Read to Death Page 13

The silence in the dining room was looming larger by the minute. I pushed Bridgy ahead of me into the kitchen. As soon as the door closed behind me I whispered, “Is it going to be like this for the entire visit?”

  Bridgy got defensive. “I did warn you, this isn’t twenty people for Thanksgiving where everyone mills around. They can each get lost in the crowd. By ourselves, we’re too small a group.”

  Sarcasm roiled. “What’s our option? Should we throw a party?”

  “Chicas, you are squabbling like Ophie and Emelia. Stop it. Serve the food, and pretty soon they will be busy eating and the hostility will—poof!—be gone.”

  I hoped Miguel was right.

  Putting on their best “Sunday company” manners, Sage and Emelia raved over each bite of their Cubanos and alternated so many sips from each of their sampler batidos that you would think they were drinking tequila shots at two-for-one night in the local pub. Ophie was quieter than usual but still managed to throw in a rave review now and again.

  Of course when the eating stopped, so did the conversation. Miguel came to the rescue with a tray of individual fluted flans plated with a dollop of whipped cream and sliced almonds.

  Bridgy and I cleared the table to make room for the dessert. I offered tea and coffee. Sage asked for herbal tea. Everyone else waved me away and dug into the flan, which brought glowing reviews all around.

  Ophie pushed her chair from the table. “So nice to see y’all, but I have an appointment at the Treasure Trove.”

  Emelia let the “y’all” slide right past her, but her tone was frosty. “You take care, Ophelia. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  My first thought was, Oh no, we’re going to have to go through this again.

  Always willing to be a distraction, Sage stood. “Is it walking distance? I need to stretch my legs. Do you mind if I walk with you?”

  “Come along. The Treasure Trove is at the other end of the parking lot. You won’t get lost if I send you back on your own.”

  As soon as they left, Bridgy and I began the cleanup. I was at the kitchen side of the pass-through pulling a tray of glasses when I heard Emelia say, “Bridget, while we have the chance . . . while we’re alone, please tell me what is going on with this murder. Do the police seriously suspect you? Oh, and your father sent a check for the lawyer.”

  I tiptoed over to Miguel, who was cleaning his work counter. “We really need a back door to this place. We’re trapped in here while Emelia grills Bridgy. And she brought a check for lawyer fees. It’s like that song from years ago. ‘Lawyers, Guns and Money’?”

  “Sí, Warren Zevon. Very popular during beach week when I was in school. Of course we were silly, not dangerous, but at nineteen, it sounded muy macho.”

  I went back to the pass-through and listened to Bridgy explain to her mother that Oscar was killed with a pair of scissors.

  “I was looking for sunglasses, not scissors. I never carry scissors. As soon as the sheriff’s department figures out who owns the murder weapon, I doubt they’ll bother me anymore. I have a terrific lawyer. His name is Owen, and you will adore him. And wait until you meet Georgette.”

  “Georgette? Is that his wife?”

  “Oh no. Georgette Darrow is my other lawyer. She’s the one I’ll be using Dad’s check for. Thank you so much.” I heard Bridgy slide her chair, and then there was some sweet mother-daughter kissy face time.

  I was deciding if it was okay for me to go back into the dining room when I heard a knock on the front door. I flew out of the kitchen, but Bridgy was ahead of me. She turned the lock, and Ryan Mantoni stood there, dressed in civilian clothes, dark chino shorts and a light blue tee shirt. It’s possible that he owns the largest collection of law enforcement tee shirts in the world. This one had a fake collar, gold buttons, a big sheriff’s star and a brown belt all painted on a blue shirt. He looked exactly like a Keystone Cop.

  I’m not sure if he noticed Emelia, but he definitely ignored me and looked squarely at Bridgy. “I’m here unofficially. You got a minute?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bridgy stepped aside to let him in, but Ryan gestured for her to come outside. For one insane moment I thought he was going to arrest her. Then I remembered how long we’d been friends. There was no trickery about Ryan.

  Emelia was twitching with curiosity. “Who is that young man? I think I met him when I was here last year, but I can’t place him.”

  I told her that we’d known Ryan since shortly after Bridgy and I arrived in Fort Myers Beach. I didn’t think it was prudent to mention that he was a sheriff’s deputy, so I used the safe catchall word “friend.” “Between the café and the bookstore there are always customers around, so our friends are used to inviting us outside for conversations.”

  “I am getting tired. Perhaps when Bridgy comes back, we could go home and I could take a brief nap. It’s been a stressful day.” Emelia opened her purse, took out a gold compact and examined her face as if searching for bags spouting under tired eyes or a new wrinkle or two. She closed the compact and twisted her head so she could see the door. I could almost hear her thinking, “Where is that child?”

  “Of course you are tired. Sage must be, too. I’m sure we’ll be ready to leave in a few minutes. I just need to get the kitchen straightened.” A great excuse to ask Miguel if he’d heard any gossip while we were at the airport.

  Always the king of neat and tidy, Miguel was hanging tomorrow’s clean apron and toque blanche on his clothing hook when I walked into the spic-and-span kitchen. “I think your mothers had a nice treat, sí? Although I hope the strain between Ophie and Emelia does not ruin the visit.”

  Miguel had a knack for saying exactly what I was thinking. We didn’t want the pressure on Bridgy to worsen. I hoped having Emelia here would help, but if she and Ophie were determined to go at it constantly . . .

  “I hope so, too, but right now I’m wondering why Ryan took Bridgy outside for a chat. Did he happen to stop in earlier looking for her?”

  “Ryan? No. Do you think . . . ?”

  “I don’t know. He wasn’t in uniform, so let’s assume the best.” I pulled out my phone. “I better get Sage back here. Emelia wants to go home for a nap. Can’t say I blame her.”

  I was in the midst of telling Emelia that Sage was on her way and we’d be going home shortly when the door opened and Bridgy came in looking dejected. Ryan was nowhere in sight.

  Bridgy slumped into the chair she’d vacated a few minutes ago. Emelia and I exchanged looks, and then she wrapped Bridgy in a mom hug that was part smother, part comfort. It took a while, but finally, Bridgy pushed her away and said, “It’s okay. Honestly, it is. Ryan told me that the scissors aren’t going to save me. It turns out that the weapon is an extremely common pair of five-inch straight scissors that can be bought pretty much anywhere from Jo-Ann Fabric to the local ninety-nine-cent store.” She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “We’re going to have to work hard and find a way to prove that it wasn’t me who stuck that ordinary pair of scissors into Oscar’s neck.”

  We met Sage in the parking lot and piled into the Escort for the quick ride home. I was feeling like Scarlett O’Hara. “Tomorrow is another day.”

  * * *

  The next morning the delightful fragrance of coffee woke me. I padded into the kitchen to find Sage with her head stuck in the pantry, rummaging through the shelves. “I already checked the refrigerator. I don’t find any chicory. I’m sure I can get some in the local health food store. Coffee’s not the same without it.”

  Well, this was new, but not surprising. If Sage was in her earth phase, I supposed she was paying a lot more attention to plants.

  “Last night Bridgy and I decided that we would take the Heap-a-Jeep to work today and leave the Escort for you and Emelia. It’s easier for you to drive than the jeep.”

  Emelia stood in the doorway, looking extremely unrumpled in he
r tan man-tailored pajamas. It was as though she slept standing up. “Drive? Where are we going? I thought I’d spend a restful day on the beach until Bridgy comes home from work.”

  Bridgy crept up behind her. “That sounds perfect, Mom, and we’ll take you to Times Square for ice cream tonight.”

  “Times Square? Oh, the plaza by the pier. The one with the clock.”

  “And the shops.” No matter what phase she was in, Sage never lost her yen for shopping.

  Emelia looked at me. “I was wondering if you have some books I could borrow. Beach reads. That sort of thing.”

  I had two books sitting on the table in the entryway. I brought them in and handed them to her. “Julie and Julia is the book for tomorrow’s Potluck Book Club meeting, although some of the members may have read My Life in France, so I read them both.”

  Emelia clapped her hands. “Julie and Julia. Fabulous movie. Did anyone see it? No? Meryl Streep was extraordinary. Then again, she always is. Thanks, Sassy. I’ll enjoy these. Perhaps I’ll come to your book club tomorrow. What time is it?”

  Before I could answer, Bridgy was pushing me out the kitchen door. “Hurry. Shower and change. Miguel will be wondering where we are.” And she gave me a look that said, “Don’t question, just go with it.”

  When we were in the elevator and safely out of earshot, I asked Bridgy why she got jumpy when I gave her mom the Julia Child books. “You’re the one who told me she’d love them.”

  “That was before I got a text from Ophie checking the time for the meeting. It seems Blondie Quinlin was talking about the book at their ecology club meeting, and Ophie is a big Julia Child fan. She read the book and said she’d come to the meeting.”

  As if having Jocelyn to contend with wasn’t enough, I’d probably have to referee the Brice babes. “Well, your mother and your aunt may both love the same book, and that would solve the problem.”

  Bridgy shook her head. “Don’t count on it.”

  We had a nice-sized crowd for breakfast and did a brisk business at lunchtime. When things slowed down, I called Sage.

  “My little rose petal, I hope your day is as glorious as mine. Emelia and I spent hours lounging on the beach. Then we took a walk along the shoreline and collected some of the most whimsical shells. I can only imagine the superb creatures that called them home. Do you know anything about the identity of seashells?”

  “Actually, Bridgy is more the expert. I’m sure she can answer whatever questions you have.” I could see that Sage was quickly becoming enamored of all things sea related.

  “That would be wonderful. In the meantime, Emelia is taking a nap.” Then in a faux whisper she added, “I had no idea she was so low energy.”

  I thought it best not to respond. “And besides collecting shells, how are you amusing yourself this afternoon?”

  “Oh, I have so much to do. I saw a lovely group of palm trees just past the edge of the building patio out by the pool. I think it is the perfect spot for me to practice my tai chi. I really need to relieve the physical stress of being cramped up in that airplane yesterday. My inner circulation is extremely restricted. I can feel it.”

  I wasn’t sure what inner circulation Sage was referring to, but I was glad she had something to do that would keep her busy while Emelia napped. That left me free to entice Bridgy to come to visit the Fisherman’s Dream with me. It should be docking just after we closed.

  Miguel left for the day with his usual cheery “Mañana, chicas.” And he clanged the ship’s bell attached to the wall outside the front door as a final good-bye.

  Bridgy and I were nearly done with the café cleanup when I asked if she felt like taking a ride to San Carlos Island.

  “I don’t know. Home is sounding really great right now. We could rest up a little and then take the moms to Times Square. Peaceful and pleasant. I could use some of both.” She gave me a pleading look with big puppy dog eyes, but I wasn’t buying it.

  “Listen, we have two possible suspects who aren’t you. One is Tammy Rushing, who disappeared right after the murder, and the other is some sailor who had a fistfight with Oscar a while before the murder. Either one has better potential as a murder suspect than you do.”

  “Oh, you’re right. We need to tell Frank Anthony.”

  “Definitely, but first . . .” I double-checked to make sure the teakettle and other small appliances behind the counter were unplugged. “First we should find out the name of the guy who played Manny Pacquiao to Oscar’s Floyd Mayweather.”

  Bridgy’s facial expression was totally puzzled, so I answered the question she hadn’t asked.

  “Boxers. Professional boxers.” I looked at the big clock over the front door. “We’d better hustle. The Fisherman’s Dream is going to dock any minute. Today we’re going to find out who fought with Oscar. Then we can feed the information to Lieutenant Anthony.”

  When we pulled into the marina parking lot, a half dozen sunburned fishermen were straggling down the gangplank of the Fisherman’s Dream. Good. That meant the crew was still on board.

  There are not a lot of places to hide on a dock. Bridgy and I looked around and took up our post next to one of the decorative streetlights that I was sure would make the marina look very romantic after sunset. We couldn’t hide behind its graceful, slender pole, but at least we could pretend to be interested in its material and structure. I wish I’d brought an art pad and some chalk. Of course then I’d have to know how to draw. Sigh.

  We watched a few more fishermen and women come ashore, then folks wearing tank tops with the FISHERMAN’S DREAM logo began to meander down the gangplank. Bridgy asked me what we’d do if we ran into Lorgan again.

  “Easy peasy. We just tell him we’re waiting for a friend.”

  “What friend? The passengers are all gone.”

  “My new best friend Bert Wyatt. He’s a member of the crew.”

  I took offense when Bridgy laughed at me. “Oh right, and he is dying to be buds with you. Me, too, probably.”

  “Exactly right.” I’d show her.

  Of course Bert Wyatt chose that precise moment to march down the gangplank with a scruffy gray and black duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

  “There he is. And he’s alone.”

  I waved with all the enthusiasm best friends have for one another, but Bert wasn’t up for it.

  Instead of waving back, he shooed us away with the back of his hand as if we were horseflies about to light on his burger.

  But I’d learned a thing or two from Lorgan, and I grabbed Bridgy and planted both of us squarely at the bottom of the gangplank.

  Bert stopped in front of us and looked directly at me. “Hey, I’ve already had a long day. I’d like to say it’s great to see you again, but we both know it isn’t. And who’s this?” He hooked his thumb at Bridgy. “You brought along a friend to double-team me? I already told you, I don’t know nothing about nothing.”

  Before I could say a word, Bridgy gave him the most soulful look and with a tear flowing gently along her cheek said, “We’re sorry to bother you. We really are. But I’m desperate. The Lee County Sheriff’s Department has me listed as the only suspect in Oscar’s murder. And I have two lawyers pushing me back and forth. And . . . and my mother is here for a visit. What do I tell her?” And she opened her big blue eyes extra wide.

  Even before he set the banged-up duffel on the deck, I knew Bert was a goner.

  Chapter Twenty

  Bridgy and I moved away from the foot of the gangplank, and the three of us began ambling toward the parking lot.

  “Okay, young ladies, how can I help?”

  Bridgy got us this far, so I stayed mum until she asked the first question. “Is there anything you can think of that might help the sheriff’s deputies find any other suspect? Then maybe they’d leave me alone.”

  “You really know how to tug at t
he heartstrings, don’tcha? Let’s just say that Oscar had a bad habit of always thinking he’d met you someplace else, years ago. He never realized some folks don’t want to be remembered.”

  We mulled that over for a bit. Then I asked, “Can you think of anyone in particular? Someone who was really annoyed by Oscar?”

  Bert snorted a hardy guffaw. “If you knew Oscar, and you say you did, he annoyed everybody. Never knew when to quit.”

  Well, that was certainly true. I’d seen his teasing move from playful to irritating many times. I decided to go for the million-dollar question. “What about the fight that got Oscar fired? Who was involved? How did that come about?”

  Bert pursed his lips and looked out to sea. I figured he was trying to decide what needed to be said and what could be left alone.

  “Think about what I said. There was Oscar always believing he knew a person from some other time and place. The deckhand Oscar scuffled with, a guy called Lolly, it was that kind of thing. Oscar kept insisting he remembered Lolly from the old days when he worked in Vegas. Lolly kept saying he’d never been to Vegas. Finally, the snippy-snappy words came to pushing and shoving. That’s when the captain sacked ’em both. I wouldn’t give you much for either of them as workers anyway. Still, it caused a rift in the crew for a while. Some taking one side, some taking the other.”

  Bert stopped in front of a red truck with a rusty dent on the left fender. “This is my ‘Lucky Lola.’ Got more than a few miles on her but, she kept me safe more than once. See that dent? If I was driving some little nothing, a sports car kind of thing, I’d be in the morgue when that SUV ran the stop sign. Lola, here, took the hit for me. I keep the fender just like it is so I don’t forget I owe her big-time.”

  We spent a minute or two lavishing praise on the old truck, and then I pushed the envelope maybe a little too hard. “Bert, one last thing. Do you have any idea where we might find this Lolly?”

  He frowned so hard that his eyebrows met. “What do you want to be going off stirring up trouble for?”