Mama Gets Trashed (A Mace Bauer Mystery)

by Sharp, Deborah

  My eyes followed hers, which were focused on the choir’s geeky baritone. I snorted. “That man is fifty years old if he’s a day. And he still lives with his mama. Plus, he rides a three-wheeled bicycle to work, bagging groceries at the supermarket.’’

  I waved my ring under her nose. “I am a happily engaged woman, Mama. I don’t need a Plan B.’’

  She batted away my hand. “There are plenty of rings on fingers out there. Plenty of bad marriages, too. That ring doesn’t mean a thing if you—or your husband—end up with a broken heart.’’

  I thought about Mama’s aptitude for understanding romance. Did she sense something about me I myself didn’t know? Maybe having witnessed her series of marital train wrecks spoiled me for commitment. I saw Maddie’s tear-streaked face in my mind. I couldn’t help thinking about Kenny; about their twenty-plus years of marriage, now endangered. Carlos and I weren’t even married yet. Things could go bad. Maybe I did need a backup plan.

  For some reason, an image of the gorgeous golf pro flitted behind my eyes. That was immediately followed by a rush of guilt. I don’t know why. It wasn’t like I planned to do anything with the guy. I was just thinking. Harmless daydreaming. It wasn’t like I was considering making Jason—or was it Josh?—my Plan B Man.

  Was I?

  thirteen

  My mouth watered. The aroma of meat on the grill drifted through the dining room at the golf course. They don’t call Himmarshee County the buckle in Florida’s beef belt for nothing. Speaking of which, my own belt might need a new hole if I managed to finish the still-sizzling slab of steak in front of me.

  “Hand me that steak sauce, would you Mace?’’ Sal pointed his fork at the house brand bottle on the table.

  “Try it before you douse it. You can’t beat the taste of a fine cut of meat, simply prepared.’’ Sawing off a hunk from my own Porterhouse, I held it up for Sal’s inspection. “Nothing but meat, a nice marbling of fat, and some salt and pepper.’’

  He plucked it off my steak knife and popped it into his mouth. “Mmm-hmm,’’ he said, chewing.

  “What’d I tell you?’’ I grinned. “Carnivore nirvana-vor!’’

  My sister Marty, likely the only vegetarian in a twenty-five-mile radius, speared a cucumber from her salad. She chomped on the celery stalk garnishing her virgin Bloody Mary. “You’d both be a lot healthier if you’d cut back on the meat, and bulk up on your greens.’’

  Catching the waiter’s eye, Sal tapped the rim of his empty glass to signal he wanted a second martini. “Do olives count as greens, Marty?’’

  She shook a finger at him. “Not when they’re soaked in gin.’’

  Mama looked at her watch and frowned. “It’s one o’clock. I thought Maddie would be here by now.’’

  I’d been so distracted—studying the menu, selecting my steak, lecturing Sal on the virtues of un-sauced meat—I’d forgotten to mention my big sister wouldn’t be joining us.

  “I talked to Maddie on my cell on the way here, Mama. She can’t make it.”

  “Why not?’’ she asked.

  The truth was Maddie was too upset over this mess with Kenny to enjoy the family’s company, not even with the added bonus of dessert. But I wasn’t about to reveal that.

  “She’s not feeling well,’’ I said.

  “What’s wrong with her?’’ Marty asked.

  Mama snatched a French fry from my plate, leaving her own healthy serving of rice untouched. I thrust my steak knife at her in warning.

  “She’s just a little under the weather,’’ I answered Marty.

  “How so?’’ Mama asked.

  Now, even Sal had put down his fork and was awaiting my update. Nothing gets my family interested like evasiveness. I glanced around at the nearby tables and lowered my voice to a whisper.

  “She has her period, okay?’’

  Reddening, Sal changed the subject. “Hey, I think I see the mayor and his wife coming in. You know them, don’t you Mace?’’

  Mama interrupted before I could answer him. “I gave Maddie some special raspberry and chamomile to make Time of the Month tea. That should help her cramps. Isn’t she using it, Mace?’’

  “I’m not sure, Mama. I’m not in charge of monitoring Maddie’s herbal tea intake.’’

  Mama slipped her cell phone from her purse. “I’m going to call her right now. I have to make sure she remembers to drink that tea.’’

  “No, don’t!’’ I said, more sharply than I intended.

  All three of them stared at me. “I just meant don’t bother her. She said on the phone she was going to fill a hot water bottle and take a nap. She’s probably asleep right now.’’

  “I remember my own periods.’’ Mama happily shifted the focus to herself.

  Sal tugged uncomfortably at his collar. She continued.

  “Cramps so bad it felt like somebody crushed my uterus in a vise. An unnaturally heavy flow, too. I mean, I’d go through a package of tampons …’’

  “Here comes the mayor,’’ Sal blurted, jumping up from our table.

  “Oh, joy,’’ Mama muttered as Marty giggled.

  Sal, looking relieved, stretched out his big paw for a shake. “How are you today, Mayor Graf? And Mrs. Graf, too, of course. Join us!’’

  “Maybe for a minute or two,’’ said the mayor.

  Sal pulled out a chair for the mayor’s wife, and all of us shifted around to make room. From the flinch on Sal’s face after he took his seat, I could tell Mama had aimed a swift kick at him under the table.

  “Now, Sally, these two probably have all sorts of important people to see.’’ She offered a saccharine-sweet smile to Himmarshee’s power couple. “Don’t let us keep you.’’

  Beatrice Graf settled into her chair, tugging at a short skirt of fuchsia satin. Her blouse, in the same shade of bright pink, clashed mightily with the permanent curls of her pomegranate-hued hair. A sprinkling of rhinestones glittered along her plunging neckline, like stars dotting a vast, bosomy galaxy.

  “I’m never too busy to chat with my constituents. After all, you put me in office.’’

  The mayor flashed a campaign poster grin—all white teeth, dark suit, and insincerity. I knew Mama had voted for his opponent. I admired her restraint, for a couple of seconds anyway.

  “Actually,’’ she said, “I supported the other candidate. He’s a native Himmarsheean, and I’ve known him since I taught him in Sunday school, way back when. He’s a good man, and would have made a fine mayor. No offense.’’

  The mayor waved a hand, a diamond winking from his pinky ring. “None taken.’’

  “Speaking of Sunday school, where do y’all worship?’’ Mama asked.

  A look passed between the mayor and his wife. “Actually, we haven’t found a permanent church home,’’ Beatrice Graf said.

  Mama cocked her head at Big Bill. “So you got a seat at the Chamber of Commerce, secured a political office, and joined the country club, but you haven’t had time to find a church?’’

  “We’re still looking for a good fit,’’ the mayor said.

  Beatrice began gathering up her purse. “We really must go, Bill. We’ve been out of town,’’ she explained to us, “and social obligations really pile up.’’

  A confused look crossed the mayor’s face. “We haven’t been out of—”

  “—Of course we were! Your memory is getting terrible, Bill. Now, I said we have to go.’’

  She shot to her feet. Mama put a hand on her arm.

  “Just one more thing,’’ she said. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you ‘looking’ at Abundant Forgiveness Love & Charity Chapel. That’s my church.’’

  Mama rustled around in her purse, extracting Juicy Fruit gum, a broken blueberry-colored earring, and a crumpled receipt from Fran’s Fancy Frocks and Duds. Finally, she pulled out a program from the morning’s church service. “We’d love to have you stop by.’’

  Beatrice snatched the program, folded it without a glance, and stuffed it
into her own bag, a rhinestone-studded number in silver leather. I’d lay money that’s where it would stay. In a week or so, she’d toss it out with candy wrappers, hair from her brush, and other garbage she mined from the bottom of that spacious satchel.

  Beatrice and Big Bill gave lip service to religion. But between the mayor’s filthy language when he missed a putt, and the way his wife filleted the murder victim’s character without even knowing her, I’d venture a guess they weren’t the worshipful type.

  With Mama’s invitation still hanging in the strained silence, a friendly visit to our table by the club’s barmaid came as a welcome interruption. Nodding at me in recognition, Angel dropped her strong hands on Sal’s shoulders. She massaged playfully, like a manager looking after a prizefighter.

  “How’s the martini, Sal? Loosening up those tight muscles, I hope. I made it dry as dust, just the way you like them.’’

  Mama sat up straighter in her seat; Mayor and Mrs. Graf forgotten. She narrowed her eyes at Angel, whose bright blonde bangs were bouncing adorably onto her forehead. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. I’m Rosalee, Sal’s wife.’’

  “Of course! He talks about you all the time. You’re just as pretty as Sal said.’’ She offered her hand. “I tend bar in the 19th Hole. I’m Angel, by the way.’’

  Mama, mollified by the compliment, smoothed at her perfectly coiffed hair. She waited just a beat, and then took the barmaid’s hand.

  From across the table, Beatrice Graf cleared her throat. “Angel, the mayor and I are absolutely parched. We need some drinks, dear.’’

  The tone of her voice was an odd mix of imperiousness and wheedling.

  “I don’t do table service,’’ Angel said flatly. “I’ll send over a waiter.’’

  Seemingly chastened, Beatrice cast her eyes to the tablecloth, and began examining the silverware.

  “Don’t worry about it, Angel.’’ The mayor’s voice was chipper. He stood up to join his wife. “We’ll find a seat in the bar.’’

  He dropped a friendly hand on Angel’s shoulder. With a frigid look, she shrugged it off and left our table. The mayor immediately went after her. After an awkward moment, his wife followed him.

  “That was weird,’’ Marty said, voice low. “What’s the deal between those three?’’

  I shrugged, eager to get back to my steak. Mama speared another French fry from my plate. She made a face when she took a bite.

  “It’s colder than a heart on Wall Street,’’ she said, depositing the half-eaten fry back on my plate. “What kind of people sit down and monopolize the dinner table right after your food is served?’’

  “You’re the one who kept them around, interrogating them about church,’’ I said.

  “Sal was the one who took time away from dinner to flirt with that barmaid,’’ she countered.

  “I wasn’t flirting, Rosalee. It’s called being friendly.’’

  “You may not think so, but she was definitely flirting with you.’’ Mama dabbed her napkin in my water glass and scrubbed at a spot of ketchup on Sal’s lapel.

  “I was drinking that water, Mama.” I slid the glass out of her reach. “Besides, Angel fools around with all her customers like that to boost her tips. She doesn’t care about Sal.’’

  “Thanks,’’ he said, looking wounded.

  “Are you dissing my husband, Mace?’’

  “Who wants dessert?’’ Marty said, employing the one sure-fire suggestion that would make us stop sniping and start eating again.

  “I do!’’ all of us answered at once.

  Sal signaled for the waiter, and we put in our dessert requests. As I sat, waiting for my Key lime pie and plotting how to keep Mama’s fork out of my plate, I spotted Jason making his way across the dining room. A dozen pair of female eyes followed the golf pro’s progress. I had to admit, he had a confident, sexy stride to match his sexy smile.

  When he saw me, he cut a straight line to our table. He shook Sal’s hand, asked him how he was hitting, and then turned his attention my way.

  “Hello, gorgeous.’’ He leaned and planted a kiss on my cheek.

  Mumbling a greeting, I brushed my finger over the spot he’d kissed. It felt warm.

  “I’ve been wondering when I’d see you again.’’ He looked into my eyes. “I’ve thought about you a lot.’’

  Mama coughed. Marty bit her lip. Sal tapped the table nervously.

  “Jason, this is my mother and my sister.’’ I gave him their names. He nodded hello, but barely seemed to register them. He didn’t even do a double-take when I introduced Marty, whose doll-like beauty captivated most men.

  His eyes held mine. “Do you think I could call you? I’ve thought about some of the things we talked about.’’

  I felt a shiver of dread. He must know something about Kenny, but this was definitely the wrong time and place for him to bring it up. I fished a business card from the nature park out of my pocket and quickly concocted a cover story. “Give me a call tomorrow. If you’ve got a gator in the pond again, I can definitely help.’’

  He looked confused, but palmed the card anyway. I suspected Jason spent a good amount of time not completely understanding what people were saying.

  He bent to kiss my cheek again, his lips lingering just a bit longer this time.

  “Goodbye, gorgeous.’’

  No one said a word as Jason walked away. The waiter approached, with our dessert plates and coffee crowding a tray. Mama leaned close and grabbed my wrist, so hard it hurt. She whispered in my ear, her breath a hot blast.

  “You know what they say about playing with fire, Mace. Somebody’s bound to get burned.’’

  fourteen

  Marty took a sharp breath. Step faltering, she clutched my hand.

  “It’s like seeing a ghost.’’ Her voice was hushed. “She’s the image

  of Camilla.”

  From Mama’s living room, we could see our dinner guest through the glass panels of the front door. Illuminated by the front porch light, the sister of the murder victim hesitated. She looked like she was trying to decide whether to ring the bell, or turn and run.

  Mama was in the shower. She’d insisted Sal go out and leave us women alone to meet Camilla’s sister. He’d taken Teensy, so the frantic-barking, early-warning system was absent. The young woman had crept so quietly across the porch, her presence took Marty and me by surprise.

  The doorbell rang. I gave Marty a little push across the living room.

  “Buck up, sister. You invited her over because she can use some support. Now, answer the door so we can be supportive.’’

  Squaring her shoulders, Marty welcomed Prudence Law into Mama’s home.

  She did indeed look just like the newspaper picture of her slain sister. Her features were small and serious; her hair was long and dark. A fringe of bangs framed enormous eyes. Tonight they were puffy and red, and filled with sadness.

  My sister clasped Prudence’s hand in both of hers, and pulled her across the threshold. “I’m Marty, and this is Mace. I worked with Camilla at the library. We are so terribly sorry for your loss.’’

  Nodding in agreement, I stood by feeling useless. Marty and Mama were more skilled at giving comfort. I was relieved to hear the clack of Mama’s kitten-heeled sandals as she bustled from the bathroom hallway to the living room. She must have hurried to finish dressing. Her hair was damp, and she wore only one of the lemon-sherbet colored earrings that matched her pantsuit and shoes. A yellow scarf at her neck was slightly askew.

  “Oh, honey … C’mere and let me give you a hug.’’ She enveloped Prudence in a baby-powder-scented squeeze.

  Stiffening slightly, our visitor seemed taken aback. I’d always heard the English were standoffish. Mama’s hold didn’t loosen. Soon, Prudence surrendered. She lowered her head to rest on Mama’s shoulder.

  “What an awful, awful thing.’’ Murmuring, Mama stroked the young woman’s back. “Don’t worry. We’re going to find out how this h
appened to your sister, aren’t we Mace?’’

  When I didn’t answer, she peeked around Prudence’s head and scowled at me.

  “The police are doing everything they can.’’ I refused to let Mama bully me into making an empty promise to Prudence about something that didn’t involve me or my family. “I just know they’ll get you some answers soon.’’

  _____

  “You’re missing an earring.’’ Maddie deposited several take-out containers from the Pork Pit on the kitchen counter, and then pointed to Mama’s right ear.

  Mama examined her reflection in a silver toaster. “Well, you girls might have mentioned that before Maddie got here. Plus, my scarf looks like a monkey escaped from the zoo and came to my house to practice his knot-tying skills.’’

  Removing her scarf, she shook out the wrinkles from the lopsided bow.

  Marty peered down the hallway to make sure Prudence was still in the bathroom, and then hissed at Mama: “We were a little distracted!’’

  I brought Maddie up to speed. “We were busy trying to comfort the loved one of a murder victim. But I can see how providing fashion commentary for Mama should have taken precedence.’’

  “Don’t sass me, girl.’’ Mama slapped my wrist with the sherbet-colored scarf. “You are not too big for me to go out to the tree and cut a switch.’’

  “Ooooooh!’’ I held out my hands and shook them. “I’m trembling.’’

  Mama turned her back on me and re-tied her scarf. She started searching through her cabinets for serving platters for the meat and big bowls for the side orders.

  “I don’t know why we can’t just eat out of the take-out boxes. You’re making extra work with all those dishes to wash,’’ I said.

  “Well, why don’t I just dump out everything right on the table? We can eat off that. Who needs plates anyway?’’ Mama rapped her knuckles on the tabletop. “Heck, who needs a table? Maybe we should put dog bowls on the floor, and get down there and eat with Teensy. That way we wouldn’t have to wash any silverware, either.’’

  “Since when does Teensy eat from a dog bowl? Every time I’m here, you’re feeding that ridiculous mutt by hand.’’