The room fell silent.
“This. Has. Gone. On. Long. Enough.’’ Martinez emphasized every word, letting a dark glower linger on each of us. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been quiet. Honestly, I was thinking maybe one of you crazy characters might let something important slip out. That has not been the case. And that’s an understatement. I’ve never heard such a load of bullshit in my life.’’
My mother looked shocked at Martinez’s language. She was still in Southern belle mode, and damsels have such delicate ears. In fact, she could cuss a purple streak. But she always asked the Lord for forgiveness afterwards.
“You people can stand here yelling at each other until Christmas for all I care.’’ That vein was throbbing at his temple again. “But Mrs. Deveraux is coming with me.’’ He grabbed Mama by the arm and yanked her none too gently toward the door. “There was a murder victim in her car.’’
Another wail from Emma Jean.
“Your mother’s been unable—or unwilling—to explain how he got there,’’ Martinez pressed on. “I think she’s implicated. And I’m going to find out how.’’
We all started talking again.
“Por favor. Please!’’ Still hanging on to Mama with one hand, Martinez held up the other for silence.
“I’m arresting her,’’ he said when we finally quieted down. “If any of you has a problem with that, I suggest you call somebody’s cousin and get her a lawyer.’’
Martinez made good on his threat. Mama spent the night in jail.
First thing in the morning, I tossed on some clothes and set about getting her out.
Unfortunately, I caught a glimpse of myself in the Jeep’s rear-view mirror on the way to my cousin’s law office. I’m not much for primping, but the sight of my bed-smashed hair and raccoon eyes gave even me a scare. The shadows were so dark that, if I hadn’t also seen some yellow sleep crud caked into the corner of an eyelid, I’d have thought I didn’t catch a single wink over worrying about my mama.
I didn’t feel a whole lot better once I pulled up to the law office of Henry Bauer & Associates. The setting didn’t exactly spell success. First off, there are no Associates. Henry rents space in a strip mall, between a convenience store and a pawn shop. As hot as it’s been, I could smell the garbage cooking in the can on the sidewalk. It stunk like stale beer and microwave burritos.
Next door, the pawn shop’s logo showed a flattened armadillo on a highway with a word balloon over his head: Don’t Wait Too Late to Visit Pete’s Pawn!
Inside, Henry’s secretary had a blonde ponytail in a pink scrunchy. She looked like a work-study student from Himmarshee High. I gave her my name and grabbed a seat.
Henry’s got a small-town practice, covering all kinds of law. But his clients this morning mostly resembled pictures from a personal-injury textbook. Every chapter of pain and suffering. One poor guy was trussed into a cast from neck to groin. His bandaged arms and legs poked out like matchsticks. He leaned against the wall, looking just like a gopher turtle that some mean kids had flipped over onto its back.
“Mr. Bauer will see you now.’’
The secretary motioned for me to follow her. It seemed silly, since I could see my cousin at his desk behind four artificial palm trees employed as a room divider. But she stepped left to avoid the palms, so I stepped left, too.
“Mr. Bauer, this lady says she’s Ms. Bauer.’’
A mischievous grin crept across Henry’s face. “Thanks, Amber. I might not have recognized Ms. Bauer with her clothes on.’’
Amber blushed.
“We used to splash nekkid together in the kiddy pool in my backyard. That was decades ago, darlin’, way before you were born.’’
Amber looked ill at the prospect of a naked Henry at any age. He’d inherited a tendency toward corpulence from Daddy’s side of the family. Henry’s so heavy, he gave his stomach a nickname. He calls it Dunlap, as in, “My belly dun’ lapped over my belt.’’
With a final disgusted look, Amber fled past the palms to her desk.
“Do kids still have plastic baby pools, Mace?’’ Henry was thinking out loud. “Or are they considered too dangerous these days?’’
“I’m sure if anyone can prove baby pools are fatal death traps, you can, Henry.’’
“Don’t be snide. That’s your sister Maddie’s job. Where is she, by the way?’’
My sisters and I had alerted Henry the night before to Mama’s predicament. We’d agreed my work hours were most flexible, so the task of visiting our cousin the lawyer had fallen to me.
“We drew straws to come see you, Henry. I lost.’’
“Very funny, Mace. You won’t be so dismissive of my legal skills when you find out what I’ve learned about your Mama’s case.’’
I was still getting used to the fact that Mama had a case. And Henry was right: I needed him.
“Don’t keep me in suspense, Henry.’’
Since we were kids, my cousin had made me grovel for information. I Spy. Twenty Questions. You’re Getting Warm. I’ve hated guessing games ever since.
He must have taken one look at me today and refrained out of pity.
“What I’ve discovered about the man in your mama’s trunk changes the whole character of his murder.’’ He tapped a file folder on his desk. “This is good news, Mace. I think we can help her out.’’ Henry reached across the desk and gave my hand a supportive squeeze.
Sometimes, I wish I was born in South Dakota, where people are direct. It’s too damned cold up there to sit around squeezing a person’s hand. Plus, they’re usually wearing electric mittens.
“What was it you learned, Henry?’’ I pulled my hand away and put it in my lap.
“Well, first of all, Jim Albert wasn’t his real name.’’ Henry picked up a paper clip and tossed it from palm to palm. “That’s an alias.’’
“What do you mean?’’
“An alias is a name other than your given name that you’re known by.’’
“I know what an alias is, Henry. I’ve been to college. I meant, why’d he have one?’’
“The man in your mama’s trunk was running away from some very bad people.’’ As he said, “bad people,’’ Henry rolled his neck and adjusted an imaginary tie. He shot imaginary shirt cuffs from beneath an imaginary suit. In fact, he was in a short-sleeved Madras shirt with no tie or jacket.
“What in God’s name are you doing, Henry? Have you taken up yoga?’’