Mama nodded. “Been there, got the T-shirt. Kenny can get in line with all the other husbands guilty of that.’’
“I appreciate everything you’ve already done to find another suspect. I’m ready to pitch in, too.’’ Maddie pointed to the answering machine on the counter. “We can start right here, right now. Listen to this.’’
She pressed play.
Beep. How does it feel to be married to a killer?
Beep. No Mercy for Murderers!
“Not that nonsense,’’ she said. “This next one.’’
After the beep, there was a long pause. Then a muffled voice spoke: The police have the wrong person in jail. Your husband didn’t kill Camilla Law. I might know who did.
Mama started to interrupt. Maddie held up a single finger, like a teacher warning an over-eager kindergartner.
The message continued.
I’m afraid to come forward. If I speak out, I could be a victim next. Tell your sister to keep hunting for the real killer. The swingers’ club holds the key.
The message ended. “Did you punch in star-69 to see the number that called you?’’ I asked.
“Of course I did: ‘Unknown.’ It was probably one of those disposable cell phones like the criminals use on TV.’’
“It sounded like they were talking through a mouthful of cotton. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, could you?’’ Marty raised her eyebrows at us.
We all shook our heads.
“Play it again,’’ Mama said.
Maddie skipped ahead to the right call.
“Wait!’’ I said, listening closely. “That’s definitely the sound of music; maybe some glasses clinking in the background.’’
“Could be a bar,’’ Maddie said.
“Great,’’ Mama said. “There are almost as many bars in this county
as there are churches.’’
“Could you hear what song was playing?’’ Marty asked me.
I shook my head.
“You need to tell Carlos about this, Mace. The police will be able to figure out a lot more than we can from the phone message,’’ Mama said. “When are you going to see him next?’’
I took a sip of coffee. Blew on it, and then sipped again.
“Oh, no!’’ Mama grabbed my left hand and dragged it out from under the table, where I was hiding it in my lap. She waved the ring-free digit at my sisters. “I knew it!’’
I didn’t want my sorry romantic saga to distract us from helping Maddie. “We have not broken up, Mama. Things are just a little tense between us. It might be better if Sal tells Carlos about the phone call.’’
Mama dug in her heels, looked like she was ready to argue. “But—”
“—Enough!’’ Maddie slapped the table between us, startling Mama and me. “As fascinated as we are by Mace’s on-again-off-again engagement, my husband is being slandered as a murderer. Is it too much to ask that we focus on finding out who really killed Camilla, so we can clear Kenny’s name and bring him home?’’
Marty raised her coffee cup in a salute. “Hear, hear.’’
Maddie rested her hand on her belly for an instant. I doubted that Marty or Mama caught the protective gesture. They didn’t know her secret yet. She got out syrup and butter for the table; and served our pancakes from the griddle.
“By the way,’’ Maddie said, “the party is still on for tomorrow night. I’m going to hold my head high and call it ‘Free Kenny Wilson Night.’ Maybe we can force the real murderer to show his hand.’’
She doused her pancake with syrup, scooped up a mess of eggs, and passed the bowl to me.
As I helped myself, the pieces of a plan to unmask Camilla’s killer began to take shape.
forty-eight
“Have you spotted anybody yet? Tell me what you see, Mace.’’
“Thanks for the spit shower.’’ I dried the inside of my ear, and returned Mama’s whisper. “And, no, I haven’t spotted anybody. It’s the middle of the night, and cloudy. I can barely see.’’
“Are you sure this is the right spot for the swingers’ soiree?’’ She spritzed my ear with each shushed S.
“You can speak up. It’s clear we’re all alone.’’
We’d driven to a secret location at the country club, stashed her car behind the closed restaurant, and took cover in the shadows of the golf cart barn. Jason had called while I was at work to invite me to the gathering.
I’d groaned into the phone. “You start at three o’clock in the morning? Are your pals vampires as well as swingers?’’
“You asked me to let you know when the next party was. Well, this is it. I’m sure you’ll find it worth your while.’’
He’d revealed the closely guarded details: On arrival, guests were to knock four times, pause, and knock once more. The code word for the night was Dandelion. The group would meet in a large apartment kept for visiting golf pros, located beside the shed where electric carts were charged and stored.
“We have to make sure we’re not accidentally discovered. As you can imagine, these kind of parties call for absolute discretion.’’
“As discreet as you can be stark naked,’’ I said. “By the way, if I do come, I won’t be taking off my clothes. I’ll only be there as an observer.’’
He laughed. “That’s what they all say.’’
My Jeep was still being processed by the cops. It hadn’t taken much effort to persuade Mama to drive me to the golf course, especially after the message on Maddie’s machine implied the swingers were the key to everything. I wanted to find out more about them, especially the mayor. I had a hunch he was involved in Camilla’s murder. I needed to know how.
I stood now at the front of the cart shed, watching the entrance to the vacant parking lot. Mama was half-concealed behind a boxy silver machine that dispensed practice balls for the driving range. I had no intention of showing my hand—or anything else—until we’d staked out the situation.
Mama reminded me—again—of her ground rules for our reconnaissance mission: “I am not taking part in any of that funny business.’’
“And you think I am?’’ I said.
“I don’t know what you’re up to now that you’ve broken things off with Carlos. Maybe you’re in the market for a little excitement.’’
“First of all, I haven’t broken it off. I told you we’re taking a rest. And second, I’m not interested in that kind of excitement.’’
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Mace.’’
Once I finished sputtering, I planned to pursue that line of inquiry with Mama. Just then, though, I heard a car approach. I raised my hand to signal her to hush. “Head’s up. Here’s our first guest.’’
Stepping out from behind the ball dispenser, she craned her neck to peek around me.
A second car followed close behind the first. In the flash of its headlights, I saw the mayor’s shapely “aide” climb from the front seat of the first car. Another young woman, the one who’d been interviewing for a job in his office, got out of the back. When the driver exited, I was not surprised to see it was Angel. She caressed the cheek of the mayor’s aide, and gave the job-seeker’s bottom a friendly pat. The aide—Ruby? Diamond?—adjusted a halter top, hefting first one breast, and then the other. Her already considerable cleavage was now pumped up to its most flattering display. Licking her lips, Angel grazed her fingers across the aide’s chest.
“I knew there was something fishy about that barmaid!’’ Mama hissed.
The trio teetered toward the apartment in tight tops, micro-minis, and impossibly high heels. Angel unlocked the door and stepped in first. Light flooded out through the windows.
Five guys piled out of the second vehicle, a red SUV. The smell of men’s cologne and cigar smoke wafted our way as they made their way to the apartment. The SUV was familiar. I’d bet it was the same one that terrorized us and several other drivers along the stretch of highway near Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow. I also recognized the tallest man in the group as the developer with the gold watch who had visited Himmarshee Park with the mayor. I’d wondered that day about his smirking innuendoes about threesomes and foursomes. Now they made sense.