Talking on his cell phone, he wasn’t paying attention. “Sorry, hang on,’’ he said into the phone. “What are you doing?’’ He stared at me, as I’d folded myself nearly in two to get under the dashboard.

“Get down, I said!’’

“Yoo-hoo, Henry!’’ The horn on Mama’s convertible tooted. “It’s Aunt Rosalee.’’

My cousin ended his phone conversation, too late. Our cover was blown. “Way to go, Henry.’’

It was 11:50 am. We were staked out in the parking lot of the radio station. I heard the familiar rumble of Mama’s vintage car as she pulled up beside us. If Kenny saw that distinctive turquoise cruise liner, he’d never drive into the lot. That’s why we were in the white minivan. It wasn’t as recognizable as any of the cars we usually drove.

I hopped out of the van.

“Where’d you come from, Mace?’’

I opened the driver’s door of her car, and talked fast. “Scoot over. We have to hurry. It has to do with Kenny. I’ll explain while I drive.’’

I gave her a little push, and to my surprise she moved. With the minutes ticking away until Kenny might show, I didn’t have time to argue with Mama, or devise an elaborate subterfuge to get rid of her. She’d never leave simply because I said so. I had no choice but to include her in the plan.

“Henry and I set up a fake radio contest to lure Kenny to the station. We’re waiting for him right now so we can finally confront him about what’s been going on.’’

Gunning Mama’s car, I crossed the street and drove around to the rear of a convenience store across from the radio station. A cluster of dumpsters would provide a serviceable hiding spot.

“We don’t want him to spot us, so we’re going to have to hurry back and get in Henry’s van. How’d you come to see us, by the way?’’

“I was driving past. I just picked up my car from Juan’s Auto Repair and Taco Shop.’’

I eased her big blue boat in between the dumpsters and turned off the key. Cla-clunk, cla-clunk, cla-clunk.

“Engine’s still knocking,’’ I said as I opened the door.

“That’s not the only thing that’ll be knocking once I see my cheating son-in-law.’’

Setting her mouth in a grim line, Mama gathered up her pineapple-sherbet purse and marched back to the parking lot of the radio station.

_____

Henry watched the street entrance from the driver’s seat. Mama was in the passenger seat. I was stretched out in the back, waiting for the word that one of them had sighted Kenny’s big truck. Mama swiveled in her seat toward me.

“Is there any chance we can patch things up between them by Saturday?’’ Mama said. “I’d hate to see all those party plans Maddie’s been working on just go down the drain.’’

Henry caught my eye in the rear-view mirror. I hadn’t told Mama or Marty that Kenny had been cheating with the murdered Camilla, or the implications of his involvement. Not even Maddie knew that yet.

“Saturday doesn’t seem likely,’’ Henry said, with lawyerly understatement.

“How long do you think it was going on?’’

“We’re not sure, Mama. He’d lost weight, bought those spiffy clothes, and took up golf. All that made Maddie suspicious. The more she investigated, the guiltier he looked.’’

Mama’s eyes took on a faraway glaze. “With Husband No. 2, it was cologne. That man would usually go around smelling like the bottom of a dirty laundry basket. I always knew he’d started running around on me again when he started pouring on the Eau D’Cheater.’’

I remembered. When No. 2 got ready to go out at night, there’d be cigarette ashes in their bathroom sink and wet towels all over the floor. The moist air would smell like clouds at the men’s fragrance counter of a department store at Christmas.

“Heads up,’’ Henry said. “Here comes his truck.’’

Our plan was to let Kenny park, and make it halfway to the door of the station before we intercepted him. Mama hefted her purse into her lap. Having her along actually improved our odds. If Kenny gave us any trouble, she’d swing that big satchel right for his crotch. I knew she wouldn’t hesitate. I’d seen her go for the groin before—once at a would-be assailant wielding a shotgun, and several times after she’d gotten fed up with Husband No. 2.

I didn’t expect Kenny to put up a fight. But I felt along the side of the back seat for the tire iron I’d stashed, just in case.

He eased his truck into a spot at the far end of the lot, where he could have vacant spaces on either side. Kenny was a fanatic about his paint job, and careful to avoid dings and scratches. This worked in our favor. If we had to get rough with him, it was better not to have to do it right in sight of the station’s front door.

“What in the hell?’’ Henry muttered.

“Would you look at that!’’ Mama said.

“Let me see.” I popped up my head between the two of them to get a better view out the front windshield. Kenny sported fake facial hair, dark sunglasses, and a black cowboy hat with a costume fringe of brown hair. He looked like Hank Williams Jr. after a very bad night.

“Let’s go get him,’’ I said.

Henry and Mama hurtled out the front of the car. I lost some time, looking for the safety button to slide open the minivan’s automatic door. I caught up with them midway across the lot.

“Stop right where you are, Kenny.’’ Mama’s voice was as cold as the beer fridge at the Booze ’n’ Breeze. “You’ve got some explaining to do.’’

I thought he might run. Instead, he turned slowly. He looked at Henry, whose big fists were clenched at his side. Henry may have added a bit of fat over the years, but he still had a lot of the muscle and speed of the high school wrestler he’d once been. Kenny’s gaze moved to his mother-in-law—purse at the ready, eyes singeing him with the “Mama Glare.’’ Finally, he focused on me, tire iron tucked alongside my thigh.

“Are y’all going to kill me?’’ he asked.

“I ought to,’’ Henry answered.

I raised the iron, touched it lightly to Kenny’s zipper. “I can think of a better fate for a cheating husband.’’

Mama put her hand over mine, lowering my makeshift weapon. “There’s no need for violence, Mace. Kenny knows he’s done Maddie wrong.’’

She turned to him, eyes searching his face. “Surely there’s an explanation for all this? You don’t just throw away more than twenty years of marriage.’’

He hung his head. The ridiculous shag-cut wig formed a curtain over his face.

Henry was blunt. “Are you involved with the swingers’ club at the golf course? Is that what all of this is about?’’

“How’s a club to practice your golf swing related to anything, Henry?” Exasperation edged Mama’s words. “Let’s stay on the topic.’’

Kenny’s face was as scarlet as the feathers on a redbird’s cap. “I …

I mean … I …”

“My goodness, Kenny, spit it out. There’s no shame in having a bad swing. Lord knows Sal goes to the driving range to practice his all the time. He told me the swing is one of the most important elements in golf.’’

My cousin and I exchanged a look. “Are you going to tell Mama it’s a different kind of swinging, or should we?’’ I asked Kenny.

Silently, he shook his head.

Henry and I took turns revealing to her what we’d discovered: About the sexual swingers’ club; how the mayor and his wife were members; that Jason, the pro, and Angel, the barmaid, were also involved.

Mama’s face had paled. The heavy purse hung forgotten from one limp arm.

“The reason Henry asked if Kenny was involved is that they meet out at his camp near the county line,’’ I told her.

Throughout, Kenny’s eyes had remained fixed on the parking lot pavement. At the mention of his camp, he raised his head. “I didn’t invite them, and I didn’t want them there. But once I got involved with …” his voice tapered off.

“I know who you were cheating with,’’ I said.

His head shot up. He slid off the sunglasses to look at me.