You notice anything else?
There were crushed beer cans in the back. She pulled a cigarette from behind her ear; lit it. Its a shame people smash them. A good can is the foundation of my business.
Thanks, Wendi, I shifted into gear and let out the clutch, as a cigarette-smoke cloud drifted my way. If I get her out of this mess, well be back to buy a six-pack of whirligigs.
Good luck, Wendi called out as I pulled onto the road.
What could Mama have meant? I tried to concentrate, but kept getting a picture in my mind of work boots. Id seen mine sitting on the floorboard in the back when I was searching for my purse. I glanced over my shoulder at the heavy boots.
Suddenly, I knew exactly where Mamas captor had taken her.
Himmarshee Park doesnt open on Saturday morning until ten, giving the kidnapper plenty of time to I couldnt bear to finish the thought. I didnt want to imagine what the murderer had planned in my workplace for my mama.
The slats on the wooden bridge vibrated under the VWs tires. I spotted a honeydew-colored shoe just beyond the rise of the little span. It was the mate to a heeled pump Id seen in the middle of the street just before the turn-off to the park.
The woods were eerily still. No birds called. No animals rustled through brush. It was as if the humidity that already hung like a wet veil over the day had sucked out all the sound. Technically, we were closed. But all anyone who wanted in had to do was unhitch the steel cable that stretched across the road. The
Do Not Enter
sign would fall to the ground, and they could drive right through. Which is just what someone had done.
I turned off the cars ignition and coasted across the downed cable. When tracking an animal, the quieter the better.
The white truck was pulled off ahead, blocking a nature path. There was no one inside. It was the pickup from Emma Jeans yard. I stopped right behind it, blocking it in between a tree and the nose of Pams VW.
Kicking off my loafers, I quickly changed into the boots, lacing them tight around my ankles. Then, I started out running for the parks office. I felt for the car keys in my pocket, glad that Id thought to put my office key on Pams key ring where it wouldnt be lost. The ground and foliage was still damp with morning moisture. Droplets wet my hair and splattered onto my shirt as I passed under the low, bushy fronds of Sabal palms.
It only took minutes to reach the building and unlock the door. But it felt like hours.
9-1-1. What is your emergency?
This is Mace Bauer. I kept my voice low, in case anyone was lurking nearby. Im calling from inside the office at Himmarshee Park.
Id made many 911 calls from the park over the years: Broken bones. Heat exhaustion. Two fatal heart attacks for senior citizen visitors. I heard my own voice, calm and steady. Only I knew the fear I was barely keeping at bay.
I continued, Please contact Detective Carlos Martinez with the Himmarshee Police. This is an extreme emergency. A womans life is at risk.
Are you in danger, Maam?
No, not at this moment. But my mother is. Shes been kidnapped, most likely by someone whos killed before. Shes being held somewhere in the park. Please tell Detective Martinez to get here as soon as he can.
Maam, you need to stay right where you are. Urgency edged into her professional tone. Stay put until we can get an officer out there. It wont be long.
I glanced at my watch. Seven-forty on a weekend morning. The police roster would be sparse at that hour, and the parks at least fifteen miles from town.
I cant do that, I told her. Were talking about my mother here. Just tell Martinez to hurry.
I hung up before she could speak again. The office phone rang back immediately. The answering machine was picking up as I slipped out the door and struck out into the woods.
I returned to the trail that led to the entrance, back to where the white truck was parked. And then I took off on the path in the opposite direction, going deeper into the woods. It seemed likely that whoever had Mama would choose to stay on the marked trail instead of trying to cover rough terrain.
Here, I was on familiar ground. Some of the ferns along the path were bent back, evidence that someone had recently passed by. I saw a platinum-colored strand of hair caught in a low-hanging branch. And there was a knee-high nylon, balled up and dropped in the center of the trail.
I almost had to smile. Mama never wore shoes when she worked outside, a habit carried over from childhood. It embarrassed my sisters and me no end when we were teenagers. Wed bring home a date, and there Mama would be: standing in the yard with a garden hose, as barefoot as an Amazon tribeswoman.
Well, I dont see whats wrong with it, shed always say. My feet are just as God made them.
After sixty years of unshod gardening, her soles were as hard as horse hooves. At least shed be safe from sharp sticks in the mulch covering the path. I held on to that thought. It was the only thing I had to be optimistic about.
The woods were so still, I could hear my own breath. I strained to hear anything elsea voice, or the snap of a branch that might reveal where the killer had gone. I covered perhaps a quarter-mile before a human-sounding murmur floated toward me through the heavy air. I crept closer, following the direction of the sound. Now, the noise became a voice. It was Mamas, thank God.
You know you cant get away with it, she said.
A low answer. I couldnt make out the words.
If you turn yourself in now, Ill put in a good word. Ill testify and tell the jury you never once hurt me.
I stopped, staying hidden in thick trees, just short of a small clearing. Across the open space, Mama stood on top of a concrete wall. Facing her was Emma Jean Valentine, aiming my grand-daddys shotgun directly at Mamas heart. Beyond the wall was a shallow pond, home to Ollie the alligator.
Emma Jean lifted the shotguns barrel, motioning with it for Mama to jump. You have a choice, Rosalee. Either you go in willingly, or I shoot you and your body falls in. Either way, the gator gets his dinner.
Emma Jean, please. Think of how my girls will feel. You know how much you loved your own little boy. I love my daughters like that. Mama wiped tears from her cheeks. This isnt you, honey. This is someone else. You arent a murderer.
Emma Jean lowered her own cheek to her shoulder and rubbed. Could she also be wiping away tears?
Im sorry, Rosalee. I didnt want to hurt anybody, I swear to God.
I moved stealthily through the oaks and hickory, trying to find an angle to approach out of Emma Jeans sight line. Every moment felt like a month. Just before I burst into the clearing, I saw Emma Jean hesitate. She hung her head and dropped the shotgun a few inches. But before I got out a sigh of relief, her shoulders squared. She lifted the weapon and aimed. I was close enough to see the fear in my mothers eyes, but not close enough to tackle Emma Jean.
No! Sprinting across the field, I screamed. Dont shoot.
All in an instant, Emma Jean whipped her tear-streaked face toward me. Whirling back toward Mama, she struggled to fire. The old shotgun jammed. My mother stumbled on the wall and fell backward. Emma Jean turned and started for the woods, still hanging on to the gun.
You do it, she yelled to the sky. I never wanted any of this.
I had no idea what she was shouting about. But there was no time to ask. I heard splashing from Ollies pond. Praying hard, I reached the wall and looked over. Mama was flailing, which looks to a gator just like a fat duck in distress or a drowning baby deer. In other words, dinner.
Hold on, Mama. Im coming in.
The pond wasnt more than six feet at its deepest, but even that was too deep for a woman of Mamas size who never learned to swim. I reached her easily. Calming her was another matter. First a fist, then a flying elbow connected with my face.
Listen to me. I grabbed her around the neck and stared directly into her terrified eyes. Youve got to stop fighting me. Its not safe. Now, Im going to float you about three feet toward the side of the pond. The waters shallow there. Youll be able to stand.
She was listening, her eyes locked onto mine. I felt her relax. That was the good news.
The bad news: Ollie had noticed the commotion in the water. He slid off the bank and was swimming our way.
Mama had her back to the alligator. I thought it best not to let on that Ollie was bearing down. A hysterical woman and a hungry gator make for a bad combination.
Youre almost safe, Mama. I forced a reassuring tone. Just walk along the sand to your left until you come to the pathway out. Theres a steel gate at the end. Ill be right behind you.
It was Emma Jean all along, Mace. How could she? She was my friend.
I looked over my shoulder. Ollie had covered three-quarters of the ponds length. Not now, Mama, I said quietly. We need to get out of this water. Immediately.
All I could see of the gator was his snout and one eye. I knew that beneath the surface, his powerful tail was moving to and fro, propelling him closer and closer.
Steady, now. I boosted Mama by the butt onto the steep bank. I was in calf-high water, about to follow, when I felt a hard bump at the back of my knees. Ollie. I swallowed my panic. The pond here was shallow. The slap of the gators tail slamming on top of the water sounded like a bomb going off.
Watch out, Mace! I heard Mama screaming, as if in a dream. Get out of the water!
I didnt want to take the risk the gator would follow me onto land. He might attack Mamaa weaker, easier prey than me. I whirled around and saw acres of teeth in a mile of jaws. It was all instinct at this point: Ollies to eat; mine to survive.
Yelling louder than a legion of warriors, I drew back my foot. The steel-toed boot struck the gator on the top of his snout. I did it again, aiming directly for his one good eye. I kicked at his closest nostril, shouting the whole time. Ollie backed off and began to turn. I sent a parting blow to the less protected skin of his underside, where the organs are close to the surface.
That last kick convinced him to move on to a more docile prey. In his thumb-sized brain, he was probably trying to puzzle out what had happened to his usual mealthe dead, whole chickens that never fight back.
Adrenaline still coursed through my body as I hauled myself onto the bank. Ollie had retreated to the far end of the pond. The damage Id done was more irritation than lasting injury. A gators body is like an armored battleship.
As I sat, leg muscles quivering, lungs gulping in air, I was aware of Mama blubbering beside me. She ran her hands over my arms, then my legs, as if to convince herself I was whole. My God, Mace! Wait until I tell your sisters. You fought off an alligator!
Well, it was shallow water, Mama, I said. If hed have gotten hold of me in the deeper part, it would have been the end. Hed have grabbed me in his jaws and pulled me under in a death roll to drown me. We wouldnt be talking right now.
Mama shuddered. Im just glad you were here, Mace. I wouldnt have had the presence of mind to do what you did.
Not to mention the footwear, I said.
We both looked at Mamas bare feet, covered in mud. We started laughing. It felt good.
Before you go bragging around town, turning me into Himmarshees Heroic Gator Gal, you should know a couple of things. I held up a finger. First, Ollies not nearly as big as those eleven or twelve-footers that have made the news. Those were some fearsome gators, taking three victims over a weeks span in different parts of the state. I put up another finger. Second, Ollies used to getting regular meals. If he was hungrier, he might have fought a lot harder.
