“But not this time,’’ Maddie said.

“Not this time.’’ I shook my head. “The police found out later she’d opened the door because a sweet-looking old woman was on the stoop, crying and appearing confused. When Patricia started out to see if she could help, the old lady’s accomplices pushed her back through the open door. They shot her right there. Martinez found his wife’s body when he got home from work. She was seven months pregnant.’’

Marty gasped again.

“They ultimately caught the robbers, because another homeowner they’d shot survived to describe them.’’ I shifted in the chair to ease the pain in my knee. “He told the newspaper the old woman looked so harmless, he never suspected a thing. Want to know why?’’

All three heads nodded.

“She reminded him of the sweet old lady who used to teach at his Sunday school.’’

Mama had one hand on her head and the other holding on to the dashboard of Pam’s old VW convertible. The wind was blowing the yellow pansies flat on her Sunday hat.

Actually, it was Wednesday evening. But we were on our way to church, which explains the fancy headwear. After what Mama had been through, I figured the least I could do was accompany her to mid-week services at Abundant Hope and Charity Chapel, like she’s always asking me to.

I was driving my niece’s car. Maddie had owned it a hundred years ago in high school, and she’d kept good maintenance on the engine. Of course. But the top had rusted into the down position. Maddie didn’t see any reason to waste the money to fix a car that Pam only drove when she came home from college two or three times a year. If it rained, Maddie always said, Pam could put on a slicker.

“How you doin’ over there, Mama?’’ I yelled into the warm night air.

She nodded she was okay, but that might just have been the pansies trembling on her hat.

“Just hold on, we’re almost there.’’ I stepped on the gas.

I learned to drive over rough terrain in orange groves and across fields rooted up by wild hogs. To me, a smooth, paved road seems like an open invitation to exceed the speed limit.

Within minutes, we were whipping into a parking space. The church, a converted convenience store, is unfortunately situated right next to a rib joint called the Pork Pit. Whenever I attend church, the scent from the Pit makes me think more about getting barbecue than getting saved. I turned off the key, and the old engine shuddered to a stop.

“Here we are. Safe and sound.’’

“Remind me to take a tranquilizer the next time I have to ride with you, Mace.’’ Mama unclenched her hand from the dash and turned the rear view mirror in her direction. “You were driving so fast, gnats were hitting me like buckshot. I think I still have bug parts embedded in my face.’’ She bared her teeth, checking for black dots.

“You look fine, Mama.’’ If I told her she’d actually lost a clump or two of pansies to the wind, she’d insist on going home to get another hat.

“Well, you do, too, Mace. But you could look so much better than fine. I don’t know why you put on all those dark colors when I asked you to wear that beautiful pink pantsuit your Aunt Irene gave you. The woman can be a pill, but you can’t fault her taste in clothes.’’

“I told you I wasn’t gonna wear the pink, Mama. That suit makes me look like an Easter egg on stilts. Marty’s the one that likes pastels, not me.’’

“But the pink looks so pretty with your dark coloring, Mace. You don’t even try to look nice.’’

“Evening, Rosalee.’’ I was saved by a middle-aged woman in a blue-flowered skirt and a sleeveless sweater. She dipped her head at Mama as she passed in front of the VW.

“Hey, Delilah. C’mon over here and say hello to my middle girl, Mace. Honey, this is Delilah Dixon. She’s Pastor Bob Dixon’s wife.’’

Delilah walked to Mama’s side of the car and extended her hand over the absent top. I took it, grateful for the interruption in Mama’s long-running critique of my fashion sense.

“Well,’’ Delilah said in a sugary tone, “we haven’t seen you here before, have we, Mace?’’

No, Ma’am, I’m a sinner. That’s what I felt like saying, but didn’t. “I’m not able to make it to church as much as I’d like.’’

“Mace is one of those Christmas and Easter Christians, Delilah. You know, the ones who crowd the pews on the holidays? They think the Lord will forget He hasn’t seen them the rest of the year.’’

“Well, I’m here tonight and I’m looking forward to the service,’’ I said, heading off a tangent on my church-going habits. “What will your husband be preaching on, Ms. Dixon?’’

“Oh, I never know until the moment Bob starts his sermon.’’ Delilah’s drawl-free accent sounded Midwestern. “I like to enjoy hearing it for the first time, along with the congregation.’’

I thought I noticed the tiniest smirk on Mama’s mouth.

“Well, I better get along inside.’’ Delilah started for the church door, then turned at the halfway point. “We’re sure happy to see you tonight, Rosalee,’’ she said in a voice that carried clear to the Pork Pit. “I wasn’t sure you’d have the nerve to show up, considering.’’

Mama’s back stiffened in the car seat. “Why wouldn’t I ‘show up,’ Delilah? The only thing to consider is I had the bad luck to discover some poor soul’s body in my trunk.’’

Delilah traced a finger along the spine of the Bible she carried. “Well, we did hear you’d been hauled into the Himmarshee Jail.’’ Her voice was loud enough to wake the crows roosting across the street in a magnolia tree. “All of us were worried you’d never get out.’’

Heads turned as other congregation members filed past.

“As you can see, I’m out. I wasn’t charged with a thing,’’ Mama said sharply. “It was a misunderstanding, is all. By the way, Delilah, you might want to reread the Gospel of Matthew in that Good Book you’re carrying. He writes all about the evil nature of false accusations.’’

I’d planned to jump to Mama’s defense, but she seemed to be doing fine on her own. Sputtering, Delilah flounced into church, her skirt a floral swirl around her sturdy legs.

“I know it’s not very Christian of me, but I sure don’t like that woman,’’ Mama whispered to me. “And did you see her in a sleeveless sweater? She’s built like a truck driver. With those big arms of hers, a three-quarter length sleeve would be much more flattering.’’

I aimed a sanctimonious look to the passenger seat. “Doesn’t Proverbs address gossiping, Mama? If I recall, the Bible says guard your mouth and tongue to keep yourself from calamity.’’