Read Online Mama Gets Trashed (A Mace Bauer Mystery) by Deborah Sharp - Free Book Online

and then took a seat while he popped bread from the toaster and plated our breakfast. When he placed the eggs in front of me with a waiter’s flourish, I got a warm feeling in my stomach. I don’t think it was just hunger, either. I felt taken care of. Content.
    “I could get used to this.’’
    “Careful, Mace. I might take that to mean you want us to move in together.’’
    Suddenly, the warm feeling in my gut tightened into a knot. It was too soon. I wasn’t ready. We’d only been engaged two months. Who knew whether it would last between us? When Maddie and Kenny wed, hadn’t she thought her marriage would last forever? Until death do us part.
    The familiar words from the wedding vows made me think of the murdered woman, Camilla. No doubt she was not ready for death to take her. I saw her lifeless body in my mind’s eye, discar ded and left to decay in the dump. I stared at my untouched food.
    “Is something wrong? Your eggs are getting cold,’’ Carlos said.
    “It looks great.’’ I took a couple of bites, pushed the food around my plate. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was. Maybe I ate too much garbanzo bean soup last night.’’
    “Not to mention more than your share of flan .’’
    Outside the window, a cloud passed over the sun. The kitchen fell into shadow. What was wrong with me? I had a good man, who’d just cooked my Sunday morning breakfast. So why was I obsessing about a murdered woman? Why was I feeling trapped?
    “Look at the time,’’ I said, glancing at the kitchen clock. “I’ve got to get home to change into church clothes.’’
    “So soon? You’ve barely eaten a thing.’’
    I scooped the eggs onto my toast and made a sandwich. “I’ll finish it on the drive home.’’
    “We’ve got to talk, Mace.’’
    Thankfully, his cell phone rang at that moment, saving me from having to explain my mood change. How could I do that when I didn’t understand it myself? He grabbed his phone from the kitchen counter and checked the caller ID.
    “I should take this.’’
    I’ll call you . I mouthed the words, hand-signaling a phone to my ear.
    He answered his cell, and then burst into rapid-fire Spanish. I couldn’t comprendo a word. Even as he spoke to the caller, he held up a wait-a-minute finger to me. His puzzled frown followed me as I walked toward the door.
    _____

    The music minister at Mama’s church hit the first chords on his portable piano. “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.’’ I hoped that was true, because I felt a bit short on the friend front that morning. I was playing games with a man who loved me. I’d already insulted both Mama and Sal. And I’d slipped up and called the pastor by the wrong name.
    Even the little boy in the pew beside me pinched me on the thigh when I slid in and gave his head a friendly pat. It wasn’t shaping up as my best Sunday morning ever.
    We were still standing outside on the sidewalk before services at Abundant Forgiveness Love & Charity Chapel when Mama started sniping about my fashion missteps.
    “Is that the only clean blouse you had in your closet, Mace?’’ S he picked some lint off my wrinkled collar. “You know what I alway s say about black fabric: It picks up everything but men and money. Not to mention, it’s more appropriate for a funeral than for Sunday worship.’’
    I took in her watermelon-colored pantsuit, accessorized with dangly earrings and bangle bracelets in the same shade of reddish-pink as her scarf. And Mama was calling me out on my wardrobe choices? I lifted her fingers off my collar.
    “My blouse is navy blue.’’
    “Uh-huh.’’ Mama dug around in her purse, and then held out her tube of Apricot Ice. “Here you go, honey. This won’t make up for that nest of knots in your hair … did you even brush it this morning? But it will perk up your complexion a bit. I wish you’d listen to me when I tell you that those drab shades aren’t your best choice. You should be wearing the