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.

“Mama? It’s Mace.”

“Honey, where are you?” Her pout was audible over the cell line. “I thought we could go over the order of the toasts for the reception one more time.”

Please, God. No.

“I don’t think so, Mama. I’m on the highway on my way home from work. I’m running late, and I’m beat.”

I’d made it to the parking lot without incident. Tony’s car was gone. Maybe the breathing I thought I heard in the woods was just a trick of the wind through the trees.

When Mama didn’t respond, I said into the phone, “Remember that strange woman Carlos was talking to last night at the Perch? In the bar?”

“Of course I do, Mace. She’d be kind of hard to forget, what with all that black leather. Now, not every woman could carry off that much black. But with her blond hair and that gorgeous shape, I have to admit it looked terrific on her.”

Thanks, Mama, I thought. Just what I needed to hear.

“Anyway,” I said, “that same woman showed up at the park this afternoon for the sunset walk.”

“Was she wearing black again? You know, if she’d just add a colorful scarf in an accent color, she would really have a great look. Maybe turquoise, or aqua, even pink, with that mass of blond curls. Was she wearing …”

I cut Mama off. “Yes, she was in black. No, there was no scarf. Now, if we can move on from the fashion segment, I’d like to give you the rest of my news.”

“I’m all ears, Mace. Though I must say it wouldn’t kill you to pay just the smallest bit of attention to fashion. If you’d just put on a little lipstick now and then …”

My knuckles were showing white on the steering wheel. “Mama!”

“Oh, all right.” The pout was back. “What’s your news?”

I was going to tell her all about Tony showing up, and me raising the topic of his family. But at just that moment, I saw an oncoming car fast approaching the little bridge over Taylor Slough. State Road 98 narrowed at the bridge, and the highway demanded my full attention.

“Hang on, Mama. I’m driving over Buzzard Bridge.”

The spot earned its name because so many wrecks had occurred that the buzzards hung out, waiting for carnage.

“Mace, be careful!”

I edged to the right and slowed a bit, as the other car blew past me with just a foot or so to spare. There was still enough twilight, and we were close enough, that I could see the driver’s eyes. They were wide with fear under the brim of his Walt Disney World cap. Maybe he’d ratchet down the gas pedal on that rental car when he came to the next narrow crossing.

“Okay,” I began, before I was immediately distracted again.

This time, it was a scene in a thicket of trees alongside the road. A tall blonde stood beside a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Black, of course. A big, fancy car was parked right next to the bike. The car gleamed, golden, under my headlights. A heavy-set man with a cigar in his mouth leaned casually against the driver’s side door. The car was a very distinctive Cadillac.

“Well, that was weird,” I muttered as I sped past.

“What’s weird, Mace? Would you please speak up? It’s really hard to hear you on that cello-phone.”

“I just saw Sal, pulled way off on the shoulder along 98. He was talking to that same blond woman from the bar.”

Mama gasped. Apparently she had no trouble hearing me now.

“Well, you have to turn around and go back there! Find out what Sal’s doing out in the woods with some gorgeous young gal.”

I looked in the rearview mirror. There was nothing but dark road behind me. “They’re not exactly in the woods, Mama.”

“Woods, highway, whatever. Turn around right now, Mace.”

I hesitated. Mama already had talked me into a god-awful, ruffled mess for Saturday, wearing a most likely horrifying hairdo, and carrying the most ridiculous parasol known to womankind. It’d cost me, but I decided this request was going to be my line in the sand.

“No, Mama. I will not turn around. It’s been a long day. I’m tired, and I’m hungry. You can ask Sal yourself why he was out here along the road with her.”

I didn’t add that the thought of any kind of confrontation with Ms. Sunglasses made me nervous. She was strange; she was just as big as me; and that helmet looked plenty heavy.