Mama Rides Shotgun (16 page)

Before I could say
or do something stupid, I scooted over on the log to put some space between Carlos and me. We’d tried the couple thing. It didn’t work, for either of us. Now, I could read the amusement in his eyes, even in the lantern light. I decided to extinguish that arrogant smirk by doing the one thing he’d never expect.

“Listen, I wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I acted today. Thank you for trying to help Mama. I was a jerk for pushing you out of the way.’’

If the night had even a breath of air in it, it would have knocked him on his ass. He actually sputtered before he choked out a response to my apology. “You’re welcome.’’

As long as I was doing the unexpected, I decided to go for broke.

“What’s up between you and Austin, Carlos? I won’t argue that the girl is gorgeous, but she doesn’t seem like your type.’’

He raised his eyebrows at me. “I didn’t know you cared.’’

“I’m not saying I care,’’ I lied. “I just don’t want to see her do you the way she’s done Trey. That girl is trouble,
amigo
.’’

He picked up one of the pebbles from my pile and skipped it across the water.

“She’s not all bad, Mace. She left the trail for a couple of days to go home and take care of her sick grandmother,’’ he said. “But as long as we’re speaking of people who are trouble, you and Trey seem like pretty good friends.’’

His tone gave away nothing; his face was a blank. I decided to stop playing games.

“Listen, I’m going to be honest with you,’’ I said. “Trey was the king of my high school, way out of my league. He was gorgeous and popular, and he could have any girl he chose. I won’t lie: I was flattered when he started flirting with me on this ride. But I don’t feel for him the same way I felt . . .’’ I paused, my eyes on the ground.

Now that I was into it, I wasn’t sure I wanted to confess. Honesty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

“The same way you felt about what?’’ he prodded, his body as still as the night.

About you, I wanted to say. I don’t feel about Trey the way I did about you.

Instead, I found some words I could hide behind. “I just don’t feel right about Trey,’’ I finally said.

“Well, that’s good to know,’’ Carlos released the pebble he’d been holding, firing it into the pond. “I’m not sure I feel right about Trey either. So, would you like me to tell you a secret now?’’

I nodded, not lifting my face.

“I’m not the least bit interested in Austin,’’ he said. “You’re the one who raised my suspicions about her, about how she might be responsible for vandalism and maybe more. Who knows? She may even be tied to Lawton’s death. I want information from her, and I’m trying to get it.’’ Another pebble sailed into the water. “It’s called police work, Mace.’’

I felt like someone had just handed me a hundred-dollar birthday check with a slice of chocolate cake on the side. I even overlooked his tutoring tone.

“Well, have you found out anything?’’ I asked, raising my eyes to his.

“No. She’s actually smarter than she seems.’’ He dropped the rest of the rocks onto the ground and brushed his hands on his jeans. “She prattles on and acts the fool. But she never gives much away.’’

“Well, see if you can find out whether she really is a novice when it comes to cracking the cow whip. I don’t believe for a minute she
accidentally
hit my poor horse.’’

“Yes, ma’am.’’ Carlos saluted me, but he was smiling as he did. “Any other tips to help me improve my interrogation technique?’’

I traced the ridges of the bark on the oak log where we sat. I watched moths beat themselves against the glass dome of the lantern.

“Well, there is one thing I’d like to know about interrogations,’’ I finally said.

“And what would that be?’’

“Do you ever have to kiss a subject like Austin to get her to tell you what she knows?’’

He put a hand to each side of my face and pulled me closer. “Do you mean like this?’’ his lips brushed over my eyelids, first one and then the other. “Or like this?’’ He brought the full pressure of his mouth against mine.

“Yes, like that,’’ I murmured, tasting his tongue.

“No, I’ve never kissed a subject like this,’’ he said, as he nipped gently at my bottom lip.

“Good,’’ I said, tugging at the buttons on his shirt as I drew his body to mine. “Because I don’t think that’s standard police procedure.’’

___

Belle’s hair gleamed like polished copper in the firelight. A camera around her neck, she sat with Trey on the ground by Mama. As I came into the clearing, Maddie pointed her chin at the beer can in Trey’s hand. Beside her, Marty gave me a shake of her head and a sad expression.

“Well, there you are, honey,’’ Mama called. “We were starting to think a gator crawled out of a pond and got you. What in the world have you been doing for all this time in the woods?’’

I hoped there wasn’t enough light for them to see me blush.

“Just sitting,’’ I lied.

Maddie raised her eyebrows. “Your vest is inside out, Mace.’’

“It’s reversible, Maddie,’’ I lied again.

Carlos and I cut our woodsy interlude short because he’d promised to play poker with a couple of retired Miami cops now living near Sebring. I returned to the campfire alone.

“Shouldn’t we be getting over to hear the Cracker songwriter?’’ I said, changing the subject. “We don’t want to miss any of his new songs.’’

Sal said, “The guy who plays bass with him got a flat tire on the way here. They’re going to start late. The fire’s nice and warm. Why don’t you have a seat with us while we wait?’’

Five sets of eyes looked up at me, all except for Trey’s. His hat was pulled down low, and he held onto that beer like it was an anchor in a fast current.

Belle gave me a friendly smile. “Please, Mace. Do sit down.’’

Her voice was strong; her eyes clear. Whatever she’d been taking last night, she wasn’t taking it now. I took a seat on the ground.

“I didn’t get the chance to thank you for coming to look for me last night in the cypress stand,’’ she said

She glanced quickly at Trey, who didn’t seem to notice.

“Don’t mention it, Belle. I know y’all are having a rough time. Anything I can do to help, I’m glad to.’’

“Oh, I’m sure you are,’’ Trey said, his words slurred by booze and what sounded like spite.

“Excuse me?’’ I said to him.

He pushed the hat back on his head so he could look at me. Tonight, it was Trey and not his sister who seemed to have trouble focusing. “I was just sayin’ I’m sure you’d be glad to help, if only you could tear yourself away from that smart-ass cop from Miamuh.’’

Sal cleared his throat. Marty started fooling with the laces on her boots. Maddie, principal-style, said, “There’s no excuse for foul language, Trey.’’

I started to defend myself when Marty caught my eye. Very subtly, she put a finger to her lips.

Belle said, “I apologize for my brother, Mace. Trey and I cut through the woods on our way here. We saw you and Detective Martinez . . .’’ She searched for the right word, “talking.’’

Sal coughed. Mama said, “Oh my!’’ Trey jammed his hat back down over his eyes.

“Anyway,’’ Belle continued, before anyone could interrupt, “before Trey and I get going, I wanted to tell y’all how terribly sorry I am about what happened with Shotgun.’’ She reached up a hand to Mama’s good leg, resting it on her knee.

“Oh, honey, stop fretting.’’ Mama gave Belle’s hand a reassuring pat. “All’s well that ends well, and it might have ended a lot worse.’’

A murmur of assent went around our little group.

“But that’s just what I keep thinking about,’’ Belle said with a shudder. “I couldn’t live with myself if someone came to real harm riding a horse that I trained.’’

Mama was about to start her recitation about the bees, but Trey interrupted her.

“I think most people would surprise themselves with all they can live with, Little Sister. And why don’t you stop making over her like that?’’ He pointed his beer can at Mama. “All that’s happened to her is a little bitty busted ankle. Our daddy’s dead, Belle!’’

“I think you better quit while you’re ahead, pal.’’ Sal’s voice was menacing.

Trey snorted, and then glared at Sal from under his hat.

Belle pressed on, hurrying to finish her plea on Shotgun’s behalf. “He’s such a good horse. Everyone says so. Don’t they, Trey?’’

Instead of an answer, Trey gave another snort.

“Let’s go, Belle.’’ Swaying, he pushed himself up on one knee. “These people don’t want us here. You’re wasting your breath.’’

Maddie said, “Belle is just fine, Trey. You’re the one who’s drunk, not to mention rude. Why don’t you take Sal’s advice? Go back to your trailer and sleep it off before you get into real trouble.’’

Trey dropped his beer can, then his hat. He cursed when he stepped on the hat while he was trying to get up.

“Just leave me alone!’’ he shouted, now on his knees. “Don’t any of you touch me.’’

Sal whispered, “Why don’t you let me help you get him home, Belle?’’

“No,’’ she said firmly as she stood. “Believe me, it’s better if I handle him alone. I’ve done it before.’’ Pain and exhaustion showed in her eyes as she gazed down at her brother.

“Let’s go, Trey.’’

“You’re the boss, Little Sister.’’

The way he said it, it sounded like a sneer. Then again, Trey was pretty drunk.

Belle hooked both of her arms under one of Trey’s shoulders, helping him haul himself to his feet. For her size, she had surprising strength. Or maybe it was just practice.

For once, we were all silent. The fire crackled. Sparks glowed. Shadows danced. None of us said a word as the two Bramble siblings walked away, Belle staggering every so often under her brother’s added weight.

Stomps and whistles followed
the last chord of Jerry Mincey’s song, “Plantin’ Yankees.”

“Thank you, folks,’’ he nodded to the crowd, a smile showing above his salt-and-pepper beard. “We’re gonna take a little break, but don’t go away. We’ll be back before you know it.’’

The music was almost forty-five minutes late getting started. But once Jerry launched into his Florida Cracker repertoire, the crowd was with him all the way. He sang of ancient Indian legends and modern over-development; of the days when rivers ran clear and cowmen moved herds of half-wild cattle across open lands.

“Some of Jerry’s songs make me so sad.’’ Marty took a sip from a cup of hot chocolate. “Everything about Florida has changed.’’

“I can think of a few more changes I’d like to see,’’ Sal said. “Can’t somebody do something about the bugs? And Florida is too hot for humans most of the year.’’

Maddie harrumphed. “You know, Sal, I-95 leads north just like it does south. You could always go back home, where everything is so much better,’’ she said. “While you’re at it, why don’t you take about a million of your fellow transplanted New Yorkers with you?’’

Mama gave Maddie’s arm a pinch. “Hush! There’s no call for you to be rude.’’

Maddie rubbed her arm. “Ow, Mama! I’m just telling him like it is. That’s what Northerners like, don’t they? They like people to be straightforward and direct, no beating around the bush.’’

“In other words, rude,’’ I put in.

“Here we go.’’ Sal threw up his hands. “We gonna fight the Civil War all over again?’’

Maddie was winding up to defend the Motherland when a scuffle erupted behind us in the open-air theater. We all turned our heads to find the source of the shouting and stumbling.

“You’re a son-of-a-bitch,’’ Trey yelled. His face was red; his body swayed. The dented cowboy hat was crooked on his head.

“That’s the alcohol talking, and I’d advise it to shut up.’’ Johnny Adams kept his voice calm, drained of emotion. “I think you’d show more respect for your father than to get stinking drunk and go picking fights before we’ve even had the chance to bury him.’’

“
We
?’’ Trey blinked hard, shaking his head. “You don’t have nuthin’ to do with my daddy’s funeral. You weren’t his friend.’’

People seated nearby started standing up, moving their chairs and coolers out of the way.

“And you’ve got balls,’’ Trey continued, “telling me to show
respect
.’’ He slurred the word. “Like you did? Oh yeah, you
respected
Daddy so much you went and sued him to try to get all our money!’’

First Belle, and then Wynonna, materialized out of the crowd and sidled closer to Trey. He didn’t seem to notice them. He lunged, shoving Johnny in the chest.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Trey.’’ Johnny took a step back, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I’m warning you: Shut your mouth and sit down.’’

“Or you’ll do what, chicken-shit?’’ Trey brought his face close enough to spray Johnny with spit. “Taking me on is a little different than rolling around in the dirt with an old man with a heart condition, isn’t it?’’ He pushed Johnny again. “Oh, I know about that knock-down drag-out y’all had the night before Daddy died.’’

Wynonna and Belle exchanged a confused look.

“And I know you never got over Daddy stealing the only woman you ever loved.’’

At this point, most of the crowd looked at Wynonna. Mama whispered to Marty and Maddie, “Not that woman; another one. Mace and I will explain later.’’

Slitting his eyes, Johnny stepped toward Trey. “Now, you’ve gone too far.’’

Uh-oh, I thought. I started to get out of my chair to intervene, but Sal stopped me.

“I’ve got this, Mace. I’ve had lots of practice.’’

Heaving himself to his feet, Sal headed toward the fight. A couple of other men saw him moving in, and did the same. Before Trey could react, they had him surrounded, arms pinned harmlessly to his sides. His right leg flew up in a kick, but the boot missed connecting with Johnny or anyone else. Sal and the other two men dragged him backwards out of the crowd, kicking and shouting all the way.

Jerry re-took the stage, starting right in with “Narcoossee Lucie
.”
Trey yelled and cussed from outside. But his shouts quickly grew distant. By the time Jerry and his partner on upright bass got to their show-closer, “Osceola’s Tears,” Sal was easing himself back into his seat.

“What happened?’’ I whispered.

“He’s fine. We got his boots off and got him into bed in his family’s RV. He’ll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.’’

I thought of Trey’s drinking; his love-hate relationship with his daddy; his squandered brains and talent. Sal may have said otherwise, but Trey was far from fine. And a morning hangover was the least of his troubles.

___

“There’s Johnny, Mace!’’ Maddie jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow. “Let’s go talk to him.’’

“Don’t be so rough, Maddie! I have eyes. I can see the man.’’

“Stop squabbling,’’ Marty said. “Hey, do you think Johnny has any hot chocolate left?’’

The three of us had been on our way to Maddie’s tent to turn in. About twenty feet from the food trailer, we stopped and watched as Johnny finished his cleanup.

The mini-concert was over. Sal and Mama had headed off to Home Sweet Cadillac. Carlos must have caught up again with his fellow lawman from the FDLE, because he hadn’t come to the show. And, after Trey’s drunken scene, none of the Brambles returned either.

Marty shivered in the chilly air. She’s only about half mine or Maddie’s size, and her body never seems to have enough energy to keep her blood circulating right. Her hands and feet, especially, are always cold.

“Can’t hurt to ask Johnny for something warm,’’ I said to her.

“Forget the hot chocolate,’’ Maddie whispered in my ear. “I want to hear how Lawton stole his woman.’’

Johnny answered our hellos with a frown.

“I don’t have any more pie for your mama. Tell her I said she’s had enough, hurt ankle or not.’’

I was about to take offense on Mama’s behalf, when Marty chirped, “Thanks so much for spoiling her, Johnny. Sometimes Mama’s sweet tooth makes her forget her manners. I hope she didn’t get too greedy?’’

“Well, three pieces
is
a lot of pie,’’ Johnny grumbled.

I didn’t mention Mama had actually eaten four pieces over the day, plus the chocolate chip cookies.

“Well, we appreciate it,’’ Marty said.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any hot chocolate?’’ Maddie asked, as direct as any Northerner.

Johnny stopped wiping down a folding table and looked at her hard.

“Sorry,’’ Maddie said. “I was just asking because our little sister is iced to the bone. She’s prone to catching colds.’’

Marty gave a delicate cough. Johnny caved.

“Oh, all right. I’ve got about one cup left in the urn. I was just about to toss it.’’

He put a mug on the table and lifted a silver serving urn almost upside down. The final cup flowed. He’d stripped off his long sleeves to a white T-shirt underneath. Cords of muscle stood out on his thick arms. If Johnny had wanted to go up against Trey, he probably could have taken him, especially with all the booze Trey had obviously consumed.

“You showed a lot of restraint tonight,’’ I said. “Trey was itching for a fight.’’

Johnny stared into the dark distance.

“Well,’’ he finally said, “his father was a good friend, once. And I won’t take advantage of a man who’s mixed grief with liquor. That’s a bad combination.’’

I wondered whether he spoke from personal experience.

“That sure sounded like a lot of nonsense Trey was yelling, didn’t it?’’ I asked, watching Johnny’s face to see what it might reveal.

“Hmmm,’’ he said, showing nothing as he handed Marty the cup of chocolate.

Maddie decided to go with directness again: “Was there any truth to what Trey said?’’

Johnny clattered the urn upright onto the table. I hoped its parts weren’t breakable.

“Well?’’ I asked. “Was there?’’

A vein throbbed at his temple. He looked at me like he wanted to take that swing he hadn’t taken at Trey.

“I’m not in the habit of telling my personal business to strangers.’’ His eyes were dark; his voice cold. “Now, if y’all don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.’’

Marty had been quiet, sipping steadily from the mug he gave her. She drained it and put it down on the table. “Thanks for the chocolate,’’ she said.

He turned his back, crossed the cook site, and stomped up the stairs into the food trailer.

“Well, that was rude!’’ Maddie said.

“Shhh!’’ Marty scolded. “He’ll hear you.’’

As we left, Maddie and I each took one of Marty’s elbows, pulling her close to share the warmth of our bodies.

“Did y’all notice anything funny about Johnny?’’ she asked, once we’d put ample distance between us and his trailer.

“He was in a T-shirt, even though it’s cold,’’ Maddie offered.

“His eyes were hard,’’ I added.

“Think about his hands,’’ Marty said.

I’d been concentrating on Johnny’s face. When Maddie didn’t speak either, Marty said, “His right hand was red and swollen.’’

“So?’’ Maddie said. “He works around hot food and fire. He probably burned it.’’

Marty said, “Maybe so.’’

“What else, Marty?’’ I asked.

“Well, I just thought it looked an awful lot like my hand did that time in the orange grove, when I got stung by those bees.’’