A swollen thundercloud darkened the horizon. I retrieved the tarp, just in case the skies opened. While I waited, I called my home answering machine. There were messages from Marty and Mama. I returned the calls, leaving my own messages on their machines. Just as I was wondering whether anyone actually speaks to anyone else anymore, I spotted Martinez’s police-issue sedan approaching the bridge.
As soon as he got out of the car, he started dancing and slapping. I handed him the spray.
“DEET,’’ he read off the side of the can. “Isn’t that stuff toxic?’’
“Only to the bugs. You need something strong here. Our mosquitoes will wipe the floor with their puny cousins from down in Miami. Coat your hands, then wipe it on. Don’t get it in your eyes or mouth.’’ I’d seen more than one newcomer with teary vision and a stinging tongue.
“I’m not an idiot.’’ He sprayed, then handed back the can. “Where’s the car?’’
I looked down at his pressed dress slacks and shiny leather shoes. Not an idiot, huh?
“It’s pretty wet down there,’’ I said. “Don’t you carry a pair of boots?’’
“Don’t you think I’d be wearing them if I did?’’
“Just asking.’’
“What makes you think the car is Emma Jean’s? Did you find a purse?’’ Martinez spoke as I led the way down the embankment and into the brush.
“I recognized her key chain. Mama told me she drives a dark green compact, which is what this is. Plus, my house is only about a mile from here.’’
I told him about her late-night phone call. “She never showed.’’
“Did she seem distraught?’’
“Yes, but no more so than when she appeared waving a tire iron at church.’’ I stepped around a mucky spot. “Watch that …”
“Mierda!’’ I don’t understand Spanish, but that had the ring of a bad word. I turned to see him release his dress shoe with a sucking sound.
I itched to say I told you so. “I might have spotted the car this morning if I’d been paying more attention.’’
“What do you mean?’’
“Well, I was distracted. Donnie Bailey called my cell to tell me about what they found when they checked out my Jeep. Or, more like what they didn’t find.’’
“That’s police information.’’ I could hear the scowl in his voice. “Officer Donnie shouldn’t share those kinds of details with a civilian.’’
“Even if it’s the civilian’s Jeep, and the civilian was the one who was run off the road? Get real, Detective. What do you think I’m gonna do with what Donnie told me? Run to the media? We’re just a little town. But not even the Himmarshee Times would run a story that lame: Local Woman Veers off Road; Big Vehicle Might Be Involved.’’
The only response was brush moving and Martinez breathing.
“Anyway, there’s the car.’’ I stopped and pointed ahead. “I walked around a bit, trying to make sure no one was out here hurt. But I didn’t do a real search, and I didn’t touch anything. I figured I’d better call you first.’’
Martinez had whipped out his phone. “That’s the first smart thing I’ve seen you do.’’ He studied the display panel as he scrolled, searching for a number. “You can go now. I radioed in earlier with your report. Now, I’ll call in the tag number. We’ll take over from here.’’
Right. The professionals. “All righty, then. Y’all take care.’’ I injected a pleasant, polite tone into my voice.
Martinez stopped peering at the telephone and looked at me. “What the hell does that mean?’’
“Y’all is the way we say ‘you guys’ in Himmarshee.’’
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Why are you giving in so easily? Why haven’t you insisted on combing the swamp? I thought you’d want to be the one to find Emma Jean, maybe carry her to safety on your back. La heroína, the heroine.’’
“Nah.’’ I didn’t tell him I had other plans. “But I hope you find her safe. She seems pretty strange to me, but she’s a friend of Mama’s. I hope nothing bad has happened to her.’’
He nodded, looking down at the phone again.
“I’ll just leave you out here with the mosquitoes and the mud.’’ I looked at his pant leg, with muck up to the shin. “You better get those slacks in water when you get home. That muck stinks like crap. And you ought to get yourself a good pair of boots, too.’’
“Thanks for the advice.’’ He didn’t sound grateful.
“No problem.’’ I started back toward the road, and then turned around. “Detective?’’
He looked at me, phone to his ear. I tossed him the bug repellent I’d stuck in my pocket. “You’ll need to use some more of that. You’ll sweat out here like an asphalt worker in August, and everything you sprayed on will drip off. Not to mention, it’ll be dark soon. That’s when these baby bugs out here call in their big brothers.’’
He caught the toss and rewarded me with an almost-warm smile. “Thanks, Mace.’’
I couldn’t ignore the thrill I got when I heard him use my first name. No doubt about it: I had feelings for Detective Carlos Martinez, and that signaled trouble.
Meow. Meowwww.
The cat was doing curlicues around my ankles as I climbed the stairs of Emma Jean’s front porch. It slunk behind me; then in front. “Go on, kitty. Move.” I gently nudged the cat’s hindquarters with the toe of my boot.
It looked at me over its shoulder as if to say I had my nerve.
I knocked at the door. No response. It was a long shot, but I still hoped to find Emma Jean home, embarrassed at the fuss she created. I pictured her in a bathrobe—pink, to match the Calamine lotion dotted on the bug bites she got walking out of the swamp. Maybe she’d be snuggled in front of the TV, watching an old black-and-white movie about lost love. There’d be a pile of crumpled tissues beside her. I wanted her to be safe.
Martinez may have had a point. I like to save the day. What was the Spanish word he used? Heroína. Heroine.
The sun was setting, trailing a few long fingers of pink and yellow across a darkening sky. Enough light remained to see that Emma Jean’s place looked just as it had that morning, when Mama and I stopped by. Flowers still drooped; curtains were drawn. And, judging by the cat’s insistent mewling, it hadn’t eaten.