is something no native Himmarsheean should ever be caught without. And my can was still in my waterlogged Jeep.

  I sprayed my palms with repellent, then rubbed my neck, my ears and across my face. I donned a long-sleeved shirt from the trunk, smelling of spare tire and mildew. The mosquitoes marshaled their forces, seeking entry to an unprotected spot. I thought I heard a whine of frustration as they flew off in search of a less experienced opponent.

  A swollen thundercloud darkened the horizon. I retrieved the tarp, just in case the skies opened. While I waited, I called my home answering machine. There were messages from Marty and Mama. I returned the calls, leaving my own messages on their machines. Just as I was wondering whether anyone actually speaks to anyone else anymore, I spotted Martinez’s police-issue sedan approaching the bridge.