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 doesnt change its stripes, Mace. And a devil doesnt trade in his pitchfork and horns for a harp and angels wings. That man is bad news. He was back then; he is now.
It wasnt 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, Ive seen enough of those overgrown lizards to last me a lifetime. Just because this ones got a name doesnt make him any different. I wouldnt mind a bit if they turned every alligator in Florida into a handbag. She brushed her hands together. Lets just go back to the office where I can clean up. Im 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 parks 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 sisters lips tightened with disapproval.
He better be careful, or Martinez will cite him for speeding, I said, as Jebs brake lights briefly flickered at a curve.
A speeding ticket would be the least of your friends troubles right now, Ms. Bauer.
I jumped at Martinezs 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 didnt 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 didnt show that I wanted him to touch me again.
He continued, If you ignore my advice, as youve done so far, youll likely find yourself in trouble. You can call me at any of those numbers. Ill do my best to rescue you, unless its too late.
Rescue me? Smug bastard. The desire Id felt for him fled.
I can take care of myself. I dont need some man riding to my rescue
He held up a hand to interrupt. I hate that.
Excuse me. Im running late, and Im 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?
Ill do my best, Detective, Maddie called after him, the teachers 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 Id 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 wasnt that odd, after how hed 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 itll draw blood. They continued on, through clouds of ravenous mosquitoes. They suffered heatstroke. They endured hurricanes. And through it all they said, Hey, why dont 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 Pams VW around a truck hauling hogs. Thats a stench you dont 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 Id been willing to take up almost where wed 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 didnt 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 bridges 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 drivers 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 Id slipped into long sleeves before striking out into the swamp.
I looked around the car for someone who was hurt or lost. But the only 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: Its Whats for Dinner.
Probably a local. You dont see many pro-vegan messages on bumpers in the states cattle belt.
Back at the drivers 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 Id seen on Emma Jeans desk.
___
Martinez answered on the first ring.
Its Mace Bauer.
That was fast. He spoke before I got out more than my name. Dont tell me youre already dating someone else who might have killed Jim Albert.
I ignored that. Im out here along Highway 98. I think Ive just found Emma Jean Valentines 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 couldnt tell it by the bugs. Waving one hand around my ears, I searched with the other through the VWs 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 Martinezs police-issue sedan approaching the bridge.
As soon as he got out of the car, he started dancing and slapping. I handed him the spray.
DEET, he read off the side of the can. Isnt that stuff toxic?
Only to the bugs. You need something strong here. Our mosquitoes will wipe the floor with their puny cousins from down in Miami. Coat your hands, then wipe it on. Dont get it in your eyes or mouth. Id seen more than one newcomer with teary vision and a stinging tongue.
Im not an idiot. He sprayed, then handed back the can. Wheres the car?
I looked down at his pressed dress slacks and shiny leather shoes. Not an idiot, huh?
Its pretty wet down there, I said. Dont you carry a pair of boots?
Dont you think Id be wearing them if I did?
Just asking.
What makes you think the car is Emma Jeans? Did you find a purse? Martinez spoke as I led the way down the embankment and into the brush.
I recognized her key chain. Mama told me she drives a dark green compact, which is what this is. Plus, my house is only about a mile from here.
I told him about her late-night phone call. She never showed.
Did she seem distraught?
Yes, but no more so than when she appeared waving a tire iron at church. I stepped around a mucky spot. Watch that
Mierda!
I dont understand Spanish, but that had the ring of a bad word. I turned to see him release his dress shoe with a sucking sound.
I itched to say I told you so. I might have spotted the car this morning if Id been paying more attention.
What do you mean?
Well, I was distracted. Donnie Bailey called my cell to tell me about what they found when they checked out my Jeep. Or, more like what they didnt find.
Thats police information. I could hear the scowl in his voice. Officer
Donnie
shouldnt share those kinds of details with a civilian.
Even if its the civilians Jeep, and the civilian was the one who was run off the road? Get real, Detective. What do you think Im gonna do with what Donnie told me? Run to the media? Were just a little town. But not even the
Himmarshee Times
would run a story that lame:
Local Woman Veers off Road; Big Vehicle Might Be Involved
.
The only response was brush moving and Martinez breathing.
Anyway, theres the car. I stopped and pointed ahead. I walked around a bit, trying to make sure no one was out here hurt. But I didnt do a real search, and I didnt touch anything. I figured Id better call you first.
Martinez had whipped out his phone. Thats the first smart thing Ive seen you do. He studied the display panel as he scrolled, searching for a number. You can go now. I radioed in earlier with your report. Now, Ill call in the tag number. Well take over from here.
Right. The
professionals
. All righty, then. Yall take care. I injected a pleasant, polite tone into my voice.
Martinez stopped peering at the telephone and looked at me. What the hell does that mean?
Yall is the way we say you guys in Himmarshee.
Thats not what I mean, and you know it. Why are you giving in so easily? Why havent you insisted on combing the swamp? I thought youd want to be the one to find Emma Jean, maybe carry her to safety on your back.
La heroina
, the heroine.
Nah. I didnt tell him I had other plans. But I hope you find her safe. She seems pretty strange to me, but shes a friend of Mamas. I hope nothing bad has happened to her.
He nodded, looking down at the phone again.
Ill just leave you out here with the mosquitoes and the mud. I looked at his pant leg, with muck up to the shin. You better get those slacks in water when you get home. That muck stinks like crap. And you ought to get yourself a good pair of boots, too.
