“My goodness, Mace, you’ve got to get out of the woods and start paying attention to civic news. That’s Mrs. Mayor, Beatrice Graf,’’ Mama whispered behind her hand. “She’s already become a Newcomers’ Club muckety-muck. I know it’s not very Christian of me, but I think she’s as big a blowhard as her husband.’’

“Then she’s a pretty big blowhard,’’ I said. “He’s got a lot of nerve lecturing on how and why that girl came to be tossed in the dump. It’s pure character assassination. Nobody knows anything for sure yet.’’

Just then, Beatrice Graf dropped a hand on her husband’s shoulder. He stopped talking so fast, it was like she’d hit a switch. She smiled at his audience, the ingratiating smile of a political wife. Suddenly, the chatterboxes at the loud table in between us grew quiet as Charlene stopped to take their order. The cultured voice of the mayor’s wife carried across the room.

“I think at the end of the day, we’ll find that young woman was engaged in something sinful, and every one of you knows what the Bible says: the wages of sin is death.’’

Our table was hushed as each of us digested Mrs. Mayor’s words.

“My stars and garters,’’ Mama finally said. “That was certainly harsh.’’

four

The cowbells clanged. Henry Bauer, Esq., paused at the door to Gladys’ Diner. Eyes searching the Saturday morning crowd, he acknowledged Mayor Graf with a tight smile and dutiful wave. Then he made a beeline to our table, probably because he smelled our second plate of biscuits.

“Mornin’, cousin.’’ Maddie gave Henry a cloying smile. “Keep your thieving paws off our food.’’

Henry, belly straining the waistband of his weekend-casual khakis, returned her greeting. “No smart food thief would choose a table where you’re sitting, Maddie. All the food is usually gone.’’

Mama looked up from her smart phone for a moment to pass him the platter of biscuits. “Ignore your cousin, honey. You’re still a growing boy.’’ She went back to typing.

“Growing and growing,’’ Maddie mumbled under her breath.

“Sticks and stones, Maddie.’’ Henry slathered butter and honey on the biscuit, polishing off the first half in one bite. “That’s good enough to make your tongue slap your eyeballs.’’

“Want me to call Charlene over to take your order?’’ I asked.

“Nah. I’ve already eaten. I just like to tick Maddie off.’’ Henry popped the second half in his mouth, chewed, and then opened up to reveal to Maddie the gloppy mess inside.

She leaned over to punch him in the shoulder; he balled up a napkin and tossed it at her.

“Very mature, you two!’’ Marty said. “Henry, is that the way you conduct yourself in the courtroom?’’

“I would if I ever got a judge like Maddie.”

Henry was actually a successful attorney, the best in Himmarshee. Of course, there were only four lawyers in town, and one of them was in his mid-nineties and lived at the adult-care facility, so our cousin didn’t have a lot of competition.

I heard the whoosh of Mama’s phone sending her message, probably an inspirational story she was forwarding to unsuspecting recipients in cyberspace. She left her virtual world to rejoin real life. “Be nice, sweetheart.’’ She patted Henry’s hand. “Maddie’s not feeling well this morning.’’

He cocked his head, eyes showing authentic concern. Maddie, with a stomach like a steel-hulled freighter, was hardly ever sick. “Everything okay, cousin?’’

She waved away his worry. “It’s that blasted forty-fifth birthday party for Kenny. He’s getting on my last nerve, y’all. I’m going to a lot of trouble, and he’s fighting me every step of the way. He acts like he doesn’t even want a party.’’

“Forty-five?’’ Henry said. “That explains it. I know y’all won’t believe me, but women aren’t the only ones who get sensitive about their age. Maybe Kenny doesn’t want to be reminded he’s getting older.’’

“That’s just plain stupid.’’ Maddie made an X in a spot of water left by her glass. “Getting older is a fact of life. It happens to everybody.’’

Marty’s hand shook a bit as she put down her coffee cup. In a quiet voice, she said, “It won’t happen for Camilla. She was murdered, and dumped like yesterday’s trash. She was only twenty-nine.’’

The table went quiet: no chewing, even. Petty bickering and Kenny’s party seemed too silly as subjects when a young woman had lost her life. Mama turned off her phone, sliding it off the table and into her purse.

“What’s the courthouse crowd saying, Henry?’’ My question broke the silence.

“Nobody knows much yet. She’d been strangled. The dump likely wasn’t the murder scene. She was dropped there.’’

Mama tsk-tsked. “What’s happening to little Himmarshee?’’

“We’re all going to have to move to escape our spiraling crime rate. Maybe we should relocate to Miamuh.’’ Henry used the “Old Florida’’ pronunciation for the wicked city four hours south.

Marty traced the picture of Camilla in the newspaper on the table. “I wonder if she knew her killer?’’

“Well, she was all dolled up for something,’’ Henry said.

“Maybe the killer dressed her that way,’’ Maddie said.

“It’d be a challenge to dress someone else in an outfit that tight. I think she dressed herself, like for a special date,’’ Mama said.

We all stared at her. “What kind of dates have you been on?’’ I asked.

A blush reached clear to the dyed roots of her platinum hair. “Oh, not me, y’all! I don’t have any personal knowledge. I do watch TV, though.’’

I leaned in close and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Mama did seem to know a lot about the details of that leather top Camilla was wearing.’’

“It’s called a bustier. Everybody knows that, Mace.’’

Before we could correct her on that assumption, Mama closed the newspaper, creasing the fold with finality. “I am certain about one thing: I’d prefer it if that poor girl knew her killer.’’

“Why?’’ Marty asked. “It makes the whole thing even sadder if it was someone she thought she could trust.’’

“Well, if it was a stranger, then we’ve got us a big problem here in little Himmarshee,’’ Mama said. “If the killer didn’t even know the librarian, and had no particular reason to murder her, there’s no telling who in town could be next.’’

five

“Son of a beehive!’’ Mama dug her fingers into my Jeep’s dashboard, her Apricot-Iced nails leaving small scrapes. “You nearly ran into the back of that stock trailer, Mace. You came so close, I could see the fear of death in a couple of those heifers’ eyes.’’

I passed the trailer, giving a wave to the cowboy-hatted driver. Once I pulled back in my lane, I eased off a bit on the gas.

“I suppose you’d rather we poked along behind it, enjoying the aroma of two dozen head of cattle and untold pounds of manure. Besides, I missed the trailer by a mile.’’

“You better get your eyes checked, honey. You’re not as young as you used to be.’’

I glanced into the rear-view mirror at my sister Marty. “Are you hearing this abuse? Doesn’t Mama have a lot of nerve criticizing my driving, seeing as how I’m her default chauffeur every time that turquoise bomber of hers is in the shop?’’

Marty lowered her eyes and pressed her lips together. No answer.

“What? Now, you’re piling on, too?’’

“You could slow down a little, Mace.’’ My sister’s tone was measured. “You also made a right without even stopping as we were coming out of the parking lot at the diner.’’

“Et tu, Marty? Anyways, that’s a stupid place for a stop sign.’’ I turned on my blinker and pulled toward the shoulder. “I suppose

I could stop and let both of you out here. I mean if my driving is so terrifying, and all. It’s just three or four miles to the library.’’

Mama smoothed her hair. Marty cleared her throat. “We appreciate the ride. We’re not criticizing, Mace.’’

“I am,’’ Mama said. “Even so, Marty and I are not walking anywhere. Have you had a look at my shoes?’’