I glanced at Jason. He gave me a ravenous look. Suddenly, I thought of a Florida panther zeroing in on a fawn. I dropped my arm into my lap, safely out of caressing distance.
“Let’s get back to this swingers’ club,’’ Henry said.
“Is Kenny involved?’’ I asked.
The pro shrugged. “He’s not a charter member. He may have fooled around a little. Hard not to when everything’s going on right there in the house at his hunting camp.’’
“Well,’’ Henry prodded, “who is a charter member?’’
The pro looked over each shoulder, perhaps gauging if anyone was eavesdropping. He nodded toward the bar, where Angel was pouring shots from a vodka bottle into a long line of mixers.
“You already told us about Angel,’’ I said.
“I’m not talking about Angel.’’ He pointed to the end of the bar nearest us. Beatrice Graf sat alone, golf skort hiked up nearly to the Promised Land. She stared into her who-knows-how-many umpteenth Bloody Mary of the day.
She must have sensed us looking at her. She turned, and spotted Henry. Drunkenly, she picked up the celery stalk from her drink, holding it in both hands. Lasciviously, she ran her tongue up it and down it, and around and around it. When she finished her show, she crooked a finger at my cousin and waggled her tongue wickedly.
“Oh, my Lord,’’ Henry breathed. “She’s old enough to be my mother.’’
“A senior citizen swinger? No way,’’ I said.
“Oh, yeah,’’ Jason said. “Mrs. Graf swings like a front porch glider, and so does his honor, the mayor.’’
thirty-seven
I elbowed Henry, drawing his attention away from Beatrice Graf and her sexually explicit celery stalk. “Speak of the devil.’’
I pointed with my beer bottle to the foyer of the dining room. Big Bill had just entered, and was busy glad-handing his constituents.
“At least he looks sober.’’ Henry tossed some money on the table to cover our tab. “Meet me over there when you finish your drink, Mace. Given the choice, I’d rather talk to His Honor than to the drunken wife. She might construe it as my being interested in buttering her muffin.’’
On his way to the dining room, Henry attempted to give Beatrice a wide berth. But the bar was crowded, leaving little room to navigate. She beckoned him to come closer, waving her celery at him and performing a hoochie-coochie hip rotation. Henry was doing his best to ignore her.
“Looks like you’ve lost your Sugar Mama,’’ I said to Jason. “She seems quite taken with my cousin.’’
“No worries. There’s plenty more where Bea came from.’’ Jason’s narrowed eyes and angry frown belied his words. He watched Beatrice with what looked like jealousy.
“You care about her!’’
“Please. We have a business arrangement. I don’t want it compromised.’’
Realization dawned. “So that’s how you afford the BMW?’’
He shrugged.
“Women pay for your, uh … affections. How can you do that?’’
Another shrug. “It’s a living. It beats the hell out of baling tobacco or picking up garbage, which are only two of the crappy jobs I’ve had.’’
He drained his drink, ice clinking against the glass. “Speaking of which, I’ve got another hot date waiting. I better scoot.’’
I put out a hand to stop him as he got up. “Does your ‘date’ involve Kenny’s hunting camp? I’m still trying to find him, you know.’’
“You’ve only told me a million times. And I’ve told you I haven’t seen the man. As much as I’d love to see you at the camp, wearing only a coat of flavored body oil, there’s nothing going on there tonight.’’ He grabbed my hand. “I’ll be sure to let you know the next time we’re having a get-together, though. I can guarantee you’ll be very popular. You may even earn a few bucks, if you’re willing to … experiment.’’
His finger circled suggestively in the center of my palm. I yanked my hand away. This time, my skin crawled where Jason had touched it. The leer on his handsome face disgusted me. Who were these people? And how had they infiltrated Himmarshee?
As soon as he left, I went to join Henry. In the few moments it took me to cross the bar and dining room, I watched the mayor’s expression change from jovial to wary. Henry had backed him into a corner by the restrooms. Judging from His Honor’s body language, he wasn’t thrilled with the cross-examination.
As I sidled up beside them, Henry gestured. “I know you’ve met my cousin, Mace.’’
Smiling tightly, the mayor gave a curt nod.
“I was just asking Mayor Graf what he knows about activities of a sexual nature at Kenny Wilson’s camp.’’
The mayor’s beefy face was more scarlet than usual. He’d puffed up his broad chest, until it was almost as big as his substantial belly. He stood about six-foot-two, and was looming now over Henry. Physically imposing, he probably was unaccustomed to seeing a man who was at least five inches shorter get up in his face. But, like a small dog who fancies itself a Great Dane, my cousin had never been one to back down—not in the courtroom; not in life.
“Mayor Graf?’’ Henry prodded. “Have you attended any of the swingers’ parties at the camp?’’
Graf crossed his arms over his chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Counselor. And I resent you inferring that I would.’’
“Implying,’’ Henry corrected.
The mayor said, “I ran for office on a family values platform.’’
I laughed out loud. “And we all know there’s never been a family values politician caught with his pants down.’’
The mayor glared first at me and then at Henry, regarding us like we were two rats using his dinner plate as a toilet. He stepped so close, the toe of one shoe touched mine; the other shoe touched Henry’s. I smelled lemons. Maybe the men’s locker room at the club provided the same fancy lotion as the women’s did. When Big Bill spoke, the chill in his voice dropped the temperature in the cramped foyer.
“You two redneck hicks do not know who you’re dealing with. Cross me, and I swear you will regret it.’’
“Is that a threat?’’ Henry asked. “Did you hear that, Mace? Did it give you a reasonable fear of bodily harm? If it did, that’s what we redneck hicks and the Florida Criminal Statutes like to call ‘assault.’’’
Henry’s questions hung in the hallway. The door to the ladies’ room swung open, and the mayor’s expression changed in an instant. From raging bull to avuncular boss.
“Diamond, dear, I thought you may have gotten lost. We need to grab a quick bite to eat so we’re not late for the city council meeting.’’
I nodded at the young woman I’d met earlier in his office. With spiky heels and a sparkly halter top, she was dressed for a disco instead of some dull government meeting. The mayor introduced her to Henry as his aide.
My cousin, with his typical appreciation for the feminine form, got all googly-eyed over the bra-less cleavage her halter exposed.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,’’ she said.
I pinched Henry’s arm. “Me, too,’’ he answered lamely.
The mayor shifted into his friendly politician persona again. He slapped Henry on the back. “Sorry we’re going to have to cut our conversation short, Counselor.’’ His smile was wide, his sincerity false. “I’d be glad to explore this topic some more, in private.’’
He hustled Diamond to the dining room, and slipped a ten-
dollar bill into the hand of the woman at the hostess stand. She whisked the two of them toward a staff entrance. I wondered whether that was because they were in a rush, or so they could avoid traipsing past the mayor’s wife at the bar.
Henry was still staring after the departing Diamond and her various jiggling parts. Her skirt was so tight, her rear end looked like two baby possums tussling in a potato sack.
“Jesus, Henry! Pick your eyeballs off the carpet, why don’t you? You’re a married man.’’
“Answer me something. If Miss Diamond Doll came on to you like the mayor’s wife did, would you take her up on it? Would you cheat on your wife?’’
I waited a beat, then asked the question I really wanted to know: “Are you and all other men just like Kenny?’’
Shock registered on his face. He put his hand over his heart. “Please tell me you don’t really think that, Mace. I love my wife. And I’ve never once strayed, not in twelve years. A married man can flirt. He can look. But he can never touch. That’s where Kenny went wrong.”
His eyes searched mine. I had the feeling he was trying to see into my soul.
“I would never, never cheat on my wife.’’
That was just what I thought he’d say. I would have expected Kenny to say the same thing, before. Look what happened with him.
“Never say never, Henry.’’
thirty-eight
Mama’s door was locked. I knocked, cueing a cacophony of barking from inside.
Henry plugged his ears with his fingers, grimacing like he was standing next to a tree-cutter with a chainsaw. “My Lord, how is it Sal hasn’t permanently silenced that awful creature by now?’’
“Believe it or not, he loves Teensy as much as Mama does. While he’s stretched out in his TV chair, watching sports, Sal lets the dog sleep on his stomach. He hand-feeds him cheese curls out of the same snack. One curl for Sal; one for Teensy.’’
Henry mimed a gagging motion.
“Tell me about it,’ I said. “I love dogs, but that doesn’t mean I want to eat after one.’’
We heard the approach of heavy footsteps on the other side of the door. Gently toeing Teensy aside, Sal cracked it open an inch and peeked out. “Mace?’’
“Who else?” I asked. “Mama called me and insisted I come over.’’
I’d had a strange phone conversation with her as Henry and I headed home from the golf course. She called in a huff, raging and raving, saying she’d never forgive me.
“You’d better ggmph over here and mfmph slllph.’’
“What?’’ I’d shouted into the phone. “I can’t understand you.’’
“Explain …’’ Mama yelled, before the phone cut off.
The reception was bad in that slice of the county, and Mama ranted disjointedly. I couldn’t tell what the hell she was talking about. Of course, that wasn’t unusual.
I’d convinced Henry to make an emergency detour to her house to figure things out in person.
“Your mother’s furious at you, Mace.’’ It became “mudder’’ in Sal’s Bronx accent.
“Yeah, that’s about all I managed to understand. Henry’s out here with me, Sal. Are you going to open the door and let us come in off the stoop, or should we just wait until the mosquitoes suck out every drop of our blood?’’
As if for punctuation, Henry slapped a hungry specimen on his neck. I flicked two at once off my wrist.
The door opened. Sal was dressed for bed, wearing a pair of men’s pajamas that would give any normal person nightmares. Black, they featured bright red cartoon characters. Boy devils with tails and pitchforks chased after girl devils. The girls, complete with horns and the subtle bud of breasts, jumped over flames of orange and yellow.
Sal padded in his red leather slippers from the living room into the kitchen, where he’d been feeding Teensy. We followed him.
“Where’d you buy the pajamas, Sal? Hell-Mart?’’ Henry asked.
I giggled, but Sal didn’t crack a smile. He spooned food from an open can into Teensy’s bowl, set it on the floor, and then leaned against the kitchen counter. “She’s really upset, Mace. She won’t tell me what’s wrong. She’s in the bedroom, with the lights out and a cold compress on her head.’’
I looked at the Elvis Presley clock over the sink. Above the King’s swiveling hips, the time read 8:05 p.m. That was early for bed, even by Himmarshee standards. Chances were Mama was not asleep.
“You want to come with me to talk to her, Sal?’’
The big man backed up as if I was asking him to bungee jump off a cliff, minus the bungee cord. I opened the door of the refrigerator, took out two beers, and poured a hefty glass of sweet pink wine for Mama. I handed Henry one of the beers. “You may need this, cousin. You’re coming in with me. No way I’m facing her alone.’’
I pushed Henry to the bedroom door ahead of me. He was always her favorite among all the cousins. I figured whatever bee was in her bonnet about whatever I’d done, she wouldn’t make a scene in front of Henry—or, at least not as big of a scene.
I rapped gently on the half-closed door with the top of my beer bottle. “You awake?’’
I heard a dramatic sigh from inside. “Yes.’’ Her voice quavered.
“I’ve got Henry with me. Are you decent?’’
“Of course.’’ Another sigh. “Hey, Henry.’’
“Hey, Aunt Rosalee,’’ he said from the hallway.
“Well, don’t just stand out there like a couple of ninnies,’’ she said. “Come on in and turn on the lights.’’
As we did, Mama tossed the washcloth from her forehead onto the floor. She plumped three pillows behind her and sat up against a peach-colored headboard.
“Pink wine?’’ I held out the glass to her.
“Henry, please tell my daughter I’m far too upset to drink more than a couple of sips.’’
“Mace, your mama says—”
“—I heard her, Henry.’’ I handed her the glass.
“Tell my daughter thank-you.’’
“She said—’’
“—Yeah, I got it.’’
Henry and I perched about midway down the king-size bed; me on Mama’s left; Henry on her right. She gave Henry a sad look. I got a furious frown.
“I’m madder at you than a wasp with a ruined nest, Mace. I’d have never believed you’d keep information like this from me. Maddie’s in pain, and I’m sitting on my hands. I could have helped before it got this far.’’
I was quiet. I learned long ago the best offense against Mama is silence. She can’t stand the sound of it. As I knew she would, she jumped in to fill it with words.
“I got this text tonight.’’ She handed me her cell phone.
I’ve had enough. Don’t bother coming home. I want a divorce.
The words hit like a punch to my solar plexus.
“At first I thought it was somebody poking fun at my matrimonial record. Then I saw it was Maddie who’d sent the text, and Maddie never pokes fun. Of course I called her right back to find out what that meant.’’
“What’d she say?’’ Henry asked.
“That she hit my number by mistake; Kenny’s right next to me in her phone directory. I wasn’t supposed to receive the message. Like I didn’t know that.’’ Mama took the phone from me; stared at the text again. “She said it wasn’t any of my business what the text meant.’’
Mama raised her face to mine. Tears pooled in her eyes. “How can it not be a mother’s business when her daughter wants a divorce?’’
“Mama, I …’’
She cut me off. “Maddie was crying, but she hung up on me when I tried to ask her what was wrong. I called right back, and she hung up again. The next time I called she said she simply couldn’t talk about it. Maddie said, ‘Mace knows the whole story. Ask her.’’’
Mama’s phone timed out, and the screen went dark. She placed it upside down on the bed and then covered it with a pillow, as if by hiding it, she could erase that text from existence.
“So, I’m asking my middle daughter why my first-born never saw fit to mention to me that her marriage of twenty-some years was crumbling.’’
Mama’s voice sounded more sad than angry. A look passed between Henry and me.
“So, Henry knows about this, too?’’ Her voice rose. “I’m the only one in the dark?’’ Now, anger was back in the lead over sadness.
H
enry took her hand. “Mace only brought me in because there may be criminal issues involved.’’
“Criminal?’’ Mama wailed. “Is Maddie going to jail?’’
“Nobody’s going to jail, Aunt Rosalee.’’ Henry aimed for a soothing tone. “At least not right away.’’
Her eyes widened. “Maddie would look a fright in those awful orange jumpsuits they make you wear in jail.’’
And so we had another record shattered: From fury to anguish to fashion in less than five minutes.
Teensy gave a sharp yip in the living room. A car door slammed. A crescendo of barking began.
“That’ll be Marty,’’ Mama said. “I called her, too. She couldn’t believe Maddie would choose to tell you about this instead of her.’’
“Believe me, I’ve asked myself that same question.’’
I headed to the front door to corral Teensy. I’d reveal to Mama and Marty that Kenny was cheating. I’d tell them everything, except who his secret lover had been.
thirty-nine
First thing Wednesday morning, I turned on the radio in my bedroom to the country music station. I listened to five commercials, the latest Jason Aldean song, and some back-and-forth between Henry’s disc jockey friend and a clueless caller. The guy thought he’d dialed his girlfriend’s number when a deep-voiced man answered the phone.
“Uh, I was calling for Donna Jean. Did I dial the … wrong number?’’ the caller’s voice was hesitant.
“Donna Jean’s in the kitchen, making me breakfast. Who the heck is this?’’ the DJ demanded.
When he finally let the poor guy off the hook, the announcer did the bit I’d been waiting for: “We’ve got a terrific prize for some lucky driver today. Two tickets to the big monster truck show later this month. I’m going to read off some numbers, and if your license tag is a match, you’re the winner. Got a pencil? Here we go …”
Then he read off the tag number D’Vora handed me when she revealed she’d seen Kenny parked at the lake.
The station, ranked No. 1 in most of the counties ringing Lake Okeechobee, ran frequent giveaways and contests. If Kenny was in range, he was listening. He wouldn’t be able to resist the monster truck jamboree, especially for free. Henry had asked the DJ to help us razz a relative. Since the man spent most of his mornings pulling pranks, he was happy to do it. He agreed to repeat the pitch five times throughout the morning.
Mama Gets Trashed (A Mace Bauer Mystery) Page 18