Mama Gets Hitched by Deborah Sharp

talk to some mean redneck. Which incidentally, I’ve probably dated worse guys than Darryl and lived to tell about it.”
    I jammed a lemon cookie in my mouth so I wouldn’t say something I’d really regret. He waited for another outburst. I didn’t speak, just took another cookie from the pack and started on that. This time, I took off the top part and slowly licked all the cream filling from inside.
    When I caught him staring at my mouth, both of us quickly looked away. He made me so angry. So why did I feel a sudden warmth spreading somewhere south of my belt?
    Carlos cleared his throat. Stood up. It gave me a little thrill to see him try to subtly adjust the front pleats on his dark blue dress slacks.
    “I’ve got a lot of work to get back to,” he said. “Please don’t take this to mean I approve of what you did, Mace, but I’ll definitely check out what you found out about the knife-wielding Mr. Dietz.”
    That was as close as he’d come to a thank-you.
    “What about C’ndee and Ronnie? What do you think that connection means?”
    Crossing his arms, he stared at me, cop-like: “The case is still under investigation.”
    “So I spill all the information I have, and you offer me nothing in return?”
    He gave me a know-it-all smile, which really chapped my butt. “Sure, Mace, I’ll tell you everything I know and have it all over the Himmarshee Hotline before dinner.”
    I felt a pout forming on my mouth, which I know doesn’t look as charming on me as it does on Mama. “I’m not a gossip, Carlos.”
    “No, but your mother is. And you’re only one degree of separation from her.”
    “Okay, just tell me if there’s anything I should know to keep Mama safe.”
    He gazed into the trees, thinking. Maybe he remembered some of her prior scrapes, because he relented a little. “I will tell you Ronnie Hodges wasn’t exactly what he seemed.”

I raced through a yellow-turning-red traffic light on Main Street. A pothole loomed. I swerved to miss it. The Jeep zoomed past the Dairy Queen on the left; Pete’s Pawn Shop on the right. An eeeeek sounded from the passenger seat.
    “My stars and garters, Mace! Would you please slow down? You know you’re not Dale Earnhardt, may he rest in peace.”
    I eased off the gas. Mama had a point. I do love to go fast.
    “Thank you.” She unclenched her hands from the dashboard and settled back into her seat. “Now, what do you think we should do about Alice?”
    Mama had asked me to pick her up after work at Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow, and then go with her to look in on Ronnie’s widow.
    “I’m not sure there’s anything we can do, Mama. Her husband’s just been murdered. She’s going to need time to deal with that. The best we can offer is to let her know we care.”
    Mama angled the rearview mirror toward her, so she could repair her wind-blown hair. As she fluffed and straightened, I said, “Trying to drive with no mirror is a lot more dangerous than going a few miles over the speed limit.”
    “Try thirty miles. You were doing at least fifty-five when you blew through that red light, Mace.”
    “Yellow light.” I turned the rearview back. “Why can’t you just use the mirror on your visor?”
    She reached into her purse for her compact. “That stingy, cloudy thing? It won’t give me the full effect.”
    I looked at her platinum-hued ’do. It was smashed on one side, swirled into some kind of circle on the other, and standing up in spikes on the top of her head. It looked like she’d come under attack by a badger bearing styling mousse and a teasing comb.
    “Sometimes you don’t want the full effect,” I said.
    Even though I slowed down, we still made it to Mama’s in no time. Downtown Himmarshee, such as it is, is only three miles from her house on Strawberry Lane. Pulling into the driveway, I could see the porch light on next door at Alice’s. It was just five-thirty p.m., and still sunny. The light had probably been burning since the police