“What idea was that?” I asked.
“That if I could only get rid of all those reminders, maybe Ronnie wasn’t really dead. Maybe his murder was just a dream.”
She lifted her face to us, eyes brimming with tears. “It didn’t work, you know?” Her voice was as small as a child’s. “I filled three boxes and Ronnie’s still dead.”
Alice’s tears splattered onto her placemat, watering the morning glory border. I felt like a heel. Not only had I invaded the poor woman’s privacy with those boxes of clothes and pictures, I’d brought on another round of crying.
“I thought maybe you were mad at Ronnie. I remember after I caught my old boyfriend Jeb with another girl, I packed up all the souvenirs I’d saved of him riding rodeo and tossed them in the trash.”
“That’s hardly the same thing, Mace.” Mama sneered at me. “You’re comparing a lying boyfriend to a murdered husband. Did you misplace your manners somewhere in that crazy drive over here?”
I hadn’t told Mama yet about Darryl, or his stepson’s claim that C’ndee jilted him for a caterer in Himmarshee. I was trying to find a roundabout way to discover if Ronnie had been cheating on Alice. Even I knew asking a new widow such a bald question was out of bounds.
To my surprise, Alice’s face softened into a smile. “It’s all right, Rosalee. I can tell you both that Ronnie wasn’t perfect. He slept on the couch a time or two over the years. Then again, I’m no angel, either. Aside from a few spats, though, I’d say we had a pretty good union.”
Mama patted Alice’s hand. “Honey, every marriage has its ups and downs.”
“She should know,” I said to Alice. “Sal will be Mama’s No. 5.”
“Ronnie was my one-and-only. We were just kids when we got married.”
I flashed on that picture of them cutting their wedding cake, eyes shining with youth and happiness. What an awful end to what began with such promise for Alice and Ronnie.
The dreamy smile still lit Alice’s face. But between the café con leche grande from work, and now this cup at Alice’s, I needed to use the facilities. Urgently.
“Could I please use your bathroom?” With stellar timing, I barged into what might have been Alice’s only happy thought of the day.
Mama glared at me as Alice’s smile slipped away. “Help yourself.”
I didn’t want her to think I was snooping again, so I avoided her bedroom and master bath. Plus, I didn’t relish the thought of them sitting and sipping coffee as I was answering nature’s call on the other side of the kitchen wall. I found a dark hallway to the guest bath.
When I finished up and opened the door, bright light spilled into the hall. Some pictures were grouped on the wall, with lots of faded spots where Ronnie’s photos must have hung. I wasn’t being nosy. I was just passing by.
Alice posed for one photo in front of a flat, rural landscape with a silo on the horizon. No puffy clouds or sabal palms. It didn’t appear to be Florida. There was another of her with an elderly couple dressed in worn work clothes. The man looked stern, and the woman, tired. Her parents? The picture next to that was of Alice on her wedding day. She’s a plain woman, but she was radiant that day, like all brides. I leaned in to see if I could spot any tulle on her dress, now that I know what it is.
That’s when I noticed the frame was too big for the picture. Alice stood in a side view, smiling and extending her arms. But a jagged rip down the center of the picture cut off her hands at the wrists. Mama had made me stare at enough wedding photos in magazines that I recognized that side-angle shot. The right half of the photo was gone, the position that always belongs to the groom.
For the moment, I decided to just tuck the sight of that mutilated photo away in my mind. I returned to the kitchen just in time to hear the end of a question from Mama.
“… do about Ronnie’s business?”
I hoped she wasn’t asking Alice if she’d be up to feeding one-hundred-fifty guests by Saturday.
When Alice didn’t answer, Mama quickly said, “Of course, you don’t need to decide anything yet, honey.”
Alice stared into her coffee. “I never wanted Ronnie to start Pig-Out Barbecue and Catering. Just because you love to eat doesn’t mean you should open a restaurant, I told him.”
I slid into my chair. “Ronnie surely did love food,” I said. “I remember him at that prayer breakfast last summer. Before we discovered Mama was in trouble, he was eyeing that buffet like a beggar at a banquet.”
Alice’s dreamy smile resurfaced, which made me feel good. “Remember how big he got after he got hurt at the feed store?”
“ ‘Fatter than a fixed dog,’ I think is how Ronnie put it,” I said.
“And then he managed to take off all that extra weight,” Mama said. “Maybe Maddie should try whatever diet Ronnie went on.”
Alice shook her head. “Maddie wouldn’t want to do that. Ronnie’s weight dropped from sheer worry over that catering business. I tried to tell him we could get along fine with him collecting disability, but he wouldn’t listen. He thought all that new money moving into Himmarshee Links was going to make him a millionaire.”
“So that’s why he started the business?” I asked.
Lining up her spoon in the center of a napkin, she nodded. “And proceeded to pour nearly everything we had into it.”
“So Pig-Out wasn’t a success?” Mama asked.
Alice’s laugh was short, mirthless. “Hardly. Ronnie was at his wit’s end. Pig-Out was running through money like green grass through a goose.”
I thought back to what Carlos had said about Ronnie not being what he seemed. Could the failing business be what he meant? I knew Mama thought Ronnie was a success: She’d told me often enough she and Sal were paying a premium price for the best. And, according to Darryl’s stepson, C’ndee had also believed Ronnie to be a prosperous businessman.
Who else had been misled about Pig-Out? And how had they taken to being lied to?
_____
The crickets tuned up for their evening concert. The sun sank low on the horizon, painting the dusk with fingers of purple and rose. It had rained while we were inside at Alice’s, and the grass and the leaves on the oak trees glistened.
I took a deep breath of the fresh-scrubbed air. It felt good to be out of that house, with its dark rooms and reminders of death. It felt good to be alive. Why is it in the sympathy we feel when someone dies that there’s also a tiny voice inside that says “Thank God it’s not me?”
“Mace, you’re ringing!”
“What?”
Mama pointed to my purse. “And try not to be rude. You’re already on a losing streak.”
I fumbled, found the cell, and answered just as I imagined voice mail would be picking up.
“Yeah?” I said, unsure if there was even a caller there.
“Telephone manners!” Mama hissed.
“Is this Mace Bauer?” The voice on the phone was pure Ivy League.
“It is. Who’s calling …” And then, for Mama’s benefit I added “… please?”
“Anthony Ciancio.”
I’d thought as much, but I liked to hear him talk. He was the culture to his Aunt C’ndee’s clash.
“Tony!” Eyes on Mama, I put a big smile in my voice. “How nice to hear from you. Everything okay with the Ciancio clan?”
Mama lifted an eyebrow. I listened, and then repeated what he said to get her goat.
“So you think Mama and your aunt have gotten off on the wrong foot. They’re so alike, you say, that they’re really two peas in the same pod?”