Were becoming great friends, arent we, LaTonya? When we get out of here, Ive asked her to come visit us at Abundant Hope, Mace. Of course, our new pastors not real popular. But were hoping he works out.

Donnie said he came by already this morning. That was nice, I said.

Mama pursed her lips.

Whats wrong?

Im trying to warm up to him, I really am, Mace. But the man has a strange way of offering comfort. I mean, Im sitting in jail. Do you think this is the time I want to hear about his plans for selling his DVDs and growing our little church?

I raised my eyebrows. Mama answered her own question.

No, it is not. Hes so full of himself, I barely got a word in edgewise about my situation.

I sincerely doubted that.

Mama, if you dont like him, just tell Donnie you dont want to see him.

Her eyes got wide. I couldnt do that, Mace. Pastor Bob is my minister.

Howre you getting along in here otherwise?

Mama brightened. Well, Ive been helping LaTonya with her colors. Were pretty sure with her brown eyes and skin tone, shes an Autumn. Its kind of hard to tell, what with that interesting shade of lavender in her hair.

LaTonyas eyes flickered up from the floor for a second as she touched her purple stripe. Its just like Mama to treat jail like a slumber party, all color charts and clothing tips. Im no expert, but those orange uniforms would flatter no onenot a Winter, Spring, Summer, or Fall.

Im glad to see you, Mama.

Me, too, Mace. But what happened to your hair, honey? It looks like a possum crawled in there and dug a nest.

I ignored the criticism. A woman who cuts her own hair cant afford to be too vain. But I ran a hand through it anyway to try and fluff the flat side. Ive got good news, Mama. Henrys working hard on getting you out of here.

Alarm registered on her face. Henry hasnt told his mama where I am, has he, Mace? That Irene will never let me forget it if he has.

By this time, the news that Mama was in jail was all over Himmarshee County, from the fish camps around Lake Okeechobee to the citrus groves that stretch to the north.

I doubt if Henrys said a word. Lawyers have to respect confidentiality. Its a law.

I brought Mama up to date on the criminal identity of the man in her trunk.

Poor Emma Jean, she said.

Didnt you suspect anything funny about her boyfriend?

I barely knew the man, Mace. Id only seen him once, briefly, when he dropped Emma Jean off at bingo. He never even got out of the car.

I told her about Police Chief Johnson getting involved.

He was the sweetest child in Sunday School, Mace. Loved cupcakes.

And I said my upcoming meeting with Martinez would give us a better idea of where things stood.

Now, dont make him mad, Mace. I know how you are. Just remember what I always say: you can catch a lot more flies with honey than with vinegar.

Maybe it was the stress, but that last part set my blood to boil. Mamas constantly on me to be more charming, to smile more. She knows Id sooner eat dirt than flutter my eyes and flirt.

I lashed out. Yeah, we can see where all that honey has gotten you, Mama. Right behind bars. By the way, Im glad youre having a good time in here, discussing colors and all, but I hope you know youre in serious trouble. You better start thinking about something that will help Henry and the rest of us get you out of here. You cant expect us to do all the work.

Mama recoiled like Id slapped her. LaTonya lifted her eyes long enough to shoot me a dirty look.

Mace, Im perfectly aware of where I am. Mama said softly, her voice laced with hurt. I dont live in a dream world. I know Im in trouble. But thats the difference between us. You worry and stew and make things worse. I put on the happiest face I can. I try to make the best out of things, even the worst things. And I trust the Lord to sort things out. Its the way Ive always gotten by. Its the only way I know.

I swallowed, hard. Im an awful daughter. My sister Marty would never be so mean; though Maddie might. I heard squeaky shoes and felt a tap on my shoulder.

Mace, you need to get going. Donnie couldnt have come at a better time. Were about ready to serve lunch, and believe me, you dont want to be around here for that.

I ducked my head, surreptitiously brushing away tears. Its okay, Donnie. I was just fixin to leave anyway.

I started to walk away, and then turned back to the cell. Im sorry Im so horrible, Mama. I love you. You know that, right?

Shed always taught us, never leave mad. You never know which breath is your last.

Mace, Im as sure of your love as I am of the sun. Stop fretting.

I promise you, youre going to be home soon. Teensys going to be driving you to distraction again before you know it.

LaTonya glanced up, rewarding me with a smile.

Detective Martinez is going to figure out this whole mess is a misunderstanding, I said. Hes going to charge in here himself and cut you loose.

I know lying is wrong. But Mama always said its not a sin if you lie in order to save another persons feelings.

A uniformed stranger sat at the receptionists desk in the police lobby. Emma Jean probably needed time to recover from the shock of finding out that A: her boyfriend had been murdered; and B: he wasnt who she thought he was.

The woman manning the desk had close-cropped hair and a husky build. A red-and-black tattoo peeked out from under her shirt sleeve. She was reading a copy of Field & Stream magazine. There was not a chance in hell shed ever wear a kitty-cat pin or pour her bosoms into a pink bustier.

Excuse me.

She looked up from the magazine, staring at me like I was something shed dragged into the lobby on the bottom of her shoe.

Im looking for Detective Martinez. He asked me to stop by to see him.

Actually, hed summoned me, like he was a medieval duke and I was a serf. But I was determined to be on my best behavior, so I didnt dwell on that.

With a monumental effort, the woman put down the magazine and picked up the phone. She punched in a few numbers, then barked, Its Officer Watkins. Tell Martinez theres a woman up here to see him.

She waited, listening. How am I supposed to know? She sounded irritated.

Some more listening, then, Whats your name?

I stared at the Bait & Tackle shop calendar on the wall.

Hey, she raised her voice. I said, whats your name?

When I figured out she was talking to me, I told her.

Have a seat. She hung up the phone. Hes busy, but he knows youre out here. Hell see you as soon as he gets to it.

She picked up Field & Stream again, lifting it in front of her face. I missed Emma Jean.

I was the only customer in the lobby. I didnt think Miss Police Congeniality would mind me making a call to work while I waited. Id already phoned in sick, but I owed my supervisor, Rhonda, an explanation. Were close. I figured she should get the straight news from me, instead of the gossipy version from the Himmarshee Hotline.

Hey, there. Its Mace.

Shed heard all about Mamas trouble, of course. Charging Mama as an accessory to murder was bull, I told Rhonda. I said were working hard on getting her out.

I know youve got a lot on your plate right now, Mace, and I hate to pile on. That was Rhondas warning she was about to do just that. Remember that lady who called all hysterical over the possum? You remember, from New Jersey. She thought she had a really big rat. Shes got a new problem for you.

What is it this time? I asked. A king snake in her toilet?

She swears shes seen a Florida panther prowling her property.

Yeah, thats likely. What are there, like eighty of them left? And all down in the Everglades, a hundred and fifty miles south of us. Its probably somebodys pet cat, hittin the Friskies too hard. I once had a friend with a house cat weighed thirty-one pounds. Shed toss Tiger a treat every time she walked past. That cat looked like a bowling ball with paws.

Anyway, Mace, the womans driving us crazy. What should I tell her?

Tell her the truth. Tell her my mamas in prison. Itll reinforce all her stereotypes. Go ahead and add that my man is a-cheatin and my blue eyes are cryin in the rain.

There was a long pause on the other end.

Why would I want to do that, Mace? she said, confused.

Its a joke, Rhonda. Like a country song? Like as long as Mamas in prison, lets add on the rest of the redneck cliches?

Oh.

Rhonda, whos black, doesnt find anything remotely amusing about rednecks.

All righty, then, I said. I better get goin. Tell the New Jersey woman Ill get out there when I can. If a panther eats her first, thatll be one fewer fast-talking, know-it-all Yankee we have to deal with.

Rhonda, a fellow native Himmarsheean, was still laughing when I hung up.

I left the lobby to visit the Ladies, where I tried without success to repair my smooshed hair. I stopped at a water fountain in the hallway, loitering by a closed door to see if I could overhear anything useful about the murder. The only sound that seeped through was the tap-tap of a computer keyboard.

I returned to the lobby, where I exhausted all the details on the calendar, including counting the dots on the large mouth bass. I took my seat again, and ran through in my mind what Id learned about Jim Albert, a.k.a. Jimmy the Weasel. I tried to imagine who in Himmarshee might have wanted a fugitive from the underworld dead.

I moved on to wondering how Id handle the obnoxious Martinez. I wished my sister Marty were here. People fall all over themselves to tell her things. As I weighed the best way to get information, an image of Martinezs black eyes and sculpted features forced its way into my thoughts. I tried so hard to push it aside that my head started to hurt.

I turned my attention to a dusty stack of magazines. Leafing through Correctional News, I discovered theres been a downturn in inmate suicides. I thought that was encouraging for Mama.

Then, I opened Police magazine, and read about the problem of sudden deaths in custody. I got depressed all over again. Browsing through the advertisements aimed at prison administrators failed to lift my spirits. There were no-shank shaving razors, so inmates cant make knives. There was a restraint bed for the crazy or unruly prisoner, complete with floor anchors and slots for straps. The name of the bed, I swear to God, was the Sleep-Tite.

Glancing at my watch, I realized Id already been waiting for forty minutes. I tried not to get angry. After all, my mothers fate was in Martinezs hands. I didnt want to tick him off. I rehearsed how Id approach him, concentrating on the flies with honey principle, like Mama advised.

Finally, Martinez walked into the empty lobby, frowning. He had a file folder in one hand and a cell phone to his ear.

Fifty-three minutes had crawled by since Id given my name at the desk.

I started to rise from the chair. He caught my eye and motioned me to sit down. Then, he held up a warning finger. Dont speak, it said.

I counted to ten real slow, gripping the arms of my uncomfortable chair. Pretending my hands were around Martinezs throat, I squeezed until my knuckles turned white. Staring at the wall calendar, I pictured his smug face on the body of the large mouth bass. I imagined a hook grabbing hold of the soft flesh inside his cheek. Id just formed an image of Martinez as half-man, half-fish, flopping airless in the bottom of a bass boat, when I realized he was speaking.

I dont know what you have to look so happy about, he said.

He slipped his phone into the front pocket of his blue dress shirt. I cursed myself for noticing how snugly the shirt fit his broad chest, even as he stood glaring next to my chair.

I was just thinking about fishing, I said. But youre right. I have absolutely nothing to smile about. Not with my elderly mother imprisoned in a hell hole.

Jailed, not imprisoned.

I beg your pardon?

Your mothers in jail, not prison. He tucked the folder next to his chest and crossed his arms over it, teacher style. Theres a difference. Jails are locally run, and inmates are generally waiting to be tried. Or, theyve been tried, and theyre serving a sentence of a year or less. Prisons are run by the state or the feds. Prisoners are usually convicted felons, serving sentences of more than a year.

Thanks, Professor, I said. Ill try to keep my references to correctional facilities correct whenever I explain to people how my mother is rotting behind bars.

Actually, the rotting part comes after shes convicted, Martinez said. Accessory to murder is a felony. It can buy you a long, long time in prison.

I could have throttled the arrogance right out of his voice. But then theyd send me to jail, and probably put me in that Sleep-Tite bed.

It must strike you as strange that youre the only one who believes my mother is involved in Jim Alberts murder. I forced a civil tone. What evidence do you have that links her to the killing? Did you know my mother doesnt even own a gun?

Ignoring my questions, Martinez looked down at a paper stapled to the file in his hand. Is your mother acquainted with a man named Salvatore Provenza? He rolled the Rs with Latin flair.

You know she knows him, I said, shifting my eyes away from the curve of his lips. Sal was in here last night, raising a ruckus with the rest of us.

I didnt reveal Big Sal was in line to become Husband Number Five. I wasnt sure where Martinez was going with the question.

So, hes her boyfriend. He made a little note on his paper. Were you aware he had long-standing ties to the murder victim?

I knew it! My sisters and I werent just over-imaginative busybodies. Sal was involved in something criminal with Jimmy the Weasel.

So? I tried to sound casual. That doesnt prove anything. Sal and the man in Mamas trunk were both from New York. Maybe they played on the same stickball team as kids.

Martinez looked at me like a teacher forced to flunk a once-promising student. They played together, all right. But their game didnt have anything to do with stickball.

Well, what did it have to do with?

Another condescending look. Im not going to discuss that with you.