Jake, who’d probably passed that landmark fifteen years before, smiled so broadly we got a peek of his spit-softened chaw.

“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?’’ I said.

“Depends.’’

He put his hat back on and spit. A brown stream hit the ground, sending up a puff of dust. Mama took a careful step sideways in her boysenberry heels.

“Do them questions have anything to do with unpaid taxes or immoral women?’’

Marty blushed.

“No,’’ I said, laughing. “Nothing like that. You remember hearing about the owner of the Booze ‘n’ Breeze, the man who was murdered?’’

Jake knew all about it, even down to the fact that the body was discovered in the trunk of “some lady’s convertible.’’ We didn’t mention the “purty’’ gal in front of him was that same notorious lady. He also knew about Albert’s loans to strapped ranchers.

“Yep.’’ A stream just missed my boot. “Some of these boys ’round here bit off more than they can chew. Ranching’s a tough bidness. Only the strong survive.’’

“Who was borrowing?’’ I asked.

Jake opened his lips just enough to spit. Not a word escaped.

“Clarke Simmons?’’ I named one of Florida’s best-known cattle men. Jake’s thin shoulders shook with laughter. When he started wheezing, Marty patted his back until he quit.

“Simmons has got more gold than Midas,’’ he said with a final cough. “That fellow from the drive-thru could have borrowed money from him.’’

“Jeb Ennis and I go way back,’’ I said. “I know he’s been having some cash-flow problems.’’

Jake narrowed his eyes at me. “Yep.’’

“It’s a shame. Jeb sure did work hard to build that ranch,’’ I said.

“Now, that might be true. But Jeb’d do better to keep his mind on his bidness. You can’t serve two masters.’’

I waited for the wizened old man to go on. He straightened the hat on his head.

“He borrowed money from just about ever’body here, even a few bucks from me. But he always had one excuse or t’other about why he couldn’t repay. Don’t piss on my back and tell me it’s rainin’, that’s what I always say.’’

Marty leaned down so she could look under the hat brim, directly into Jake’s rheumy green eyes. “What do you mean? Was Jeb in trouble? Who were his masters?’’

“The cattle, that’s one. They’ll keep a man up nights, always needing something. You feed, you breed, you sell for what you can, and then you start all over again. Year in, year out. Raising cattle is gamble enough for most men. But not for Jeb.’’

“Jake, honey, just tell us what you got to tell us,’’ Mama said. “Who was Jeb’s other master?’’

“More like ‘what was,’ Ma’am.’’ He spit. “Gambling got t’hold of Jeb Ennis. He’s lost near all that he owned. That boy never took to heart that old advice about not betting the ranch.’’

“I don’t believe my eyes, Mace.’’ Mama gripped my arm so tight I was afraid the skin was going to pop like an overcooked sausage. “It’s that awful man.’’

I followed Mama’s gaze through the front window of Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow, where I’d brought her after the livestock market. Pastor Bob Dixon stood in the salon behind his wife, hands resting on Delilah’s shoulders. Seated in a mauve chair, she was covered from the neck down with a drape in deep purple. She looked like a large grape with a stem of wet hair.

“I won’t blame you if you don’t come in, Mace.’’ Mama turned her back to the window, just in case the minister and his wife could read lips. “You do not need to subject yourself to that man-wolf for another minute.’’

She clearly thought I was unpracticed at fending off unwanted advances from men.

“Don’t worry about it, Mama. I’m an adult. Besides, I don’t think he’s going to attack with his wife sitting right there. She looks big enough to take him if he got her mad.’’

Mama’s gaze returned with mine to the scene on the other side of the window. Pastor Bob smiled into the mirror at Delilah, the morning sun glinting off his teeth. It lit a silver cross on the lapel of his brown-checkered sport coat. His small hands looked as fragile as baby birds against his wife’s sturdy shoulders. Seeing the two of them together, I realized Delilah wasn’t just bigger; she was a good fifteen years older than her husband.

“He is a puny one,’’ Mama finally agreed. “Even so, I can give D’Vora your money.’’

With everything I’d had on my mind, I left the shop without tipping D’Vora for cutting my hair. I’d wanted to get back to apologize ever since.

“I’m used to tusslin’ with gators and snakes, Mama. How bad could one pint-sized pastor be?’’ I pushed open the door to a jingle of bells. “Hang onto my arm … a little looser, please. We’ll present a united front,’’ I whispered as we stepped inside.

“Good morning, Rosalee.’’ The minister and Delilah spoke in unison.

“Y’all remember my middle girl, Mace.’’ Mama’s tone was cool. Not as icy as Maddie’s, but heading for winter. The two of them nodded politely. I gave them a tight smile back.

Betty, the shop’s owner, bustled out of the back, greeting us as she wiped her hands on a lilac-colored towel. I’d never realized purple came in so many shades.

I smelled the usual mix of shampoos, conditioners and permanent solution. Another scent fought for dominance—fruity, like overripe watermelon and bananas that have started to blacken. As we got closer, I realized it was Delilah’s perfume. I backed away, putting my hand over my face as if I was scratching my nose.

Betty stopped at the counter in front of Delilah’s chair and rustled through the drawer for a comb and a handful of hair rollers. She looked up at me in the mirror. “Mace, you’re not blowing out that haircut like D’Vora told you to, are you? She’s going to get on you when she gets back from the bank, which should be any minute now.’’

My hand went to my hair, made wild by the humidity and Pam’s convertible. “No, Ma’am, I guess I’m not. I usually just open the windows in my Jeep and hang my head out to let it dry. It saves a lot of time.’’

Betty looked horrified.

“Well, guess I’d better let you ladies get to your womanly ways.’’ Pastor Bob patted his wife’s shoulders as he spoke.

He seemed oddly comfortable in the salon. I couldn’t imagine Carlos Martinez or Jeb Ennis hanging around a beauty parlor. But Pastor Bob, with his bleached teeth and buffed fingernails, seemed to feel right at home.