Mama Rides Shotgun (22 page)

I heard whir, snap!
A flash of light nearly blinded my gnat-invaded eye.

“Got it,’’ Belle said, lowering an old-school camera from her face. “That was a good one. You and Jack were really lost up there in the stars, Mace.’’

The trail boss looked irritated. “I don’t like having my picture taken, Belle. I wish you’d have given me some warning.’’

“Candid shots are much better, Jack. People look unnatural when you give them time to think about being shot.’’ He raised his eyebrows. Belle realized her turn of phrase. “I mean ‘shot’ like shooting a picture, not shot like what happened to Doc.’’ She sat down next to us. “How is he? I’ve been thinking an awful lot about him tonight.’’

I guess she meant she was thinking of Doc when she wasn’t pouring out her heart to Carlos or walking around “shooting’’ with her camera at anything that moved. I glanced across the fire to where he’d been sitting with Belle a half-hour before Jack and I got caught up in star-gazing. Carlos had disappeared.

“Still no word about Doc,’’ the trail boss answered Belle. “The hospital said he’d probably be in surgery for several hours.’’

Belle lifted the camera to her eye again and shot something arty through the flames of the campfire. Jack used that moment to plead he had business elsewhere. He escaped, leaving Belle and me alone.

“How long have you been taking pictures?’’ I asked, making conversation.

She turned and shot another frame of me, then lowered the camera. It dangled from a strap around her neck.

“As long as I can remember,’’ she said. “Photography has always been my escape valve. Whenever anything was going wrong in my life, I’d get my gear and head for the woods. I’ve always been able to lose myself behind the viewfinder.’’

I could relate. Shooting photos must be Belle’s version of tossing rocks into the water.

“I’d love to get a picture of you with your family, Mace. Would you mind?’’

I hesitated. I’m not a big fan on my best day of having my picture taken. But she was making an effort. What was I going to say? No?

When I didn’t answer immediately, Belle said, “Listen, Mace. I know you don’t like me very much.’’

I started to protest, but she held up a hand. “I can tell, and it’s all right. You can’t be friends with everyone. I just want to make sure you don’t dislike me for the wrong reason.’’ She paused. “You know, there’s nothing going on between Carlos and me.’’

Now she had my attention.

“It’s just that he’s a good listener,’’ she continued, “and I’ve been so sad. It helps to talk to somebody else who’s been through an awful loss. You know about his wife, right?’’

I nodded.

“He’s a good man, Mace. And he’s still hurting. You ought to cut him a break.’’

I was too surprised to speak.

She lifted the camera back to her eye and smiled slightly as she snapped off three or four quick pictures. I looked where she aimed, and saw a teen-aged cowboy flirting with a pretty girl. He was teasing her with a blackened marshmallow on a stick. Their young faces were laughing, and rosy in the firelight.

“Nice photo,’’ I said, thinking of Carlos and me eating S’mores.

“Yep,’’ she said. “That’ll be a good one. Happy times.’’

We sat in silence for a few moments. Her eyes never stopped roaming, looking for scenes she could capture. I wondered how it would feel to have that kind of talent, to know instinctively what would make a good picture. Whenever somebody asked me to take a snapshot, I always aimed wrong and cut off significant body parts.

I reconsidered posing for her with Mama and my sisters. Belle was a professional, with her photos on exhibit in fancy galleries in Stuart and Palm Beach. It might be nice to have a memory of us together on the Cracker Trail. No telling when we’d ever make the ride again.

“Belle,’’ I finally said, “I’d be honored if you’d take my family’s picture.’’

I was rewarded with a smile that transformed her somber face into something approaching happy. “Glad to do it. And I’ve got another idea, too.’’

I raised my eyebrows.

“I’ll get some shots of you and Carlos.’’

“I don’t really think . . .’’

“I won’t take no for an answer. From you, or from him. Trust me. It’s a great way to get the two of you back together. I’m good at this. I can make anybody comfortable in front of a camera. You two will forget I’m even there. You’ll be laughing and fooling around before you know it.’’

“I’m not sure . . .’’

“We’ll do it in the morning,’’ she cut me off, “before the ride starts. The light will be perfect. You two will be perfect. You’ll see.’’

Belle was so determined, I ended up agreeing to meet her by the mule wagons before breakfast. She said she’d handle getting Carlos to show up. I was blown away by this side of Belle. She made Maddie the Bulldozer look reticent.

Within fifteen minutes, Belle was moving Mama and the rest of us around, instructing us to relax. Which, of course, was the cue for us to do anything but. Mama primped. Marty fastened her eyes on the ground. Maddie looked annoyed at being told what to do. I clenched my jaw into a smile that felt more like a grimace.

“This isn’t working, y’all.’’ Belle sighed. “Mace, you look like the governor just signed your execution order. Marty, honey, you’re a beautiful girl. Don’t you ever look anybody in the eyes? And Rosalee, I’m shooting old school, with black-and-white film. No digital, no color. Nobody will know whether you have one coat on or six of that orange lipstick.’’

Mama snapped shut her compact and returned her tube of Apricot Ice to her pocket. Maddie gave an exasperated sigh. Belle told us to go ahead and sit down while she thought of another way to get us to pose without looking like somebody’s prisoners. Just then, Sal returned, with desserts for all of us.

“Oooooh.’’ Mama lifted her hands and squealed. “Butterscotch pie. My favorite.’’

Whir, snap
!

Maddie took a plate and handed Marty and me one. We all dug in.

Whir, snap
!

“That’s perfect,’’ Belle fired off frame after frame, her face shining with glee. “Now, y’all look like a family!’’

Figures food would be the secret ingredient to get us all to relax.

___

The air was growing colder; the evening winding down. After she took what seemed like an album’s worth of pictures, Belle went off, alone, with her camera. We’d finished dessert.

Carlos hadn’t returned to the campfire. I pictured him lurking outside the interview trailer. He was probably making himself crazy over how badly Sheriff Roberts’ deputies were bungling the investigation into Doc Abel’s shooting. I hoped that, in at least one tiny corner of his brain, he was chewing over that image of me looking skyward with Jack Hollister. I wondered how Belle’s plan would go to get Carlos and me back together, at least inside a picture frame.

“That was some camera Belle had around her neck.’’ Sal tossed his toothpick into the fire, and extracted a fresh one from his neon-blue breast pocket. “Must have cost a fortune.’’

Maddie edged her boots closer to the campfire. “It’s not like the Bramble family can’t afford it.’’

“Still,’’ Mama said, “you’d think she’d want to take better care of it. When I saw her before, she had it protected inside a leather case that hung around her neck. Suppose she hit the camera against something, or dropped it? There goes a couple hundred dollars.’’

“More like a thousand, with that special lens,’’ Sal said. “My son’s into photography. It’s an expensive hobby.’’

“I don’t think it’s a hobby with Belle,’’ I said, remembering how shooting pictures had transformed her. “I think it’s more than that.’’

Later, on our way to Maddie’s tent, we decided to swing by the dinner site. My sisters and I were still curious about Johnny Adams and that “burn’’ on his hand. If we saw him, I planned to flat-out ask him if he’d been stung by some bees.

Our secondary goal: Seeing if we could scare up another slice or two of butterscotch pie before bed.

As we drew closer to the food trailer, I heard murmured voices. They were almost drowned out by the loud hum of the generator. But it sounded like a man and a woman.

I held up my hand to my sisters to stop, and put a finger to my lips. They cocked their heads to listen, and we crept closer.

The site was spic and span, not a stray utensil or slice of pie in sight. Everything looked cleaned and closed up for the night. The voices were coming from the dark side of the food trailer, shadowed from the generator-powered lights. We stuck close to the trees, staying out of sight, as we worked our way to the rear of the food camp.

I recognized Johnny first, facing us and tossing a long-handled serving spoon from palm to palm. The woman’s back was to us. Her slight shoulders shook with what looked like sobs. I couldn’t see her face, but I definitely knew those boots: Brown, with a leather fringe up the sides.

As we watched, Johnny stuck the spoon in his back pocket. He cupped Wynonna’s chin in one hand, and with the other, tenderly wiped what must have been her tears. Her arms went around his waist. She pulled him close. They kissed.

Even in the dim light, I saw Marty’s blue eyes widen. She breathed, “No way!’’

Judging by the enthusiasm of their kiss, I don’t think Johnny was offering Wynonna simple human comfort. Plus, she’d lowered her hands and was now busy massaging his rear end.

“Yes, Marty,’’ Maddie whispered. “Way.’’

“I still think we
should have said something to them.’’ Maddie spoke between brush strokes, through a mouthful of toothpaste.

I handed her the bottled water we were sharing as we prepared to turn in.

“What were we supposed to say, Maddie? ‘Excuse us, we’re over here peeping at y’all, and we just wondered if you’d clue us in. What in the Sam Hill is up with you two?’ That’s not the best way to go about getting information,’’ I said.

The three of us had stood there in shock, watching Wynonna and Johnny. Then, suddenly, Audrey’s voice rang out, calling his name. He jumped away from Wynonna like she was hot grease. She slipped away into the night.

Now, at our tent, Maddie swished and spit into her camping cup.

“But, Mace,’’ Marty said, “we could have acted like we just stumbled upon them at the food trailer and were really shocked.’’

“That wouldn’t have been acting,’’ Maddie said, patting her mouth dry.

“I just don’t think it was the best time to confront either one of them with questions,’’ I said. “I wanted to ponder on it a bit, try and figure out what was going on. You know how our cousin Henry always says he never asks a question in court he doesn’t already know the answer to? Well, I think it’s the same when you’re investigating. I want to do some snooping first before we show them our hand.’’

“So now you’re a big investigator. Detective Mace Bauer.’’ Maddie tossed her toothpaste water out the tent’s flap.

I shook my head. “No. But I try to find ways to get information without making folks so mad they’d never tell me anything. Unlike some people I could mention.’’

“Is that a shot?’’ Maddie slapped the water bottle back into my outstretched palm.

I shrugged. “If the mule-wagon sized shoe fits . . .’’

“Cut it out, you two.’’ Marty wound her wool scarf around her neck and up her chin. “We need to stick together. Tomorrow’s the parade in Fort Pierce and the big barbecue afterwards. We’ll have plenty of time to nose around and find out what’s what.’’

We were all quiet for a bit. Pulling off jeans and boots. Unzipping sleeping bags. Getting ear plugs ready to deaden the rumble of Maddie’s snoring.

“I just feel sorry for Audrey,’’ Marty finally said, her voice wool-muffled. “She really seemed to care for Johnny, and not just as her boss.’’

“Well, what did we really see between Wynonna and him?’’ I asked. “Maybe he was just trying to comfort his old friend’s widow, and she caught him off guard.’’

“Donftinkzo.’’ Marty’s voice came from beneath the sleeping bag she’d pulled over her face.

“What?’’ Maddie and I both said.

Marty peeked out to enunciate. “I don’t think so. Johnny looked like a willing participant.’’ She shivered. “Aren’t you two cold? It feels like the walk-in freezer at the Speckled Perch in here. My nose is a frozen fish filet.’’

I leaned down and breathed some warm air on Marty’s nose. “Better?’’

“Yes, thanks.’’ She sniffed. “And now I’ll go to sleep dreaming of butterscotch pie.’’

I took the hint, brushed my teeth, and zipped myself into the cocoon of my loaner sleeping bag. Marty was right. It had gotten chilly. Now, Maddie’s crowded tent didn’t seem so bad. Even so, it wasn’t nearly as cold as the socks-on-my-hands night my tent was shredded.

My mind raced. Sleep seemed impossible. Disjointed thoughts and images galloped through my brain. Lawton’s body, the chili cup, and Wynonna. Wynonna with Trey. Now, Johnny and Wynonna. I’d been half-kidding when I proposed that she was addicted to sex. But maybe she was. Had she also had a thing going with old Doc Abel?

I thought of Doc, whistling in the woods. Then an image of him collapsed in the clearing, a bullet in his gut, pushed into my head. I saw Mama, lying still and broken in the dirt. Austin’s whip snapped at Val, and I stared head-on at a semi-truck. Marty stood, paralyzed with fear, as a rattlesnake prepared to strike. Trey and me. Carlos and Belle. Belle at peace with her camera.

I heard Marty sleeping beside me, her breath soft and even. No snores from Maddie yet.

“Pssst,’’ I whispered. “You awake, Sister?’’

She twisted in her sleeping bag toward me. “I feel like a sausage stuffed in a nylon casing, and this ground is like granite. Of course I’m awake,’’ Maddie grumbled.

“What do you think will happen tomorrow?’’

“I imagine we’ll get through the day. Then we’ll return our horses and the three of us will squeeze into my car and we’ll head home.’’

Maddie’s tone was practical; matter-of-fact. I didn’t buy it.

“So you don’t think anything bad will happen?’’

She was quiet for a long time.

“I pray it won’t, Mace,’’ she finally said. “Now, try to get some sleep, Sister. We’ve got an early morning to make Fort Pierce.’’

I lay there, awake, until Maddie dozed off and began to snore. She started quiet, and then got going loud enough to shake the stakes in the ground. She was definitely Mama’s daughter.

I fumbled in the corner for my boots. That’s where I’d stashed my ear plugs so I could find them easily in the dark. I plucked out my watch: seven minutes past one.

The night was still, aside from Maddie’s snores. The air in the tent felt close, stinking of mildew and horse hair. I peered at Marty’s face. She looked peaceful, untroubled. I hoped she
was
dreaming of butterscotch pie. Maddie’s mouth was creased in a frown. I wondered if she was worried about the parade, or just scolding some eighth-grader in her dream.

Every so often, voices crackled in the distance over police radios. Sheriff Roberts’ deputies still combed the camp, looking for the weapon used to shoot Doc. I planned to speak to the sheriff before we left, tell him what I knew about Lawton’s widow and her various liaisons. Trey should have had enough time by then to confess to Belle about his wicked ways with their stepmother.

Surely, given everything that had happened since Lawton died, there’d now be an autopsy to prove what killed him. It may not have been the chili in the cup we’d found, but I was certain it wasn’t a heart attack. And I was at least halfway certain Wynonna was involved.

I shifted, trying to get comfortable. Maddie was right about the ground. Had it been that hard when we were kids? Hoots of laughter drifted over from somebody’s camp. I wondered who was still up, and what was so damn funny. A dog howled. A whip cracked.

I looked at my watch again. One twenty-three. Jeez. Give the cow whip a rest.

As if in answer, the loud pop came again. Funny how much it sounded like a gunshot.