His face got a distant look, like he was replaying those events from the past. I thought of one more thing I wanted to know about the present.
“You said you heard Darryl and C’ndee fighting. What about?”
“She was breaking it off. She told him it’d been fun, but she found somebody new.”
Fun? I shuddered at the thought. “How’d he take it?”
“’Bout like you’d expect. He cussed a blue streak and kicked one of the cabin doors right off its hinges. Slash lit out and hid under one of the cars for a full day. Darryl never touched C’ndee, though.” Rabe’s eyes looked far away again. “He would have, given time.”
“Did C’ndee tell Darryl who she was dating?”
He rubbed a hand through the sparse beard on his chin. “Not by name, no. But she did throw it in Darryl’s face that the guy was a successful businessman in Himmarshee. She said he owned a catering business.”
The Jeep’s tires hummed as I drove over the little wooden bridge at the entrance to Himmarshee Park. All usually felt right with the world when I heard that sound. But today a lot felt wrong in our little town.
Ronnie was dead, a fact I couldn’t forget because I kept seeing a filmstrip in my head. Darryl Dietz could have had a motive to kill him, based on what the stepson told me. And where did C’ndee fit in the equation? Had she just been playing with Darryl, or was it something more? And why hadn’t she let on how very well she knew Himmarshee’s only caterer?
A leafy tree canopy shaded the narrow lane. It was like driving into a green cave, with the dim coolness doing its best to soothe my mind. Alongside the winding road to the parking lot, butterflies flitted in the yellow tickseed that grew in sunny patches. I turned off the radio and tuned in to the outdoors. Frogs croaked in Himmarshee Creek. A pileated woodpecker rat-a-tat-tatted on a dead pine. A gator bellowed from the distant swamp. I started to feel some of the stress leaving my body, like a reptile shedding skin.
My heartbeat quickened as I rounded a turn into the parking lot. A white, late-model sedan sat under the shade of a sabal palm. It was an unmarked police car. Carlos’ car. We’d gotten along pretty well at Mama’s last night. Maybe we could reconnect, enter a more lasting up in our up-and-down relationship. There’s always hope, right?
Within minutes, I was out of my Jeep and on the nature path to the park office. Drawing near, I saw him through the big windows that look out onto a hardwood hammock, thick with gnarled oaks and black tupelo. He was laughing at something Rhonda had said. I paused in the shade of a hickory tree, wanting to watch him for just a moment in an unguarded state. It seemed like the two of us were always walking on tippy-toes around each other.
He sipped a small cup of take-out coffee, which reminded me of the first night I met him in the lobby of the Himmarshee Police Department. I remember being bowled over by his looks—black hair, skin the color of buttery caramel, dark eyes that hid plenty of secrets. I’d had all I could do back then to stay mad at him for hauling Mama’s butt into jail.
And now? He still looked as yummy as a buttered biscuit. But I didn’t have trouble any more staying mad at him. And I’m not sure why, or what that means. Sometimes, I try to make sense of human behavior by looking to the animal world. Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a Sandhill crane, which chooses its partner for life.
As I opened the door, Carlos smiled and held up a large-sized cup: “I brought café con leche for you and Rhonda.”
He’d been beside himself with happiness when he discovered a Cuban restaurant—more of a gas station with a tiny food counter—on the outskirts of Himmarshee. They only served breakfast and a couple of lunch specials. But the café Cubano flowed all day, giving Carlos the fix he needed. Sipping the super-sweet, high-octane brew seemed to make him feel more at home in Himmarshee.
I took the cup he offered. “You the man!”
Cuban crack, he called it, and the stuff was addictive. I drank mine mixed with three-quarters steamed milk. Carlos’ poison was the traditional cafecito, a tiny, sugared shot of pure caffeine.
My boss picked up her cup from her desk and lifted it toward us. “Here’s to a summer without hurricanes.”
“Here’s to the two most beautiful women I know,” he responded.
With Rhonda’s dark skin, I couldn’t tell if she was blushing. Probably not. Unlike me, she’d surely heard tons of such toasts before. They both looked at me, waiting.
“Uhmmm,” I said eloquent as always. “Here’s to finding Ronnie’s killer.”
And to murdering the moment. Carlos’ face hardened.
“Yeah, we’re working on that, Mace. It only happened yesterday.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
I tried to shovel out of the hole I’d dug. “I wasn’t criticizing.”
“That’s how it sounded,” he said.
“Sorry you’re so sensitive.”
“Now, that’s what I love.” Carlos glared. “An apology that’s actually an accusation.”
Rhonda averted her eyes, staring at the phone on her desk. I’m sure she was willing it to ring and rescue her. When did Carlos and I become one of those couples who embarrass everyone by bickering in public?
I reached out to touch his arm, but he sidestepped me. “Let’s start over again,” I offered.
His face was still stony; but a relieved look flickered across Rhonda’s features.
“Thank you for the coffee, Carlos.” I grinned at him. “You are really, really, really, really the man!”
A tiny smile chipped at the granite in his jaw.
“And I am sorry,” I continued. “It’s just that Ronnie’s been on my mind because of what I found out today at a fish camp at the southern end of Lake Okeechobee.”
Carlos lifted an eyebrow.
Here’s where I had to tie on those toe-walking shoes again. He hated it when I went off investigating. But there was no way I couldn’t share with him what I’d learned. Rhonda’s hand hovered over a stack of maintenance requests as she waited to see what I’d say next. No sense in making Carlos doubly mad, spilling information about a possible suspect with her listening in.
“Why don’t we go outside?” I said to him. “It’s nice and cool in the breezeway, and I’ll buy us something sweet from the vending machine to go with the coffee.”
Carlos gestured for me to lead the way.
“Okay if I take a few minutes, boss? When I come back, I’ll see if I can’t get a track hoe out here to dig another pond for the little critters to drink from. One without an alligator in it.”
Rhonda lifted her hand, shooing us toward the door. “I know you’ll take care of it, Mace. And, Carlos, gracias por el café con leche.” Her Spanish accent was as perfect as everything else about her.
We settled onto a wooden bench with our snacks—a package of lemon cookies for me; a gooey cinnamon bun for Carlos. And then I told him what I’d discovered about C’ndee and about Darryl.
“What’d the knife look like?”
“Long and thin, like a filet knife. Big, but not big enough to behead that hog. As for killing Ronnie? I don’t know much about what kind of blade you’d need to knife somebody to death.”
Carlos’ face was grim. “You’d be surprised at the kind of damage any knife can do if you hit the right spot.” He took a swallow of his coffee. “How’d this Darryl act?”