Betty’s apprentice, D’Vora, came from the back with her arms full of fresh-laundered purple smocks, still wrinkled from the dryer. “Have you got the movie set murder solved yet, Mace?’’

“No interest, D’Vora. I’m staying out of this one. Plus, I may be too busy trying to keep Sal and Mama from killing each other.’’

D’Vora’s brows went up in a question. Her purple eye shadow matched everything else in Betty’s shop.

Mama waved a hand airily. “Mace is exaggerating, girls. It’s nothing serious. Every once in a while, Sal has to be reminded of who’s boss.’’

I snorted. “Keep flirting with that creepy director and we’ll have another murder on our hands. Either Sal will kill him, or Barbara will kill you.’’

“Barbara?’’ All three of them turned puzzled frowns on me.

I explained to D’Vora and Betty that Barbara was the dead producer’s ex-wife, and then said to Mama, “Anyone with eyes can see she has a thing going with Paul Watkins.’’

“But he’s married.’’ Mama frowned. “We met that sweet wife of his. She’s a Southerner; name’s Savannah.’’

D’Vora picked up a smock from the load she’d dropped on a chair and snapped it, as loud as a gunshot. “Oh, I’ve been there, done that. Since when has being married ever stopped a man from cheating?’’

“Trouble with Darryl again, honey?’’ Mama looked up from her glue stick.

Betty shook her head. “That boy’s name is trouble. D’Vora’s too good for him, and she’ll realize it someday.’’

“That mo-ron brought home another rottweiler puppy.’’ She shook another wrinkled smock, crack. “Like that’ll make up for him staying out all night.’’

“How many dogs is that now, honey? Three?’’

“Four,’’ Betty answered for D’Vora. “In a trailer.’’

“It’s a manufactured home,’’ D’Vora said.

“If I were you, I’d skip picking up that 12-pack for Darryl on your way home tonight,’’ Betty said. “Drinking is a big part of that boy’s problem, and all you’re doing is enabling him.’’

D’Vora’s eyes went wide. “Darryl’s got me so distracted, I forgot to tell y’all the biggest news. I saw Kelly Conover yesterday in this little tiny convertible, right behind me in the drive-thru at the Booze ‘n’ Breeze. No make-up, her hair all knotted from the wind.’’

D’Vora waved her hands around her own immaculately done hair and face to demonstrate. “I was way up high in our pickup, and I could see her in the rearview. She had on a big ugly T-shirt with stains and sweat pants that looked like pajamas. She looked really upset. Not like a movie star, for sure.’’

The gleam returned to Betty’s eye. “Maybe you could drop Kelly a hint about our services at Hair Today, Rosalee.’’

Mama shook her head. “No can do, Betty. On-set hair and make-up artists take care of all that for those of us in the cast. It’d be like Buck at the feed store outsourcing his cattle supplements.’’

“Maybe Kelly just needs a break from looking gorgeous. Did you ever think of that?’’ I asked.

Mama gave a thoughtful nod. “I can tell you it’s an awful pressure to be famous for your beauty, girls. People judge you all the time.’’

She stood, leaning close to the mirror to examine her face. Out came the Apricot Ice lipstick. She applied a fresh coat, and then popped her lips as if blowing herself a kiss. “I can understand just how that poor Kelly feels, bless her heart.’’

The only sound in the shop was D’Vora, snapping those purple smocks.

I heard the music thumping from the Eight Seconds Bar even before I opened the door. Toby Keith was singing some song about putting America’s boot in the butt of the rest of the world.

I took a deep breath of outside air, and walked in. The place smelled like man sweat and spilled beer.

The lighting was dim inside the dive just over the Himmarshee County line. But it wasn’t so dark I couldn’t see Jesse Donahue doing a routine out of “Coyote Ugly’’ on the top of the bar. Several cowboys hooted, hollered, and cheered her on as she danced back and forth. She stomped her high-heeled boots, her long legs flying in her second-skin jeans. Between the jeans’ strategic rips and glittering rhinestones, and her breasts overflowing a matching rhinestone halter, she looked like she’d been shopping at the hootchie ho’ outlet store.

I was surprised to see Toby in a booth off to the side. A can of Coke and a glass of ice sat beside a cowboy hat on the table. Alone, he watched Jesse’s performance with a dark frown on his face.

Carlos sat at the far end of the bar. Empty seats on either side created a protective barricade, as he nursed the one beer he’d keep all night. He alternated between aiming disapproving looks at Jesse, and keeping watch over Toby. I crossed the room.

“Hey.’’ The kiss I planted on his cheek caused a small crack in the granite of his jaw.

“Hey, yourself.’’ He stood, smiled, and took my arm. “Let’s get a booth where it’s quieter.’’

With one last lip curl of contempt at Jesse, he steered me to a spot where he could still survey the room.

“That girl is making a spectacle of herself. It’s not right.’’ He waited for me to slide in first, and then sat beside me in the booth, both of us looking out. “She needs a Cuban tía for a chaperone. She’d be afraid to misbehave.’’

“Tía?’’

“Auntie. Nothing gets past them.’’

“The real shame is that Jesse is a lot smarter and competent than she lets on.’’ I told him about how in-charge she’d been when Toby shot Johnny Jaybird.

Then I nodded toward Toby. “He doesn’t look like he’s enjoying Jesse’s showy side much. I thought you’d have him in jail by now, enjoying bread and water and doing hard labor.’’

“Well, he’s a minor. And I’m not sure about intent. Toby swears he thought the gun was loaded with blanks. The reason he thought that is because it’s a replica of the prop gun. The one with the blanks is still in the possession of the prop master. They’re really careful about that on movie sets, ever since Brandon Lee was fatally shot on the set of The Crow.

“So the copy was loaded?’’

He nodded.

“Where’d it come from?’’

“Good question. Toby says he found it right outside his trailer before lunch. He decided to pick it up and rehearse with it, thinking it was the gun with blanks.’’

“So it was planted?’’

He picked at the paper label on his beer bottle. “Looks like it.’’

“By whom?’’

He shrugged. “Are you going to investigate, as usual?’’

“You can wipe the smirk off your face. This one is all yours. I hate to say it, but I don’t really care who murdered that jerk of a producer.’’

He winked at me. “So you say now. We’ll see. Anyway, I still have a lot of questions to answer about how that gun came into Toby’s hands. Prosecutors like their i’s dotted and t’s crossed when it comes to filing formal charges of attempted murder, or even assault.’’

We both glanced toward Toby, who still hadn’t poured his soda. He stared morosely into the glass of ice.

“He’s not going anywhere,’’ Carlos said. “Besides, Barbara’s protecting him, and she can be pretty persuasive.’’

I raised my brows. Where was the hard-case Miami detective of a year or so ago? Carlos had tossed my mama into jail on less evidence than he had here. Of course, there were extenuating circumstances with Mama. There always are.

“The kid has had it pretty rough.’’ He sipped his beer. “His parents see him as an investment. The way Barbara tells it, she’s the only person in the world who really cares about him.’’

“Yeah. Earning fifteen percent off him really brings out the maternal instinct.’’

He leaned back in the booth and frowned.

“What?’’

“It’s a rare day when you’re more cynical than I am. Who’s Miami here and who’s Himmarshee?’’