“Could be a bar,’’ Maddie said.

“Great,’’ Mama said. “There are almost as many bars in this county

as there are churches.’’

“Could you hear what song was playing?’’ Marty asked me.

I shook my head.

“You need to tell Carlos about this, Mace. The police will be able to figure out a lot more than we can from the phone message,’’ Mama said. “When are you going to see him next?’’

I took a sip of coffee. Blew on it, and then sipped again.

“Oh, no!’’ Mama grabbed my left hand and dragged it out from under the table, where I was hiding it in my lap. She waved the ring-free digit at my sisters. “I knew it!’’

I didn’t want my sorry romantic saga to distract us from helping Maddie. “We have not broken up, Mama. Things are just a little tense between us. It might be better if Sal tells Carlos about the phone call.’’

Mama dug in her heels, looked like she was ready to argue. “But—”

“—Enough!’’ Maddie slapped the table between us, startling Mama and me. “As fascinated as we are by Mace’s on-again-off-again engagement, my husband is being slandered as a murderer. Is it too much to ask that we focus on finding out who really killed Camilla, so we can clear Kenny’s name and bring him home?’’

Marty raised her coffee cup in a salute. “Hear, hear.’’

Maddie rested her hand on her belly for an instant. I doubted that Marty or Mama caught the protective gesture. They didn’t know her secret yet. She got out syrup and butter for the table; and served our pancakes from the griddle.

“By the way,’’ Maddie said, “the party is still on for tomorrow night. I’m going to hold my head high and call it ‘Free Kenny Wilson Night.’ Maybe we can force the real murderer to show his hand.’’

She doused her pancake with syrup, scooped up a mess of eggs, and passed the bowl to me.

As I helped myself, the pieces of a plan to unmask Camilla’s killer began to take shape.

forty-eight

“Have you spotted anybody yet? Tell me what you see, Mace.’’

“Thanks for the spit shower.’’ I dried the inside of my ear, and returned Mama’s whisper. “And, no, I haven’t spotted anybody. It’s the middle of the night, and cloudy. I can barely see.’’

“Are you sure this is the right spot for the swingers’ soiree?’’ She spritzed my ear with each shushed S.

“You can speak up. It’s clear we’re all alone.’’

We’d driven to a secret location at the country club, stashed her car behind the closed restaurant, and took cover in the shadows of the golf cart barn. Jason had called while I was at work to invite me to the gathering.

I’d groaned into the phone. “You start at three o’clock in the morning? Are your pals vampires as well as swingers?’’

“You asked me to let you know when the next party was. Well, this is it. I’m sure you’ll find it worth your while.’’

He’d revealed the closely guarded details: On arrival, guests were to knock four times, pause, and knock once more. The code word for the night was Dandelion. The group would meet in a large apartment kept for visiting golf pros, located beside the shed where electric carts were charged and stored.

“We have to make sure we’re not accidentally discovered. As you can imagine, these kind of parties call for absolute discretion.’’

“As discreet as you can be stark naked,’’ I said. “By the way, if I do come, I won’t be taking off my clothes. I’ll only be there as an observer.’’

He laughed. “That’s what they all say.’’

My Jeep was still being processed by the cops. It hadn’t taken much effort to persuade Mama to drive me to the golf course, especially after the message on Maddie’s machine implied the swingers were the key to everything. I wanted to find out more about them, especially the mayor. I had a hunch he was involved in Camilla’s murder. I needed to know how.

I stood now at the front of the cart shed, watching the entrance to the vacant parking lot. Mama was half-concealed behind a boxy silver machine that dispensed practice balls for the driving range. I had no intention of showing my hand—or anything else—until we’d staked out the situation.

Mama reminded me—again—of her ground rules for our reconnaissance mission: “I am not taking part in any of that funny business.’’

“And you think I am?’’ I said.

“I don’t know what you’re up to now that you’ve broken things off with Carlos. Maybe you’re in the market for a little excitement.’’

“First of all, I haven’t broken it off. I told you we’re taking a rest. And second, I’m not interested in that kind of excitement.’’

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Mace.’’

Once I finished sputtering, I planned to pursue that line of inquiry with Mama. Just then, though, I heard a car approach. I raised my hand to signal her to hush. “Head’s up. Here’s our first guest.’’

Stepping out from behind the ball dispenser, she craned her neck to peek around me.

A second car followed close behind the first. In the flash of its headlights, I saw the mayor’s shapely “aide” climb from the front seat of the first car. Another young woman, the one who’d been interviewing for a job in his office, got out of the back. When the driver exited, I was not surprised to see it was Angel. She caressed the cheek of the mayor’s aide, and gave the job-seeker’s bottom a friendly pat. The aide—Ruby? Diamond?—adjusted a halter top, hefting first one breast, and then the other. Her already considerable cleavage was now pumped up to its most flattering display. Licking her lips, Angel grazed her fingers across the aide’s chest.

“I knew there was something fishy about that barmaid!’’ Mama hissed.

The trio teetered toward the apartment in tight tops, micro-minis, and impossibly high heels. Angel unlocked the door and stepped in first. Light flooded out through the windows.

Five guys piled out of the second vehicle, a red SUV. The smell of men’s cologne and cigar smoke wafted our way as they made their way to the apartment. The SUV was familiar. I’d bet it was the same one that terrorized us and several other drivers along the stretch of highway near Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow. I also recognized the tallest man in the group as the developer with the gold watch who had visited Himmarshee Park with the mayor. I’d wondered that day about his smirking innuendoes about threesomes and foursomes. Now they made sense.

I scanned the cluster of men, recognizing a couple more from the day at the park. The mayor was not with them. Jason hadn’t shown yet, either. The tallest man counted out the requisite five knocks. “Dandelion,’’ he said, and the door opened.

Next, a convertible sports car roared up. I thought it might have been a Porsche; a car not often seen among the pickups and dilapidated beaters driving the local roads. A well-preserved, silver-haired couple extricated themselves from the low-slung seats. The man’s ample stomach made me wonder how he could fit behind the wheel to drive. The woman wore something short, tight, and golden. It shimmered in the light from the windows as they approached the porch.

“Do you know them?’’ I asked in a low voice.

Mama shook her head. “Probably drove up from Palm Beach. With that hair, she’d look better in silver sequins than gold.’’

“I’m sure she’d appreciate the fashion tip. Maybe you can write a column for the newspaper: What to wear to a sex party.’’

A sharp poke on the arm made me shut my mouth.

The man from the sports car rapped five times, and whispered the code word. Angel answered the door. She draped a hand over each of their shoulders, welcoming them. Her fingers slid down their chests, giving each what looked like a nipple tweak. The woman tittered; her date returned Angel’s pinch, goosing her in the rear end.

“How many are in there now?’’ Mama asked.

I tallied up the swingers: the mayor’s gals, Angel, and the granny from the Porsche made four women. The old broad’s beau and the five guys from the SUV made six men. I held up both hands, ten fingers outstretched.