Mama Gets Hitched (12 page)

I gazed into the
woods of Himmarshee Park, all cool and green. The late-afternoon sun slanted through the branches of a cypress tree, washing me in slivers of golden light. This wooden park bench beat any pew beneath stained glass in a grand cathedral. In a way, the park
was
my cathedral.

“All set, Mace?”

Rhonda’s voice startled me out of my meditation on the glories of the outdoors.

“You bet, Boss. Heading home?”

She lifted an arm to show me her purse. Her car keys were in her hand. “You should have a dozen or so people show up for your nature walk. Some of the old folks from Leisure Lake trailer park are coming over in a van.”

“Sounds good.”

I actually preferred the senior citizens to students from Maddie’s middle school. Kids that age are tough to impress. The boys always try to act tough, and the girls squeal like idiots if they so much as see a spider.

“By the way, Mace …”

I cocked my head at her.

“Please show some patience if people ask stupid questions. Not everyone knows as much about the outdoors as you do.”

“I’ll be an ambassador of good will, Rhonda.”

She looked skeptical. But she waved anyway, gliding across the wooden deck outside our office. Her keys jingled like a soundtrack at a high-fashion runway show.

I glanced at my watch. It was almost six, which meant Rhonda was well past her quitting hour. I felt grateful, and not for the first time, that no one had ever seen fit to make me a manager.

The sunset walkers would arrive within forty minutes or so. And that would give me just enough time to feed the handful of injured or unwanted critters currently living in the park’s makeshift zoo. I hurried to the animal enclosure, where I was welcomed as usual by the white-striped presence of Pepe No Pew.

The de-scented skunk had been a pet, until his owner cruelly released him into the wild. As I pulled dinner together, he padded to the front of his pen. On the menu for Pepe: A chicken neck, a selection of chopped fruit and vegetables, and a couple of crickets and worms tossed into his pen so he could find them later.

Our residents generally included a few of the “nuisance” animals I trapped in my part-time job. The park had a wildlife license as part of our educational mission. I tried to expose visitors to some Florida critters; tried to convince them co-existence was possible. If only people could see how beautiful the corn snake was, for example, and how it wouldn’t hurt them if left alone, they’d be less likely to want it dead.

Or, that was my hope anyway.

“Hey, buddy. You get your mouse tomorrow,” I called out to the snake.

The creature lay coiled in the corner next to an elevated den I’d made of rocks, straw, and branches. A screen over the top of the pen kept him from slithering out.

“Not a bad crib, huh? You’ll be going back to the woods soon. Just think of this as an all-expenses-paid snake-cation.”

Carrying a large tray with the animals’ food, I made my way around the enclosure: The possum got a little moistened cat chow, bite-size chopped fruit, a raw egg, a splash of yogurt and, for the fish course, a couple of thawed silversides.

The raccoon got wet dog food, supplemented with a bit of fruit, fish, an egg, and a thawed baby chick.

My last stop was Pepe’s pad. Without his scent, the skunk was defenseless in the wild. So, he was stuck with us for life. Dropping food into his shallow bowl, I leaned in for a chat.

“You’re getting as fat as a fixed dog, you know that,
Monsieur
? Maybe we need to get you a little skunk-sized treadmill. Would you like that?”

Pepe raised his head. He seemed a tad dubious about that treadmill.

“Yeah, I know. I could stand to lose a couple of pounds myself. You should have seen me holding my breath to zip up this bridesmaid’s monstrosity that Mama’s making me wear on Saturday. Believe me, Pepe, that dress is awful enough without a big rip down the back to show off my lily-white butt.”

Pepe returned to his bowl as a low chuckle came from the entryway. I whirled, and felt my face catch fire.

“Tony! I didn’t hear you come in.”

He flashed a bright smile in the dim light of the enclosure. “I didn’t want to interrupt your Dr. Doolittle moment.”

“Yeah, Maddie gets after me for talking to the animals, too. It’s not like I think they’re going to open their mouths and talk back.”

“Of course not.”

His tone was amused. I couldn’t tell if he believed me. Better to change the subject. “What brings you to Himmarshee Park?”

“I saw a little blurb in today’s newspaper about the nature program. I thought I might be late. I stopped on the way to rescue a turtle trying to make it across the highway.”

Coming a bit closer, he peered into the snake’s section. He pulled back with a grimace, side-stepping away. So Tony was okay with turtles; snakes, not so much.

“The paper said this is the last walk until the fall brings cooler weather. I hoped you’d be leading it.”

I sensed another blush coming on. I was acting as silly as Maddie’s squealing schoolgirls. I had serious business to discuss. I couldn’t afford to be distracted by Tony’s charm, or those mesmerizing white teeth.

“Listen,” I said, draining all the levity from my voice, “I need to ask you some questions.”

“Should I have a lawyer present?” He smiled again, but a chill edged his voice. “Maybe your cousin Henry would agree to take me on as a client.”

“You don’t need a lawyer, Tony. And I apologize ahead of time if I’m out of line.”

I took a deep breath. “I was curious about you, so I went on the Internet and searched with your name.”

“And?” The cool edge had hardened to ice.

“And I found a lot of stuff about the Ciancio family being involved in restaurant-related crimes.”

He advanced a couple of steps toward me, then crossed his arms over his chest. His green eyes, smiley and warm before, were Arctic pools now.

“And?” he said, with a hint of menace.

I stepped to my right, positioning the snake’s pen between us. Tony moved no closer. I took the plunge.

“And I just wondered if any of the bad things that happened to your family’s restaurant rivals in New Jersey had anything to do with what happened to Ronnie Hodges down here.”

My question hung in the air. Tony lowered his chin and stared at the ground for the longest moment.

I could hear Pepe’s nose hitting the rim of his bowl. The raccoon splashed water as he washed his food. An ibis’ throaty call reverberated from deep in the swamp.

I was beginning to consider the sanity of raising this topic with a bunch of animals as my only witnesses when I heard a door slam in the distant parking lot. Faraway voices sounded. Human voices. Potential witnesses’ voices.

Tony’s face came up, his head tilted toward the lot. His gaze returned to meet mine.

“I wondered how long it would take for my family history to follow me here.” He seemed more resigned than angry. “It sounds like the other nature walkers are on their way. I don’t want to get into this now, Mace. I will tell you I had nothing to do with what you read about. My whole life, I’ve been trying to live down who my father is. What my family is.”

A flicker of pain lit in his eyes. I felt bad about putting it there. I resisted the urge to smooth out the wrinkle now marring his model-worthy brow.

The clamor of voices grew as my visitors made their way along the path. I also heard the rumble of a powerful motorcycle traversing the wooden bridge at the park’s entrance. The sound seemed out of place, since the bikers I’ve met generally prefer chicks and bars to birds and trees.

“I’d better get back to the office to meet them.” I nodded to the door. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to come along.”

His smile had been stripped of several thousand watts. But he managed a weak grin. “No, I really do want to see the park. And it’s not like you’re the first person who ever asked about my family. I’d like to talk later, though. Explain where I’m coming from.”

“Sure,” I said.

Collecting the food tray, I started for the exit. Before I could juggle the unwieldy tray to reach for the door handle, Tony jumped to open it for me. Apparently having a Mafia don for a daddy doesn’t rule out having nice manners.

As he stepped aside to let me pass, Tony bumped against the snake’s pen. A low hiss sounded as warning.

As Tony and I
approached the wooden walkway outside the park’s office, I could barely believe who was among the nature walkers milling about.

The usual retirees were there, sporting bright clothes and sunburns. There was a serious-looking, thirtyish couple; binoculars around his neck,
Birds of Florida
in her hand. And there was the mystery woman from the bar at the Speckled Perch, outfitted again in dark glasses and black leather.

I greeted everyone, exchanged introductions, and outlined where the wooden boardwalk would take us. Then I addressed Ms. Sunglasses.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Jane Smith.”

Yeah, right, I thought. “Would you like to leave that in the office?” I gestured to the motorcycle helmet she carried.

Clasping it tightly to her side, she shook her head. “S’fine.”

“Everybody ready to spot some wildlife then?”

My answer was a chorus of yeses and smiles from the seniors and Tony, and nods from the birdwatchers. The sunglasses seemed to aim past me into the distance. No acknowledgment, not even a head nod. Not exactly Ms. Congeniality. She’d certainly seemed friendly enough last night, chatting up Carlos in the bar.

Maybe she was hung over because they’d stayed up all night, drinking and yakking. My stomach clenched like a fist. It surprised me how much it hurt to think that maybe talking wasn’t all the two of them had done.

We started out on the walk. It had to be one of the strangest I’d ever given. I always tried to draw out the visitors, asking folks where they came from originally. Few locals from this part of Florida would voluntarily walk through the woods in June at sunset unless there was the promise of shooting something, too.

On this walk, I got back a Pennsylvania, a few Ohios, and a Michigan. Tony piped up with New Jersey from the back.

We all turned to Ms. Sunglasses, waiting for her answer. Her lips opened just wide enough to mutter two words, “All over,” before she pressed them shut again.

She made Darryl from the fish camp look like a motor mouth.

Stone-faced and silent, she hung back from the rest of the group. Which would have been fine, if she’d shown the slightest interest in taking in the view from the boardwalk. But she seemed more intent on watching us than observing nature. I couldn’t say for sure, though. Despite the darkening sky, she never removed the sunglasses. And she didn’t participate, not even when I called the walkers to a railing to see a huge gator lolling in the swamp below the boardwalk.

“How big is he?” one of the Ohioans asked. Flashes went off on digital cameras.

“A ten-footer, at least,” I said. “A good way to tell, if all you spot is his head above water, is to estimate the number of inches from his eyes to the tip of his snout. His body will be about the same number in feet. Course, if we weren’t on this boardwalk, and he was close enough for you to count inches, you might never get the chance to tell anyone else how big he was.”

Everyone laughed but Ms. Sunglasses. She leaned against a far railing, regarding me with a frown.

A little farther on, we came to a hardwood hammock. I pointed out a cardinal flitting by, and a delicate air plant nestled high in a crook of an oak tree. “A lot of people think air plants are parasites, but they’re not. They don’t get nutrition from the tree; they only use it for support, like a trellis.”

“Do the alligators eat the air plants?”

The birdwatchers snickered at the question. Remembering Rhonda’s warning, I looked down at the water, and then way up high to the tree. I forced a smile for the gent from Ohio.

“No, sir. Gators definitely prefer the meat course to the salad bar.”

“Aren’t orchids air plants, too?” asked one of the retiree wives, from Pennsylvania.

I glanced across the boardwalk. Ms. Sunglasses stood rigidly, dark lenses pointing my way.

I answered, “Yep, orchids and Spanish moss, too. Air plants are also called epi … epi … epiphytes.”

As I stumbled over a word I’d used dozens of times before, I knew the mystery woman was making me nervous. And I wasn’t alone. The seniors watched her furtively, taking in her biker regalia. Tony kept looking over his shoulder, as nervous as a seventeen-year-old trying to buy beer. Only the birders seemed unconcerned by her lurking about like a nature-walk spy. They were too busy sharing binoculars and jotting field notes to notice her odd behavior.

I was relieved when the hour was finally up, and I could bid the whole group goodbye. Tony thanked me, and then hurried off with the rest of the group toward the parking lot. The biker woman hung back, aiming her sunglasses at the upcoming programs on the bulletin board.

Was she reading them? I couldn’t be sure. I prayed she wouldn’t return for any of the events I led. She gave me the creeps.

“I’m about to close up the park,” I finally said to her. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Jane Smith” shook her head without turning, and took her time finishing up at the board. Then, suddenly, she spun around and left without a word. She moved across the deck like a Florida panther, surprisingly quick and silent for a woman in big black motorcycle boots.

Fishing for my keys in the pocket of my work pants, I watched as she followed a curve in the path. She disappeared into the shadowy woods. I wanted to be sure she was gone before I turned my back to unlock the door. Staring hard into the woods, I listened for what seemed like a long time. The voices of the walkers grew faint as they reached the parking lot. The doors on the retirees’ van slid open and closed. Two car doors slammed; the birdwatchers, no doubt.

I waited, straining to catch any other sounds.

Just then, my cell phone rang on my belt, startling me. I answered, and it took me a couple of moments of spotty reception to realize it was a phone solicitation. Cursing, I cut off the call.

Seconds later, a motorcycle engine roared to life. Ms. Sunglasses, I presumed. She revved it and took off, shifting gears on her way out of the park. I heard the bike slow, then pull onto the highway, and accelerate again.

Feeling silly, I let out the breath I’d been holding.

As I listened to the motor’s rumble, growing distant, I realized I never heard the slam of a single door on the last car in the lot. What had happened to Tony?

_____

The sun’s final rays were sinking behind the trees. Darkness was approaching fast.

I’d done one last check on the animals, and set the answering machine to take incoming calls. As I prepared to leave, I slipped bug spray into one pocket, and a flashlight into the other. Then I grabbed a heavy club we keep by the door, just in case we run across a wild hog defending its territory or offspring.

As soon as I walked outside, mosquitoes circled and whined, hungry for blood. I sprayed the repellent into my hands, and rubbed them across my face. All I needed was some honking big mosquito bite on my bridesmaid’s nose to ruin Mama’s Special Day.

We never held the sunset walks during summer, because it gets too wet and too buggy. Couldn’t find enough masochists to show up. I enjoyed a silent chuckle, envisioning tender-skinned visitors slapping and dancing on the boardwalk in August, and started onto the path to the parking lot.

I was well into the woods when I heard a rustle in the brush.

Of course, it was just an animal of some sort. This time of day, they’re either settling down somewhere safe for the night, or starting out to look for smaller prey. An image flashed through my mind of the mystery woman, and that big motorcycle helmet. That could surely do some damage if she decided to go on a hunt for prey.

The park was alive with familiar sounds: the breeze sighed in the trees; a gator grunted from Himmarshee Creek; small things scurried through palmetto scrub and dead leaves. As I wended my way toward the distant lot, I thought I heard a less familiar sound. Almost like a ragged breath. I shined my flashlight into the deeper woods. All I saw were trees.

And then I heard it again, distinctly. Rapid breathing, like after physical exertion. In and out; in and out.

“Who’s there?” The breathing halted. No animal knew enough to do that. “Tony?”

No answer. I tightened my grip on the club, and began to walk a little faster.