He scowled at me.

“I’m not talking about the wedding flowers being a little wilted, or the appetizers coming out cold. I mean, I don’t want anybody else to get hurt. We both know Mama manages to wind up in the middle of things. Suppose she comes to harm? You know it’s happened before.”

It didn’t escape me that I sounded as paranoid about Mama as he did about me. I guess seeing someone you care about survive some close calls will do that to a person.

The angry lines in his face softened. He took another, smaller, bite of the bun. Chewed thoughtfully. Finished his coffee.

“I’ll grant you, your mother manages to get herself into some serious messes. That still doesn’t give you the right to meddle in a murder investigation. You shouldn’t be sticking your nose into things that aren’t your business.”

It was amazing how much that part about me being nosy sounded like Darryl. All Carlos needed was a shiny knife and a Lakeport drawl.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll be sure to hire an armed guard the next time I want to go out to a fish camp. Which incidentally, I’ve visited many of in the past. I’ll bring backup the next time I want to talk to some mean redneck. Which incidentally, I’ve probably dated worse guys than Darryl and lived to tell about it.”

I jammed a lemon cookie in my mouth so I wouldn’t say something I’d really regret. He waited for another outburst. I didn’t speak, just took another cookie from the pack and started on that. This time, I took off the top part and slowly licked all the cream filling from inside.

When I caught him staring at my mouth, both of us quickly looked away. He made me so angry. So why did I feel a sudden warmth spreading somewhere south of my belt?

Carlos cleared his throat. Stood up. It gave me a little thrill to see him try to subtly adjust the front pleats on his dark blue dress slacks.

“I’ve got a lot of work to get back to,” he said. “Please don’t take this to mean I approve of what you did, Mace, but I’ll definitely check out what you found out about the knife-wielding Mr. Dietz.”

That was as close as he’d come to a thank-you.

“What about C’ndee and Ronnie? What do you think that connection means?”

Crossing his arms, he stared at me, cop-like: “The case is still under investigation.”

“So I spill all the information I have, and you offer me nothing in return?”

He gave me a know-it-all smile, which really chapped my butt. “Sure, Mace, I’ll tell you everything I know and have it all over the Himmarshee Hotline before dinner.”

I felt a pout forming on my mouth, which I know doesn’t look as charming on me as it does on Mama. “I’m not a gossip, Carlos.”

“No, but your mother is. And you’re only one degree of separation from her.”

“Okay, just tell me if there’s anything I should know to keep Mama safe.”

He gazed into the trees, thinking. Maybe he remembered some of her prior scrapes, because he relented a little. “I will tell you Ronnie Hodges wasn’t exactly what he seemed.”

I raced through a yellow-turning-red traffic light on Main Street. A pothole loomed. I swerved to miss it. The Jeep zoomed past the Dairy Queen on the left; Pete’s Pawn Shop on the right. An eeeeek sounded from the passenger seat.

“My stars and garters, Mace! Would you please slow down? You know you’re not Dale Earnhardt, may he rest in peace.”

I eased off the gas. Mama had a point. I do love to go fast.

“Thank you.” She unclenched her hands from the dashboard and settled back into her seat. “Now, what do you think we should do about Alice?”

Mama had asked me to pick her up after work at Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow, and then go with her to look in on Ronnie’s widow.

“I’m not sure there’s anything we can do, Mama. Her husband’s just been murdered. She’s going to need time to deal with that. The best we can offer is to let her know we care.”

Mama angled the rearview mirror toward her, so she could repair her wind-blown hair. As she fluffed and straightened, I said, “Trying to drive with no mirror is a lot more dangerous than going a few miles over the speed limit.”

“Try thirty miles. You were doing at least fifty-five when you blew through that red light, Mace.”

“Yellow light.” I turned the rearview back. “Why can’t you just use the mirror on your visor?”

She reached into her purse for her compact. “That stingy, cloudy thing? It won’t give me the full effect.”

I looked at her platinum-hued ’do. It was smashed on one side, swirled into some kind of circle on the other, and standing up in spikes on the top of her head. It looked like she’d come under attack by a badger bearing styling mousse and a teasing comb.

“Sometimes you don’t want the full effect,” I said.

Even though I slowed down, we still made it to Mama’s in no time. Downtown Himmarshee, such as it is, is only three miles from her house on Strawberry Lane. Pulling into the driveway, I could see the porch light on next door at Alice’s. It was just five-thirty p.m., and still sunny. The light had probably been burning since the police processed her porch last night.

The drapes were drawn in the front windows. The day had been hot, and Alice’s flowers wilted in their gaily colored pots. Mama’s gaze followed mine to her neighbor’s home.

“Looks sad, doesn’t it?” she said. “What is it about a house after someone dies? You can almost imagine that somehow it feels the loss, too.”

I wasn’t sure about that. But the house definitely looked empty. Alice’s car was likely still at the VFW. I hadn’t thought yesterday to look behind the hall to see if Ronnie’s truck was parked in the back near the kitchen. I’d have to ask C’ndee if she saw it when she rushed in late to meet us. Come to think of it, there were quite a few questions I wanted to ask C’ndee.

Mama’s compact clicked shut, bringing my mind back to the present.

“You ready, Mama?”

When we got to Alice’s front door, I knocked softly at first. We could hear the TV blaring, even though the windows were closed and the air conditioning unit hummed next to the porch. When there was no answer, I knocked a little harder.

“Nobody home,” a woman’s voice called from inside. “Go ’way.”

Mama and I looked at each other.

“Alice, honey, is that you?” Leaning forward, Mama yelled into the crack at the edge of the door. “I’m here with my middle daughter, Mace.”

A couple of moments passed. Then the TV volume went down. “S’open. C’mon in, Ros’lee.”

As soon as we stepped into the house’s dark maw, the smell of hard liquor hit me like a fist to the face. A half-empty bottle of bourbon sat on a high counter in a dim shaft of kitchen light. Alice slouched in a recliner in the living room, illuminated by the blue glow of an ancient rerun of Law & Order. The guy who played Mr. Big in Sex and the City was still a cocky young Detective Logan with the NYPD.

Alice let out a snuffling sob.

“Oh, honey!” Mama hurried to her side.

“I’m all right, Ros’lee.”

Mama hesitated just a second before she laid a hand on Alice’s shoulder. I had to credit her for not letting her face show the shock she surely felt at her neighbor’s appearance. Bits of brown-looking food and what smelled like bourbon made a trail of stains on Alice’s ratty pink robe. Her hair was limp and greasy. The bathrobe gaped open, revealing Alice wasn’t wearing anything but Alice underneath.