“Honey, I’m a murderer. Do you really think it bothers me that I’m a liar, too?’’

Suddenly, I thought about lies. Something Savannah said about Jacksonville ran through my brain. “You weren’t in your car on your way to Jacksonville the morning Norman was murdered, were you?’’

She lowered her face next to mine and grinned. Before, that grin had seemed friendly and full of fun. Now, it just looked cruel.

“No, duh, Mace. ‘There’s nothing for me in Jacksonville.’ As soon as that phrase was out of my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. I forgot I’d made Jacksonville my alibi, and then lied about growing up there. You didn’t catch my screw-up then.’’

“I didn’t,’’ I said.

“Yeah, some detective. Your sorry love life was too distracting. I knew you would catch it, though; and you did.’’

Too late, I thought.

She lifted the whip, waved it to the corners of the cow pen. “I had to think on my feet, come up with a plan. I saw the shovel. The ropes. The cattle. Everything fell into place, really fast.’’

Her face glowed with pride. Did she want me to compliment her on her clever plan to kill me?

I closed my eyes and thought about Carlos. An image of his face replaced Savannah’s, in front of me. Would I ever see him again? Would I see my family? Maybe the cattle wouldn’t kill me. But if those pounding hooves struck over and over at my head, my brain would be so scrambled I probably wouldn’t recognize those I loved. With that kind of head trauma, I may as well be dead.

I strained against the ropes. They seemed to pull tighter. Hair fell into my face, brushing my nose and making me want to sneeze. I wriggled my nose, but the hair didn’t move.

“Don’t struggle, honey. It’ll just make it worse. There is one little bone I can throw you. A parting gift, as it were.’’ She reached down, and almost tenderly pushed away the hair from my itchy nose. “That cop is crazy about you. I could see it in his eyes the other night at the bar. While you were moping over your beer, he was watching you, even when he was dancing with Kelly. Whenever you weren’t looking at him, he was looking at you.’’

I wouldn’t think my heart, already racing with adrenaline, could feel a flutter, but it did. If I ever got out of this, I was going to throw myself into Carlos’s arms and never leave.

“Thanks for that,’’ I said. “I wish I hadn’t been such a fool.’’

She sighed. “You said it at the bar. Love makes us do strange things.’’

“Is that why you killed Norman?’’ I asked. “To avenge Jesse?’’

“What?’’ She leaned close to my face; scrunched up her forehead. “Hell, no. What Norman did to Jesse had nothing to do with it. This film was Paul’s absolute last chance to save his reputation as a director. Norman was going to fire him. I couldn’t let him do that. What would I do without Paul’s income?’’

Get a job? I thought it, but I didn’t say it.

“I was poor once, Mace. I don’t intend to ever be poor again.’’

Savannah glanced at her wedding ring, the big diamond winking in the diminishing daylight. She seemed lost in thought. Almost to herself, she said, “All the other stuff was to cause confusion on the set, to divert attention from Paul and me.’’

“What did you mean when you said Paul did what you told him to do?’’

“My husband was definitely on board for Norman, but he was reluctant about the rest of it. He didn’t want anyone else murdered. Well, maybe except for Greg Tilton.’’

“Yeah, that poisoned sandwich could have killed him.’’

She laughed. “That’s funny, because we had nothing to do with that sandwich. Toby? Yes, that was me; and Paul skinned that cable for Jesse’s close call, too. Johnny Jaybird was in the wrong place at the wrong time, though.’’

“What do you mean?’’

“When Paul planted the loaded gun, we thought Toby would use it to rehearse with Greg, not the A.D. Johnny’s talent was useful to us; Greg, we didn’t need.’’

Thunder clapped, loud enough to split the sky in half. Savannah looked up to roiling black clouds. She stood, dusting her hands against her knees. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, Mace. It’s time for the climactic scene. It’s always been the same, way back to the days of silent film. Ever hear of The Perils of Pauline? That poor gal got into some crazy jams. There she’d be, tied to a train track just as a locomotive was bearing down.’’

Sensing the storm, the cows jostled and shifted together at the pen’s far side. Whip in hand, Savannah gestured toward the animals.

“Right there is your locomotive, Mace.’’

I knew it wasn’t possible, but the eyes of the cattle seemed to gleam with menace.

I watched Savannah’s boots as she strode away, continuing across the pasture in the direction of the horse corral. What was she up to now?

I did remember seeing those ancient film clips from The Perils of Pauline. Someone always rescued the silent movie heroine at the last possible moment. Unfortunately, my horizon looked pretty scarce on the cavalry.

I started flexing and contracting the muscles in my wrists, trying to work on loosening the ropes. The pressure eased a bit, but there was no way I’d get the knots untied by the time Savannah returned to carry out the rest of her plan.

I started to pray. I might be rusty, but I still knew enough to ask for God’s hand to guide me.

I hoped the big man was listening. Within moments, hoof beats pounded the ground outside the pen. Galloping up, Savannah stopped the Appaloosa just short of the gate. The mare shook, and snorted though her nose, close enough for me to feel a fine mist spray down onto my face. Savannah’s boots hit the ground. The chain jangled as she unwound it from the gatepost.

The cattle paced on the far side of the pen, their big heads swaying. The Appaloosa stepped through and stood inside the gate, waiting patiently for her rider to remount. Savannah pulled the gate closed, but didn’t chain it.

The cows, wary, regarded the horse and rider. Thunder crashed like a bomb exploding. A fat raindrop splattered in the dirt beside my head. Savannah began uncoiling the whip from the saddle.

A huge streak of lightning turned the dark clouds silvery white. In the burst of light, I saw red in the distance. Mama, still wearing Ruby’s red dress and shoes, picked her way across the pasture toward the pen. She’d probably spotted Savannah on the horse, and mistaken her for me. Head down, concentrating on avoiding manure stains on her Ruby shoes, Mama was silent.

I prayed she’d stay that way. No such luck. Closer now, she called out: “Yoo-hoo! Mace! Honey, you better get in before it really starts to rain …”

As soon as Mama’s voice rang over the pasture, Savannah whirled in the saddle in her direction. A moment later, Mama, who had quit watching the ground, stepped on the shovel blade. The handle shot up and hit her in the forehead. She staggered backward. Fingers pressed to her forehead, she fought to keep her balance.

“I’m over here! Help, Mama!’’

Maybe it was the desperation in my voice, but she caught on quickly for somebody just smacked in the face with a shovel. Of course, it was just the narrow wooden handle, not like the full force of the blade that had hit me.

Mama’s head swiveled, like a camera panning the three points of a triangle: Savannah in the saddle, unwinding the whip. Me on the ground, in front of the gate. The cows in the corner, awaiting their cue.

Savannah cracked the whip. The cows scattered, starting into a trot. As the rain fell harder, she edged the horse into the herd, driving the animals into a line that hugged the curve of the fence. One followed another, picking up the pace. I could guess what she was up to. She wanted them to circle the pen a few times, gathering speed, before she funneled them out the gate, and over me.