“Maybe for a minute or two,’’ said the mayor.

Sal pulled out a chair for the mayor’s wife, and all of us shifted around to make room. From the flinch on Sal’s face after he took his seat, I could tell Mama had aimed a swift kick at him under the table.

“Now, Sally, these two probably have all sorts of important people to see.’’ She offered a saccharine-sweet smile to Himmarshee’s power couple. “Don’t let us keep you.’’

Beatrice Graf settled into her chair, tugging at a short skirt of fuchsia satin. Her blouse, in the same shade of bright pink, clashed mightily with the permanent curls of her pomegranate-hued hair. A sprinkling of rhinestones glittered along her plunging neckline, like stars dotting a vast, bosomy galaxy.

“I’m never too busy to chat with my constituents. After all, you put me in office.’’

The mayor flashed a campaign poster grin—all white teeth, dark suit, and insincerity. I knew Mama had voted for his opponent. I admired her restraint, for a couple of seconds anyway.

“Actually,’’ she said, “I supported the other candidate. He’s a native Himmarsheean, and I’ve known him since I taught him in Sunday school, way back when. He’s a good man, and would have made a fine mayor. No offense.’’

The mayor waved a hand, a diamond winking from his pinky ring. “None taken.’’

“Speaking of Sunday school, where do y’all worship?’’ Mama asked.

A look passed between the mayor and his wife. “Actually, we haven’t found a permanent church home,’’ Beatrice Graf said.

Mama cocked her head at Big Bill. “So you got a seat at the Chamber of Commerce, secured a political office, and joined the country club, but you haven’t had time to find a church?’’

“We’re still looking for a good fit,’’ the mayor said.

Beatrice began gathering up her purse. “We really must go, Bill. We’ve been out of town,’’ she explained to us, “and social obligations really pile up.’’

A confused look crossed the mayor’s face. “We haven’t been out of—”

“—Of course we were! Your memory is getting terrible, Bill. Now, I said we have to go.’’

She shot to her feet. Mama put a hand on her arm.

“Just one more thing,’’ she said. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you ‘looking’ at Abundant Forgiveness Love & Charity Chapel. That’s my church.’’

Mama rustled around in her purse, extracting Juicy Fruit gum, a broken blueberry-colored earring, and a crumpled receipt from Fran’s Fancy Frocks and Duds. Finally, she pulled out a program from the morning’s church service. “We’d love to have you stop by.’’

Beatrice snatched the program, folded it without a glance, and stuffed it into her own bag, a rhinestone-studded number in silver leather. I’d lay money that’s where it would stay. In a week or so, she’d toss it out with candy wrappers, hair from her brush, and other garbage she mined from the bottom of that spacious satchel.

Beatrice and Big Bill gave lip service to religion. But between the mayor’s filthy language when he missed a putt, and the way his wife filleted the murder victim’s character without even knowing her, I’d venture a guess they weren’t the worshipful type.

With Mama’s invitation still hanging in the strained silence, a friendly visit to our table by the club’s barmaid came as a welcome interruption. Nodding at me in recognition, Angel dropped her strong hands on Sal’s shoulders. She massaged playfully, like a manager looking after a prizefighter.

“How’s the martini, Sal? Loosening up those tight muscles, I hope. I made it dry as dust, just the way you like them.’’

Mama sat up straighter in her seat; Mayor and Mrs. Graf forgotten. She narrowed her eyes at Angel, whose bright blonde bangs were bouncing adorably onto her forehead. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. I’m Rosalee, Sal’s wife.’’

“Of course! He talks about you all the time. You’re just as pretty as Sal said.’’ She offered her hand. “I tend bar in the 19th Hole. I’m Angel, by the way.’’

Mama, mollified by the compliment, smoothed at her perfectly coiffed hair. She waited just a beat, and then took the barmaid’s hand.

From across the table, Beatrice Graf cleared her throat. “Angel, the mayor and I are absolutely parched. We need some drinks, dear.’’

The tone of her voice was an odd mix of imperiousness and wheedling.

“I don’t do table service,’’ Angel said flatly. “I’ll send over a waiter.’’

Seemingly chastened, Beatrice cast her eyes to the tablecloth, and began examining the silverware.

“Don’t worry about it, Angel.’’ The mayor’s voice was chipper. He stood up to join his wife. “We’ll find a seat in the bar.’’

He dropped a friendly hand on Angel’s shoulder. With a frigid look, she shrugged it off and left our table. The mayor immediately went after her. After an awkward moment, his wife followed him.

“That was weird,’’ Marty said, voice low. “What’s the deal between those three?’’

I shrugged, eager to get back to my steak. Mama speared another French fry from my plate. She made a face when she took a bite.

“It’s colder than a heart on Wall Street,’’ she said, depositing the half-eaten fry back on my plate. “What kind of people sit down and monopolize the dinner table right after your food is served?’’

“You’re the one who kept them around, interrogating them about church,’’ I said.

“Sal was the one who took time away from dinner to flirt with that barmaid,’’ she countered.

“I wasn’t flirting, Rosalee. It’s called being friendly.’’

“You may not think so, but she was definitely flirting with you.’’ Mama dabbed her napkin in my water glass and scrubbed at a spot of ketchup on Sal’s lapel.

“I was drinking that water, Mama.” I slid the glass out of her reach. “Besides, Angel fools around with all her customers like that to boost her tips. She doesn’t care about Sal.’’

“Thanks,’’ he said, looking wounded.

“Are you dissing my husband, Mace?’’

“Who wants dessert?’’ Marty said, employing the one sure-fire suggestion that would make us stop sniping and start eating again.

“I do!’’ all of us answered at once.

Sal signaled for the waiter, and we put in our dessert requests. As I sat, waiting for my Key lime pie and plotting how to keep Mama’s fork out of my plate, I spotted Jason making his way across the dining room. A dozen pair of female eyes followed the golf pro’s progress. I had to admit, he had a confident, sexy stride to match his sexy smile.

When he saw me, he cut a straight line to our table. He shook Sal’s hand, asked him how he was hitting, and then turned his attention my way.

“Hello, gorgeous.’’ He leaned and planted a kiss on my cheek.

Mumbling a greeting, I brushed my finger over the spot he’d kissed. It felt warm.

“I’ve been wondering when I’d see you again.’’ He looked into my eyes. “I’ve thought about you a lot.’’

Mama coughed. Marty bit her lip. Sal tapped the table nervously.

“Jason, this is my mother and my sister.’’ I gave him their names. He nodded hello, but barely seemed to register them. He didn’t even do a double-take when I introduced Marty, whose doll-like beauty captivated most men.

His eyes held mine. “Do you think I could call you? I’ve thought about some of the things we talked about.’’

I felt a shiver of dread. He must know something about Kenny, but this was definitely the wrong time and place for him to bring it up. I fished a business card from the nature park out of my pocket and quickly concocted a cover story. “Give me a call tomorrow. If you’ve got a gator in the pond again, I can definitely help.’’

He looked confused, but palmed the card anyway. I suspected Jason spent a good amount of time not completely understanding what people were saying.

He bent to kiss my cheek again, his lips lingering just a bit longer this time.

“Goodbye, gorgeous.’’

No one said a word as Jason walked away. The waiter approached, with our dessert plates and coffee crowding a tray. Mama leaned close and grabbed my wrist, so hard it hurt. She whispered in my ear, her breath a hot blast.