Free Mama Rides Shotgun by Deborah Sharp Page B

when it happened. But I think I might know who did it.’’ I pulled a corner of Mama’s down comforter over my lap.
    “Did what?’’ Sal grumbled.
    “Somebody stabbed Mace’s tent, Sally.’’ She turned to me. “Who was it, honey?’’
    I told her about Trey’s girlfriend, how she’d walked in on us in the woods and called me a tramp.
    “She’s pretty, so she’s used to getting what she wants. And she acted like a girl who doesn’t like to be crossed. I wouldn’t put vandalism past her at all.’’
    Sal’s big head popped up from the back seat. His hair looked better than Mama’s. Maybe she should try his styling mousse.
    “Mace has a point about vandalism, Rosie.’’ He rested those ham-like arms on the seat back and leaned in close. “Men move right to physical violence; women often target property. It’s a known fact.’’
    Mama took some breath spray from her purse and handed it to Sal.
    “Don’t you remember that cheerleader at Himmarshee High, Mama?’’ I asked. “The one who was so jealous of Marty? When her ex asked Marty to the prom, the cheerleader threw acid on Marty’s Ford Escort. Marty had to drive it until she could scrape together the insurance deductible. Her poor car looked like a speckled Dalmatian.’’
    Sal squirted, and passed the breath spray back to Mama. She handed it to me.
    “I haven’t even been to sleep yet, Mama.’’ Offended, I tossed it back to her.
    “Couldn’t hurt, darlin’.’’ She put it in my lap. “And I do remember that cheerleader. I remember your sister couldn’t do anything about it because we couldn’t prove the girl did it. The Himmarshee Police didn’t take Marty very seriously.’’
    “Sounds about right.’’ Sal’s freshened breath hit us in the front seat like a cinnamon tsunami. “Unless there’s a threat of violence, or the damaged goods are super-valuable, vandalism’s the bottom of the totem pole for most cops. Maybe you should talk to Martinez about it when he gets here, Mace.’’
    The idea of talking to Carlos about anything made the two pieces of pie I’d eaten earlier somersault over each other. I swallowed my emotions, along with a tiny, strawberry-flavored burp.
    “He’s seventy-some miles out of his jurisdiction up here.’’ My voice was so measured, I might have been discussing interest rates, not the man I once thought I loved. “Besides, I’m going to handle it myself.’’
    “I don’t like the way that sounds, Mace.’’ Mama shook her finger at me.
    “Me neither,’’ Sal said. “You’re not gonna whack her, are ya?’’
    My mouth opened wide in a laugh, and I realized Mama had been right about that breath spray. I aimed a blast at my tongue. “Nobody’s whacking anybody. I’m just saying I intend to prove Austin’s the one who ripped up my stuff, then drenched it with wine.’’
    Mama and Sal were silent. Tired, probably. I know I was. As I wondered where I’d bunk for the rest of the ride, I glanced at Sal’s watch, sitting on the dashboard. Saucer-sized, encrusted with diamonds, the face read two-thirty-five a.m. I had to be up in less than four hours to groom, saddle, and water the horses. I expected Mama to help, manicure or not.
    But I wasn’t going to tell her that now. Now, I needed to be sweet since I had nowhere else to lay my head.
    “Listen, if you meant it before, Mama, I’ll take you up on your offer to sleep here.’’
    “Say no more, darlin’.’’ She vaulted over the seat with entirely too much familiarity for a woman about to celebrate her sixty-third birthday on the Fourth of July. “Sal and I will be snug as two bugs back here.’’
    I heard the rustle of clothes and blankets. Sal grunted. Mama oofed, as the two of them shifted this way and that, getting comfortable. Soon, she was snoring again. Taking as brief a glance as I could into the back, I was surprised to find they fit, given Sal’s size. My fingers covered my eyes like a kid at a scary movie,