Mama said, “And she lost it again when it came time to kill me.’’

I wasn’t so sure about that. If Emma Jean could have fired Paw-Paw’s gun, I’d be grieving over Mama’s dead body.

“There’s a reason women are called the weaker sex,’’ he said.

If he wasn’t holding that revolver, I might have quibbled. I probably had five inches and twenty-five pounds of muscle on the pencil-necked reverend.

I tried to reason: “Listen, you’ve got Jim Albert’s money and the hurricane cash. You can lock us in the supply shed and just go. By the time we’re found, you’ll be long gone.’’

“Great plan. And I did intend to go, until I saw that some idiot in a Volkswagen pulled behind the truck and blocked me in.’’

The sun was melting the gel in his hair. He dabbed as a glob slid down his brow.

“I thought that truck was Emma Jean’s,’’ I said.

“It is. I rode over here with her and your mother. I was in the back of the cab the whole time, crouched behind the seat under a blanket.’’ He spoke to Mama. “It was hot and I had to listen to you yammer the whole way. You talk too much.’’

She pulled herself to her full stature—four foot eleven inches. “There’s absolutely no call for you to be insulting.’’

Heaven forbid he’d insult us, I thought. Kill us, maybe—but not insult us first.

“I’ll give you the keys to the Volkswagen,’’ I said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take them. Just like I took your mother’s extra set from her neighbors when I needed to dump Jim’s body. Too bad for you Alice and Ronnie aren’t more suspicious.’’

He wiped at his neck again. He was unused to the Florida heat, which was taking its toll.

“I’ll have to shoot you first, of course. You should have paid attention to those notes and backed off. Curiosity killed the cat, you know.’’

“But we had no idea,’’ Mama said, her hand fluttering to her throat.

“It was only a matter of time until you linked me to Emma Jean, and then both of us to Jim Albert. Emma Jean was this close to confessing the whole plan to you on the phone, Mace.’’ He held his left thumb and forefinger apart a fraction of an inch. “I cajoled and sweet-talked and convinced her to fake her own disappearance in the swamp instead.’’

He examined his hanky, looking for a dry spot. I took the opportunity to scan the ground for anything to get us out of this mess—a big rock, a sharp stick, even a snake sunning itself. I know how people are about snakes. Tossing him a serpent might spook him and let us get away.

When I looked up again, black rivulets ran down the pastor’s forehead from his hairline. He obviously washed away his gray. He closed his eyelids, patting gently at the stinging dye.

Continuing my survey, I finally spotted something in the tall grass: Paw-Paw’s gun. Emma Jean must have tossed it as she ran. It was ten feet away, on my left. I gripped Mama’s hand tighter. Cocking my head ever so slightly over my left shoulder, I whispered. “Bang.’’

She looked and shook her head once, a nearly imperceptible No. I answered with a tiny nod of my own. Yes.

“We all have to do what we have to do, Pastor Bob.’’ I addressed him, but the message was for Mama.

Nodding at me, she squeezed my hand and closed her eyes. Her lips moved in a silent prayer. I joined her, a little rusty, asking God for strength and guidance.

Suddenly, a distant shout shattered the park’s quiet.

“Police! Get down on the ground, Emma Jean.’’ It was Detective Carlos Martinez. “Get down!’’

Bob Dixon spun toward the command coming from the far trees. Mama and I glanced at each other. Now or never. I ran, diving into the grass. Her leather-hard foot delivered a sharp kick to the reverend right where it counted. I bolted up from the ground, aiming the antique gun. Pastor Bob dropped his weapon and doubled over, cupping his crotch with both hands.

I whistled, loud enough to call a cab south from New York City. “Over here,’’ I yelled. “I’ve got Emma Jean’s accomplice at the business end of a shotgun.’’

“I was watching before.’’ The reverend spit out the words between painful breaths. “I saw it jam. It won’t fire.’’

“You don’t want to test that,’’ I said, lowering the barrel from his heart to his groin. “This old gun is just like a woman. You have to know how to handle it right.’’

Martinez came crashing from the woods, pistol raised. His face lit with relief as he took in the scene: Mama and me, still dripping, but safe. Pastor Bob, cradling his family jewels. And my granddaddy’s shotgun, aimed and ready to do more damage if need be.

I heard the distant sound of police sirens. My eyes flickered to Martinez for a moment, just long enough to see the hint of a smile steal across his face.

“Rosie!” A bellow like an escaped bear from the Bronx zoo thundered from the woods. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m here now.’’

The expression on Sal’s face was priceless as he lumbered into the clearing. His weapon was ready. But the bad guys were already in handcuffs, on the ground.

“Looks like your backup is a little late,’’ I said to Martinez.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, chica.’’ His face was a mask.

“C’mon, it’s over now. You can admit it. Sal’s a cop, too, isn’t he?”

“Retired,’’ Sal said, holstering his weapon. His face was as pink as his golf shirt from jogging over to us in the heat. “Thirty years, New York City Police Department.’’

He leaned down to kiss my mother. “How’d you know, Mace?’’

“Well, there was the way you spoke about Detective Martinez and the police. You were awfully admiring, for a mobster. Then you called the rest of us ‘civilians,’ like cops always do. I put it together just now, seeing the way you ran over with your revolver drawn.’’ I nodded toward Martinez. “He wasn’t at all surprised, so he must have been expecting you.’’

“I’m sorry,’’ Sal said. “I couldn’t talk about it. When I was on the job, I was undercover. Jimmy Albrizio, a.k.a. Albert, was a link to one of my last cases.’’ His eyes scanned the tree line, like he was searching for something there. “A good friend, my first partner on the force, died trying to protect that weasel so he could testify in court.’’ His face got hard. Mama reached up on her tiptoes to stroke his cheek.

“When Albrizio moved south, I followed. I hoped he’d lead me to the people who killed my buddy.’’