As I sputtered up, Martinez got out of his car and leaned against the drivers door. He looked completely relaxed; casual. Just an average, hard-working cop, enjoying a cigar at the end of a long day. Of course, his smoking pal happened to be the very same man Martinez had said was criminally linked to the dead mobster. And that wasnt the least of it. Hed all but told me Sal was a suspect in that mobsters murder.

I brought Pams car shuddering to a stop, and turned off the key in the ignition. Martinez walked over to the VW to greet me. We meet again so soon, Ms. Bauer.

Oh, can the act, Detective. Its been a long day. Im as tuckered out as a plow horse after forty rows. Why were you just sharing a smoke with the man you implied might have murdered Jimmy the Weasel?

I like a woman who cuts to the chase. He smiled down into the drivers seat.

Im thrilled, I said. And I like a man who isnt a pathological liar. What the hell is going on?

He looked right then left, like there might be someone lurking in the vast rows of vacant parking spaces. He turned around and peered behind us. Then he took a step around the front of my car and scanned the road Id just come from. Unless someone was hovering over our heads or hiding underneath one of our cars, there wasnt a soul to overhear him.

I cant really talk about the investigation. He pressed his lips together like a crooked cop on the witness stand whod just invoked the Fifth Amendment.

Thats it? I asked. You cant talk about it? Thats all youre going to say?

I wish I could say more. I really do.

I started counting, but only made it to two.

Maybe Chief Johnson will be more forthcoming when I share with him that I saw you chumming around with a murder suspect, I snapped. What do you think hell say about that?

His big brown eyes filled with disappointment. Do whatever you have to do, Ms. Bauer. I will say this: the situation with Sal Provenza is a very delicate one. You going around spreading tales when you dont understand what youre talking about could compromise the investigation into Jimmy Albrizios murder. Youre not Agatha Christie, you know. The last thing the police need is some half-cocked civilian, meddling in crucial matters and trying to solve the Big Case.

My hands squeezed the steering wheel. My knuckles were white. This man had a way of getting on my last nerve. I get your point, Detective. You dont have to insult me while youre at it. I turned the key. Now, if youll excuse me, Im going to take my dumb civilian self home and get some rest.

The car stalled. So much for a dramatic exit. I pumped the gas again. It finally started on the fourth try.

Good night. I raised my chin and stared straight ahead, trying to appear as dignified as possible for a woman who was driving the Little Engine That Couldnt.

I glanced into the rearview mirror as I pulled out of the police lot. Martinez was leaning against his car, puffing away on that stupid cigar and watching me disappear.

___.

As the VW rattled down the dirt drive that leads to my cottage, the outline of three masked bandits flashed in the headlights.

I cursed. Stupid raccoons!

The creatures seemed to be struggling to get the tops off my garbage cans. A smart-ass detective from Miami might put me in my place. But, by God, Id shown those raccoons. Im not an experienced animal trapper for nothing. My garbage was trussed up tighter than Fort Knox. The lids on top of the cans were snapped down; bungee cords secured the tops to the handles.

I was feeling pretty good, until I got a little closer and saw the coons had busted the vault. They were picnicking on leftover chicken and cantaloupe. The biggest one looked as pleased as a fat man at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I flashed the brights and blew the horn. They just looked up and blinked. Most of my country neighbors would have simply shot the varmints. But Im soft about animals. I parked the car, headed to my shed, and picked out a rake. Then I turned the hose on them, holding the rake ready in case they ran at me instead of into the woods. As they scampered away, I swear that biggest one aimed a look out of Terminator at me over his shoulder.

Ill be back.

Just try it, you little bastard, I yelled.

Hump-backed, they loped toward the line of cypress trees and Sabal palms that mark the edge of my property. Im getting out the smelly stuff, I shouted after them. Well see how yall like it when you come sniffing around for dinner and the stench of laundry bleach knocks you over instead!

So this is what Id descended to: a crazy woman living alone in the woods, warring with raccoons. I grabbed my purse from the car, tossed a tarp over the seats in case of rain, and headed for my cypress-wood cottage.

From the front porch, I took a moment to appreciate what I love about living so far out. The stars lit the black sky. Cattle lowed in a distant pasture. The scent of orange blossoms from a grove hung in the air. There was also a whiff of manure, fortunately faint, from the Big Lake Dairy. It had drifted over Highway 98 and across the marshes of Taylor Slough, traveling west on a slight breeze.

Inside, the gator jaws gaped on my coffee table, waiting for my keys. The answering machine light blinked. I wanted to ignore it and hit the sack instead. But given all the recent crazy events, I figured Id better not.

You have one message, an electronic voice intoned. First message.

Mace, honey? Its your mama.

Like I couldnt tell. I started sorting mail as she carried on her conversation with my machine.

You will never believe who called me up here after yall left. None other than Pastor Bob Dixon, from church. Abundant Hope, that is.

Like theres another Pastor Bob.

I may have been wrong about him, Mace. He seemed awful sweet on the phone. He went on and on about how Delilah told him youd come to church with me, and how nice that was. Said it sure would be wonderful if youd come more often.

Nice try, Mama.

Anyway, he said the real reason he called is he wants to talk to me about Emma Jean. I told him we were really more acquaintances than friends. But he told me that didnt matter; she needs a friend right now. Pastor Bob said I should stop by the church sometime tomorrow to see him and Delilah. Theyre hatching a plan to see if we cant get poor Emma Jean some help.

I kicked off my boots, opened the refrigerator, and got a beer. If Mama had a point, I may as well get comfortable while I waited for her to find it.

After she threw that fit at church, he said its obvious shes hurting. I never would have believed it of Emma Jean, Mace. But with all thats happened in her life, it seems like shes gone plumb crazy. First, her little boy disappeared, like I told yall. Then she finds out Jim was cheating. And now he gets killed.

Thirty seconds remaining.

Well! These machines sure dont give you much time, do they? Anyway, I was wondering whether youd run me by church in the mornin, about 8:30? Id ask Maddie, but she has a sixth-grade assembly. And Marty will still be feeling poorly. I worry about her so much with those awful headaches, Mace. And now shes got the responsibilities of that new job. What do you suppose we can do about her migraines, Mace? Anyway, Id sure appreciate the ride. I wish youd wear that sweet Kelly green blouse with the bow at the neck. You look so Beep. End of message.

I look so so what? So much like the wife of the Jolly Green Giant in a ruffled collar? So much like a leprechaun on growth hormones?

I knew how poor Teensy must feel, having to suffer the humiliation of Mama dressing him in a yellow slicker when it rains and a reindeer sweater at Christmas. He even has a tiny set of antlers to match the sweater. Fortunately, I get to choose my own clothes. The Kelly green horror would stay at the back of my closet, where it belongs.

Finally, I was able to peel off the jeans Id been wearing for what seemed like a week. I dropped them on the floor, changed into my PJs and fluffed the pillows on my bed. Suddenly, the phone shrilled, sending my stomach somersaulting around the burger and fries and ice cream.

In a country town like Himmarshee, people turn in early. When the phone rings past midnight, the news is never good.

The caller was a woman, her shaky voice so soft I could hardly hear it.

Mace? Im awful sorry to call so late.

My heart thrummed. Is my mama okay? Has anything happened to my sisters?

Oh, honey, Im sorry I scared you. She took a long breath. Theyre all fine, so far as I know. This isnt about anybody but me.

The acrobats in my gut took a break. The bass drum in my chest slowed to a normal beat. I waited, trying to let her proceed at her own pace. She was clearly in distress. But my compassion extends only so far at 12:44 am.

Then I heard a familiar wail.

Hey there, Emma Jean. I raised my voice to compete. Dont cry now. Its going to be all right.

I didnt sob know who else sob to call, Mace. Your mama always talks about how smart you are. I liked the way you handled yourself at the police department. Not too bossy, like your older sister. And not too much of a scaredy cat, like that younger one. Emma Jean paused to blow her nose. I need someone with a good head on her shoulders to tell me what to do.

I gazed with longing at my fluffy pillows. They looked like two white clouds that had floated down from heaven to carry me off to a blessed sleep. On the other hand, we all wanted to know what the hell was up with Emma Jean.

How can I help? I sat at the foot of the bed, turning my back on the pillows.

Mace, I found out who was cheating with Jim.

I sat up straight, sleep forgotten. Who?

I dont want to say over the phone. You never know who might be listening in. No sobs now; not even a sniffle. I couldnt sleep, as you can imagine. Im out driving around. I know this is a big favor, but I really need to talk this out with someone, Mace. I saw on Oprah that when something is bothering you, you need to get it out in the open. You need to confront it, or itll fester.

Thats good advice, Emma Jean, depending on what you mean by confronting. I thought of the ruckus at the church. Her threat of doing harm to the Other Woman. If you could say whos involved, itll help me know how to handle this.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. Not on the phone, Mace. Please.

It seemed pretty paranoid, but I didnt want to upset her. I remembered that tire iron.

As if shed read my thoughts, Emma Jean said, I know I made a fool of myself at Abundant Hope. I need somebody smart like you to tell me how to go about settling things. Im out on Highway 98 now, only a few minutes away from the old Raulerson cottage. Your mama told me you bought that old ruin, and fixed it up real nice.

I looked at the clock. It was 12:51. No, 12:52. What the hell? Id sleep tomorrow night.

Cmon over. Ill put on a pot of herbal tea.

Tossing a robe over my pajamas, I went into the kitchen. I lit a couple of Mamas carnation candles. The water boiled, and I poured it into a pot over three chamomile teabags. After choosing some pretty flowered cups, I set out two spoons and a plastic bear full of honey. By the time Id washed up a few dishes, read the headlines in the Himmarshee Times, and turned on the TV, I began to wonder what was keeping Emma Jean.

Im too cheap to pay the phone company an extra monthly fee for caller ID. But I can usually discover the last number that called me by punching in star-69 on my phones keypad.

The display panel flashed: Number Unavailable.

I cursed the fact thered be a charge for the service, even though it failed to retrieve Emma Jeans cell number. Then I reminded myself to stop being a petty cheapskate. A fellow woman was in crisis, after all. And it was only ninety-five cents.

Clicking channels on the remote, I found an ancient rerun of The Andy Griffith Show. Sheriff Taylor was teaching some kind of life lesson to his boy, Opie. Deputy Barney Fife was wreaking havoc on an otherwise peaceful Mayberry.

And thats the last thing I remember, until my alarm went off from the next room at 7:30 am.

The sun streamed through the living room window. The glare bounced off one of the gators teeth, hitting me dead in the eye. I lifted my head from the couch, which was wet where I drooled in my sleep. The TV blared. One candle flickered, weakly. The other was burned out.

And Emma Jean Valentine was nowhere in sight.

___.

I microwaved the leftover chamomile tea. No sense in wasting it. Along with a sliced banana between two pieces of buttered wheat toast, that was my breakfast. After last nights pig-out, I wanted to get something wholesome down my gullet for a change.

Within fifteen minutes, I showered, dressed, and was out the door. My second cup of honeyed tea was still steaming when I shook the rain puddles off the VWs tarp, and headed for Mamas house.

On the way out, I saw the aftermath of the raccoon fiesta. It was worse than I thought. My yard looked like the picnic grounds at Himmarshee Park after the Fourth of July: beer bottles, paper scraps, and chicken bones gnawed clean. Id clean up after work.

The VW bounced under a canopy of live oaks. The air smelled clean from the rain. The downpour had revived the resurrection ferns that grow on the trees branches, turning them from dull brown to deep green.

No sooner had I pulled onto Highway 98 than my cell phone started to ring. It was in my purse, which was on the floor. Of course. Bracing the steering wheel between my knees, I placed the mug of tea on the dashboards least perilous spot and reached for the phone with my free hand. Thank God there was no other traffic on the highway.

Hey, Mace. Ive got some interesting news for you.

At a bump in the road, the tea started to topple. To rescue it, I had to drop the phone. I played it safe and dumped the rest of the hot chamomile out the window.

Im sorry, I said, jamming the phone back to my ear. Who is this?

Donnie Bailey. From the jail?

I flashed on a massive chest and manly mustache.

Of course, Donnie. How are you?

Pretty good. I hope you dont mind me calling you on your cell. When your mama stayed with us, she listed you as her emergency contact. She gave us both your home and cell numbers.

I dabbed with a napkin from my purse at a small puddle of herbal tea on the dashboard. Did you say something about news, Donnie? I was an advertisement for dangerous distractions behind the wheel.

I thought you might want to know you were right.

About?

The other night on the road, when you said there was another car there? You were right and I was wrong. I owe you an apology. I just saw the report.

Now Donnie had my full attention. Driving was on automatic pilot. The road to Mamas rolled past, nearly unnoticed.

They found a second set of tire imprints where your car went off the road, Mace. Both tracks veered off the pavement onto the shoulder. Yours kept going, on into that ditch. But the other vehicle steered back onto the roadway. The investigator took a bunch of black-and-white pictures and made an impression with casting powder.

Whats that?

Its kind of like pancake batter, except youd never want to eat it. You pour it into the track, it gets real hard, and then you can lift it out. You can use the impression to compare to the bad guys tire. Thats the good news. The bad news is you have to find the bad guys car first, so you can compare.

Can they tell what kind of tire it is?

The impression wasnt the greatest. They know the tread was worn, and its a big tire, like for a pickup.

Great. That means it could have been just about anybody in Himmarshee. Trucks are as common here as taxicabs in New York. Everybodys got one; or knows someone who does.

Guilty as charged, Mace. Donnie laughed. Ive got a brother drives a pickup.

See? Thats my point.

Thats not all, Mace. They couldnt find any usable paint chip evidence, either. The other driver must have just tapped that spare tire that sticks out where its mounted on the back of your Jeep. It would have been better if theyd really hit you hard, painted metal to metal. That would have left behind something to analyze.

I remembered my terror on that dark road; the black water swirling around my legs. All that from a tap.

Yeah, well, a harder impact might have made me flip. And we probably wouldnt be having this talk right now.