It was almost 10:30 by the time I pulled into the lot at the Himmarshee Police Department. I was getting a little too familiar with the place—a low-slung concrete block building painted a depressing shade of gray. Beside it, a chain link fence topped by concertina wire enclosed an exercise yard. Across the yard was the jail, where Mama was.

From what Henry had said, the state attorney’s office still had to review her case. She hadn’t seen a judge yet. So far, the only one who was saying she was guilty was the man who’d tossed her in jail: Detective Martinez.

“Penny for your thoughts, Mace.’’

A uniformed officer tapped at my windshield. It was Donnie Bailey, who I’d babysat once upon a time. Looking at him now, all muscles and mustache, made me feel old.

“Where you at, Mace? That look on your face puts you about a thousand miles away.’’

“I was just sitting here thinking of what to do next.’’

“Listen, I’m sorry about this mess with your mama,’’ Donnie said. “I was on duty last night when they brought her over to the jail. I’m gonna see she gets treated good, Mace. Don’t worry.’’

“Thanks, Donnie.’’ I felt the threat of tears gathering behind my eyes. “That means a lot.’’

I shifted gears. “Listen, is there any chance of me getting in there to see her? I don’t want to get you in any trouble.’’

“You won’t get me into trouble, Mace.’’ Donnie’s chest puffed out, like a wild turkey in full strut. “I’m the one in charge this shift. I run the jail, and I say who comes and goes. Your Mama’s minister already made his rounds. Family visits aren’t ’til later, but we’re pretty light on inmates right now.’’

Donnie glanced at me quickly to see how I’d taken to Mama being called an inmate. I didn’t take to it too well.

“Sorry, Mace. Anyway, I don’t see a problem with you checking on your mama. With her advanced age and all, I’m sure you’re worried about her medical condition, right?’’

“Donnie, Mama’s healthier than I am.’’

He leveled a hard look at me, and I got a quick glimpse of how scary he might be on the opposite side of some bars. “What I said, Mace, is that you’re worried about her medical condition, right?’’ Donnie spoke loud and slow, like I was a particularly thick kindergartner he was trying to teach the alphabet.

“Yeah, that’s exactly right, Donnie.’’ A-B-C. “I’m just frantic to think about how all this mess might be affecting Mama’s poor old heart.’’

Not three days earlier, she’d run three blocks with her pet Pomeranian in her arms after the dog got a hold of a poisonous toad. She couldn’t get to a hose, so she’d jumped in a creek to douse out Teensy’s mouth. Then she ran all the way back with a shovel to kill the toad. Mama’s weak heart, my elbow.

“You know I’d feel awful if that poor old woman died while in our custody.’’ Donnie did all but wink. “Y’all might get your cousin Henry to sue us and shut down the jail. And where would I be? Neither jail nor job.’’

Donnie hitched up his belt and shook a ring full of keys at me. I climbed out of my Jeep and followed him, through a locked gate and onto the concrete slab that serves as the exercise yard. There wasn’t much to it: three rusty weight-lifting benches and a half-deflated basketball.

At the jail’s back door, Donnie worked a series of deadbolts. Then he leaned into the heavy steel with his shoulder. The door inched open slowly, and he stepped aside to let me walk through.

A lingering smell of disinfectant, overlaid with spaghetti and meatballs, transported me back to Wednesdays in my grade school cafeteria.

“Lunch smells decent, Donnie.’’

“Smells and tastes are two different things, Mace. Let’s just say we won’t be winning any blue ribbon awards for cooking.’’

I felt a pang of sympathy. Mama loves good food.

From the movies, I’d expected the clang of bars and the catcalls of inmates. But the only thing I heard was the jangle of Donnie’s keys and a faint squeak from his shoes.

“Like I said, we’re quiet today. This here’s the women’s quarters. Men are on the other side of the building. Normally, you’d have to use the visitors’ room, but I trust you, Mace. Hell, you changed my diapers.’’

As Donnie led the way, I couldn’t help but notice how nicely he’d filled out since those diaper-wearing days.

We kept walking until we entered an open area with cells lining the outer walls. An officer sat behind thick glass, watching a console with a bunch of lights and switches. The lock-up was quite modern for a little burg like Himmarshee. But that’s Florida: No money for schools; plenty of money for jails.

“Your mama’s in the last spot on the left down there,’’ Donnie pointed across the interior square. “We have space, but we have to give her a cellmate. It’s procedure.’’

Unless it was an axe murderer, Mama would prefer the company. She can’t abide being alone, which is probably why she’s had four husbands.

“What’s the other woman like?’’ I asked.

“Younger gal. Not violent, or anything,’’ Donnie said. “She’s in for check fraud. Says it was her boyfriend to blame.’’

“Was it?’’

“Who knows?’’ Donnie shrugged. “Just like there’s not a guilty man in jail, there’s hardly a woman who doesn’t claim she’d never have done it if not for some guy. I’d go crazy if I listened to every inmate who claims they’re innocent.’’

I tried not to take offense. Donnie was as much as grouping Mama in with that guilty crowd. I kept my mouth shut and crossed to her cell. A low-pitched chuckle sounded inside.

“I swear, Ms. Deveraux, you are a stitch.’’ The same woman laughed again. “What happened after Teensy got stuck in the road tar? Did he turn all black?’’

I smiled. That was one of Mama’s favorite stories, as her pet Pomeranian made a tar-free recovery. She loves happy endings.

“Is there an innocent old woman in here?’’ Plastering a reassuring grin onto my face, I peeked in her cell. “A gorgeous, innocent woman?’’

“Oh, my stars!’’ Mama squealed. “It’s my middle girl, Mace!’’

She was dressed in a jail-issue smock and drawstring pants, as orange as the reflective vest on a highway worker. I pretended the ugly uniform just meant Mama had gone to work in the office of a doctor with bad taste in color.

“Mace, honey, I want you to meet my roommate.’’

I slipped my hand through the bars to grip limp fingers. Mama’s twenty-something cellmate kept her shoulders hunched and her eyes on the concrete floor. If I had to guess, I’d say she’d been knocked around some. Despite a pierced nose and a wide streak of purple in her hair, she looked like the kind of woman who’d just as soon disappear.