I spun to the right, plunging off the road and through thigh-high brush. I cut my lights. The Jeep went airborne over a small rise I remembered, and then clattered over the rusty grate of a weed-choked cattle guard.
On the other side, I took my foot off the gas and jounced for a hundred yards or so over a rutted dirt road. I rolled to a stop and cut the motor. At first, all I could hear was my own ragged breathing. Then, I heard the sound of an engine slowing. I heard tires on pavement, then on the rocks and grass of the road’s shoulder. Was the car stopping? No, now the tires rang over pavement again. The driver had U-turned. Gaining speed on the highway, he was headed back in my direction.
I re-started the Jeep. The rutted drive intersected a sandy cattle trail. I made a hard left, gunning it through the dirt. The Jeep fishtailed a bit, before the tires gripped ground. Behind me, I saw a crazy dance of headlights over pasture. My pursuer had found the cut-off, and was bouncing up and down over the rutted drive. I kept going, all my attention focused on getting away. The note on Maddie’s door had threatened death for someone in my family. I was afraid to think about how all this might end.
An engine whined behind me. I looked in the rear view mirror. The reflected glow from his headlights was dimmer now, and no longer bouncing. I kept driving. The other engine screamed; tires spun. I guessed he’d gotten stuck in the sandy trail. Slowing, I kept my eyes fastened on the rear-view. Even if his tires were snared, he might still come after me on foot.
I watched—boot on the gas, hands on the wheel, eyes on the mirror. I saw nothing … until I felt the jolt of my Jeep ramming head-on into the galvanized steel of a pasture gate.
forty-three
In the morning, I couldn’t tell if the aches in my body were from the Jeep vs. gate collision, or from passing an almost sleepless night on the splintery floor of an abandoned storage shed.
I rolled my shoulders. My spine cracked. My left elbow and knee pulsated with pain. I must have smacked them on the steering wheel when I slammed into the padlocked gate. Or, maybe they got bruised when I clambered over it, slipped on the top bar, and tumbled to the ground. It was funny how something that seemed so loose and sandy when you drove over it felt like concrete when you fell on it.
After the wreck, I hightailed it through the woods on foot until I found the old shed. I had no idea if I was being followed. But I figured the safest option was to seek a hiding place and wait it out. I’d kept a vigilant watch, clutching a rusty wrench I found in the corner of the shed. But I must have dozed off for an hour or two sometime before dawn.
Now, I peered outside through a grimy, cracked window. Light was just beginning to edge the sky. Shadows and shapes around the shed were turning into familiar objects: A fence post, encircled with a rusty snarl of barbed wire. An ancient stock tank, upside down and peppered with the bullet holes of target shooters. Mist rose from a cow pond in the distance. I was lucky I hadn’t run my Jeep into that instead of the gate.
Limping, I made my way back to the scene of the crash. The Jeep listed to the left: Both tires on that side were flat. My satchel of a purse and most of its contents were still on the passenger-side floor, where they’d fallen when I struck the gate. I’d been in a rush, and hadn’t wanted the encumbrance of a big purse bouncing against my side as I tried to run. Groping in the dark, I’d located wallet, keys, and phone. Those, I stuck into various pockets. Everything else I left where it fell.
The black leather collar and leash were gone. So was the knife. It probably came in handy for the pursuer to slash my tires.
I climbed onto the gate again, more carefully this time. More painfully, too. I balanced gingerly at the top, a foot on either side of the highest slat. I aimed my cell phone until one bar appeared. First, I called my lawyer cousin and told him to hustle up Kenny for a trip to the police station. Then, I hit the speed dial for Carlos.
_____
I swatted with one hand at mosquitoes, and flagged down my fiancé with the other. Driving one of the police department’s marked SUVs, Carlos pulled onto the dirt-and-weed-choked shoulder of the highway. I sneezed as a dusty cloud engulfed me. He leaned across the console and opened the passenger door, but didn’t apologize for the dust storm kicked up by the SUV. His grim expression and that familiar vein throbbing at his temple almost made me turn around and run.
“Tow truck’s on the way.’’ He spit out the words, looking like each one cost him dearly.
“I’m sorry …”
He thrust out his wrist, giving me the silent signal for “talk to the hand.’’
“But …”
“Don’t even start. There is no possible excuse. You could have been killed.’’
I stared at my fingers, folded across my knees. He was right, of course. And if he was this mad at me now, how would he feel when I revealed what I knew about Kenny and Camilla?
“So, this person who was chasing you—”
“—People,’’ I said. “I left Maddie’s house chasing one car. Then another car came out of nowhere and started chasing me. I’m certain the two were linked.’’
“That remains to be seen. But you’re positive someone was shooting from the vehicle behind you?’’
“Yes.’’ I pointed to the brush-heavy cutoff. “My Jeep’s through there. You can see for yourself.’’
“I intend to.’’
He eased the car over the cattle grate, and we bounced for a while without speaking. “Good thing you brought an SUV,’’ I ventured.
He gave me a curt nod, vein still throbbing.
Pointing out the windshield, I indicated where the cattle trail intersected the potholed drive. “That’s where I think he got stuck. I could hear the tires spinning in the sand.’’
The car, of course, was gone now. The driver likely had help getting unstuck.
I continued giving Carlos directions. He rolled to a stop, and parked a short distance from my Jeep. The gate was dented and bowed out, caught in my front bumper. If I’d have been going much faster, I might have driven right through it. We got out of the SUV, and I stood by while Carlos sprayed himself with insect repellent.
“Mind if I use that?’’
He tossed me the bug spray. “It’s a free country.’’ The can landed in the dirt.
He pulled on a pair of gloves and went to examine the Jeep. We both were being careful to try to preserve any evidence that might prove useful. Shoeprints or fingerprints. Discarded trash or cigarette butts. Hair or a shred of fabric. He crouched to take a closer look at the tires.
“Looks like he used a knife,’’ he said.
Now seemed as good—or bad—a time as any to confess. “I might know something about that.’’
Carlos barely uttered a word as I told him about the swingers’ club at the golf course and the collar and knife I’d found on Maddie’s door.
“You took it?’’
I nodded.
“I wish you hadn’t done that.’’
“Me, too.’’
“That’s evidence, now gone. What possessed you?’’
“I didn’t want Maddie to see it.’’
He raised his eyes, consulted the clouds. I had the feeling he was counting to five. “I know Maddie is a bit prudish, but she’s a grown woman. She’s probably heard about such things before,’’ he finally said.
He still didn’t hold the piece he needed to have the puzzle make sense. Reluctantly, I pulled the note from my pants pocket. “This is what I found with the knife and the rest stuck to Maddie’s door. I’m sorry; my fingerprints are on it.’’
“Of course they are.’’
He read it silently, his eyes widening. Then, he read it aloud, articulating every word:
“‘Kenny’s a murderer. He must pay for his crime. Try to get him off, and someone in this family dies.’’’
I waited for him to say something. He just kept staring at the note.
“Remember when I told you Kenny was cheating on Maddie? The person he was cheating
with was Camilla.’’
The pulsing vein looked ready to burst right through Carlos’s skin.
_____
The ride back to town felt like it unfolded in slow motion. Carlos was so angry, I could almost feel heat radiating off his body. I tried to explain. He stared out the windshield at the road—jaw clenched, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Finally, he turned to give me a glare—quick, but singeing.
“You deliberately withheld information.’’
“Only until I could tell Maddie. I didn’t want her to find out about Kenny by reading in the Himmarshee Times you’d arrested her husband on suspicion of murder.’’
A beat-up car in front of us traveled at twenty-five miles an hour under the speed limit. Carlos pulled past as the driver nervously regarded the marked SUV in his rear-view mirror.
“The issue here is trust.’’ He glanced at me. “I have to be able to trust you. Right now, I don’t. You lied to me. You compromised my investigation. You compromised my job.’’
“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything. Besides, why is all this on me?’’ I asked. “Maybe if I felt I could trust you, I would have told you about Kenny. I didn’t want to test you though; make you decide between my family and a convenient suspect.’’
His grip tightened on the wheel.
“We all know how well that turned out in the past,’’ I added.
“Coño, Mace!’’ He spit out the Cuban cuss word. “Are we never going to forget that incident with your mother?’’
“You mean the incident when you moved up from Miami, thought you knew everything, and tossed Mama in jail?’’
“When I thought I knew everything? Isn’t that the frying pan calling the pot black?’’
Now probably wasn’t the time to comment on his grasp of popular sayings. “I don’t think I know everything,’’ I muttered.
“No, you don’t think you do. You’re positive you do. And that’s what keeps getting us in trouble. Well, this is my job. My life. And you keep sticking your nose into it, thinking you know best.’’
“It’s my life, too, Carlos. This is my family.’’
He put a hand to his forehead; squeezed that spot above the bridge of his nose where his headaches began. “Do you hear us? Each of us says ‘my.’ My life. My job. My family. Are we ever going to say ‘our’? Will two people who feel so separate ever be able to build a life together?’’
His voice was quiet. He didn’t sound angry; just resigned. I thought about his question. I didn’t know how to answer it. Instead, I turned my head to look out the window. When we passed the livestock auction on the outskirts of town, I finally spoke.
“Could you drop me at Mama’s?’’
“Whatever you say.’’
With my hands on my lap, I wiggled the engagement ring off my finger. When he pulled up at Mama’s curb, I opened the door and got out. “The answer to your question is no.’’ I stood on the street, leaning into the car.
Confusion settled on his face. I held out my hand, palm open. The ring winked in the morning light.
“No, we cannot build a life together.’’ I pushed the ring toward him. “We do seem too separate.’’
He stared at the ring, making no move to take it from my hand. “Close the door, Mace. Your family’s waiting. I have to get to work.’’
Yanking his cell phone from his pocket, he sped away without a backward glance. I watched him go. In my sweating palm, I clutched our engagement ring. Was the promise it symbolized now broken?
forty-four
“Was that your handsome fiancé I just saw, peeling out of here like Dale Earnhardt at Daytona, God rest his soul?’’ Mama stepped off her front stoop and peered down the street. “How’d you make him mad this time, Mace?’’
If only she knew. “I didn’t do anything.’’
She tilted my chin so she could look in my eyes. “You’re not a good liar.’’
I leaned against the wall to kick off my work boots at her front door. Last time I visited, I tracked a smear of possum poop across her peach-colored carpet. I thought she was going to ban me for life from Pizza Night.
Mama rubbed at a dab of dirt on the door jamb where I’d propped my hand. I pretended I didn’t see her rolling her eyes.
“Who’s here?’’ I asked.
“Me, Sal, Marty, and Teensy, of course.’’ She smiled down at the dog, prancing around her ankles. He gave a little yip.
“So,’’ she said, “is the engagement off?’’
I’m sure my face registered my surprise. How did she read minds like that?
Mama pointed at my left hand. The ring finger was bare. I patted the pocket of my jeans; felt the prongs on the diamond through the denim fabric.
“I took it off to spread some mulch at the park,’’ I said.
“Sure you did.’’
Marty poked her head out the front door. “Did you tell Mace about Kenny?’’
Mama aimed a pointed look at my ring-less finger. “Don’t think you’ve heard the last from me. We’ll get to Carlos and you later.’’
If there still was a Carlos and me later.
Marty smoothed my hair; lifted out a twig. “You look like you slept in the woods, Mace.’’
Since that wasn’t unusual, neither of them questioned my lack of response.
“About Kenny, he’s staying with Henry,’’ Marty said. “After last night’s Wednesday services, they spent hours with Reverend Delilah in the chapel at Abundant Forgiveness.’’
Mama wet her finger with spit, and swiped at what I assumed was a streak of dirt on my face. “Because of Delilah’s history, she has special expertise with cheating husbands,’’ she added.
“What time were they at the chapel?’’ Images tumbled through my mind: A shots-fired car chase; me galloping through the woods, trying to escape an unknown pursuer; my long night on a hard floor at the abandoned ranch.
Marty cocked her head at Mama in a question. Mama took over the narration: “It was late, Henry said. After you and I left the radio station yesterday, Henry and Kenny spent the rest of the day at Henry’s law office. They were planning strategy.’’
Marty added, “Henry had him spend the night, keeping an eye on him. He says our brother-in-law may be guilty of being stupid, but he’s not guilty of murder.’’
I let out a breath I hadn’t even known I was holding. If Henry never let Maddie’s husband out of his sight, Kenny could not have been the person shooting at me. Now, I just had to find out who was.
“According to Henry, all Kenny cares about is getting his wife back,’’ Mama said. “He says he’s never seen a man so full of remorse.’’
Marty toed Teensy out of the doorway. She led the way inside and across Mama’s new plastic carpet runner to the kitchen. It appeared to be completely poop-resistant. I tried not to wince as I sat down. Once we were settled, Sal carried three oversized mugs to the table.
“Coffee’s just brewed,’’ he said. “I figured you girls could use some coffee if we’re going to decide how to keep Kenny out of jail.’’
We began to discuss strategy: Marty would discover as much as she could about Camilla from the library and Camilla’s sister, Prudence. Mama would sift through the useful—and useless—gossip at Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow. Sal would grill some of his cronies at the golf course. I planned to discover who wanted to scare me off the search for the real killer.
The phone on the wall rang. Teensy started yapping. I swiveled to answer the call, and spilled my coffee when I hit my sore knee on the table. Mama jumped up to sop at the caffeinated puddle now dripping onto Marty’s lap.
“It’s Henry,’’ I said, as Sal tried in vain to shush Teensy.
“What the hell’s going on over there, Mace?’’ Henry raised his voice to be heard.
“The usual,’’ I answered.
Mama tried to grab the phone from my hand. “What’s Henry saying?’’
“I’d tell you if I wasn’t having
so much trouble hearing him between you yammering and your ridiculous dog yelping.’’
Sal scooped Teensy off the floor, covering the dog’s ears with his bear-sized hands. “Don’t listen to Mace. She’s just a big meanie. Daddy’s widdle boy is not ridiculous, is he?’’
Forget the dog’s ears. Mine were hurting from Sal’s baby talk.
“Sorry. What, Henry?’’ I said into the phone.
“I talked to your fiancé. He wants Kenny to come in for questioning.’’
I thought of Maddie. My stomach clenched. “What’d you say to him?’’
“Say to whom?’’ Marty asked. “Say what to whom?’’
“I said Kenny certainly would come in. He has nothing to hide. I told Carlos I’d be present as counsel, of course.’’
“Tell us what’s going on, Mace,’’ Sal demanded.
I put the mouthpiece aside and told them. “Carlos wants to question Kenny.’’
Marty gasped. Mama nodded. “Been there, done that,’’ she said.
I stepped into the hall, cupped my hand over the phone, and whispered my latest news: The threatening note and my highway adventure.
“I can’t hear a word Mace is saying,’’ Mama griped.
“She’ll tell us when she gets off,’’ Sal tried to appease her.
“Mace always did try to keep secrets,’’ Marty said.
On the phone, Henry said: “Someone’s trying to frame Kenny.’’
“Then why are they chasing me?’’ I asked.
“Who’s chasing you?’’ Mama had stepped into the hall, and was lurking beside me. I plugged my ear with a finger so I could hear Henry’s answer.
“They don’t want you looking into this murder,’’ he said. “Like it or not, cousin, you’ve got a reputation. Kenny’s a convenient suspect. Camilla’s real killer doesn’t want you or anyone else unraveling this particular whodunit.’’
Marty sidled up, tapping on my shoulder. “Ask him what time Kenny’s supposed to be at the police department.’’
I started to repeat the question. “I heard her,’’ Henry said. “Carlos wants to see him today at six o’clock, sharp.’’
Mama Gets Trashed (A Mace Bauer Mystery) Page 21