After Sal’s call, I felt tired but not sleepy. I was curious about Tony, even if I decided not to pursue things with him. And that decision wasn’t a done deal, despite Sal’s warning. I turned on my computer and checked my email. Mostly spam, as usual. I mean, my email address is countrygal. Don’t those marketers know I’m not interested in making my manhood bigger? I deleted a bunch of crap, and then navigated to Google.

I just entered Anthony Ciancio and New Jersey, since I wasn’t sure what part of the state he was from. Maybe the last name Ciancio was as common up there as Martinez was in Miami, because there were sure a lot of hits.

Scrolling quickly, I saw some newspaper headlines popping up with the name Ciancio and the kind of words you don’t want to see when investigating a potential date.

“Extortion” … “crime family” … “suspicious restaurant fire.”

“Fran, honey, I think you can take it in a smidge more, right here.” Mama tugged at a tiny gap on the bodice of my lime-colored abomination. “The Lord saw fit to bless Mace more with broad shoulders than a generous bustline.”

I slapped her wrist. “Hands off, Mama!”

The proprietress of Fran’s Formal Duds and Frocks leaned back and narrowed her eyes at my gown. “Nope. It’s a perfect fit, Rosalee. And Mace has a beautiful build. She’s not scarce at all in the bust department. If I made it any tighter, the guests would be staring at the bridesmaid and not the bride.”

Mama pursed her lips at the possibility. “Well, if you say so, honey,” she finally said. “You’re the expert.”

Maddie and Marty were still in the back of the shop, struggling into their gowns. There were stays and straps and petticoats, along with highly engineered parts I couldn’t even name. Fran had lopped about a foot off the bottom of Marty’s dress. She added a V-shaped panel of extra fabric under each of Maddie’s arms.

How she managed to nip and tuck and fit three such different shapes was a mystery to me. Then again, I can botch sewing on a button. I pictured her using seamstress magic, like that scene from Cinderella when adorable mice and birds pitch in to sew the ballgown. Of course, if our Fairy Godmother ever saw us in these sherbet-colored getups, she’d wave a wand and make at least five pounds of ruffles disappear.

Standing on a platform upholstered in rose-colored carpeting, I gazed at myself in Fran’s full-length mirror. I looked like Scarlett O’Hara meets Ballroom Barbie by way of Kermit the Frog.

A giggle came from the dressing area, followed by Maddie’s sternest voice. “I don’t find this remotely amusing, Marty. I’m a virtual mountain of those pink melty mints Aunt Ida used to give us every Christmas.”

Mama shouted, “Hush, Maddie. You girls are going to be absolutely stunning in those dresses. I’ve got a surprise for you, too. Remember C’ndee found your bridesmaid’s gifts? Well, it’s the perfect thing: press-on fingernails to match the colors of your dresses. Isn’t that incredible?”

“Incredibly tacky,” I said under my breath.

“I heard that! Now, you other girls c’mon out here so Fran can get a look-see,” Mama called.

My sisters filed into the fitting room, full skirts gathered up like color-blind debutantes picking their way through mud. Three pairs of eyes rolled in sisterly commiseration. Mama clapped her hands together and held them to her heart.

“Can’t you just see them at the ceremony, Fran? My three darlin’ girls, as pretty as pictures.”

The photo from Alice’s wedding popped into my head. That was followed immediately by the memory of Ronnie, stabbed in the VFW kitchen. And that made me think of what I’d discovered on the Internet about Tony’s restaurant-owning family. I’d been so focused on figuring out which of my parts went where in my stupid dress that I’d neglected to fill in Mama and my sisters with my news.

“Mama, did C’ndee ever tell you the Ciancio family’s restaurant business had some serious trouble with the law back in New Jersey?”

Marty’s eyes widened. A straight pin fell from Fran’s mouth. Maddie spun to stare at me, her cotton-candy-pink dress rustling like sabal fronds in a stiff wind.

Mama’s hand clutched at her throat. “Please don’t tell me they poisoned somebody with tainted food.”

I shook my head. “No, no food poisoning. More along the lines of extortion and questionable competitive practices.”

“Like what?” Maddie asked.

“Like some rival owners beaten bloody and having their restaurants set on fire.”

Marty’s blue eyes were huge orbs. “Was Tony involved?” she whispered.

“He wasn’t mentioned by name in the stories I read on the computer. Neither was C’ndee. But it’s got to be the same family, right?” I looked from one of them to the other. “How many restaurant businesses owned by Ciancios can there be in Hackensack, New Jersey?”

Marty shrugged, long hair brushing the orange-sherbet ruffles of her off-the-shoulder sleeves. Mama had no comment, for a change. Maddie, a thoughtful look on her face, picked an invisible speck of lint off her billowing skirt.

“We need to find out more about the Ciancios, Mace.” She raised serious eyes to mine. “Tony might be dangerous in a way that I hadn’t considered.”

Before Mama or Marty had the chance to process what Maddie might mean by that, I said, “Sal doesn’t seem to like him much, but he won’t say why. I’m going to add that to a list of questions I have for C’ndee.”

Marty said, “But nobody’s seen her, right?”

Mama nodded.

“Maybe we should ask Sal where she went,” Maddie said.

“I don’t know, girls,” Mama said. “They’re family. They’re thicker than ticks on a fat dog.”

“Meaning Sal might not want to tell us what he knows about her,” Maddie said.

I thought about our first acquaintance with Mama’s fiancé. “Remember how secretive Sal was, and how we were convinced he was Tony Soprano?” I said, as my sisters laughed.

“Who?” asked Fran, who was in her seventies and probably thought HBO was a kind of body odor.

“Like Don Corleone from the Godfather movies,” Maddie interpreted.

“Not the Mafia again, Maddie.” Mama sighed. “Just remember: you girls found out Sal’s one of the good guys, despite appearances. Maybe it’ll be the same for Tony. Not every man of mystery has a notorious past.”

Marty patted Mama’s arm in agreement. “When we met Sal, he just wanted to keep his business private. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Humph,” Maddie said.

“Yeah, Sal’s a private guy, all right.” I shot Mama a look. “Now just imagine the poor man marrying the Mouth of the South.”

That started a round of bickering about which of us was the biggest gossip.

“Well, maybe I am interested in people, girls,” Mama concluded. “But I’m never mean, like some I could mention.” She glared at Maddie, who acted like she didn’t notice.

“I was always taught, and I tried to teach you girls, that if you can’t say something nice you shouldn’t say anything at all.”

“Now, Rosalee, where’s the fun in that?” Fran’s smile was devilish, even bisected by several straight pins. “And what did y’all mean before about the Mafia?”

Marty whispered, “The day Ronnie Hodges was killed, somebody chopped off the head of a wild pig and left it on Alice’s front porch.”

Fran gasped.

“I said then that it looked like the kind of calling card the Mafia would leave,” Maddie said.