“I stopped at Gladys’ today for a take-out coffee. Charlene told me while I was standing at the counter, putting sugar in my cup. Her nephew’s girlfriend’s mama works as a police dispatcher. She said Kenny was probably guilty.’’
D’Vora went back to playing with her purse, while I unraveled the genesis of a ruined reputation. The mother told her daughter, who told her boyfriend, who told his Aunt Charlene, the waitress at Gladys.’ She told D’Vora, and who knows how many other customers. D’Vora buzzed back to Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow, town beehive for gossip. With its usual efficiency, the Himmarshee Hotline went on to convict Kenny hours before he even showed up at the police station.
It didn’t matter that he was appearing voluntarily. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been charged. The killing of Camilla Law had shaken the community. The community wanted justice—preferably instant justice.
I scanned the crowd of looky-loos, perhaps a few dozen people. I was surprised there weren’t more.
A TV news crew from Orlando had made the trip, drawn south by the scent of sex and violence wrapped up in one scantily clad murder victim. A couple of teenaged girls with blown-out hair and freshly glossed lips waved at the camera. The reporter was interviewing Junior Odom, a hulking man-child in bib overalls and a bare chest. Junior normally spent his days sitting on an overturned milk crate behind the supermarket, playing with a ball of string. Everyone knew he wasn’t right in the head. Why did TV people always gravitate to the one person who was sure to make the town look bad?
I asked D’Vora the question right out: “Do you think Kenny did it?’’
Snap.Unsnap.Snap.Unsnap.Snap …
“Look at me!’’ I grabbed her hand. “Do you think he murdered that woman?’’
She pulled away, rubbed at her thumb. “I know what I saw with my own two eyes: The two of them bumpin’ boots in Kenny’s truck. And I know about men.’’ Her tone was defiant. “Maybe they were having sex, and things got out of hand. Maybe somebody threatened to tell Maddie, and Kenny got scared. How much do we really know about him anyway?’’
I stared at her, incredulous. “He’s lived here his whole life, D’Vora. I bet he sold insurance policies to your parents and their parents.’’
She crossed her arms over her chest. “He wasn’t born here.’’
“You’re right. He moved here in the third grade, from one county over.’’
I could see she’d made up her mind. That worried me. If D’Vora, with her ties to Mama and the rest of my family, was ready to see Kenny fry for murder, then public opinion was definitely building against him.
“Just keep an open mind, that’s all I’m asking. There are things going on in this town that you would not believe. Shady things. Suspect people. Kenny got himself caught up in some dangerous games; but I am certain someone else killed Camilla.’’
She raised a skeptical brow. “You’re certain?’’
Until that moment, I hadn’t said it out loud. But yes, I was certain. I’d seen Kenny cradle his newborn daughter, tears of joy in his eyes. I’d watched him care for Maddie through miscarriages; through a cancer scare; through the years of them growing older and comfortable—maybe complacent? Always, I’d seen nothing from him but love for his family and kindness toward others. He may have set out to have a middle-aged fling. Many men do. But murder? No way.
I nodded. “I’m certain.’’
She shrugged. “Well, I guess we’ll see if your detective beau agrees with you.’’
On that troubling thought, I went off to find Marty, Mama, and Sal. After my morning phone call with Henry, I’d provided all of them a condensed version of last night’s events. I’d told them about the note and sex collar, the shooting, and my collision with the gate. All I left out was my blowup with Carlos. I couldn’t even begin to explain that.
The three of them had commandeered a picnic table in the shade, where some of the police department’s civilian staff liked to eat lunch. I hoped someone discovered something that would link anyone else but Kenny to Camilla’s murder. I joined them, planting my flag on our pro-Kenny island amid an ocean of anti-Kenny forces.
At the TV crew’s urging, Junior displayed his sign, complete with misspellings, for the camera: A Eye for A Eye. Venjance for Camela.
“I’m amazed he got the word ‘eye’ right,’’ Sal said.
Mama tsked. “It’s a good thing Maddie’s not here to see all this.’’ She pointed with her chin to the glamour-girl teens. “Those two are locals. You know they must have had Maddie for their principal in middle school.’’
“Maybe that’s why they’re standing with the anti-Kenny people.’’ I winced as Marty pinched my arm.
“I simply cannot believe D’Vora. That traitor!’’ Mama harrumphed. “Look at her over there, gossiping with the stringy-haired blonde with the sign.’’
Heads together, the two women whispered. Whatever D’Vora revealed made the blonde rear back. Her penciled-on eyebrows arched up like arrows.
“The mood out here is pretty ugly,’’ Marty said. “Whatever happened to the concept of ‘innocent until proven guilty’?’’
“Speaking of,’’ I said, “did y’all find out anything useful today? Anything that will help prove somebody else is guilty?’’
Mama spoke first. “Those sex swingers are trying to get some new members. Some gal I know from bingo came to the salon today. Told us we should start offering Brazilian waxes to take care of …” Mama cupped her hand to her mouth; lowered her voice to a whisper “… hair down there.’’
When Marty looked at her blankly, Mama made a ripping motion over her groin. “Apparently, being bald downstairs makes things sexier when they have an orgy.’’
“Rosie!’’ said Sal, shocked.
“I’m just telling you what she said. Anyway, she’s trying to recruit some new members. She invited me to come sometime.’’
Sal choked, barely able to get the words out. “Absolutely not!’’
Mama narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t need you to tell me no, Sally. I’m a Bible-believing, churchgoing woman. I don’t even have to ask myself What Would Jesus Do? I can pretty much guarantee you He would not sign up for a swingers’ party.’’
“I’ve got some information, too, though mine isn’t Triple X-rated like Rosie’s.’’ Sal aimed a pointed look at her.
She smoothed at her hair. “Not TripleX, Sally. One X, at the most.’’
When had Mama become such an expert on the relative shadings of X-ratings?
“Whaddever. I think it’s relevant. We all know something has been going on out at that golf course. Kenny’s been involved. Camilla was, too.’’ Sal pulled a cigar from his pocket. “Angel and I had an interesting conversation about the club pro today.’’
“Angel?’’ Mama’s mouth was tight with disapproval. “Talk about X-rated.’’
Sal, wisely, ignored her. “She said not to buy Jason’s dumb, good-guy act. He knows a lot more than he pretends to. He pulls a lot of strings out there, Angel said, in cahoots with the mayor’s wife.’’
“Humph! I’m not sure I trust that barmaid. She’s definitely no angel.’’ Mama folded her arms over her chest. “By the way, I hope you’re not intending to light that stink-bomb cigar out here. It’s sure to give Marty a migraine.’’
“I’m fine, Mama. Really.’’ Marty offered Sal an apologetic smile.
He gave the cigar a last, loving stroke before he slid it back into his shirt pocket. “Angel is just a hardworking gal, trying to make an honest living.’’
I wasn’t sure about Sal’s assessment of Angel’s upstanding character. But I could see a storm brewing on Mama’s face. I wasn’t about to let us get sidetracked by one of her jealous snits. I changed the subject.
“Marty, what’d you find out at the library?’’
“Something interesting: Prudence is applying for Camilla’s old job.’’
“And the body’s not even cold? That’s kind of weird,’’ I said.
“I thought she’d be going back to Atlanta,’’ Sal said.