“Wuuuhh,’’ I said.

“Why am I asking, or why were you suspicious?’’

Maddie slapped his shoulder hard, nearly knocking a clot of coconut pie off his fork. “Hell’s bells, Henry. Can’t you see Mace’s mouth is full of food? Just tell us what you know about that devil, Jeb.’’ She shot a look full of meaning at me. “I can already predict, it’s gonna be something bad.’’

Marty glanced at me with a guilty look on her face. We hadn’t told Maddie about our trip to the livestock market, or about what Old Jake had said about Jeb.

“One of my clients did a little work for Jim Albert,’’ Henry began. “Let’s say his line of work is ‘enforcement,’ and just leave it at that.’’ He spiked a quarter of the cherry pie slice with his fork and gobbled it down. “Anyway, this man says Jeb was into Jim Albert for quite a bit of dough.’’

The hamburger turned to dust in my mouth. “That’s old news, Henry. Jeb himself told me he’d borrowed from Jim Albert.’’

I still felt protective, even as the evidence mounted against Jeb. For some stupid reason, I didn’t want my family, and especially Maddie, thinking badly of him. Did I harbor some fantasy that we’d end up together, riding off into the sunset?

“So he talked about the loan, huh?’’ Henry said. “Did he tell you he owed more than $250,000?’’

Marty’s eyes went wide. Maddie let out a low whistle. I tried to conceal my shock.

“That gives Jeb two powerful reasons for whacking Jim Albert,’’ Henry lectured. “Number one: money. He couldn’t possibly pay that much back, not and keep his ranch. Number two: self-preservation. It’s as strong a drive for us as it is in the animal world. Jim Albert was a dangerous man. Kill or be killed.’’

I stirred my coffee, which had gone cold. I still hadn’t said a word.

“I know you loved the guy, Mace.’’

I started to protest, but Henry held up his fork. “Don’t deny it. I kid around, but you’re like a sister to me. It broke my heart to see how bad Jeb hurt you. You loved him, young or not.’’

“That’s what I told her, Henry. Any man that could do Mace like that might be capable of much worse.’’ Maddie leaned over and patted my arm. It was such a rare gesture, it almost made me cry.

“You want Jeb to be innocent.’’ Henry’s voice was soft, his eyes kind. “But you have to face the facts, Mace. This sordid romance or affair or whatever it is that might have been going on at Abundant Hope? That’s just a distraction. Your ex-boyfriend takes the prize as the likeliest killer in Himmarshee, Florida.’’

Each of my sisters grabbed one of my hands and held on.

Henry pushed his pie plate away, even though there was almost a half a piece left. He looked into my eyes: “Let’s put it this way, cousin. I’m a damned good lawyer. But I wouldn’t want to walk into court right now with Jeb Ennis as my client.’’

“Warm you up again, hon?’’

I put a hand over my ceramic coffee mug. “No thanks, Charlene. I’ve already had enough to be peeing like a racehorse all afternoon.’’

My sisters had to return to work. Henry was back at his law office, probably terrorizing his teen secretary with bad jokes and the sounds of bodily functions. I was alone with the afternoon Himmarshee Times on the table and a third cup of coffee sloshing around in my gut.

Mama called much earlier to ask us to hold off on dessert. But she’d been delayed. It was almost two-thirty now. I stuck around to wait for her, since my new schedule has Fridays off. Rhonda, my supervisor, decided I needed a day before the weekends to recharge my friendliness.

“You need to work on your attitude, Mace,’’ she’d told me.

Rhonda was referring to the credo I have for park visitors: There are no stupid questions; only stupid people.

While I waited, I paged through our newspaper’s slim pickings. The mayor and the bank manager of a First Florida branch squinted in a picture, their feet in dress shoes resting on shiny shovels. In construction hardhats, they looked like big-headed ants in business suits. I checked out the listings for births and deaths, making sure I didn’t owe anyone a card. I read about the chances this season for the Brahmans, Himmarshee High’s football team. Reflecting the town’s cattle-raising roots, the team’s mascot is a two-thousand-pound Brahman bull. His name’s Bubba, and he’s got his own e-mail address on the Internet.

And then I spotted a small item next to the police blotter, usually a repository for vandalism reports and drunken driving incidents. I scanned the story:

Storm Funds Missing

Hurricane Janet took a terrible toll on Jack and Donna Warner of Basinger. Their three-year-old daughter, Ashley, died when the storm destroyed their house in June. The child was struck on the head by a roof beam torn off in the hurricane’s 100-mph winds.

Now, Himmarshee police are looking into whether the Warners and other families struck by the June storm have been victimized again.

Almost $5,000 is missing from a fund designated to help hurricane victims rebuild, according to sources at First Florida Bank. Himmarshee Police Chief Ben Johnson confirmed that money is gone, but would not specify a sum.

“There are some discrepancies in the bank account,’’ Johnson said. “We’re investigating the matter. We’re still hoping there’s a reasonable explanation. I hate to think anyone in Himmarshee would steal from people who’ve already been hurt so much.’’

The fund was begun by members of the Abundant Hope and Charity Chapel. Phone messages left on the church’s answering machine were not returned. The Rev. Bob Dixon, pastor at the church, could not be reached for comment.

Johnson declined to say whether any arrests are imminent.

I was staring at the newspaper, picking my lower jaw off the table, when Mama walked up. “Mace, you won’t believe what happened at Hair Today.’’ She pulled out a chair and collapsed with a dramatic sigh.

I slid the Times onto her map-of-Florida placemat, right over our red star above Lake Okeechobee. “Before you say a word, read that.’’ I tapped the headline with my index finger.

“Well, it’s about Delilah,’’ Mama started in, ignoring me as usual.

“Not another peep.’’ I grabbed her glasses from her purse and slapped them in her hand. “Go ahead. Read.’’

Mama clucked her tongue at the part about the Warners’ little girl. Her eyebrows shot up when she came to the missing money. At the end, her hand flew to her throat.

“Jesus H. Christ on a crutch!”