Just as Savannah finished summing up her husband’s high opinion of authentic Florida, a crash sounded in the woods behind the catering tent. A string of curses followed. A sixty-something man in a bush vest, cargo pants, and a long gray ponytail stumbled out of the palmetto scrub. His face was bright red. Skunk vine trailed from his ankles. His pant legs were stained with black mud and sopping wet up past his knees.

“Paul!’’ Savannah called out.

He lurched toward us, swatting at bugs with both hands. I smelled the insect repellent on him before he arrived.

“Remind me again, Savannah. Why’d I ever take on a film in this God-forsaken state? ‘A Land Remembered’? It should be ‘A Land Forgotten’.’’

Carlos stood up. “Love it or hate it, you better get used to it. Nobody leaves Himmarshee until we find out who killed Norman Sydney.’’

“I can’t believe Greg Tilton moved that poor dead man off the fence.’’ My sister Maddie polished off one chicken drumlet and reached for another. “Maybe he thought he was doing a scene from Rescue.’’

“Which one is that now?’’ I asked.

Maddie snapped her fingers in front of my face, but since they were slick with pesto sauce, it was more of a sssttt than a snnaap.

“The one about paramedics. You’re going to have to study up if you want to be in the film industry, Mace. People will expect you to know these things.’’

“I’m moving horses and critters from place to place, Maddie. I’d hardly say that makes me a Hollywood insider.’’

“It’s an important job, Mace,’’ Marty said.

“Do you suppose I can get Greg’s autograph now?’’ Mama asked.

“Still not a good time, Mama,’’ I warned.

We’d been bringing my sisters up to speed on the morning’s events when Mama’s new cousin by marriage stopped by the table in her catering tent to talk.

“So, whaddaya think of my prosciutto and provolone panini?’’ C’ndee Ciancio hovered over us, beaming proudly.

“Well, honey, I’m not sure I could spell it, but I sure can eat it.’’ Mama took a bite to demonstrate. “It’s delicious, almost as good as the pulled pig on a bun at the Pork Pit.’’

Maddie had taken a couple of days off from her school principal’s job, while her assistant principal filled in. Marty was on vacation from her job at the Himmarshee library. Both had agreed to help me with the animals, mainly so they’d get the chance to see some Hollywood stars. So far, I hadn’t needed their help. But that didn’t stop them from coming out to the location shoot, especially after Mama called to tell them about the murder.

Mama’s new friend, the security man, only needed one look at the doll-sized Marty—big blue eyes, shiny blond hair, and a face so innocent it’d break your heart. He waved her and Maddie over to the tent to join us. My big sister didn’t even need to pull out her scary school administrator routine.

Now, C’ndee glanced around the tent, which was set up next to her catering truck. “Where’s Sal?’’ She raked bright red fingernails through her mane of black hair. “He loves my sandwiches.’’

Sal was helping the police keep looky-loos away from the corral, now a crime scene. Carlos was working out there, too.

“Wrap up a couple of those pan-ninnies in a little to-go bag, hon. I’ll make sure Sal gets them when I leave,’’ Mama said.

“Will do, Rosalee. I better run. Enjoy, girls.’’

Maddie waved goodbye with a drumstick. Marty toasted C’ndee with a glass of sparkling Italian soda. “I love this raspberry flavor,’’ she called after her. “It may replace sweet tea as my favorite.’’

Over the last several months my sisters and I had become friendly with C’ndee. We forgave her for bulldozing her way into Mama’s wedding, not to mention for being from New Jersey. Her new business, C’ndee’s Ciao, was doing well, even though no one in Himmarshee could pronounce it. The second word is Italian, and you’re supposed to say it like “chow.’’

“Mace, pass me some of that aioli, would you?” Maddie pointed her drumlet at a little pot of sauce on the table. The Pork Pit would call it mayonnaise.

“A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips, Maddie.’’

My older sister shot Mama a glare. “I happen to be big-boned.’’

Marty nodded. “That’s true. She is, just like the two of us are little shrimps, and Mace is tall and slender. That’s genetics, Mama.’’

“Well, I read in the Enquirer that Kelly Conover triumphed over her weight issues with a cabbage soup diet. Maybe you could try that, Maddie.’’

“Humph!’’ Maddie harrumphed, a habit she must have gotten from Mama in her chromosomes.

Marty changed the subject from food to a less emotional topic. “Are you going to solve the murder, Mace?’’

“I’m staying out of it. These Hollywood people are crazy.’’

Marty got a dreamy look on her face as she sipped her raspberry drink. “Do you suppose Toby and Jesse are really a couple?’’

Mama slathered her panini with aioli. “Well, they were definitely coupling in her trailer. Somebody ought to call the scandal sheets and tell them about that, especially after Jesse sat right on Oprah’s couch and told her she’d gotten treatment for her sex addiction.’’

“Sisters, you should have seen Jesse get all meek and scared-looking when the producer’s ex-wife yelled at her,’’ I said. “Total transformation. Something is definitely up with that Barbara Sydney.’’

Maddie took a sip of Marty’s soda, and made a face. “Ewww, needs sugar. Wouldn’t that be horrible to be Barbara, and find out your ex had been murdered?’’

Mama shrugged, and swiped her knife through Maddie’s pesto. Maddie pulled the plate out of her reach. “I can see you’re all choked up, Mama. It's amazing you being so upset over the murder hasn’t spoiled your appetite, or stopped you from stealing off my plate.’’

“Well, of course I mourn the passing of any one of God’s creatures, girls.’’

“While you’re mourning, you might want to wipe that dribble of pesto off your chin,’’ Maddie said.

Mama dabbed, and then put down her sandwich. “Truth is, I can’t muster up a single tear for that man. All I knew about him is he screamed at me for no good reason this morning. The great acting coach Stella Adler might say I could channel the anger I felt at him into my craft, if I can get a part.’’

Mama had been poring over library books on the actor’s “craft,’’ which was vaguely troubling to my sisters and me. I was about to tell them why Norman had screamed at her, when a ruckus broke out from the serving line. Jesse’s voice was raised in an angry shout.

“I won’t eat that! It’s not vegetarian anymore. You got blood from the roast on the serving utensil.’’ She batted at C’ndee’s spoon. “Where’d they hire you? The animal slaughterhouse?’’

C’ndee jabbed back at her with the big spoon, bringing it just inches from Jesse’s nose. She ratcheted up the volume on her Jersey foghorn voice. “This spoon did not touch anything but your precious vegetable medley. Although from what I’ve read about all the crap you put into your body, a little beef jus would be the least of your worries.’’

Jesse slammed her tray on the table. “Paul! You’re the director. Direct yourself over here and take care of this. This woman is trying to poison me. I want her ass fired!’’

I looked around the catering tent. Paul Watkins was nowhere in sight.

“Will somebody go find our has-been director, PLEASE?’’ Jesse’s face was red, and the veins stood out on her neck. She screamed, “I want this bitch fired! Now!’’

She glared at C’ndee, who backed down not one inch. “Just try to get me canned.’’ C’ndee’s spoon passed so close to the young star’s head, it parted her hair. “You’ll find your latest Teen Diva Meltdown posted on the Internet faster than you can say ‘tweet.’’’