Finally, I shrugged. “I can’t say whether you killed him. I pray you didn’t.”

A spark of hope died in his eyes. His next move was unexpected. He stooped, slowly placing his handgun on the floor. Rising, he put up his hands in surrender.

“I’m unarmed. I’m going to walk out, get in my car, and go before the cops get here. Shoot me if you want. I’d rather die than go to prison.”

As he turned and trudged to the door, time seemed frozen. My finger rested on the trigger. The stock of the gun weighed heavily against my shoulder. When he stepped through the door, I lowered the barrel.

There was no way I’d shoot an unarmed man in the back, and he knew it. Tony had outmaneuvered me.

I followed, calling to him from the porch. “You won’t get far. The cops are probably speeding down State Road 98 right now. It’ll go better for you if you stay here and let them arrest you. Face what you’ve done.”

Still walking, he spoke over his shoulder. “Tell my aunt I’m sorry.”

As Tony got in his car, I hurried inside to the house phone. I heard the engine start as I hit speed dial for Carlos. Phone to my ear, I crossed to the window. The Lexus sped from my yard, shock absorbers getting a workout over the bumps and ruts of the unpaved drive. As the number rang, I tried to figure out how to spin the morning’s events so Carlos wouldn’t be furious.

_____

“You WHAT?”

I’d already recited the basics: What Tony was driving, when he’d left, and from what location so Carlos could relay the information over the police radio. Now, I was spinning; but he wasn’t buying.

“When Tony got here early, I took the opportunity to talk to him. How was I supposed to know he’d be armed?”

Of course, I must have suspected. Why else would I have hidden the shotgun?

“We had to dot the legal i’s and cross our jurisdictional t’s, but you should have called immediately, Mace. I would’ve had someone on the scene. Now, we’ve lost the element of surprise. We may never find him. Even worse, you could have been hurt.”

At least Carlos still thought my being hurt would be a negative. Would that still hold true if I confessed I’d built in the extra time so I could interrogate Tony?

“I’m sorry. I made a mistake. But I’m worried about Mama’s wedding. I don’t think Tony murdered Ronnie. That means whoever did is still out there. What if the killer has something awful planned for today?”

“Jane’s pretty sure Tony did it,” Carlos said.

“Who’s Jane?”

“Jane Smith. The detective from New Jersey. She said you two had a nice chat last night.”

“Jane Smith is her real name?”

“Of course. And she’d like to say hello. I’m putting you on speaker.”

I heard a hollow echo, then a flat, toneless voice: “Thanks for screwing up my arrest.”

I tried not to get my back up. I deserved that. “Hello, Detective Smith.”

“Did Tony give you any information about where he might be headed?”

“Just that he was going someplace where they don’t even speak English.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“Well, if he’s dumping that rental car to head out by air, Orlando has more international options than the airport at West Palm Beach. So he’d be heading north. And if he wanted to stay off the Florida Turnpike and away from the state troopers who patrol it, then he’d want to take US Highway 441.”

“Well, that’s something to start with, at least,” Jane said.

I could hear Carlos on the radio, relaying the information.

“Any other details you think we should know?” she asked.

I described Tony’s clothing, and even told them about the leather seats in the Lexus and his country music CDs. As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew Carlos would wonder later how I was so familiar with the interior of the car of an alleged murderer, now a fugitive.

“Oh, yeah,” I added. “He left his gun. He’s unarmed.”

“I doubt that.” I heard the sneer in Jane’s voice. “There’s probably an arsenal and a suitcase of knives in that car.”

“I don’t think so. Tony said his father pressured him to kill that restaurant guy. It seems like he’s running more from his family’s expectations than from the law.”

Aside from the whine of the speaker, their end of the phone was silent. Then they both burst out laughing.

“Please, Mace. You can’t be that gullible,” Carlos said.

I heard my peeved sniff, magnified over the damned speaker phone.

“Did he make big, sad, puppy dog eyes when he sold you that story?” Jane asked. “I bet he said he did this Himmarshee murder because his aunt held a gun to his head, too.”

“I’m just telling you the impression I got.” I bit my tongue before I added bitch. “Why do you think he’d admit to one murder and deny the other?”

“Oh, gee whiz, I don’t know.” Jane’s voice was mocking, all naïve schoolgirl. “Maybe because he’s a lying sack of crap?”

“All righty, then. As much as I enjoy hearing what an idiot I am, I have to get to town to get my hair and nails done.”

“Oh, that’s priceless.” Jane snorted. “Gullible and vain.”

Carlos chuckled, but quickly redeemed himself. “Mace is normally a pretty good judge of character, Jane. And the only reason she’s getting dolled up is because she’s in her mother’s wedding today.”

“Mazel tov to your mother,” Jane said. “Maybe the wedding will keep you and the other civilians busy enough not to meddle in any more murder investigations.”

Carlos laughed out loud. Redemption cancelled.

“Okay,” I said, my voice as sweet as Marty’s. “Y’all have a nice day.”

I wasn’t going to sink to their level. On second thought, what the hell?

“By the way, Detective Smith, you might want to ask Carlos about out-of-town cops who think they know everything. Ask him about the time he tossed my sweet little mama in jail when everybody in town tried to tell him there was no way a Sunday-school-teaching, sherbet-pantsuit-wearing senior citizen had committed a murder.”

I slammed down the receiver, hoping for a speaker screech that would rattle their eardrums.

“Ringlets, Mama? Really?” Even Marty, the first victim, was rebelling at this latest excess.

Maddie and I stood behind her, staring in horror into the mirror at Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow. Marty may have looked as adorable as an antebellum doll in her corkscrew curls. But the two of us knew: We are not cut out for cute. With my shoulders, I’d look like a line-backer channeling his inner Scarlett O’Hara. And Maddie feared a picture of her in ruffles and ringlets would get out on YouTube, compromising her ability to scare her students.

Betty gave one of the curls a final pat with her purple styling comb. The curl jiggled like a coiled spring next to Marty’s smooth cheek.

“Well, I think your hair looks splendid, honey. Betty, you’ve done a wonderful job.” Mama turned to me. “Mace, climb up in that chair. You’re next.”

As one, Maddie and I started backing toward the door.

“Oh, no you don’t!” She grabbed each of us by an arm. “Now, I don’t ask much of you girls …”

Catching Marty’s gaze in the mirror, we all rolled our eyes.

“… I saw that. But this is just one little thing I’m asking you to do on My Special Day. Mace, I promise I’ll never make you dress up again.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“And Maddie, you’ll hear no more comments from me about your weight. Although there is one last diet I clipped out from Woman’s World I’d love you to take a look at …”