Read Online Mama Sees Stars: A Mace Bauer Mystery by Deborah Sharp - Free Book Online Page B

her body to his: breast to chest, groin to groin, thigh to thigh. They broke apart, and then beelined to a corner booth.
    At our table, a few moments passed in awkward silence. “She must not have seen you,’’ I finally said to Toby. “And the music’s really loud in here.’’
    He shrugged. “Barbara’s laydar is up.’’
    “Laydar?’’
    “Yeah, like radar, except it detects the prospects of her getting laid.’’
    I turned my head. Barbara straddled Paul’s lap; his hands were under her blouse. Their shared kiss was hot enough to singe the red leather seats in their corner booth.
    “It looks to me like her prospects are pretty good,’’ I said.

I tossed the keys to my Jeep into the gaping mouth of Al, my combination coffee table art and conversation piece.
    “Nice dunk,’’ Carlos said.
    “Thanks.’’
    “That still kills me.’’
    “What? That I’m such an incredible shot?’’
    He grinned. “No, that you keep a dead alligator’s head in your living room like a sculpture. Who does that?’’
    Before Al was a taxidermy exhibit, he was a nuisance gator, which basically means too many people moved into what used to be Al’s Florida domain. My state-trapper cousin and I wrestled the ten-footer out of the swimming pool of a newcomer—who loved the notion of living in a natural setting, until nature came to call.
    “Hey, don’t they say art is in the eye of the beholder?’’ I asked.
    “I think that’s ‘beauty’ that’s in the eye, niña. ’’
    “Well, Al was beautiful, in his way. It’s not his fault he crashed some guy’s pool party.’’
    Carlos shuddered. “ ¡Dios mío! Lucky no one was killed.’’
    I looked over at Al, in profile. As always, I imagined that beady glass eye of his judging me. Murderer, it said.
    A plaintive yowl issued from the bedroom. It was followed by another, even louder.
    “Hush, Wila!” I made the Shhhh sound, to no avail.
    Carlos nodded toward the room, where my foster cat was pouting under a pile of dirty clothes. “Is she going to speak to me tonight?’’
    “Oh, she’ll speak, but more likely she’ll speak about you rather than to you.’’
    Wila’s Siamese nose was out of joint because the two of us normally had my little cottage to ourselves. Tonight we had company. Carlos and I usually used his apartment in town when we got together. But he was renovating, and his one bathroom was out of commission. I didn’t think his landlord would appreciate me peeing in the backyard.
    I still couldn’t believe I shared my living space with a noisy cat. I’m a dog person. Wila came my way the summer Mama discovered a dead man in her turquoise convertible. With everything else going on back then, it seemed too complicated to try to find the cat a real home. She turned out to be smart and funny, with a personality all her own. Truth is, Wila’s grown on me. She’s pretty cool, for a cat.
    Meowrrrrr .
    Well, except for that. Siamese love to hear the sound of their own voices. Kind of like Mama, come to think of it.
    Carlos covered his ears.
    “She’ll settle down after I feed her,’’ I said. “Then she’ll get used to you being here. Just don’t try to approach her before she’s ready.’’
    MEOWRRRRR .
    “You don’t have to worry about that.’’ Wincing from the sound, he took a seat on the couch.
    After I set out the cat’s food, I puttered about the kitchen. I grabbed a couple of beers, a can of peanuts, and a roll of paper towels for Carlos and me.
    “Don’t go to any trouble,’’ he called from the living room.
    I looked at the meager offering. Martha Stewart I’m not. “You don’t have to worry about that.’’
    The cat waited long enough so she wouldn’t seem desperate. Then, streaking past Carlos like she believed speed made her invisible, she tore into the kitchen to eat. A blessed quiet reigned in my cottage. Nights were getting cool enough to open the windows. Nature sounds filtered in through the screens. A