I needn’t have worried. He covered his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. When he dropped his hand, he blinked a few times and looked up at me. Grief still clouded his eyes. But they were dry.

Just as I was feeling close enough to him to suggest we move on to dinner at the Speckled Perch, Martinez’s cell phone rang. He growled out his name, which apparently is also the Spanish word for “Why the hell are you bothering me?’’ I was relieved to see he didn’t reserve the snarling tone just for me.

He listened for a moment, then grinned. “Hola, amigo.’’ Even I understood that was the equivalent of Howdy, pal. “Give me just a second, will you?’’ he said to the caller.

He lifted his head to look at me. “Listen, I have to take this. Thanks a lot for the ice cream. I think I’m going to head on home, grab that much-needed shower.’’

I waved my hand at him, shooing him out of the booth. So much for dinner, and for … whatever.

“Go on, we’ll catch up later,’’ I said. “The fact that Emma Jean had another man was the biggest news I had. I’m going to work on finding out who it was.’’

He waggled a no-no finger at me, but started to scoot out of the booth anyway. “Okay, I’m back,’’ he said into the phone.

As he leaned across me to retrieve his pad and pencil off the table, I overheard a few words from the caller. Not enough to understand. But enough to tell the voice on the phone was familiar. It was a loud honk, unmistakable evidence of a boyhood spent in the Bronx.

I had to squeeze Pam’s VW past Sal Provenza’s big Cadillac in Mama’s driveway. So I wasn’t completely surprised when he opened the door at her house at seven thirty in the morning.

We all still had our doubts about Sal. But, for some reason, Mama had warmed up to him again. Obviously, since here he was. At least he was fully dressed, in a pale pink golf shirt and burgundy polyester slacks. They were short enough to show off his ankles, resplendent in beige-and-burgundy checked socks. A braided gold chain nestled in the furry pelt of his chest. A Pomeranian snuggled in the crook of Sal’s left elbow, shedding on his expandable-waist pants.

“Your mother’s in the bedroom, getting ready.’’

I cringed to hear the words “your mudder’’ and “bedroom’’ coming out of Sal’s mouth.

I know Mama had sex at least three times, since there are the three of us girls. But I didn’t want to think about it, and particularly not in the context of Big Sal.

“We’ve got something to tell you, Mace. But I’ll let Rosalee be the one to break the good news.’’ Sal was smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary. I’ve seen the man eat. He might have downed both the bird and the cat before he realized what he’d shoveled into his mouth.

“I made some coffee.’’

I softened a bit. Sal makes great coffee, adding a dash of cinnamon to the pot.

“I got out that mug with the blue flowers that you like. It’s on the kitchen counter.’’

He led the way into the kitchen, engulfing both of us in an aftershave fog. As he tromped across the floor, gingham knick-knacks trembled on their shelves. He filled my mug with coffee and handed it to me.

“I was just going to make myself some bacon and pancakes. Wanna join me?’’

My mouth watered as I looked at the butter softening on the kitchen table next to a bottle of maple syrup. But first things first.

“I was with Detective Martinez last night when you called him on his cell phone.’’ I added a spoonful of sugar and a splash of cream to my coffee. “What’s the story between you two?’’

“Why don’t you ask Martinez?’’

I noticed he didn’t try to deny that he’d called.

“Oh, yeah. Well he did mention that thing about before.’’ I was bluffing, trying to convince Sal I knew something—anything.

He measured pancake mix into a glass bowl. “Which thing?’’ he asked, watching the bowl and not me. “And what happened before?’’ He poured in some milk.

“You know,’’ I said lamely.

He replaced the milk carton in the refrigerator and shut the door. Turning around, he leaned against the sink, folded his arms and plopped them where his belly met his chest. “No, I don’t know, Mace. And, it’s obvious, neither do you.’’

I studied my coffee.

“I’ve told you before.’’ He patted his pompadour. Was it gel, or just naturally stiff? “Certain things I can’t say, no matter how much you might want me to.’’

“Want you to what, Sally?’’ Mama came into the kitchen, tying a silk scarf around her neck. It was the same shade of boysenberry as everything else, from her earrings to her heels.

“Don’t you think you’re a little over-dressed for the livestock auction, Mama?’’

I wanted to see what I could find out from Jeb Ennis’ ranching buddies at the weekly auction. I’d convinced Mama and Marty to join me. I didn’t even ask Maddie. As Martinez’s new best friend, she wouldn’t approve of me ignoring his warning about investigating.

Mama checked her reflection in the glass window of the microwave. “You can never be too well-dressed, Mace.’’ She aimed a pointed look at my own scuffed boots, frayed jeans, and T-shirt. “Besides, I have to go to work after our mission. The girls at Hair Today would fall off their chairs if I showed up in boots and jeans.’’

So, instead, she’d go to the livestock market looking like Queen Elizabeth on a royal visit. Go figure.

Mama lifted the head off a dog-in-a-gingham-baseball-cap cookie jar. Teensy started cutting circles around her legs, nails scrabbling on the tile floor. The dog jumped onto a chair, leaped into midair, and snatched the bone-shaped biscuit from her outstretched hand.

“Lookit Mama’s little baby! Just like in the circus,’’ she cooed. Still smiling at the dog, she lifted onto her tiptoes so Sal could stoop and give her a kiss. Better him than the dog, I guess.

“Your boyfriend and I were just discussing how he’s cooked up something secret with Detective Martinez.’’

“Oh, honey, Sally’s not my boyfriend.’’

Finally! Mama had come to her senses.

“He’s my fiancé,’’ she squealed, shoving her left hand under my nose. The sun coming through the gingham kitchen curtains glinted off the diamond weighing down her ring finger.

___

“Marty, help me out here. Mama can’t marry Sal. What do we really know about him?’’