“Well, I for one was impressed.’’ Maddie lectured us over the top of her reading glasses. “That Delilah Dixon really blossomed once the police hauled her husband off to the hoosegow.’’
Mama, my sisters, and I had gathered at the Pork Pit after services at the newly christened Abundant Forgiveness church. I’d already filled them in on Jeb’s farewell. Now, we’d moved on to Delilah’s performance in the pulpit her husband had disgraced.
“I’m happy for her. She was just glowing up there,’’ Marty said. She wet her napkin in her water glass and wiped a streak of barbecue sauce from Mama’s chin. “Has anyone heard what will happen to Emma Jean?’’
Maddie raised her eyebrows at me over the dessert menu, echoing Marty’s question.
“Henry says the prosecutor might go easy on her,’’ I said. “There’s that whole history with her boy disappearing. Her lawyer will probably try and argue that Bob Dixon held some kind of psychological sway over her. Fact is, she didn’t actually kill anyone.’’
Maddie tsked-tsked. “The woman ran you off the road into a ditch, Mace.’’
Once all the danger was over, we’d confessed to Mama that we kept that from her.
“Dixon was there, egging her on. He had Emma Jean convince Sal to meet with me at the golf course, and then call up with that fake story about Mama’s heart giving out in jail. That way, I’d be out on that road all alone.’’
Mama decided not to wait for her own dessert. She slid Marty’s half-finished bowl of banana pudding to her placemat. “We’ll just have to wait and see how Emma Jean’s case goes,’’ she said, dipping in her spoon.
“Hmph!’’ Maddie said. “I think her case should go right to Death Row.’’
“Maddie, were your ears plugged during Delilah’s sermon on forgiveness?’’ Marty’s voice was as sweet as ever, but the words had some sting. “And that’s my pudding, Mama.” As Marty took the pudding back to her own placemat, Maddie stared at her for a long moment. She might not approve of the new Marty, but I was getting a kick out of seeing our little sister fight back for a change.
“You know, you’re right, Marty. I’m sorry. I could use some forgiveness myself.’’
I nearly spit out a mouthful of sweet tea, hearing Maddie apologize.
“But I would like to hear why you’ve been so different lately. It’s not just the promotion, is it?’’ Maddie asked.
A glance passed between Mama and Marty. Then both of them started shredding their pink Pork Pit napkins.
“Marty?’’ I asked. No answer.
Finally, Mama could stand it no longer. “Sal knew he was about to lose me, so he took a chance on Marty. He told her how he’d been a policeman up north. Then he asked her to convince me that he’s a good man, without giving away his secret. Your little sister can be very convincing, girls.’’
Marty took a tiny sip of tea and gave us her sweetest smile. “He said all those years on the job had made him trust his instincts. And his instinct was that he could trust me.’’
I felt a tiny tug of envy. Why hadn’t Sal chosen me? Maybe because I was judging people left and right, and Marty tends to accept them as they are. I guess I’ll have to work on that.
Mama motioned the waitress over.
“We’ll have peach cobbler all around. With ice cream. And another banana pudding for the table.’’ When the server left, scribbling in her pig-pink order pad, Mama turned to us. “Now, let’s talk about something else. Who has news?’’
“I’ve got something. Y’all remember that New Jersey newcomer I told you about? The one who kept insisting she had a panther?’’
“The one you made fun of?’’ Marty asked me.
“The very same.’’ I traced the outline of a cheerful pig on the Pit’s bottled sauce. “Well, damned if she wasn’t right. It escaped from a pen at Pocock Ranch. The ranch owner has a license to rehabilitate injured Florida panthers.’’
Maddie looked over her glasses at me. “Did she say, ‘I told you so?’’’
“Nah. She was actually pretty gracious. I promised her a freebie on her next trapping call. She’s worried now that an armadillo army is undermining her home’s foundation.’’
The waitress returned with our desserts and a fresh round of napkins. “My news is bigger than that,’’ Mama said, loading her fork with cobbler. “Mace went on a date with that good-looking Carlos Martinez.’’
Her revelation set off a seismic mood shift. Both sisters were all smiles and Say whats?
“It wasn’t a date. We just went to dinner.’’
“Did you wash your hair?’’ Maddie asked.
“Yes.’’
“Then it was a date.’’
“Actually, Carlos is going back to Miami.’’
Their faces fell.
“It may not be forever. He’s only taking a leave of absence from the Himmarshee Police. He says he has to face some demons down there before he can get on with his life.’’
The three of them looked so glum, I thought I’d toss them a bone.
“It’s not like he’s moving to California,’’ I said. “Miami’s only three and a half hours south, you know. In fact, I’m going down to visit him next weekend. I plan to try some arroz con pollo and un cafécito Cubano.’’
“Mace!’’ Maddie’s mouth was tight with disapproval. “You may want to experiment, but I really don’t think you should talk about your sexual shenanigans in front of Mama.’’
I laughed at their shocked expressions. “All that means is rice with chicken and a short Cuban coffee. Didn’t I tell y’all? I’ve started studying Spanish.’’
The End
About the Author
Like Mace Bauer’s, Deborah Sharp’s family roots were set in Florida long before Disney and Miami Vice came to define the state. She does some writing at a getaway overlooking the Kissimmee River in the wilds north of Okeechobee, and some at Starbucks in Fort Lauderdale. As a Florida native and a longtime reporter for USA Today, she knows every burg and back road, including some not found on maps. Here’s what she has to say about Himmarshee:
Home to cowboys and church suppers, Himmarshee is hot and swarming with mosquitoes. A throwback to the ways of long-ago southern Florida, it bears some resemblance to the present-day ranching town of Okeechobee. The best thing about Mace and Mama’s hometown: it will always be threatened, but never spoiled, by suburban sprawl.