Jason.
“The cops are right behind me,’’ I said. “You won’t get away. Don’t make it any worse by hurting someone else.’’
He reached with his left hand to pull the lever. I wound up and swung again. The club slammed his wrist with a sickening thud. Jason squealed like a pig caught under a gate. Keeping one eye on him, I pounded the side of the truck. “Can you hear me, Mama? Give me a sign you’re okay.’’
Only silence came from inside. That bastard Jason managed to smirk at me, even through his pain. I aimed the club straight at his head. “Don’t think I won’t knock you into a coma,’’ I said. “Now, get down on the ground and stay down.’’
With Jason seated on the roadway, and my club within reach, I pulled off the tarp. The hopper brimmed with loose garbage and lumpy plastic bags. I poked my hand in, searching for anything that felt human.
A muffled mmmppfff, mmmppfff issued from the trashy depths. I dug frantically, tossing out trash bags as I went. My hand encountered the familiar shape of a kitten-heeled sandal. Empty. Somewhere in there was its matching persimmon mate, hopefully attached to the intact foot of my unharmed mama.
Casting out pizza boxes, clumped kitty litter, and the spoiled, slimy remains of what seemed like an entire salad bar, I unearthed a rolled-up carpet. A hank of platinum hair stuck out of the top. Panting with effort, I hauled it out. I was thankful for Mama’s petite build and my years of lifting hay bales and feed bags. As gently as I could, I lowered the rug to the ground and unrolled it.
“Mmmppfff! Mmmppfff!”
Duct tape covered her mouth, and bound her hands behind her back. Crushed taco shells and wet clumps of something unnaturally orange clung to her hair. A crab claw hung over one ear.
“This will hurt,’’ I warned, as I ripped the tape from her face.
She gulped in a couple of deep breaths and then shouted, “It was Prudence! She and Jason were in on it together. She’s the one who blew up your propane tank!’’
So it was the evil twin. I knew it.
fifty-two
I poked Jason in the leg with the golf club. When he wouldn’t look at me, I poked him harder. “Where’s your girlfriend, Miss Fragile English Rose, now?’’
He shrugged.
“Guess this means you’re not going steady with Beatrice Graf.”
His face was hard, absent of all traces of the flirtatious, good-time guy. “I want a lawyer.’’
With my pocketknife, I sliced the duct tape from Mama’s wrists and ankles. We found the rest of the roll in the garbage truck. I taped Jason’s feet together to make sure he wouldn’t run. His club-pummeled hands were blowing up like balloons, so I didn’t bother taping them.
I detected sirens, wailing faintly in the distance. Thank God, Sal had gotten the message. The cavalry was on its way. Jason heard the sirens, too. He leaned back against the truck’s tire and dropped his head to his knees.
I turned my attention to Mama. “How’d you end up in the truck?’’
“Right after the explosion, I was still under my car. I saw Prudence come running, carrying a rifle in one hand and a bright red flare gun in the other. About the same time, this big ol’ garbage truck rumbled into your yard. She crouched over you, real calm, and checked you out. Then she shouted to the truck, ‘She’s alive.’ My own heart started beating again once I heard those words.’’
Mama’s gaze focused on the rug on the ground. She waited a beat, and then continued.
“I heard Jason’s voice call out, ‘What about the old lady? Where is she?’ Prudence looked surprised. She probably thought you’d dropped me off and were coming home alone.’’
“‘Old lady?’’’ I repeated. “I should have let you hit Jason with the golf club, Mama.’’
She gave me a weak smile. “It didn’t take long for them to find me under my car. In that haughty tone, she told Jason to ‘take care of the witness.’ That was me, Mace!’’
Breathing through my mouth, I pulled her close for a hug. I plucked the crab shell from behind her ear, and finger combed a chunk of what looked like rotten pork from her hair.
“When he rolled me up and tossed me in that truck, I saw my whole life flash by. Buried in trash was not the way I’d planned to meet my maker.’’
“It was your mother’s fault for being there, you know.’’
I glared at the newly verbal Jason.
“We only planned on scaring you by making the propane tank go boom. It was supposed to be a warning to keep away from the murder investigation, just like the note on your sister’s door. But I noticed there were two of you in the car when you passed my truck on the highway. We couldn’t leave your mother behind to tell the cops.’’
The sirens sounded closer.
“It won’t be long before Mama and I both get to do that,’’ I said. “I’ve got it all figured out. You and Prudence conspired together to get rid of her sister. She probably had some kind of serious grudge against Camilla, who was better than her at everything. Plus, Prudence stood to inherit. You like women with money, so the two of you were a match made in heaven.’’
“What about the garbage truck?’’ Mama asked.
“Jason had Beatrice Graf wrapped around his finger,’’ I said. “He must have convinced her to pull some strings and let him use the truck.’’ I could hear the certainty in my own voice.
He smirked at me again. “You think you’re so smart, but you don’t know shit.’’
“Language, son,’’ said Mama, ever the Sunday school teacher.
Tires screeched on the highway. Sirens screamed. The first of several cop cars sailed onto the turnoff to the dump. Carlos’s car was the second one in line. Prudence sat in the back seat, her face impassive. Sal’s gold Cadillac brought up the rear of the police parade.
I pointed with the golf club at Prudence. “Looks like your girlfriend didn’t get far. She was probably trying to run when Carlos caught her. He’s good at getting people to confess. By now, she’s probably given you up, too.’’
Jason’s mouth was set in a grim line. Where were his adorable dimples now?
fifty-three
Carlos slammed on his brakes. Prudence stared out the opposite window, as if bored by the scene in front of her. She seemed to be dressed for a morning hunting pheasants on the English moors, sporting a ladies’ tweed shooting vest over a crisp white blouse.
With a glance at his suspect in the back, Carlos got out and strode toward Mama and me.
“Are you two okay?’’
Worry clouded his eyes. The touch of his hand, stroking my face, was warm. But his voice was colder than I thought it would be. Had Sal delivered the last part of my phone message?
When I didn’t answer immediately, Mama jumped in: “We’re fine. Though I think you should check Mace for injuries, slowly and thoroughly.’’
I felt my face flush. Was Mama really trying to promote some hanky-panky with her would-be murderer waiting to be arrested? I was encouraged, though, to see the hint of a smile cracking through the granite of my ex-fiancé’s jaw.
“I’m okay.’’ I gestured toward Jason, who ducked when he saw me point the club. “He might need some medical attention, though.
I whacked at both his hands to stop him from compacting Mama into a trash cube.’’
Sal had arrived. He hugged Mama tight, and then bent to look at Jason. “That left wrist might be broken. Remind me not to stand too close when you’re swinging your way out of a sand trap, Mace.’’
I must have looked at him blankly, because Mama translated: “This club’s called a sand wedge, honey.’’ She touched the broad head. “You use it to try to get the ball out of a sand trap, a shot that has become unfortunately familiar to me.’’
I’d had enough golf for one day. I jerked a thumb at Carlos’s back seat. “Did the evil twin confess?’’