Mama Gets Hitched (22 page)

I heard the hum
of my refrigerator. A short mew from Wila in the bedroom. And the even breathing of Ms. Sunglasses.

What I didn’t hear was the crack of a gunshot. Slowly, I opened my eyes. “Jane Smith” assessed me from across the room. An amused smile curved up one corner of her mouth.

“Are you going to whack me?” I asked her.

Her laughter softened the hard planes of her face. Holding up a hand with a pack of matches in the palm, she made a show of slipping them back into her inside jacket pocket.

“What makes you think I’d whack you?”

I spun a convoluted story about how we’d had some strangers and a series of unusual crimes in our little town over the last couple of years, and how everyone was waiting for the next awful thing to occur. Finally, I told her she reminded me of Angelina Jolie in
Mr. and Mrs. Smith
.

“Angelina played an assassin,” I said.

“Thanks for the compliment.”

Her finger traced her teardrop tattoo. My heart made a reappearance in my throat. When she rose from the chair, I backed up against my front door. But all she did was pick up a book from my coffee table and open it to the first chapter. It was Patrick Smith’s
A Land Remembered
.

“Any good?”

“Yeah. It’s all about Florida history.”

Tucking the book under her arm, she made a circle around my living room. She leaned close to the wall to look at a picture of my sisters and me with Mama, when we rode the Florida Cracker Trail. She paused at another photo, this one of my grandparents squinting in the sun in an orange grove. Putting the book down, she pulled out the top drawer on my TV cabinet. She lifted and inspected a couple of DVDs, and then a spare remote, and then a lopsided vase Maddie did in ceramics class. The vase only comes out when I know my big sister is going to visit.

When Ms. Sunglasses stooped to slide out a box of CDs from under my stereo, annoyance outweighed my fear. “Can I help you with something?”

“I wouldn’t turn down one of those Heinekens you have in your refrigerator. I think we both could use a beer.”

“You snooped around in my kitchen?”

She shrugged.

Would this turn out like that scene in every crime movie, where the killer allows the victim a final drink before blowing him or her away? I went after the beers anyway because she was right. I
could
use a little something to take off the edge.

As I grabbed the bottles and a couple of napkins, I kept my ears fine-tuned. Would I hear her unholster a gun? Take off her jacket so she could move more freely with that garrote she surely had to strangle me? Walk into my bedroom and leave a bomb under the bed?

But the only sound from the living room was her humming the Britney Spears oldie, “Oops! … I Did it Again
.”

Britney Spears? What kind of self-respecting hit woman would hum Britney Spears? I relaxed a little.

“Here you go,
Jane,
” I said, returning to hand her a beer.

“Thanks.” She clinked her bottle against mine, and then returned to studying the gator head on my coffee table. “How big was this thing anyway?”

“Ten feet.”

I told her the
Reader’s Digest
version of my sideline, and how my trapper cousin and I captured the alligator from a newcomer’s pool.

She stuck a hand in the gator’s mouth, felt the multitude of teeth. “Weren’t you scared?”

I shook my head, deciding not to reveal she scared me a lot more than any alligator. With a gator, at least I knew what to expect.

She shuddered, gave me a nervous smile. “All those sharp teeth? I’d have been terrified.”

Now she sounded more like a girlfriend at a pajama party than a hired killer. What was this woman’s game?

When I said nothing, she swigged the beer, straightened in the chair, and got to the point of her visit. “How well do you know Anthony Ciancio?”

The flatness was back in her voice. It was hard to tell where she was headed. Was she a jealous girlfriend? Was she sent by a rival family to murder the Ciancio heir? Was she herself the rival?

“Why?” I hedged.

Leaning in, she put her elbows on her knees. “Look, I’m going to be straight with you, Mace. Carlos Martinez says you’re good people.”

She extracted a black wallet from her inside pocket, flipped it open, and revealed a badge. I was trying to read her agency’s name when she flipped it shut again.

“We think Tony Ciancio committed a murder back in New Jersey.”

A chill crawled down my spine. It had nothing to do with the open window.

“What makes you think Tony did it?”

“Evidence.” She had the same terse cop tone I was used to hearing from Carlos. “It’s possible he’s linked to this killing here, too. Time frame makes sense.”

“No. Tony didn’t even get here until the day after Ronnie Hodges was killed.”

She tilted her head, skeptical. “You sure about that?”

C’ndee had said her nephew drove all night to get to Himmarshee. But the snake-wary newcomer said she saw a green Lexus a day earlier. Was it Tony’s? He said no. And I didn’t know him well enough to say if he was lying.

Finally, I shook my head. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, no.”

“That’s what I figured.” She rose from the chair. “Thanks for the beer.”

She was just about to step through the front door when I called out, “How’d the New Jersey victim die?”

“Stabbed in the back. We found his body in his restaurant kitchen.”

_____

I didn’t even wait for the sound of Ms. Sunglasses’ motorcycle boots to cross my porch before I bolted and locked the front door. I slammed shut the living room window, and grabbed the spare key she’d left on my coffee table. I hid it in my purse and stashed the purse on the top shelf of my bedroom closet. I vowed to go shopping after the wedding for a hide-a-key that looks like a rock. I’d plant it at the third fencepost from the gate to the back pasture, where no one could find it.

The motorcycle roared to life from its hiding place in my backyard. Peeking out the bedroom blinds, I wanted to make sure she was really leaving. I watched until her red taillight disappeared around the curve my drive took toward State Road 98.

“You can show yourself again, Wila. The coast is clear.”

A Siamese nose poked out from beneath the bedspread close to the floor. Satisfied the intruder was gone, the cat slunk out of the bedroom and padded into the kitchen to be fed. I wished food was all it took for me to forget coming home to find a stranger in my living room.

While Wila ate, I checked and double-checked the locks on doors and windows. Kind of like putting up the shutters after the hurricane already hit. I straightened the picture on the wall that “Jane Smith” had touched, and tossed her beer bottle into the kitchen recycling bin. Wila startled at the clatter.

“Sorry, girl.” I stroked her sleek coat. “What do you make of somebody who breaks in—okay, uses a key—and makes themselves so at home like that? A lot of nerve, huh?”

The cat raised her head at the sound of my voice. I think I saw agreement in her expression.

“I mean she didn’t let me examine that badge very closely. She could have bought it online for all I know.”

Wila returned to her bowl.

“Yeah, you’re right. Carlos wouldn’t be taken in by somebody with a costume badge. And they seemed pretty chummy at the Speckled Perch. Collegial. She must be a fellow cop. Wait until I tell Mama.”

Within fifteen minutes, I was ready for bed. Wila jumped up, too. I’m not normally a pet-on-the-pillow person, but tonight was an exception. I was grateful for the company, even if her breath did stink of salmon.

I fell asleep with the reassuring warmth of the cat’s body beside me. That comfortable feeling vanished, though, once I began to dream.

Tony was in my living room, in the same chair where the Mystery Woman had sat just an hour or so before. He was studying a thick book, looking like the handsome college guy he’d once been. But when he smiled and beckoned me closer, I could see the book was stained with blood. A sharp knife was hidden within the pages.

I ran from him, but when I passed through the cottage’s front door, the scene suddenly shifted. Dark woods surrounded me. Vines and tree branches pressed close, scratching me. Suffocating me. When I tried to escape, a figure in a pig’s head gave chase. No matter how fast I thought I was running, my feet wouldn’t move. The huge head came closer and closer, until it loomed above me, eyes glittering with a murderous rage.

Then, the dream transported me to Lake Okeechobee, where I was on a boat again. I watched as Carlos stepped off the bow.

“Don’t worry,” I called to him. “It’s shallow.”

But when I leaned over to see where he went in, it wasn’t the familiar dark water of Lake O after all. It was clear and turquoise blue, like the Caribbean Sea. I watched as Carlos fell, faster and faster, into the depths. My feet felt glued to the boat deck as he somersaulted out of my reach. Just before I awoke from the dream, I saw Carlos’ hands, fingertips outstretched toward the water’s surface and me.

My heart hammered. My T-shirt clung to my body, soaked with sweat. I felt a stab of fear and loss. Had I really watched him drown? I couldn’t tell for a moment what was real and what was the dream.

When my mind cleared, I was struck by a single thought. I’d been a fool. Seeing Carlos sink out of sight wasn’t real, but the emptiness I’d felt at losing him was. I loved him. All my flirting and playing and failing to commit couldn’t change that simple fact.

Wila, awake now, blinked those Siamese-blue eyes at me. Ruffling her fur, I repeated the words I’d heard so many times from Mama.

“Sweetheart,” I said. “How would you like to have a new daddy?”

The wedding day dawned
sunny and clear. Not a dark cloud in the sky. I hoped it was an omen for the ceremony, and, even more, for the marriage beyond. Five just might be Mama’s lucky number.

As I measured coffee into a paper filter, I glanced at my wall clock, a cut-and-varnished cypress knee, shaped like Lake Okeechobee. A largemouth bass leapt at twelve o’clock, and a speckled perch swam at six. It was an hour past the perch. I had all morning to think about getting to Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow. What torture by teasing comb had Betty planned for me? Whatever, it was guaranteed to make me look like a big-haired contestant in a Deep South beauty pageant.

I could hardly wait.

I showered and dressed, poured some coffee, and caught up with a pile of
Himmarshee Times
newspapers I’d been neglecting. Lake Okeechobee was down a couple of feet due to the dry season and drought; some drunken high school kid hit and killed a cow while driving doughnuts in a pasture; and the cops busted a “grow house” for pot that was tucked away in the woods off Lofton Road.

I was bemoaning the fact that the big city was coming to little Himmarshee, when my phone rang. It seemed kind of early, but everyone who knows me knows I’m up with the roosters. Maybe it was Mama, calling off the wedding again. The upside would be I could skip that hair appointment. Perking up, I picked up the phone.

“I need to talk to you, Mace. I’m really in trouble.”

Similar words on the telephone had never led to anything good. I should have hung up right then. But Tony sounded so desperate.

“Okay, talk. You can start by telling me if it’s true you killed that restaurant owner in New Jersey.”

There was a long silence. I could hear him breathing.

“I can’t discuss this on the phone, Mace. Can I see you? Can I come over?”

Now, I’ve watched enough movies to know you don’t throw open your door to a suspected murderer. “No way.”

“Can I meet you somewhere, then?”

“How about Gladys’ Diner?”

“No good. That place is crawling with cops drinking coffee and eating pie. I can’t take the chance that some yahoo will try to make a name by bringing me down. An innocent customer could get hurt.” He paused. “What about your nature park? We could meet where you held the walk the other day.”

I thought of the park’s wild spaces, all those hiding places. I remembered another meeting on an early morning before Himmarshee Park opened. That encounter nearly came to a tragic end.

“The park is closed,” I said.

“I want to do the right thing, Mace. I’m going to turn myself in. But I need your help.”

Tony had known me less than a week. But already he knew to push the button for my savior complex. Am I that transparent? Thinking fast, I came up with a plan.

“All right, you can come on out here. But give me an hour. I’m not even out of bed yet.”

“Who says you have to get out of bed?” His voice took on a sexy growl. The man couldn’t help himself.

“Look, I’m doing this as a friend. That’s all we are, Tony.”

“Sorry. I appreciate it, I do. Just don’t call the cops. I’m going to hand myself over, I swear on my mother’s life; but I have to do it on my terms. You know I’d never hurt you, right?”

No, I thought, I don’t. “Sure,” I said.

“So promise me you won’t call Carlos. If I see the cops are there, all deals are off.”

I waited for a beat. He needed to believe I was thinking about it.

“Okay, Tony. I swear I won’t call Carlos.”

The moment I hung up I did two things: I got Paw-Paw’s shotgun from the closet, loaded it, and slid it under the couch in the living room within easy reach. And then I called Carlos.

_____

“C’mon in. The door’s open.”

I could see Tony through the window. Eyes darting around nervously, he came through the screen door to the porch, and then on into my living room. Faint circles under his eyes were the only outward sign of the inner turmoil he claimed to be suffering. The collar on his pink-grapefruit polo shirt lay perfectly outside his navy blue blazer. His khakis were pressed and creased. The white smile was present, if a bit less luminescent than usual.

“No cops, right?”

“No cops,” I said, failing to add the word
yet
. “We’re alone. Now, I want to know: Did you kill that man up North?”

He heaved a huge sigh. Studied the cypress board floor. Finally, he nodded.

“You can’t understand the pressure I was under, Mace. I’m the only son. Since I was born, everyone just assumed I’d take over for my father some day. It never mattered what I wanted.”

His dark green eyes bored into mine. “It’s my destiny.”

“That doesn’t explain how you could brutally murder someone. With a knife, no less.”

“My father’s terminally ill. He said our rivals were going to strike because everyone knew I didn’t really want to run the business. I wasn’t the man he was. No one feared me. I had to step up and show them I could be just as ruthless as my father.”

“So you committed murder to send a message?”

He didn’t answer. But I saw the truth in his eyes.

“Pretty extreme way to win your father’s approval.”

“Yeah. He got what he wanted. He even gave me the knife to do it. Now I’m just like him.”

Shame and self-loathing filled his face. I almost felt sorry for him.

“That blond woman from the park was a cop, you know. She’s looking for you,” I said.

“I figured she was.” He sank into a chair across from where I sat on the couch.

“They think you killed Ronnie Hodges, too.”

He gasped, shaking his head. Could he truly be surprised?

“I had nothing to do with that.”

“C’mon, Tony. A potential business rival? Stabbed to death? In a kitchen? Sounds like your M.O. to me, and I’m not even a cop.”

“I swear I didn’t kill him, Mace. I came down here to start a new life. I finally told my father I was out. I don’t care if he’s dying or not. I don’t want to be part of his world. Why would I revert right back to what I hated about him? What I hated in me?”

“Because once you’ve killed the first time, the second time is easier.”

Leaning toward me, he stared so deeply into my eyes that I feared he could see right through me to the floor beneath the couch, and the shotgun hidden there.

“You don’t know a thing about me. My father forced me to do something against my will and against my nature …”

“Did he actually put the knife in your hand?”

Anger flickered across his face. “Killing a man is not easy. Not the first time. Not ever. I never want to do it again. That’s why I’m running.”

“Running? You said you were turning yourself in.”

“When I thought about it, I realized I can’t go to prison as Sam Ciancio’s son. Every tough guy in there would want to prove himself by murdering me. I’d have to kill again to survive. It’d either be one of them, or me.”

He collapsed back against the chair, sighed. “I’m going someplace where they don’t even speak English. Nobody knows me. I can finally be free.”

“Uhm,” I said. “About that, Tony.”

He tilted his head at me. God, he was good-looking. He was bound to have a tough time in prison, one way or another.

“I’m sorry, but I had to call the police. They’re on their way as we speak.”

Almost before I realized what I was seeing, Tony’s hand jerked across his chest to the inside of his jacket. He pulled out a pistol. There was no smile now. Just green ice in his eyes and a gun aimed straight at me.