Jesse hauled back and slapped C’ndee across the face. If this were six months ago, I’d be rooting for Jesse to kick C’ndee’s butt all the way back to Hackensack. But I liked Sal’s cousin now, so I was pulling for her as the two women circled one another.

“Odds favor C’ndee,’’ I said.

“If she gets Jesse on the ground, she’ll have her,’’ Maddie agreed. “She’s got a sixty-pound advantage, at least.’’

“Yeah, but Jesse can kick like a mule,’’ Mama said. “Remember that little show with the cowboy hat this morning, Mace? C’ndee better back out of range and keep her eye on that gal’s pointy-toed boots.’’

We were settling in for a good catfight when Sal appeared from nowhere. He moved surprisingly fast for a man who stood six-foot-four and weighed more than three hundred pounds. He stepped in between the two warring women, separating them with his bulk.

“Break it up! Back to your corners, da two of youse.’’

“She started it.’’ C’ndee rubbed at her cheek.

Sal had one massive hand on C’ndee’s shoulder. He gave her a hard shake. “You oughta be ashamed of yourself. You’re the adult here.’’

He shook Jesse with the other hand, but not as hard. “And you need to grow up and stop acting like a spoiled brat. We’ve got bigger things to worry about than whether you like your lunch. A man died here this morning.’’

“Big F’ing Deal.’’

Sal stared at Jesse. Maddie tsked. Even C’ndee gasped at the young woman’s callousness.

“Look, I couldn’t stand Norman. Neither could anyone else, though we’re bound to hear all kinds of wonderful eulogies now that he’s dead.’’

People had stopped eating in every corner of the tent. All eyes were on Jesse. She tossed her hair and continued.

“I could act like I’m all mournful and sorry, but I’m not. The man was a pig. Call me whatever you want, but I’m not a hypocrite. The only acting I do is for the cameras.’’

With that, Jesse gave a final shake of her curls. Then she exited, stage left.

“Bad news.’’ I found Carlos stepping out of the “honey wagon,’’ a trailer with toilets for the movie crew. “An army of paparazzi is marching our way.’’

He scowled at me. I raised my hands, surrender style.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Plus, it gets worse: The gals from Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow beauty parlor called Mama. They say it’s all over town that your police chief is going to be interviewed on three different cable news shows tonight.’’

He rolled his shoulders; a vein pulsed at his temple. “We don’t know squat yet. I hope he doesn’t oversell.’’

“You mean brag about how his hotshot homicide detective from Miamuh is going to hunt down and catch the perpetrator of this hay-en-ous crime?’’

Wincing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Something like that, yeah.’’

I took a quick look around the movie production’s outdoor encampment, known in Hollywood lingo as base camp. Transformed from ranchland, it was a small city of semi trucks and white trailers. Some held movie-making essentials, everything from props and wardrobe, to cameras and lights. Others housed office equipment. Red stars on several trailer doors denoted actors’ quarters.

Awnings had been rolled out and portable tents erected to shield cast and crew from the searing Florida sun. With the murder interrupting the shooting schedule, the movie people sat alone or in small groups. Some talked; others read. The catered lunch was over, but the craft services truck was busy, as cast and crew helped themselves to cold drinks, sweets, and afternoon snacks.

No one seemed to be paying attention to Carlos and me, standing beside a plastic picnic table behind a towering pallet of bottled water. Rolling his shoulders again, he kneaded the back of his neck.

“Have a seat,’’ I said. “Let me see if I can get some of those kinks out.’’

He settled sideways, straddling the bench seat. I sat behind him, my legs on either side of his rear. The skin at the insides of my thighs felt hot where it touched his hips. Softly, I traced a cowlick that defies the straight hairline at the back of his neck. Then I went to work, massaging out the tension and stress trapped in his neck and shoulders.

“Ahh,’’ he moaned. “That’s great. You can go harder if you want.’’

Harder is exactly where I wanted to go, but I restricted myself to the knots in his neck. I ratcheted up the pressure. A grunt escaped his lips, and I knew I was getting the job done.

Strong hands are a benefit of being the kind of girl who rode right alongside the boys in high school rodeo. These days, I easily heft forty-pound bags of animal chow at the makeshift wildlife shelter I established at Himmarshee Park. And I’ve won more than a few rounds of beer in bars, arm-wrestling tough-guy wannabes.

Like my cousin Henry always says, “It’s not bragging if it’s fact.’’

For the next several moments, I rubbed. When I quit, Carlos rolled his head. I heard a couple of soft pops. He leaned back against me and sighed. “You’re a miracle worker, Mace.’’

“You don’t have to leave a tip, just return the favor.’’

He shifted to look over his shoulder at me, a half smile on his lips. “Oh, I intend to.’’ His black eyes smoldered. “I have a long list of ways I plan to return the favor.’’

“I’ll take you up on all of them, after you solve the case.’’

As soon as I saw the furrowing between his eyes, I realized I’d said the wrong thing. Again.

“Uhmm … I didn’t mean it’s contingent on you solving the case. I’d feel the same way about you even if you never solved another case.’’

He cocked his head at me, the frown line getting deeper.

“I mean, of course you’ll solve the case, Carlos. You’ll work it out. You always do. You’re an incredible detective …’’

He put a finger to my lips. The frown faded. “It’s okay, niña. I know what you mean. It’s just that these film people are a different breed. I feel like I did when I was nine years old and came to this country from Cuba. I need a guide, or a translator, or something.’’

His eyes roamed around the tented quadrangle outside the trailers. They caught, and stayed, on Kelly Conover, seated a short distance away in a camp chair in the shade.

“Maybe she’s your gal,’’ I said. “She knows everybody on the set. And she speaks Hollywood.’’

Carlos rubbed his jaw, thinking. The tendon in his forearm tensed, exposed by the rolled-up sleeve of his white dress shirt. I had the urge to trace it with my tongue, traveling up along his arm, and then continuing on a steady path across his broad chest, up the other shoulder, lingering on his neck, and then onward until my mouth met the full, masculine curve of his lips.

But we were in professional mode, so I tamped down my naughty thoughts. Just to be safe, I plunged my hands into the back pockets of my jeans.

“Go ahead and talk to her,’’ I said. “It might help the investigation. You know you want to.’’

Gazing at Kelly across a short expanse of well-trodden pasture, he licked his lips. I chose to interpret this is a sign of nervousness, not desire. “She does seem well connected,’’ he said.

“Well, of course she does, Carlos. She’s been around for who knows how many years.’’

Meow!

With my eyes following him as he strode toward Kelly, I didn’t notice Maddie sidle up beside me.

“I’m surprised you let him go.’’ Maddie shoveled in a spoonful of chocolate chip ice cream, a craft services treat.

I turned. Marty stood watching Carlos, too. Mama wasn’t with them. I hoped she was staying out of trouble.

“It’s a free country, sisters. Besides, Carlos and I are past all those games.’’ I swiped a finger through Maddie’s bowl. “Mmm, good. We’re in an adult relationship. I’ve moved on from junior high.’’