Mama Rides Shotgun (20 page)

Whispered murmurs followed me
through the crowd at the dinner site. I had the distinct feeling people were talking about me. Then again, Doc had been shot less than two hours earlier. A medevac helicopter swooped in like something out of a movie and plucked him, wounded and bleeding, from our midst. Who was I to think the conversation centered on me?

“Excuse me, Mace?’’ The big cowgirl put a hand on my arm to stop me. She glanced over her shoulder, seeking support from her friend with the tight curls. “People are starting to get nervous about being on this ride. We were wondering if you’d found out yet who shot Doc?’’

I looked at her like she was crazy. “I have no idea. The place is crawling with cops. Why don’t you ask one of them?’’

“Well, the deputies are busy.’’ She fiddled with a braid. “We heard about that note you got telling you Lawton Bramble was murdered. Everyone says you’ve solved a lot of murders.’’

I was about ready to
commit
a murder. This gossip was getting out of hand. I was certain that, somehow, Mama was behind it. I scanned the crowd, trying to spot her lemon-colored hat.

“I don’t know any more than the next person about what happened,’’ I told the cowgirl.

“So you don’t know who did it?’’

“Not a clue.’’

She turned to shake her head at her friend and who knows how many other people looking on from the crowd.

“Well, I think I know what happened,’’ she said, turning back to me.

Of course you do, I thought.

“I think that cook, Johnny, did it. He owed Lawton a lot of money, so he killed him. But then Doc Abel saw Johnny do it, and planned to blackmail him. He had to shoot Doc.’’

“That sounds like a really good theory,’’ I said. “You should share it with Detective Martinez. That’s Carlos Martinez, from Miami. He’s riding the big black thoroughbred.’’

Puffing out her chest, she strutted away. With any luck, she’d find Carlos and the sheriff together, and regale both of them with her take on events.

Seeing Maddie and Marty in the crowd, I crossed the dinner site to join them.

“Where’d you lose your new best friend, Austin?’’ Maddie asked.

“You don’t want to know,’’ I said. “What’s the deal with this big crowd of riders? Is Johnny getting dinner ready early?’’

“No, despite the fact that a few of us are starving,’’ Maddie grumbled. “Trail boss called a meeting.’’

“I’m sure Doc would feel awful if he knew that him getting shot meant you’d be forced to wait on dinner, Maddie,’’ Marty said.

“Sisters, sisters.’’ I took up Marty’s usual refrain. “You can fight later. You’ll never believe what I just saw over at the Brambles’ RV.’’

Just then, the crowd started jostling and shushing, making a path for Jack Hollister. He climbed onto the open gate of a pickup truck and cleared his throat a couple of times.

“I’ll bet he’s going to announce that the Brambles scheduled Lawton’s funeral services,’’ Maddie whispered.

“He’s probably going to say he’s had enough,’’ I said under my breath. “I’ve already seen a few folks packing up to leave. Jack’s about to hand the boss’s reins back to David Reed.’’

Marty clutched at my hand. “What if he says Doc Abel died?’’

When Jack said Doc was still hanging on, applause rippled through the crowd. A chorus arose of
thank Gods
. As he announced Lawton’s funeral, a week from Wednesday, people stirred. Then Jack said something that surprised some.

“We’ll be riding out in the morning.’’ He looked to his right, where Sheriff Roberts stood. The lawman nodded, toothpick bobbing. “We’ve got well over a hundred horses and almost two hundred people on a schedule here. All of downtown Fort Pierce is geared up for a big parade tomorrow. The food booths and craft shows and tents are already up at the city’s waterfront. Everything’s ready for the Cracker Trail celebration.’’

Jack glanced to his left. When he saw Carlos, hurling visual daggers, he quickly looked away.

“Now, many of you have said you want to finish. And this is the sheriff’s decision to make.’’ Jack paused for effect. “He says we can go ahead, so, that’s what we’re gonna do. In the meantime, I know him and his deputies will appreciate any information about the shooting. Anybody who plans on leaving the ride early . . .’’

Jack gazed out at the crowd. A mom with two young kids nodded forcefully while a girly looking guy tugged at his hat and stared at his boots.

“That’s fine. You’ll just have to check in with the sheriff before you go. They’ll be doing interviews all night long in my trailer. I’ll apologize in advance for any of you who might lose some sleep tonight. But these questions are important to help find out who shot Doc.’’

Sheriff Roberts gave Jack a curt nod.

“Okay, then. Johnny will have dinner ready in an hour or so. And . . .’’ Jack’s voice petered out. He rubbed his chin, like he was thinking of what to say next.

“How about a prayer for Doc?’’ someone yelled.

“Good idea,’’ Jack said. “Let’s all bow our heads and ask the good Lord to guide those doctors and nurses in doing what’s best for Doc.’’

As we lowered our heads and closed our eyes, I wondered how many others would add my own silent plea:
Let
us make it safely to the end of the trail in Fort Pierce
.

After Jack finished and climbed off the truck, I caught up with Carlos. A bad mood had settled on him like a fog.

“You don’t look happy,’’ I said.

“That Dundee County idiot is compromising his own investigation,’’ he hissed.

“Why don’t you say it a little louder?’’ I said. “I don’t think you’ve managed to piss off
all
of local law enforcement.’’

“Have you seen the crime scene, Mace? They didn’t even have the tape up until a half-hour ago.’’

I thought about the note, telling me I was on the right track. I didn’t suppose this was the time to remind Carlos that if anyone had listened to me about Lawton Bramble’s death being suspicious, that maybe we wouldn’t
have
a second crime scene.

“Well, they’re doing interviews. That’s a good sign, right?’’ I asked.

“Yeah, right,’’ he smirked. “I’m sure those bumbling Barney Fifes are crack interrogators.’’

Now I was starting to get irritated. I rose to the defense of my country cousins.

“You know, Mr. Miami Big Shot, just because they’re in a rural area doesn’t mean they’re idiots. I’m sure the Dundee County sheriff’s office solves plenty of crimes.’’

“Hah!’’ he said. “Cattle rustling? Or maybe crop stealing? We handled more serious crime in Miami before lunch than they do all year.’’

“I’m rolling my eyes, in case you want to know,’’ I said. “A high crime rate in your community is hardly something to brag about, Carlos. And I’d think
you
would know that better than anyone.’’

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished I could take them back. He looked like I’d slapped him.

“I can’t believe you’d bring that up, Mace.’’ Pain laced his voice. “I told you in confidence about what happened to my wife.’’

“I’m so sorry, Carlos.’’ I put a hand on his arm; he shook it off. “I didn’t even know what I was saying. You made me mad by implying that all of us north of Lake Okeechobee are dumb rednecks.’’

“Well, if the shit-kicker’s boot fits—’’

I bit back an insulting retort. No sense in making things worse. I’d already taken our tiff as low as I could by bringing up the tragedy that had sent Carlos packing for Himmarshee in the first place.

“Listen, I don’t want to fight with you,’’ I said.

He looked at me, his eyes full of hurt and anger.

“Yet that’s all we seem to do whenever we see each other.’’ He took a deep breath. “So, what that says to me is maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore.’’

I felt like he’d punched me. Tears gathered behind my eyes. I blinked and swallowed and willed them not to fall.

“Fine,’’ I finally said, grateful when my voice didn’t crack. “If that’s what you want.’’

“I think it is.’’

Carlos reached over and gently brushed a bit of hair from my eyes. I could see him all too clearly as he turned and walked away.

My heart was in
my stomach, and my stomach was in my throat. I felt like I’d come down with the flu, and then got hit by a train. I’d thought I was over Carlos before he showed up on the Cracker Trail; but it turned out he could still put a lot of hurtin’ on me.

I wandered over to the bright lights of the dinner site, thinking maybe there would be a soda or some hot tea to help settle my stomach. The first person I saw there was Trey. He’d stuck a nearly empty beer bottle in the back pocket of his jeans. Now, he was helping himself to the coffee Johnny had put out before dinner.

Watching him, I felt a blush creeping up my face. I wished I hadn’t seen what I saw between him and Wynonna at the RV. But as long as I had, I wanted to know: What the heck was up with that?

Trey swayed a little as he reached for the sugar. I could smell the booze on him. Drowning his guilt, no doubt.

“Hey, Trey.’’ I came up next to him. “How you doin’?’’

His eyes were bloodshot. His clothes were rumpled. He needed a shave. Trey looked like thirty miles of bad road.

“Mace,’’ he said, barely moving his lips.

“Looks like you can use that coffee.’’

He nodded, and winced from the motion.

“I’m sorry to see you drinking again.’’

“Me, too.’’

“You want to have a seat and talk about it?’’

“Not really.’’

“Well, I do. And this isn’t the kind of conversation you’re going to want overheard.’’

I led him to an out-of-the-way, dimly lit spot. He carefully placed his coffee cup on the grass. Reaching around, he extracted the beer bottle from his back pocket and dropped it on the ground. We sat, propping our backs against a big rock.

When we were settled, I said, “Austin and I happened to be on our way a little earlier tonight to see Wynonna. We saw her, Trey. With you.’’

I had to admire his control. Even half-drunk, his only reaction was a twitch in his jaw.

“So? We’re burying Daddy next week. Wynonna and I have a lot of details to discuss.’’

“You weren’t discussing much. You were on the steps to the RV, and you had your hands all over each other. Then she tugged you inside by your belt and shut the door. Was that when y’all started talking about your daddy’s funeral?’’

He flinched.

“I gotta say, it doesn’t look good, Trey. I have to tell the sheriff what I saw.’’

His mouth got hard. “What business is it of his? Or of yours? My troubles with Wynonna don’t have nuthin’ to do with Doc getting shot.’’

“That could be true. But the two of you carrying on could have an awful lot to do with Lawton’s death. And if it turns out your daddy was murdered, and Doc was shot because he knew it, then that is very much the sheriff’s business.’’

Trey looked at me blearily. “Didn’t your detective friend find out there was nothing in that chili cup that could have killed Daddy?’’

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t murdered.’’ I started to tell him about the note in my Jeep, but, for some reason, I changed my mind. “There are still questions about his death,’’ I said, “especially given everything that’s happened since.’’

Trey dropped his head into his hands. He sat that way, rubbing at his temples, for what seemed like a long time. Finally, he looked up. Every emotion he was feeling showed in his eyes: Grief. Confusion. Guilt. I almost felt sorry for him, until I got a mental memory of his hands exploring Wynonna’s breasts.

“Mace, I swear to you, I swear on my sister’s life, I didn’t kill Daddy. I loved that man. Which is all the more reason why I hated . . . hate . . . Wynonna. She’s been coming on to me for months, and she’s just relentless. Whenever we were alone, she’d be touching me, rubbing on me, throwing herself at me.’’

He took a swallow of his coffee. He didn’t touch the beer.

“But I
never
did a thing with her while Daddy was alive,’’ he continued. “Tonight was the first time I gave in. I’d been drinking, and I’m weak, Mace. Daddy always said it, and it’s true. I’m weak. I thought it would make me feel better, just to hold someone in my arms. Just to have someone hold me. But that somebody was Wynonna, so it only made me feel worse.’’

He touched a thumb to the corner of his eye. It came away wet.

“When I rolled off her tonight, all I felt was shame.’’

Now, unfortunately, I had another mental image to add to his hands groping her.

“What do you plan to do now, Trey?’’

“She’s the devil, Mace. I’ve gotta stay away from her. I thought maybe you could help me do that. I like you. A lot. I thought there was something between us, but I can see you’re hung up on that Miamuh hotshot.’’

Not any more, I thought.

“It will just kill Belle when she finds out what I did with Wynonna. Can you wait to tell the sheriff until after I’ve told my sister? You know how word travels.’’

I contemplated that. I guess I owed him that much. And, knowing how fragile Belle was, I thought it would be best if she heard bad news from her brother instead of from some gossipy Cracker Trail camper.

“Yeah,’’ I finally answered. “I’ll do that. But you better make it fast, Trey.’’

“I will, I promise. But I sure don’t look forward to it. Belle’s gonna be so disappointed in me. And she’ll hate Wynonna, of course, even more than she does now. Wynonna was too smart to ever let Belle catch her chasing me. If she had, Belle surely would have told Daddy.’’

He sipped his coffee, probably cold by now.

“That’s how close the two of them were. Much closer than Daddy and me. And I didn’t mind, because I love my sister. She worshipped our daddy, and Belle was his favorite. It didn’t matter that she was adopted.’’

My surprise must have registered on my face because Trey stopped to look at me.

“Yeah, not too many people know that,’’ he said. “She was just an itty bitty baby when they brought her home. I was only three, a little past being a baby myself. All I remember is my parents walking in the door with this tiny, living doll. They’d wrapped her in a pink blanket, with bunnies.’’

“Did Belle grow up knowing?’’

“Not until she was ten years old. I didn’t know either, really. Daddy sat us both down on her tenth birthday. He gave us a speech, about how he and Mama loved Belle so much that they chose to have her join our family. He didn’t say much about where she came from or how they got her.’’

“Weren’t you curious?’’

“Belle was, but I wasn’t. As far as I was concerned, she
was
my sister. She’d been part of the family, part of me, for as long as I could remember. She was just Belle.’’ He stopped talking, his eyes grew distant.

“What?’’

“I was just thinking about her as a little girl. After she found out she was adopted, she had a lot of questions about where she came from. But you learned with Daddy, there were certain things he didn’t talk about. When Belle was younger, she tried prying out the details. As she got older, she finally accepted it and quit asking.’’

We were quiet for a few moments. A generator hummed at the cook site. A bobcat screeched in the distant woods. I thought of my feelings for my sisters, and of Mama’s overwhelming—sometimes overbearing—love for all of us.

“Did Belle feel loved?’’ I asked.

“Hell, yes,’’ Trey said. “Daddy always said he couldn’t have loved her more if she was his flesh and blood. They paid all kinds of money for her to go to fancy boarding schools. Like I told you, she was his favorite. Belle could do no wrong.’’

I heard a trace of jealousy in Trey’s voice. He’d probably deny it up and down. But it’s funny how those patterns set in childhood run through the rest of your life. I wondered if Belle saw their childhood the same way he did.

I watched him in the light spilling over from the cook site. He was lost in thought. Or maybe he was still a little drunk. I guess I’m a sucker for anything wounded or hurting. I’d worried about Lawton’s poor dog, Tuck. And now I felt sorry for Trey. Drunk. Hating himself for Wynonna. Failing to live up to Lawton’s name.

I laid my hand between his shoulders, and gave his back a reassuring rub. I figured he could use a friend. I saw him as he was. And I wanted nothing to do with that, beyond offering simple human comfort. I swear that was the only thought in my mind.

But just before I could say, “Don’t worry, Trey, everything will turn out,’’ he turned and kissed me full on the lips. First I was surprised. Then I was turned off by the sour-beer smell of his breath. I’d just started to pull away when I heard a shriek of rage.

Austin was on us before we could react. She grabbed the bottle Trey had dropped, and smashed it against the rock where we leaned. Shards of glass spattered the ground like tiny hailstones.

“You bastard,’’ she hissed at Trey, her mouth twisted with rage. “I hate you!’’

Then she turned the jagged neck on me. Her first pass came so close to my cheek I smelled the warm beer on the broken bottle.

And, suddenly, I knew how Trey had gotten the nasty gash we saw on his face that first night at the Bramble ranch house.