“We think Tony Ciancio committed a murder back in New Jersey.”

A chill crawled down my spine. It had nothing to do with the open window.

“What makes you think Tony did it?”

“Evidence.” She had the same terse cop tone I was used to hearing from Carlos. “It’s possible he’s linked to this killing here, too. Time frame makes sense.”

“No. Tony didn’t even get here until the day after Ronnie Hodges was killed.”

She tilted her head, skeptical. “You sure about that?”

C’ndee had said her nephew drove all night to get to Himmarshee. But the snake-wary newcomer said she saw a green Lexus a day earlier. Was it Tony’s? He said no. And I didn’t know him well enough to say if he was lying.

Finally, I shook my head. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, no.”

“That’s what I figured.” She rose from the chair. “Thanks for the beer.”

She was just about to step through the front door when I called out, “How’d the New Jersey victim die?”

“Stabbed in the back. We found his body in his restaurant kitchen.”

_____

I didn’t even wait for the sound of Ms. Sunglasses’ motorcycle boots to cross my porch before I bolted and locked the front door. I slammed shut the living room window, and grabbed the spare key she’d left on my coffee table. I hid it in my purse and stashed the purse on the top shelf of my bedroom closet. I vowed to go shopping after the wedding for a hide-a-key that looks like a rock. I’d plant it at the third fencepost from the gate to the back pasture, where no one could find it.

The motorcycle roared to life from its hiding place in my backyard. Peeking out the bedroom blinds, I wanted to make sure she was really leaving. I watched until her red taillight disappeared around the curve my drive took toward State Road 98.

“You can show yourself again, Wila. The coast is clear.”

A Siamese nose poked out from beneath the bedspread close to the floor. Satisfied the intruder was gone, the cat slunk out of the bedroom and padded into the kitchen to be fed. I wished food was all it took for me to forget coming home to find a stranger in my living room.

While Wila ate, I checked and double-checked the locks on doors and windows. Kind of like putting up the shutters after the hurricane already hit. I straightened the picture on the wall that “Jane Smith” had touched, and tossed her beer bottle into the kitchen recycling bin. Wila startled at the clatter.

“Sorry, girl.” I stroked her sleek coat. “What do you make of somebody who breaks in—okay, uses a key—and makes themselves so at home like that? A lot of nerve, huh?”

The cat raised her head at the sound of my voice. I think I saw agreement in her expression.

“I mean she didn’t let me examine that badge very closely. She could have bought it online for all I know.”

Wila returned to her bowl.

“Yeah, you’re right. Carlos wouldn’t be taken in by somebody with a costume badge. And they seemed pretty chummy at the Speckled Perch. Collegial. She must be a fellow cop. Wait until I tell Mama.”

Within fifteen minutes, I was ready for bed. Wila jumped up, too. I’m not normally a pet-on-the-pillow person, but tonight was an exception. I was grateful for the company, even if her breath did stink of salmon.

I fell asleep with the reassuring warmth of the cat’s body beside me. That comfortable feeling vanished, though, once I began to dream.

Tony was in my living room, in the same chair where the Mystery Woman had sat just an hour or so before. He was studying a thick book, looking like the handsome college guy he’d once been. But when he smiled and beckoned me closer, I could see the book was stained with blood. A sharp knife was hidden within the pages.

I ran from him, but when I passed through the cottage’s front door, the scene suddenly shifted. Dark woods surrounded me. Vines and tree branches pressed close, scratching me. Suffocating me. When I tried to escape, a figure in a pig’s head gave chase. No matter how fast I thought I was running, my feet wouldn’t move. The huge head came closer and closer, until it loomed above me, eyes glittering with a murderous rage.

Then, the dream transported me to Lake Okeechobee, where I was on a boat again. I watched as Carlos stepped off the bow.

“Don’t worry,” I called to him. “It’s shallow.”

But when I leaned over to see where he went in, it wasn’t the familiar dark water of Lake O after all. It was clear and turquoise blue, like the Caribbean Sea. I watched as Carlos fell, faster and faster, into the depths. My feet felt glued to the boat deck as he somersaulted out of my reach. Just before I awoke from the dream, I saw Carlos’ hands, fingertips outstretched toward the water’s surface and me.

My heart hammered. My T-shirt clung to my body, soaked with sweat. I felt a stab of fear and loss. Had I really watched him drown? I couldn’t tell for a moment what was real and what was the dream.

When my mind cleared, I was struck by a single thought. I’d been a fool. Seeing Carlos sink out of sight wasn’t real, but the emptiness I’d felt at losing him was. I loved him. All my flirting and playing and failing to commit couldn’t change that simple fact.

Wila, awake now, blinked those Siamese-blue eyes at me. Ruffling her fur, I repeated the words I’d heard so many times from Mama.

“Sweetheart,” I said. “How would you like to have a new daddy?”

The wedding day dawned sunny and clear. Not a dark cloud in the sky. I hoped it was an omen for the ceremony, and, even more, for the marriage beyond. Five just might be Mama’s lucky number.

As I measured coffee into a paper filter, I glanced at my wall clock, a cut-and-varnished cypress knee, shaped like Lake Okeechobee. A largemouth bass leapt at twelve o’clock, and a speckled perch swam at six. It was an hour past the perch. I had all morning to think about getting to Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow. What torture by teasing comb had Betty planned for me? Whatever, it was guaranteed to make me look like a big-haired contestant in a Deep South beauty pageant.

I could hardly wait.

I showered and dressed, poured some coffee, and caught up with a pile of Himmarshee Times newspapers I’d been neglecting. Lake Okeechobee was down a couple of feet due to the dry season and drought; some drunken high school kid hit and killed a cow while driving doughnuts in a pasture; and the cops busted a “grow house” for pot that was tucked away in the woods off Lofton Road.

I was bemoaning the fact that the big city was coming to little Himmarshee, when my phone rang. It seemed kind of early, but everyone who knows me knows I’m up with the roosters. Maybe it was Mama, calling off the wedding again. The upside would be I could skip that hair appointment. Perking up, I picked up the phone.

“I need to talk to you, Mace. I’m really in trouble.”

Similar words on the telephone had never led to anything good. I should have hung up right then. But Tony sounded so desperate.

“Okay, talk. You can start by telling me if it’s true you killed that restaurant owner in New Jersey.”

There was a long silence. I could hear him breathing.

“I can’t discuss this on the phone, Mace. Can I see you? Can I come over?”

Now, I’ve watched enough movies to know you don’t throw open your door to a suspected murderer. “No way.”

“Can I meet you somewhere, then?”