Good question. Looks like I’d missed my moment. Not that the damsel in distress role suits me. I’d have to leave that—and Carlos, too, from the looks of it—to poor, fragile Belle.

___

After I stalked off alone, I found a spot in the back of the pasture to pick at my sandwich and work on my sulk. A cattle egret hunted bugs in the tall grass by some ancient cow pens. A meadow lark warbled nearby. The cloudless sky was swimming-pool blue. Sitting in the sun with my back against the worn wood of a pen, I nursed my hurt feelings—along with the last of my lemonade. I kept replaying Mama’s litany, about how I’d probably end up all by myself.

It’s not like I didn’t have my choice of men: There was the alcoholic with the psycho girlfriend, who may or may not be his ex. And, oh yeah, he might also be diddling his daddy’s recent widow. And then there was the other one—who I had to admit I still wanted, even though he clearly didn’t want me.

Just as I was imagining a solitary life with a houseful of cats, I heard throat-clearing beside me.

“Mace, can we talk to you?’’

Deep voice; the slightest Spanish accent. Carlos. I turned my shoulders. My stiff neck followed reluctantly.

“Sure,’’ I said, careful to keep my voice even.

I tried not to stare at the hands that he and Belle had linked together. But since they were standing and I was sitting, they were right there at my eye level. A camera hung from her neck.

“Why don’t y’all have a seat?’’

That was even worse. He actually brushed a spot for her to sit on the ground. She lowered herself gracefully, like a flower folding up for the night. As soon as he sat, she reached for his hand again. His was strong, the color of buttered caramel; hers was small, as delicate-looking as a child’s. I forced myself to raise my eyes to Belle’s.

“I didn’t get the chance at the ranch house to tell you how sorry I am,’’ I said. “We saw your daddy not too long before he died. He looked happy, like he was having the time of his life. I hope there’s some comfort in that.’’

I didn’t mention Lawton’s less-than-happy reaction when Mama asked him about Trey.

“Thank you, Mace,’’ she said in a whispery voice. “It does mean something to hear you say that.’’

She was clasping Carlos’ hand so hard, the freckles were nearly jumping off her skin.

He said, “Belle and I have been talking this morning about her father’s death. There are some things that don’t seem to add up.’’

No kidding, I thought. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everybody.

She said, “Daddy was a wealthy, powerful man. He had enemies. What if someone killed him, maybe with poison? If you look around, you’ll see people with motives, starting with his own wife.’’

Belle’s intelligent eyes searched mine. I figured now was a good time to bring up some of those motives. I told them about seeing Wynonna rubbing Trey’s chest.

“Is there something between her and your brother, Belle?’’

“No way.’’ She shook her head firmly. “I don’t know what her game was, but he was passed out drunk. Besides, Trey can’t stand Wynonna. Both of us knew she married Daddy for his money. Now it looks like she’ll get what she wanted.’’

I told them about Johnny Adams, and the trouble he’d had with Lawton, both business and personal.

“So Johnny was in love with my mother?’’

“That’s what Mama told me,’’ I said.

Carlos rolled his eyes.

“I saw that,’’ I said. “Anyway, there was Johnny’s odd reaction, too. He acted so strange when Mama and I told him about your daddy dying.”

Another eye roll from Carlos.

“If you don’t stop doing that,’’ I told him, “you’ll give yourself a headache.’’

He sighed. “You’re talking about feelings and observations, Mace, not evidence.’’

“Well, I know it’s not evidence, Carlos. I’m just telling you and Belle what I’ve seen. How come cops can have hunches and real people can’t?’’

“So now I’m not a real person?’’

I ignored that. I was on a roll.

“Not to mention, I seem to remember a certain detective’s hunch last summer that turned out dead wrong. My mama went to jail because of it. I’m being extra careful to notice everything this time around.’’

“Coño, Mace.’’ There was that Cuban cuss word I’d come to know. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?’’

As I was trying to think of a snappy comeback, I glanced at Belle. She was taking everything in. I imagined not much got by those green eyes of hers, or her camera, either.

“Whatever,’’ I finally said, not at all snappily.

I swigged from my lemonade cup. It was mostly ice, but I crunched away, as if the cubes weren’t freezing my molars into glaciers. Carlos glared at me. I glared back. Belle unclasped her fingers from his and folded her hands in her lap. Then she lifted her camera and took a picture of the egret perched on a fence post. The stony silence stretched out between Carlos and me.

Just then, I heard a muffled cough from around the side of the pen. The grass rustled as someone hurried away. By the time I got up to look through the weathered slats, there was no one to see. Whoever had been there had slipped into the woods and vanished. Was it someone listening in, or just a passerby?

“What?’’ Carlos asked me.

“I heard something.’’

“I didn’t,’’ Belle said.

“Mace works in a nature park and traps animals as a sideline. She’s got hearing like a bat,’’ Carlos said.

“What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m as crazy as a bat, like the old saying?’’

“Give it a break, would you?’’ He got up and brushed off his Wranglers. “It was a compliment, Mace, not that you ever knew how to take one. All I meant was you have highly developed tracking skills and senses in the wild.’’

Belle got up, too, interrupting us before we could start another round.

“Mace, I know you had some questions about Daddy’s death, too. Your mama told me all about it when she took me to see his bod . . . bahd . . . uhm, to see him.’’

Of course she did.

“She said you were concerned about what might have been in that chili cup.’’

I nodded, waiting for Belle to go on.

“Carlos told me this morning he was a police detective, and that he’d also lost someone close to him.’’ She glanced at him. He smiled his encouragement. I felt something twist in my gut. “We talked on the trail about how you feel powerless when someone you love dies. I just want to make sure I’ve done everything I can for Daddy. If someone killed him, we need to find out who it was.’’

She looked at Carlos. He grabbed her hand and squeezed. I felt like throwing up.

“Even though I’m out of my jurisdiction, and technically between jobs, I can call in a favor,’’ he said. “The least we can do is get some tests run on the chili left in that cup.’’

“That’s what I’ve been saying,’’ I said.

“Well, where is it then?’’ he asked.

“The cup?’’

“No, Mace. The Empire State Building.’’ The scowl again. “Isn’t the cup what we’ve been talking about?’’

I wondered how soon he’d start taking that surly, Miami tone with Belle. Probably never. Something about me seemed to bring out the worst in Carlos. I bit back a smartass remark on account of Belle being in mourning.

“The cup,’’ I said, drawing out the word, “was in Doc Abel’s front seat the last time I saw it. He seems sure a heart attack killed Lawton; but he said he’d hang onto the cup on the off chance he’s wrong.’’

A funny look flitted across Belle’s face. “Hmm,’’ she said.

“What?’’ I asked her.

“Well, it’s just that I saw Doc, riding in one of the wagons this morning. I asked him about Daddy’s chili cup. He said Wynonna took it.’’