Mama Sees Stars: A Mace Bauer Mystery (10 page)

I’d almost reached the
corral when a snippet of conversation floated toward me through the trees.

“I’m not saying you should be a nun. Just don’t make a fool out of me.’’

The voice was Toby’s, striking a note between defiance and desperation. I ducked behind a myrtle bush, scaring a redbird into flight. Peeking through a branch, I saw the young star, still wearing his cowboy hat from the night before at the Eight Seconds Bar. A waterfall of red hair revealed his partner.

Looking nothing like a nun, Jesse wore a spaghetti-strap T-shirt, braless, and a pair of skinny jeans. A snake tattoo curved up around her belly button above the jeans’ hip-hugger waist. She leaned against the fence of the corral, right next to Toby. They held hands, fingers entwined.

“I’d never make a fool of you, Toby. I made a promise.’’

Whatever her vow had been, Jesse sounded like she sincerely meant to keep it. Then again, she was a professional actress. And I’d seen her performing last night at the bar.

They stood for a few moments without talking. The clouds in the sky were darkening. I noticed a fire ant mound on the ground just a foot or two away from my hiding spot. If these two weren’t going to reveal anything more compelling, staking them out wasn’t worth getting soaked by rain or feasted on by ants.

“Hey,’’ Toby’s face lit up with excitement. “Wouldn’t it be cool to take a couple of these horses out for a ride?’’

Jesse turned to survey the animals inside the corral. She shook her head. “No way. We’ll get into trouble.’’

The surprise I felt showed on Toby’s face, too. “Since when has getting in trouble ever stopped you? C’mon, Jess!’’

When he started to clamber up the fence, I knew I needed to put a stop to his plan. Stepping onto the path, I called out, like I’d just happened upon them. “Can I help you with something, Toby?’’

He quickly jumped off the fence. Sticking his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he shot me a guilty look. Now I knew how my sister, the principal, felt when she busted kids for sneaking cigarettes in the bathroom.

“I just wanted to pet some of the horses,’’ he lied.

“That’s fine. But I need to be at the corral if you want to get close to them. I’m responsible for making sure none of the horses—or the humans—get hurt out here.’’

He tugged at Jesse’s hand. ‘’Let’s go inside and check them out. Okay if we do that, Mace?’’

“It’s okay with me.’’ I looked at Jesse. It didn’t seem okay with her. She held on to Toby’s hand, but dug in her high-heeled boots when he tried to lead her to the corral’s gate.

“You know, we should really get going.’’ She shot a nervous glance at the biggest horse, a Percheron that had been cast to pull a plow in a farm scene.

“You can stay on this side of the fence,’’ I said to Jesse. “I’ll lead him over to you, if you want.’’

“Nah, I’m not in the mood.’’ She waved her hand like she couldn’t be bothered with the big draft horse. I’ve been around enough horse-shy people to recognize the signs, though. Jesse was afraid of horses.

“No problem,’’ I said. “Maybe another time.’’

“
Whatev
.’’ She tugged Toby away from the fence, and then turned to me.

“Besides, I’d rather talk to you than to some stupid horse. I’ve been wanting to ask you something since this morning.’’

“Ask away,’’ I said.

“How did it feel when that light almost killed you?’’ Her eyes gleamed with curiosity.

“Well, I’m not sure I had the time to really ‘feel’ anything at that moment. I can tell you I’m feeling a little stiff right now, from taking that tumble onto the hard ground.’’

“But what were you
thinking
? Did you think you were about to die?’’

“That’s a weird question.’’

“Well, did you?’’ she insisted. “Did you think about all the things you wouldn’t ever get to do? Did you feel sad? Were you frightened?’’

I glanced at Toby. He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by her burning intensity.

“How the hell do I know?’’ I snapped at her. “Listen, even on my best days, I’m not big on talking about how things ‘feel.’ Plus, it happened so fast, I didn’t have time to get all emotional.’’

“Oh.’’ Her face fell.

She looked so dejected, I threw her a bone. “I guess if I had to pick a feeling, it’d probably be afterward, when I felt really grateful to be alive.’’

She nodded, as if that satisfied her.

“Why so many questions?’’ I asked, leaving out the adjective “weird.’’

“I’m an actor.’’ She ran a hand through her russet curls. “I use feelings for motivation: How would someone feel in a certain situation; how would they react? What does someone do when they think they might die?’’

“You mean besides trying to avoid dying?’’

She smiled.

“I get it,’’ I said. “I guess.’’

She switched gears. “Good thing about that gorgeous cowboy, huh?’’

“What do you mean?’’

“The one who saved you. He looked like the real deal.’’

She ran a tongue around her lips, a she-wolf drooling over raw meat. Toby dropped her hand.

“What’s the story with him?’’ Jesse asked. “Is he single?’’

I felt my face get hot and a rush of some type of emotion. What was it? Jealousy? Aggravation? Pity for poor Toby, who seemed so taken with this tramp?

“You planning on putting another cowboy’s spurs on your charm bracelet, Jesse? It must be getting pretty crowded after your little exhibition at the bar last night.’’

Toby rubbed at the knee that got bashed in the bar fight. He cast his eyes to the ground; his mouth was grim. He had no trouble getting in touch with
his
feelings, it seemed. Was that why he was such a good actor? A young DiCaprio, Tilton had said.

I consulted his face, like a road map to his emotional state: disappointment. Jealousy. Embarrassment. Toby would make a terrible poker player.

After the two of them left, no longer holding hands, I finally got the chance to check on the horses. No problems there, thank goodness. I filled their water trough, and then tossed enough hay for all the horses in the corral.

I was inside the trailer, stowing tack and grooming gear, when I heard a familiar voice. The tone was angry, though I couldn’t make out the words. Even so, I knew it was Mama. I hurried outside, but didn’t see her. Maybe she was around the back of the trailer.

As I followed the sound, her voice went low, dangerous: “I know what you did to my daughter.’’

I hugged the metal of the trailer, inching my way closer. Then I heard Mama utter these words: “Hurt her again, and I’ll kill you.’’

I leapt away from the horse trailer. I looked to the left of Mama. I looked to the right. I looked in front of her and behind her. I was certain of it: There wasn’t another soul around. Apparently, she was leveling threats at a vacant field.

“Mama?’’

She turned, a bright smile on her face. “Hi, honey!’’ She glanced at a sheaf of paper in her hand. “Which way sounds better, Mace?
I know what you did to my daughter
… or,
I know what YOU did to my daughter
… Did you notice I added that finger-point there, on the word
you
? I improvised.’’

I just stared at her. What the hell?

“Honey, I can hardly believe it! Paul’s made my dancehall girl a speaking part. What do you think about that?’’

That was a question that would require some additional thought. In the meantime, I noticed Maddie coming toward the corral, carrying a take-out box with three cold drinks.

“We’re in back of the trailer,” I called.

I waited for my big sister, knowing she’d want to hear all about Mama’s venture into the movie business, too.

“Sweet tea, from Gladys’ restaurant.’’ Maddie held out the container for us to help ourselves. “C’ndee Ciancio might be a catering whiz with
tiramisu
and
pasta fagioli
, but the woman cannot make iced tea to save her life. The sugar’s got to go in when the water’s boiling hot.’’

Thanking Maddie, we took our plastic cups.

“Well, I’m glad the tea’s not hot now. I hope it’s not too cold, either,’’ Mama said. “I have to protect my throat. The voice is a tool, you know.’’

“Well,
something
is a tool,’’ I said.

My sister raised her eyebrows.

“Go ahead and tell her, Mama,’’ I said.

“Which of these do you think sounds better, Maddie?’’

Mama gave her line reading again—twice—and then filled both of us in on how the movie’s director decided her star quality was simply too luminous to hide in the background of a scene.

“Does Sal know about this?’’ Maddie asked.

“Sal is my husband, girls. He’s not my master. Besides, if he really loves me, he’ll want me to do what I love. I just know he’s going to be so proud of me!’’

I heard a crack of thunder. A storm was headed our way.

Paul Watkins held his
lips inches from Mama’s. He stroked her arm suggestively, and then whispered into her ear. Suddenly, she hauled back to slap him across the face.

“I know what you did to my daughter!’’

Beside me, Marty flinched and let out a small gasp. Maddie and I just chuckled. Paul grabbed Mama’s wrist to stop the slap seconds before it connected. Then the two of them turned away from the dancehall, a replica in every detail, except it had no walls. The director and the newest star in the Hollywood firmament were all smiles.

“Don’t worry. She’s just acting,’’ Paul said to Marty. “Your mother barely needs me to rehearse her. She’s a natural.’’

“Well, she’s a natural something all right,’’ Maddie muttered.

“I heard that!’’ Mama frowned at my sister. “You are not going to spoil my big moment with your negativity.’’

Lightning and thunder had postponed any outdoor scenes involving the horses. When the first drops fell, Mama had left Maddie and me at the corral without a second thought. “Girls, I can’t stand out here in the rain,’’ she said. “Suppose I’m needed on the set? My hair and face would be a wreck.’’

She’d tented a nylon tarp over her platinum locks and made a dash for it. “Meet you at the dancehall!’’

“Humph.’’ Maddie donned the rain poncho she’d brought. “That’s a new excuse.’’

“Mama will never run out of reasons to get out of work,’’ I said.

While Maddie and I finished with the horses, Marty called to say she was on her way back to the movie set. We had told her where to meet us, but had revealed nothing else.

Now, Mama turned her attention, and a 100-watt smile, back to Paul. “So, what would you say Ruby’s motivation is? What kind of life has she had? I want to know
everything
about her.’’

Her hand rested on Paul’s arm. Her eyelashes fluttered like butterflies circling an overripe piece of fruit.

“Well,’’ the director leaned back and stroked his chin, “Ruby has always been a beautiful woman.’’

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, I can relate to that.’’ As Mama nodded like a bobble-headed doll, we rolled our eyes.

“She’s always been able to get exactly what she wants from men.’’

“Goes without saying.’’

“But she’s had some tough breaks,’’ Paul said. “Some difficult times.’’

“Been there, done that, too.’’

“So she becomes a prostitute out of desperation.’’

“A Protestant?’’ Mama cupped a hand to her ear.

“A prostitute,’’ Paul repeated.

Mama’s mouth dropped open. Maddie gulped. Marty giggled.

“Didn’t you tell me Ruby was a dancehall gal?’’ Mama’s question came out in a squeak.

“A euphemism,’’ Paul said. “That’s what Ruby tells her mother in letters home to Georgia.’’

A parade of emotions marched across Mama’s face: Disgust. Ambition. Indecision.

“I don’t suppose she can get saved, can she, Paul? Have her come to our lord Jesus?”

He shook his head, ponytail bouncing against his back. “No time. There’s just the one scene, Rosalee. But it’s an important one.’’

Mama chewed at her lip.

“It’s crucial, in fact.’’

She tapped her cheek, considering. “Well … if it’s crucial. Essential to the story?’’

“Absolutely.’’

Mama squared her shoulders and smoothed her hair. I knew she’d made up her mind.

“Now, what does my costume look like?” she asked. “I have some ideas for the kind of dress Ruby might wear.’’

As the two of them put their heads together, Paul took Mama’s arm and walked her through the empty set. In one dim corner a player piano sat on wheels. Barbara Sydney stood to one side of the piano. Her eyes shot daggers at the departing director and his newly minted actress.

_____

A sharp elbow jabbed me in my left side. From the right, a hand darted across the table to pinch me on my hand.

“I see him,’’ I hissed at my sisters from behind the rim of a coffee cup. “There’s no need to leave me battered and bruised.’’

I watched Carlos from the lunch table where I sat with my sisters. He stood at the entryway to the catering tent, checking out the hungry crowd inside. The downpour had momentarily quit; he carried his raincoat over his arm.

“I’ll bet he’s looking for you, Mace,’’ Marty said.

“Doubt it.’’ Maddie shook her head. “He’s not carrying the weapon he’d need to beat some sense into her.’’

“Oh, that’s nice, poking fun at domestic abuse,’’ I said.

“I’m simply using exaggeration for effect. Though if someone would hand me a switch off a tree, I’d give you a few cracks across the rear myself. When are you going to grow up, Mace?”

“Maddie’s right.’’

“About beating me with a switch? I never thought you’d condone violence, Marty.’’

“Stop joking around,’’ Marty said. “It wouldn’t kill you to go offer to get him a cup of coffee or a soda.’’

“What is this, 1950? I shouldn’t have to stroke his fragile male ego all the time. I love the man. He knows that.’’

Maddie folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, does he now? Have you told him?’’

I avoided her stern look. “Not exactly.’’

“What’s that mean?’’

“Yeah,’’ Marty ganged up on me, too. “Explain.’’

“Well, one time Carlos said, ‘I love you,’ and I said, ‘Right back at ya.’”

Maddie choked, sputtering out the soda she’d just sipped. Marty, across the table, shook her head. “Get up and go over there, you simple fool.’’

When Maddie, beside me, added a hard poke in the rib to Marty’s scolding, I knew I better take their advice.

Carlos looked relieved when he spotted me weaving through a maze of tables toward him. That was a good sign. But then his expression turned guarded, which wasn’t as encouraging. By the time I reached him, he was wearing his closed-off, detective’s face. I plowed ahead anyway.

“Hey sailor, can a girl buy you a drink?’’

I saw the tiniest crack in that granite jaw. Could it be the embryo of a smile?

“I’m on duty, ma’am. But I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.’’

“Coming right up,’’ I said. “Sorry they’re not serving
café Cubano
.’’

“Anything with caffeine will do.’’ He reached out a hand to my chin, then gently turned my face this way and that. “You don’t look too bad.’’

“Flatterer.’’

“No, seriously. I’ve been worried. How are you, Mace?’’

I didn’t want to mention how my body ached where Jeb had sacked me.

“I’m fine. Did you find out how that light blew up?’’

“Nobody knows anything,’’ he shrugged. “The lighting guy says it happens sometimes. He says there’s always somebody watching the equipment. He doesn’t believe it was tampered with.’’

I told Carlos how Barbara had tried to cast suspicion about sabotage onto Tilton, and how he then did the same concerning her possible dark motives. Carlos slid his little book from his top pocket and made a couple of quick notes. When he put it away again, an awkward moment passed in silence.

“Listen …” I began.

“Mace, I …” Carlos said at the same time.

He motioned for me to speak first.

“I just wanted to tell you there really is nothing between Jeb Ennis and me. That was high school, Carlos­—a long time ago.’’

He put up a hand to stop me. “I wanted to apologize for acting like such an idiot. I went a little crazy when I saw you lying there on the ground.’’

The worried look on his face gave me a warm feeling. I offered him my hand to shake. “Friends again?’’

He took it, pulled me close, and brushed my hair with his lips. “Much more than friends,
niña
.’’

His breath was hot against my ear. An electric charge spread from my ear past my heart and all the way down south.

“Much more than friends,’’ I agreed.

I got a coffee for Carlos while he picked out his lunch. As we returned to where my sisters sat, each of them signaled me silently, hiding their thumbs-up below the tabletop. No doubt, they’d done a play-by-play of Carlos and me making up. I was sure to get the highlights later, complete with their game analysis. We sat, Carlos draping his raincoat over the back of a chair.

“Any leads on the murder?’’ Maddie asked, just as he took his first bite of eggplant parmigiana.

“Let the poor man eat in peace,’’ Marty said.

He swallowed. “You know I can’t talk about the investigation, Maddie. We’re still collecting and analyzing evidence.’’

“How are you keeping the press at bay?’’ Marty asked. “I thought the paparazzi would be swarming the set like ants at a picnic by now.’’

“Well, this ranch is private property, and the production company is paying dearly for the right to use it. They’ve beefed up security to keep out looky-loos and the media. Those security guys aren’t afraid to rough somebody up to get their point across.’’

As he ate, my sisters fired questions that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—answer. From who had the best motive for murdering Norman, to whether the light could have been sabotaged, he offered a series of shrugs, head shakes, and can’t-says. Finally, he pushed back his empty plate.

“I hear that dessert table calling my name.’’

“Bring me a little serving of that eggplant, would you, Carlos?’’ Maddie called after him.

Marty and I exchanged a look.

“What?’’

“Didn’t you already have the barbecued ribs?’’ I asked Maddie.

“So?’’

Carlos had barely left the table when I felt Marty pinch my hand again. “Uh-oh.’’ She nodded toward the entrance.

The rain had started again. Jeb Ennis shook the wet off his cowboy hat, brushed it against his thigh, and peered around the dimly lit tent. As soon as he spotted me, he waved and hurried over.

“The seat’s taken,’’ Maddie said to him.

“I won’t stay long.’’ He sat beside me, in the seat Carlos had just vacated. “I just came by to check on you, Mace.’’

I glanced over my shoulder. Carlos had his back to us, caught up in a bottleneck at the serving line for lunch. He was probably waiting to get Maddie’s second helping. For once, I was grateful for her hearty appetite.

“I’m-just-great-Jeb-thanks-again.’’ The words tumbled out of my mouth, as if they too wanted to speed him on his way. “Didn’t you say you needed to get back to the ranch? Lots-to-do-back-home-right?’’

“Yeah, but I’m dying for a cup of coffee.’’ He looked around the tent again. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Kelly Conover eating lunch, have you?’’

As Jeb’s eyes roamed the crowd, I searched out Carlos’s location. He’d left the lunch line, and was perusing the pastries.

Maddie said, “I just saw Kelly at the production trailer, Jeb. Why don’t you head over and see if she’s still there?’’

“Was she still outfitted in that skimpy bikini top and short-shorts? I didn’t think it was
that
warm out,’’ Marty added.

I thought the picture my sisters conjured of Kelly Conover wearing Daisy Maes would propel Jeb from Carlos’s seat, but he stayed put.

“Now that is something I’d like to see, but first I need my coffee. I also want to make sure my special gal is okay.’’

Maddie groaned. Marty looked nervously across the tent in Carlos’s direction. Sure enough, he was threading his way through the tables on his way back to us. He balanced Maddie’s plate in one hand, and his dessert and a fresh cup of coffee in the other. As I caught his eye, he grinned … until he noticed who was sitting next to me. Jeb had just draped a protective arm around my shoulder.

Carlos spun and detoured, hurrying away from us. At the door, he tossed the plate with Maddie’s eggplant as well as his dessert into a large garbage can. Now, the storm was pounding a drumbeat on the roof of the tent. I thought for a moment he’d stop by our table to get his coat.

But he never even glanced back as he walked outside into a driving rain.