The color drained from C’ndee’s face. Alice dropped her hand like she’d been scorched. Sal, who’d been edging away during the emotional apologies, stopped dead.

“No, Maddie, I hadn’t heard that.” C’ndee’s voice was icy. “Where’d you get your information?”

“Yeah, who told you dat?” Sal’s accent got stronger under stress.

Maddie gestured vaguely. “People gossip.”

I was grateful she didn’t give me up. But when I looked at Sal, his penetrating gaze was burning me two new eyeholes. I immediately felt guilty.

C’ndee recovered her confidence, brushing off Maddie’s question. “Gossip? That’s all? That’s something I’m used to.”

She turned and put both her hands on Alice’s shoulders. I noticed the two of them were about the same size, but C’ndee had muscles in the places where Alice had flab. She was at least fifteen years younger than the widow, and in much better shape.

“I swear to you, Alice, I had nothing to do with your husband’s death.”

Alice returned her gaze, seeming to seek—and find—something in C’ndee’s eyes. “I know they’re going to find the person who really did kill Ronnie,” she finally said. “I don’t believe it was you.”

C’ndee exhaled. “Thank you. And if anybody tries to prove otherwise, I have access to some very sharp lawyers.”

It wasn’t long after the two women’s heart-to-heart that Betty got up from her easy chair and announced she was tuckered out. “Anybody who wants to stay, feel free to lock up.”

Seeing the hostess don her bathrobe is a sure-fire party ender.

After Mama made the three of us promise to clean up for Betty, she left with Sal. C’ndee and Alice had caused the entire ruckus, so it seemed fair that they pitch in. But, given Alice’s loss, and the fact none of us were crazy about C’ndee, my sisters and I didn’t press when they both wanted to leave with the rest of the guests. Henry, of course, couldn’t be bothered to help with what he considered women’s work.

We were standing at the sink, doing as Mama told us to do.

“Henry never did have to lift a finger!” Marty washed a plate, and then handed it to me to dry.

“Aunt Ida ruined that boy, if you ask me.” Maddie took the plate from my hand and stacked it on the clean kitchen table.

“Then again, he did grow up having to eat Ida’s cooking.” Marty handed me another plate.

“Speaking of Ida, remember when Uncle Teddy got drunk and tossed his wife’s brother into that vat of Ida’s potato salad at one of Mama’s receptions?” I dried, passing off to Maddie.

“How about when Ida took a barbecued rib and smacked that woman Henry was dating?” Marty giggled.

“Yep, that was Wedding No. 2. Beef rib. It was a big one.” Maddie squirted more soap into the sink.

“She deserved it,” I said. “Ida walked in on her in the bathroom with the groom. He claimed he drank too much. Mama should have known right then that No. 2 was a scoundrel.”

We worked in silence for a while: Wash, dry, stack. Wash, dry, stack.

Finally, I said, “Speaking of scoundrels, I never got C’ndee alone to ask her about that snake, Darryl. He wasn’t much of a husband to his wife, but if C’ndee was messing around with him, that means she was doing it with two married men. I’m not sure I buy her Little Miss Innocent act from today.”

“You’re so suspicious! If Alice can find trust in her heart for C’ndee, so should we.”

“Mace has a point, Marty. Think about it: Two wives she was doing dirty,” Maddie said.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

“Go awaaaaay,” Betty groaned from her bedroom.

“We’ve got it, Betty.” I hurried to answer the door.

Dab Holt waved at me through the living room window. When I opened up, she said, “Sorry, hon. I left my wrap behind.”

She found it behind the dining room buffet, probably misplaced during the excitement over the fight. I’m surprised no one heard it drop. The shawl was silver, and looked like the heavy chain mail knights used to wear.

“So, you and my mama go way back?”

“Ages, hon. Your mama’s a few years older than me, though.”

I ducked my chin to hide my smile. I could have beat around the bush some more, made polite conversation. But it was late, and I was nosy. Besides, Dab didn’t strike me as being too concerned with niceties.

“Mama said you shot a man in Reno. Is that the truth?”

“It was Carson City, hon.” She adjusted the wrap around her shoulders. “And I didn’t shoot him; I stabbed the son of a bitch. I’d do it again, too. I’d just make sure my aim was better.”

As I passed the turnoff to the Pork Pit, my stomach grumbled. Talk about your conditioned response. I was as predictable as Pavlov’s dogs. I made a U-turn, and circled back to the side road to the barbecue spot.

The food was tasty at Mama’s bridal shower, but those few ham-and-cheese cigars hardly filled me up. After all, I had saved a drowning man and then ravished him all afternoon. How many of my fellow shower-goers had burned those kinds of calories before the event?

I pulled into the gravel parking lot, no doubt grinning as a few choice moments with Carlos replayed in my mind. I was probably blushing, too. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that immediately snapped me back to the present time and place.

“Meat is Murder!” The shout came from a large pig, enormous costume head bobbing in time to the words.

“Love Animals, Don’t Eat Them!” chanted a second, smaller pig.

They looked like characters at Disney, if Disney had a farm animal theme park.

As I parked, I noticed a couple of customers hurrying past the pigs into the Pork Pit. The man held the woman close, as if one of the porcine pair might pounce.

“Murderer!” the first pig yelled at me as I got out of the Jeep. Deep voice. Masculine.

“Boycott Barbecue!” the smaller added. That voice was familiar, and it sounded like she was running out of steam.

I walked closer to the shoulder of the road where they stood, and peered at the little pig. A smooth cheek and a blond dreadlock showed through the face hole.

“Linda-Ann, is that you?”

The big head nodded. “Hey, Mace, how you doin’?”

“Well, I’m fine, but what’s all this with the pig suits? How long have you been out here?”

“We’re protesting,” the big pig said.

“Eight hours today,” Linda-Ann added. “And it’s our second day. This is the boy I told you about.” She pointed a plush pink arm at her companion. “Trevor, this is Mace.”

“How do you do?” He extended a soft cloven hoof.

I shook it. With greater maneuverability than I’d have thought, he tightened his grip on my hand.

“Please don’t go in there, Mace,” he pleaded. “Have you ever seen a video of an animal slaughterhouse? We can show you things you wouldn’t believe.”

“Uhm, no. But thank you anyway.” I tried to extricate my hand. “You know, Trevor, my sister’s a vegetarian. I realize there are good arguments against eating meat. But I don’t see how dressing up like Halloween and screaming at people gets your point across.”

He clutched my hand more tightly. “Exactly! We have to do more to reach people, don’t we Linda-Ann? We have to try harder to get our message across.”

I thought I detected a lack of enthusiasm in her nod. But it was hard to tell. Maybe the giant head was just getting heavy.

“We’re passing out fliers next week at the rodeo,” she said.