Mama took my chin in her hands. Dont downplay what you did, Mace. She pulled my face to hers and kissed me under my bangs. You saved my life.
Tears sprang to my eyes. I rested my head on her shoulder as we sat on the bank.
Now, she patted my arm, signaling the moment was over. Lets get the heck out of this death pit.
___
Pond water squished in my boots as we made our way across the clearing, back toward the park office. Mamas polyester pantsuit stuck to her like honeydew-green plastic wrap. It wasnt even eight-thirty, and already the sunlight was turning white, blinding. It was going to be a scorcher, which isnt exactly a news flash in middle Florida in September.
Birds sang. Butterflies stirred. We were about halfway across the field when a mans voice punctured the happy bubble wed been floating in since surviving an attempted murder and an alligator encounter.
You two arent going anywhere. The accent was flat. Midwestern.
Mama grabbed my hand and slowly we turned.
Bob Dixon stared at us with the deadest eyes Id ever seen. His hand was steady on his .38.
I should have known better than to send a woman to do a mans job. Emma Jean is just like all of you. Pastor Bob sneered at us. Cant be trusted.
Delilahs confession about cheating on him ran through my mind.
Every marriage has its ups and downs, Mama said, echoing my thought. Youve committed murder and caused a lot of heartache. Have you done it all because Delilah strayed?
The minister blotted sweat from his neck with a white handkerchief. Then he laughed out loud, showing us his teeth. I dont care a fig about that fat sow. None of this was about my wifeor even about Emma Jean, though I was banging her.
Mama blinked in disbelief at his crude language.
It was about money, plain and simple. He shrugged and sopped again. Jim Albert had a lot, and I wanted some. Im not cut out to be a poor pastor in a Podunk town.
But youre a man of God, Mama protested.
Yeah, that was a mistake. He picked his teeth with a pinky nail. Id watched some of those big-time TV evangelists get rich. Thought it could be my path, too. I tried making the DVDs; thought theyd sell a million. But they didnt. And I didnt want to wait.
I dont understand, I said. Who killed Jim Albert? You or Emma Jean?
I dont suppose it matters now. Youll both be dead soon. Sweat stains darkened his light blue dress shirt. He tented the wet fabric off his chest, trying to find a nonexistent breeze. I told Emma Jean all she had to do was set up her boyfriend so the two of us could take his money and run off together. I knew all along wed have to kill him, though. Jim Albert wasnt the type to forgive being robbed. I figured Emma Jean was so crazy about me, I could convince her to do it. But when it came right down to it, I had to kill him. She lost her nerve.
Mama said, And she lost it again when it came time to kill me.
I wasnt so sure about that. If Emma Jean could have fired Paw-Paws gun, Id be grieving over Mamas dead body.
Theres a reason women are called the weaker sex, he said.
If he wasnt holding that revolver, I might have quibbled. I probably had five inches and twenty-five pounds of muscle on the pencil-necked reverend.
I tried to reason: Listen, youve got Jim Alberts money and the hurricane cash. You can lock us in the supply shed and just go. By the time were found, youll be long gone.
Great plan. And I did intend to go, until I saw that some idiot in a Volkswagen pulled behind the truck and blocked me in.
The sun was melting the gel in his hair. He dabbed as a glob slid down his brow.
I thought that truck was Emma Jeans, I said.
It is. I rode over here with her and your mother. I was in the back of the cab the whole time, crouched behind the seat under a blanket. He spoke to Mama. It was hot and I had to listen to you yammer the whole way. You talk too much.
She pulled herself to her full staturefour foot eleven inches. Theres absolutely no call for you to be insulting.
Heaven forbid hed insult us, I thought. Kill us, maybebut not insult us first.
Ill give you the keys to the Volkswagen, I said.
Dont worry, Ill take them. Just like I took your mothers extra set from her neighbors when I needed to dump Jims body. Too bad for you Alice and Ronnie arent more suspicious.
He wiped at his neck again. He was unused to the Florida heat, which was taking its toll.
Ill have to shoot you first, of course. You should have paid attention to those notes and backed off. Curiosity killed the cat, you know.
But we had no idea, Mama said, her hand fluttering to her throat.
It was only a matter of time until you linked me to Emma Jean, and then both of us to Jim Albert. Emma Jean was this close to confessing the whole plan to you on the phone, Mace. He held his left thumb and forefinger apart a fraction of an inch. I cajoled and sweet-talked and convinced her to fake her own disappearance in the swamp instead.
He examined his hanky, looking for a dry spot. I took the opportunity to scan the ground for anything to get us out of this messa big rock, a sharp stick, even a snake sunning itself. I know how people are about snakes. Tossing him a serpent might spook him and let us get away.
When I looked up again, black rivulets ran down the pastors forehead from his hairline. He obviously washed away his gray. He closed his eyelids, patting gently at the stinging dye.
Continuing my survey, I finally spotted something in the tall grass: Paw-Paws gun. Emma Jean must have tossed it as she ran. It was ten feet away, on my left. I gripped Mamas hand tighter. Cocking my head ever so slightly over my left shoulder, I whispered. Bang.
She looked and shook her head once, a nearly imperceptible
No
. I answered with a tiny nod of my own.
Yes.
We all have to do what we have to do, Pastor Bob. I addressed him, but the message was for Mama.
Nodding at me, she squeezed my hand and closed her eyes. Her lips moved in a silent prayer. I joined her, a little rusty, asking God for strength and guidance.
Suddenly, a distant shout shattered the parks quiet.
Police! Get down on the ground, Emma Jean. It was Detective Carlos Martinez. Get down!
Bob Dixon spun toward the command coming from the far trees. Mama and I glanced at each other. Now or never. I ran, diving into the grass. Her leather-hard foot delivered a sharp kick to the reverend right where it counted. I bolted up from the ground, aiming the antique gun. Pastor Bob dropped his weapon and doubled over, cupping his crotch with both hands.
I whistled, loud enough to call a cab south from New York City. Over here, I yelled. Ive got Emma Jeans accomplice at the business end of a shotgun.
I was watching before. The reverend spit out the words between painful breaths. I saw it jam. It wont fire.
You dont want to test that, I said, lowering the barrel from his heart to his groin. This old gun is just like a woman. You have to know how to handle it right.
Martinez came crashing from the woods, pistol raised. His face lit with relief as he took in the scene: Mama and me, still dripping, but safe. Pastor Bob, cradling his family jewels. And my granddaddys shotgun, aimed and ready to do more damage if need be.
I heard the distant sound of police sirens. My eyes flickered to Martinez for a moment, just long enough to see the hint of a smile steal across his face.
Rosie! A bellow like an escaped bear from the Bronx zoo thundered from the woods. Dont worry, honey. Im here now.
The expression on Sals face was priceless as he lumbered into the clearing. His weapon was ready. But the bad guys were already in handcuffs, on the ground.
Looks like your backup is a little late, I said to Martinez.
I dont know what youre talking about,
chica.
His face was a mask.
Cmon, its over now. You can admit it. Sals a cop, too, isnt he?
Retired, Sal said, holstering his weapon. His face was as pink as his golf shirt from jogging over to us in the heat. Thirty years, New York City Police Department.
He leaned down to kiss my mother. Howd you know, Mace?
Well, there was the way you spoke about Detective Martinez and the police. You were awfully admiring, for a mobster. Then you called the rest of us civilians, like cops always do. I put it together just now, seeing the way you ran over with your revolver drawn. I nodded toward Martinez. He wasnt at all surprised, so he must have been expecting you.
Im sorry, Sal said. I couldnt talk about it. When I was on the job, I was undercover. Jimmy Albrizio, a.k.a. Albert, was a link to one of my last cases. His eyes scanned the tree line, like he was searching for something there. A good friend, my first partner on the force, died trying to protect that weasel so he could testify in court. His face got hard. Mama reached up on her tiptoes to stroke his cheek.
When Albrizio moved south, I followed. I hoped hed lead me to the people who killed my buddy.
Martinez said, Sals cover was convincing. Even I thought at first he was linked to the mob and Albrizios murder.
When you found out otherwise, yall became cigar-puffing pals, I said.
You got that right. Sal clapped Martinez on the back, man-to-man. And now, wed better worry about getting these two booked.
The two young officers whod arrived after Martinez seemed uncertain about what to do next. Emma Jean was sobbing softly on the ground. Bob Dixon looked like hed kill any one of us if given the chance.
Emma Jean will go in with them, Martinez nodded toward the two cops. Ill be taking the good reverend in myself, along with the murder weapon, his .38.
Pastor Bob had clammed up as soon as Martinez arrived. Mama and I filled in the blanks, telling him what the minister had revealed to us.
I stole a glance at Emma Jean. Donnie Baileys words ran through my head: theres hardly a woman in jail who doesnt claim some man put her there. Poor, desperate Emma Jean. Shed wanted Dixons love so badly, she went along with his murderous plans to get it. I hoped my cousin Henry could refer her to a really sharp defense lawyer.
Sal handed over a cuffed Emma Jean to the two cops. Martinez hauled Pastor Bob to his feet. As our little group walked toward the entrance, two more squad cars came screaming into the park. A caravan of other vehicles trailed them,
bump-bump-bumping
over the bridge.
Donnie Bailey was in his brothers white pickup, with Police Chief Johnson riding shotgun. The chief had apparently dressed quickly. Dabs of shaving cream dotted his face. Maddie drove her Volvo. Marty leaned forward in the front seat, clutching the dashboard so hard her knuckles were white. Mamas neighbors, Ronnie and Alice, craned their necks from the back of a custom-colored purple Chevy. The driver was Betty Taylor, Mamas beauty shop boss and fellow Abundant Hope worshipper. Bettys towering bouffant scraped the plum-colored upholstery of the roof. Behind Betty, nearly all the other cars from the church breakfast were rolling in.
The Himmarshee hotline had been busy. The 911 call I made from the park office about Mamas kidnapping had sent the country town telegraph into overdrive.
I glanced at my waterproof watch, still running after the dip in Ollies pond. It was 9:15, forty-five minutes before opening. I hoped my boss, Rhonda, wouldnt be mad that Mamas supporters had gotten in without paying the two-dollar park fee.
Martinez stared at the convoy, shaking his head. And I thought the crowd was bad that first night at the police station.
