“Didn’t you tell me Ruby was a dancehall gal?’’ Mama’s question came out in a squeak.
“A euphemism,’’ Paul said. “That’s what Ruby tells her mother in letters home to Georgia.’’
A parade of emotions marched across Mama’s face: Disgust. Ambition. Indecision.
“I don’t suppose she can get saved, can she, Paul? Have her come to our lord Jesus?”
He shook his head, ponytail bouncing against his back. “No time. There’s just the one scene, Rosalee. But it’s an important one.’’
Mama chewed at her lip.
“It’s crucial, in fact.’’
She tapped her cheek, considering. “Well … if it’s crucial. Essential to the story?’’
“Absolutely.’’
Mama squared her shoulders and smoothed her hair. I knew she’d made up her mind.
“Now, what does my costume look like?” she asked. “I have some ideas for the kind of dress Ruby might wear.’’
As the two of them put their heads together, Paul took Mama’s arm and walked her through the empty set. In one dim corner a player piano sat on wheels. Barbara Sydney stood to one side of the piano. Her eyes shot daggers at the departing director and his newly minted actress.
_____
A sharp elbow jabbed me in my left side. From the right, a hand darted across the table to pinch me on my hand.
“I see him,’’ I hissed at my sisters from behind the rim of a coffee cup. “There’s no need to leave me battered and bruised.’’
I watched Carlos from the lunch table where I sat with my sisters. He stood at the entryway to the catering tent, checking out the hungry crowd inside. The downpour had momentarily quit; he carried his raincoat over his arm.
“I’ll bet he’s looking for you, Mace,’’ Marty said.
“Doubt it.’’ Maddie shook her head. “He’s not carrying the weapon he’d need to beat some sense into her.’’
“Oh, that’s nice, poking fun at domestic abuse,’’ I said.
“I’m simply using exaggeration for effect. Though if someone would hand me a switch off a tree, I’d give you a few cracks across the rear myself. When are you going to grow up, Mace?”
“Maddie’s right.’’
“About beating me with a switch? I never thought you’d condone violence, Marty.’’
“Stop joking around,’’ Marty said. “It wouldn’t kill you to go offer to get him a cup of coffee or a soda.’’
“What is this, 1950? I shouldn’t have to stroke his fragile male ego all the time. I love the man. He knows that.’’
Maddie folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, does he now? Have you told him?’’
I avoided her stern look. “Not exactly.’’
“What’s that mean?’’
“Yeah,’’ Marty ganged up on me, too. “Explain.’’
“Well, one time Carlos said, ‘I love you,’ and I said, ‘Right back at ya.’”
Maddie choked, sputtering out the soda she’d just sipped. Marty, across the table, shook her head. “Get up and go over there, you simple fool.’’
When Maddie, beside me, added a hard poke in the rib to Marty’s scolding, I knew I better take their advice.
Carlos looked relieved when he spotted me weaving through a maze of tables toward him. That was a good sign. But then his expression turned guarded, which wasn’t as encouraging. By the time I reached him, he was wearing his closed-off, detective’s face. I plowed ahead anyway.
“Hey sailor, can a girl buy you a drink?’’
I saw the tiniest crack in that granite jaw. Could it be the embryo of a smile?
“I’m on duty, ma’am. But I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.’’
“Coming right up,’’ I said. “Sorry they’re not serving café Cubano.’’
“Anything with caffeine will do.’’ He reached out a hand to my chin, then gently turned my face this way and that. “You don’t look too bad.’’
“Flatterer.’’
“No, seriously. I’ve been worried. How are you, Mace?’’
I didn’t want to mention how my body ached where Jeb had sacked me.
“I’m fine. Did you find out how that light blew up?’’
“Nobody knows anything,’’ he shrugged. “The lighting guy says it happens sometimes. He says there’s always somebody watching the equipment. He doesn’t believe it was tampered with.’’
I told Carlos how Barbara had tried to cast suspicion about sabotage onto Tilton, and how he then did the same concerning her possible dark motives. Carlos slid his little book from his top pocket and made a couple of quick notes. When he put it away again, an awkward moment passed in silence.
“Listen …” I began.
“Mace, I …” Carlos said at the same time.
He motioned for me to speak first.
“I just wanted to tell you there really is nothing between Jeb Ennis and me. That was high school, Carlos—a long time ago.’’
He put up a hand to stop me. “I wanted to apologize for acting like such an idiot. I went a little crazy when I saw you lying there on the ground.’’
The worried look on his face gave me a warm feeling. I offered him my hand to shake. “Friends again?’’
He took it, pulled me close, and brushed my hair with his lips. “Much more than friends, niña.’’
His breath was hot against my ear. An electric charge spread from my ear past my heart and all the way down south.
“Much more than friends,’’ I agreed.
I got a coffee for Carlos while he picked out his lunch. As we returned to where my sisters sat, each of them signaled me silently, hiding their thumbs-up below the tabletop. No doubt, they’d done a play-by-play of Carlos and me making up. I was sure to get the highlights later, complete with their game analysis. We sat, Carlos draping his raincoat over the back of a chair.
“Any leads on the murder?’’ Maddie asked, just as he took his first bite of eggplant parmigiana.
“Let the poor man eat in peace,’’ Marty said.
He swallowed. “You know I can’t talk about the investigation, Maddie. We’re still collecting and analyzing evidence.’’
“How are you keeping the press at bay?’’ Marty asked. “I thought the paparazzi would be swarming the set like ants at a picnic by now.’’
“Well, this ranch is private property, and the production company is paying dearly for the right to use it. They’ve beefed up security to keep out looky-loos and the media. Those security guys aren’t afraid to rough somebody up to get their point across.’’
As he ate, my sisters fired questions that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—answer. From who had the best motive for murdering Norman, to whether the light could have been sabotaged, he offered a series of shrugs, head shakes, and can’t-says. Finally, he pushed back his empty plate.
“I hear that dessert table calling my name.’’
“Bring me a little serving of that eggplant, would you, Carlos?’’ Maddie called after him.
Marty and I exchanged a look.
“What?’’
“Didn’t you already have the barbecued ribs?’’ I asked Maddie.
“So?’’
Carlos had barely left the table when I felt Marty pinch my hand again. “Uh-oh.’’ She nodded toward the entrance.
The rain had started again. Jeb Ennis shook the wet off his cowboy hat, brushed it against his thigh, and peered around the dimly lit tent. As soon as he spotted me, he waved and hurried over.
“The seat’s taken,’’ Maddie said to him.
“I won’t stay long.’’ He sat beside me, in the seat Carlos had just vacated. “I just came by to check on you, Mace.’’
I glanced over my shoulder. Carlos had his back to us, caught up in a bottleneck at the serving line for lunch. He was probably waiting to get Maddie’s second helping. For once, I was grateful for her hearty appetite.
“I’m-just-great-Jeb-thanks-again.’’ The words tumbled out of my mouth, as if they too wanted to speed him on his way. “Didn’t you say you needed to get back to the ranch? Lots-to-do-back-home-right?’’
“Yeah, but I’m dying for a cup of coffee.’’ He looked around the tent again. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Kelly Conover eating lunch, have you?’’