Mama pushed the ice cream toward him.

“She’s not going to quit until you eat some,’’ I told him. I dipped my spoon into his bowl and took a bite. “See? Nothing but a frozen dairy treat.’’

He took it, mumbled a thank-you, and stood with his bowl over the stuffed dog.

“So it was just this toy and the note?’’ He carefully placed one of Mama’s Guideposts magazines on the hall table so he could set down the ice cream. I liked the fact that he was worried about leaving a ring on the polished wood.

He stooped down for a closer look. “Any idea who might’ve thrown it?”

All of a sudden, I felt cranky over everything he’d put us through by arresting Mama.

“Oh, gee, I don’t know,’’ I said. “Could it have been the real murderer? The one you didn’t catch while our mama was sitting in jail?’’

“Listen, Ms. Bauer.’’ His eyes darkened ominously. “I did what I felt was necessary with the situation and information I had at the time. I’m not going to apologize, or explain myself to you.’’

“Well, of course not. You’re arrogant. God forbid you should apologize.’’

“Mace, that’s enough. Please ignore my sister, Carlos.’’ Out from her bedroom fortress, Marty carried the quiet authority of someone who rarely spoke out. If she was moved to criticize, I knew I’d gone over the line.

“I’m sorry,” I said, chastened. “We appreciate you coming over here to check this out.’’

Martinez looked at me, raised eyebrows registering his surprise.

“We were all just so upset about Mama.’’ I tried to excuse my bad manners. “And now, this stuffed dog. We don’t know who tossed it. But I can tell you we have some suspicions about who might have killed Jim Albert.’’

He shifted, sitting cross-legged on the carpet to listen. I filled him in on Emma Jean’s threat in church. I told him about Jeb Ennis owing money to the murder victim. And I mentioned the mysterious Sal Provenza, again.

“That’s outrageous, Mace! Sally would never threaten Teensy. He loves him like his own.’’ Mama stroked the flesh-and-blood Pomeranian.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, the stabbed dog is a replica.’’ I crooked a thumb at Teensy.

The dog was splitting his attention between wary regard of the detective, an alpha-male threat in this female household, and pitiful begging for a bite of ice cream.

“I’d just die if anything bad happened.’’ Mama shoveled ice cream onto Teensy’s pink tongue. “Don’t worry,’’ she said, when she saw our disgusted looks. “He has his own spoon.’’

Martinez pulled a pair of gloves and a zip-top plastic bag from his pocket, slipped on the gloves, and picked up the stuffed dog. “I’m not sure how much we can get from this.’’ He dropped it with the note and brick into the bag.

“I hope I don’t need to tell you to keep your doors locked,’’ he said as he stood. “It may be a prank. But maybe it isn’t. And that’s a chance you don’t want to take.’’

Marty begged off, heading home with the beginnings of a migraine.

Mama managed to convince Martinez to sit for a spell at the kitchen table to finish his ice cream. I caught him checking out a family of porcelain mice in gingham bonnets cavorting across a display shelf. He dabbed with a gingham napkin at a tiny drop of ice cream on his white shirt. If that’d been my spill, vanilla on white cotton, it wouldn’t even merit action. When you go crawling around in the dirt after nuisance animals, you can’t be too fussy about stains.

“Mace, honey, why don’t you show Detective Martinez where the bathroom is, so he can get some soap and water on that spot?’’

Like a trained investigator would get lost traversing two rooms and a hallway to the toilet. Mama’s ploy was transparent. But I was too tired to point out he could find soap and water right there at the kitchen sink.

We pushed back our chairs, leaving Mama to place our bowls on the floor for Teensy to lap up the leftovers. Thank God her dishwasher water is good and hot.

Martinez stopped in the hallway on the way to the bathroom. Pictures of my sisters and me in various stages of development decorated the walls. I saw him grin as he looked at a circa-nineties shot of me in a starchy white dress, leaning against a tree. What had I been thinking with that ’do? I looked like Billy Ray Cyrus, with his mullet cut, in drag.

Martinez gently grasped my elbow, pulling me near. “Listen, I didn’t mean what I said before.’’ He lowered his voice so Mama wouldn’t overhear. “I do feel bad about putting your mother in jail. I wasn’t sure about the extent of her involvement. I’m new here. I’ve never had a whole family show up for what seemed like a party in the police lobby. And then no one would shut up. I could barely get in a word edgewise.’’

“We do tend to get a little rambunctious,’’ I allowed.

“It’s just that the police do things more formally in Miami.’’

I shook off his hand, crossed my arms, and leaned against the opposite wall. I wasn’t quite ready to forgive him. “Um-hum.’’

“You don’t give anything up, do you, Ms. Bauer?’’ His lips had formed into a half smile. “Maybe you should get a job as a detective.’’ He was standing so close, I could feel heat from his body. I caught the scent of cologne. Exotic, like sandalwood mixed with ginger. He smelled all male, and damn sexy. I took a step sideways along the wall.

“You’ve found out quite a bit in these last couple of days.’’ He stepped with me, staying close and keeping his voice low.

“It helps to know who to ask.’’ Mama always preaches modesty. She says there’s nothing worse than tooting your own horn.

“I’ll definitely follow up on your tip about that man with the cattle ranch. Jeb Ennis, right? And he lives in Woochola?’’

I had a guilty twinge about steering Martinez in Jeb’s direction. “Wauchula. We say, WAH-CHOO-LA.’’ I opened my mouth wide, like a speech therapist coaxing a stroke victim. “Mispronouncing these old Indian words will mark you as an outsider quicker than just about anything.’’

“I’ve had enough trouble with Himmarshee,’’ he said. “What’s it mean anyway?’’

“It’s supposed to mean new water, from an old Seminole legend about how Himmarshee Creek sprung up overnight. And don’t worry about your pronunciation. We’re probably all mangling the original Indian name anyhow. Just wait until you have to question somebody at Lake Istokpoga or Lake Weohyakapka.’’

“Thanks for the warning.’’ He bent in a little bow. “Gracias.’’