Free Mama Sees Stars: A Mace Bauer Mystery by Deborah Sharp

bullfrog croaked from a distant creek. An owl hooted. The breeze ruffled leaves on the oak trees that shade my property.
    When I joined Carlos, his head was leaned back on the couch, his eyes closed.
    “You asleep?’’ I whispered.
    “Just resting my eyes.’’ He took the bottle of beer I offered, and gave me a weak smile. “Long day.’’
    “Probably be another one tomorrow.’’
    He took a swallow of beer. Closed his eyes again. I waited what I thought was an appropriate time, and then asked, “So, who do you think killed Norman Sydney?’’
    His eyes slowly opened. He shook his head. “You’re kidding me, right?’’
    “What?’’
    “Not tonight, Mace. I just want to kick back and unwind. I don’t want to be interrogated.’’
    I got a little huffy. “It’s hardly an interrogation. It’s just one little question.’’
    “I thought you weren’t interested in trying to solve this case. You said, and I quote: Those weird Hollywood people can kill each other off for all I care .’’
    “Right. And I’m not getting involved. That doesn’t mean I’m not curious, though.’’
    “Curiosity killed the dog.’’
    “Cat,’’ I said. Sometimes Carlos confuses his English-language aphorisms.
    “Okay, cat.’’ He rested his head on the back of the couch again.
    I looked at his face and saw stress and fatigue written there. Carlos was right. I had vowed to steer clear. And it wasn’t worth us arguing over. I clinked my bottle softly against the one he held in his hand.
    “Bottom’s up,’’ I said. “Let the stress release begin.’’
    By the time we polished off our beers and half the can of peanuts, we were both feeling mellow.
    “How about dessert?’’ Carlos said.
    I remembered finishing off a bag of Oreos in front of the TV.
    “Sorry, I don’t have anything sweet in the house.’’ I picked a stray peanut off his chest.
    “I think you do.’’ He looked at me, desire suddenly sparking in those bottomless-pool eyes.
    “Oh.’’
    I fed him the peanut. He bit gently at my fingertip, and then ran his tongue around the nail. With his finger, he traced a trail across my lips, down my chin, and then slowly, slowly along the outside of my throat. I swallowed. When his lips followed the path his finger had made, I shivered, even though my body was the opposite of cold.
    “Yeah,’’ he said. “Oh.’’
    He brought his face back to mine. Our lips met. His tasted like peanuts. That wasn’t a problem. I could eat peanuts all day.
    I stood, held out my hand, and pulled him to his feet. “On second thought,’’ I said, “I might have a sweet treat or two hidden in my bedroom.’’
    “ ¡Qué bueno! I love a treasure hunt.’’
    _____
    Afterward, I lay in my bed behind Carlos as he slept. With my thumb, I followed the curlicue of a cowlick at the back of his neck. I straightened it, and then watched it spring right back to its original position.
    It struck me that our relationship was a little like that stubborn curl. I could try to force it into something it wasn’t, or I could just let it grow the way it wanted to. I listened to the even rhythm of his breathing. Heat from his body warmed me as I pressed my naked body against his. I felt well loved. It seemed like more than just the physical afterglow of sex. Was it real happiness?
    I wanted to shower, but I could feel myself dropping off to sleep. I felt the familiar heaviness, the letting-go of muscle tension in my limbs. I was beyond relaxed. Why fight it? My body had just begun floating downward into the mattress’s soft embrace when the shrilling of the telephone jarred me back to consciousness.
    Beside me, Carlos grumbled and buried his head in a pillow.
    The nightstand clock said 10:37—late for idle chit-chat. I hoped nothing had happened to Mama, or to one of my sisters. The number displayed on the phone was local, but not one I recognized. My hand shook a bit as I picked up the phone and said hello.
    “Hey,