Had his prey made it safely into the cover of brush?
In another moment, I had my answer. The bird lifted, and soared overhead, a mouse writhing in its grasp. That was nature—prey or predator. At least the hawk only killed for food. I couldn’t say the same about man. Or woman, for that matter.
Heading for the woods, I started to think about the list of people who might have had reason to kill Ronnie. But no matter where else I looked, I kept returning to the Ciancios, and the family’s ruthlessness with business rivals. I remembered how Tony’s charm disappeared when he was on the phone, how those smooth edges sharpened before my eyes.
Prey or predator?
I entered the deep shade, under a thick canopy of oak and hickory and Southern maple. A cardinal flitted among the green, calling out a sharp Chip. Chip. I followed its progress to the ground, where it hopped about in search of berries or bugs. Looking down, I saw the nature path was getting bare in spots. I’d have to make a few calls when I returned to the office, see if I could find some free mulch to spread.
As I studied the patchy spots, I noticed something out of the ordinary at the edge of the path. It looked like fabric of some sort, maybe a discarded towel or a large rag. I got closer, and lifted it with my boot. First a sleeve, and then a pant leg dropped out of the bundle. It was a workman’s jumpsuit, colored beige. Stooping for a closer look, I turned the garment over and opened it to the front. Rusty, brownish stains stiffened the cloth. Dried blood covered the coveralls.
_____
“What did you do then, Mace?”
Marty’s eyes were wide. We’d met at Mama’s after work. For a change, I had everybody’s undivided attention.
“I dropped them where I found them, backed out the way I’d come, and called Carlos. When I left the park, the police were still combing the woods.”
“Do you think they found the knife?” Maddie’s ice cream had melted, forgotten in a bowl on Mama’s kitchen table. “Was there any identification with the clothes?”
“I didn’t hear anyone mention anything about a knife before I left. I didn’t see any ID. And the coveralls looked pretty standard. Could be they aren’t even connected to Ronnie’s murder.”
Mama sipped a cup of strong coffee, antidote to the sweet pink wine she’d overdone at her bachelorette party. “Why else would someone have left them where you’d find them? It must be a message, Mace. Isn’t that right, Sal?”
He nodded, mouth full of a fried baloney sandwich Mama had made him. They were cooing like courting doves again. Mama had managed to convince Sal he was sexier than any dancing cowboy. And Sal had shown her how much he cared by starting a brawl in a bar over her honor. He was beginning to fit in after all in Himmarshee.
“Who do you think left them?” Marty asked.
“The million-dollar question,” Maddie said.
“I saw the label before I dropped them. It said Work Tough. And they were a size Large, which doesn’t narrow it down much. Almost anybody could fit into a man’s large, except maybe Mama and Marty, and you, Sal.”
Mama got up for more coffee. “Anyone else want a cup?”
She held up the pot. Sal, starting in now on a slice of butterscotch pie with whipped cream, raised his hand. It had been a while since Sal wore any size without a couple of XXs.
“Think about it,” I said. “Darryl’s tall. So is Tony.”
Sal wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I don’t trust that guy. The only reason he hasn’t been arrested yet is that he’s smarter than his father. I wish C’ndee had never married into that family.”
“Speaking of C’ndee,” Maddie said, “there’s a woman with some meat on her bones. She’d wear a man’s large, for sure.”
“You girls have the wrong idea about C’ndee. You’ll see,” Sal said.
At that moment, an image of Ms. Sunglasses popped into my mind. She was also a big gal, and looked as strong as many men. But what was her connection to Ronnie, or to anyone else in Himmarshee? I wanted Sal to give me the scoop on Sunglasses, but I wasn’t about to bring her up in front of Mama.
For the time being, at least, she’d have to remain a mystery.
I said, “Don’t forget Trevor. He’s scrawny, but he’s an inch or two over six feet.” I brought them up-to-date on Linda-Ann’s revelation that he’d been MIA on Monday. “True believers can always find a way to justify violence.”
Marty tucked her hair behind her ears. “I don’t think it was him, Mace. Maybe he carries the animal rights issue too far, but to commit murder?”
Sal snorted. “Some of those nuts have bombed the homes of medical researchers who use animals. Murder’s only a step away.”
We were silent for a moment. Maddie lifted the spoon from her ice cream, and watched the soupy liquid dribble into the bowl. “How come nobody’s mentioned Alice?” she asked. “She’s certainly big enough, both for the coveralls, and to have gone up against her late husband.”
Marty said, “I was surprised by that flash of rage when she went after C’ndee at Mama’s shower.”
Mama added more sugar to her coffee. “I don’t buy it. The poor woman is simply under a lot of stress. I’ve known Ronnie and Alice for ten years. Well, just Alice now. She’s in the choir at Abundant Forgiveness.”
Sal dug at an errant piece of pie crust with a toothpick. “Even churchgoers and do-gooders go bad, Rosie. Alice wouldn’t be the first woman, or the last, to carve up a cheating husband with a knife.”
_____
The honeyed scent of Confederate jasmine wafted from a planter on my porch, a gift from Marty. So far, I hadn’t managed to kill it. Wila hadn’t knocked it out of its pot. And some rare bug that only eats jasmine in June hadn’t devoured it. I breathed deeply, enjoying the aroma and the delusion that I was a gardener.
The drive home from Mama’s had passed by rote, I’d been so preoccupied. Now, all I wanted was a beer and my bed. A cousin coming in for the wedding was supposed to bunk with me. But she was delayed, and I was relieved. I did not want to play hostess tonight.
Unlocking the front door, I stepped inside, grateful for the peace and quiet. It took only a moment to register the fact that the house was too quiet. Where was the cat? Where was that reproaching meow as she demanded to be fed?
“Wila?”
A second or two of silence followed my call. And then I heard the distinct sound of someone breathing.
I didn’t switch on the light. I knew my cottage better than anyone. The darkness might give me an advantage. I felt for Maw-Maw’s heavy cane, and then pulled it from the stand at the front door.
A match scratched and lit. The flame revealed the face of “Jane Smith,” cigarette in her mouth, sitting comfortably in my granddad’s old chair. Before she exhaled to blow out the match, I saw a teardrop tattoo high on her cheek, where her sunglasses normally sat.
“You won’t need a weapon, Mace.” The voice was flat and emotionless. No accent. “The two of us are just going to have a little talk.”
I tightened my grip on the cane. “How’d you get in here?”
She turned on a lamp on the table beside Paw-Paw’s chair; held up my key. “You had this hidden on top of the door jamb. Very original.”
I’d left it there for my absent cousin. Stupid.
I stared at the teardrop, trying to remember its significance. Something about prison. Oh, yeah. Convicts add a tattooed drop for each murder they’ve committed. My mouth went dry.
“What do you want?”
“Like I said …” she took a drag from her cigarette, blew the smoke my way, “… a little talk.”
The menace in her voice sent my heart charging into my throat, where it pinned my tongue to the mat. I stood rooted, trying to weigh my options. I could run, but I feared turning my back on her. I could make a move for Paw-Paw’s shotgun in the bedroom closet, but I’d have to get past her to do it. I could jump her, and hope that black motorcycle helmet at her feet wasn’t as lethal as it looked.