Read to Death Page 15

  “Oh, that is a flawless gastropod. You should hold on to that shell. Even the edges are impeccable, not the slightest chip or crack.”

  Sage and Emelia were fascinated.

  “What did you call it?” Emelia asked.

  “Gastropod. You know how clamshells are bivalves—two half shells and a hinge? Well gastropods are univalves. No hinge. The snail pushes part of its body through that opening in the shell to push itself around the Gulf floor. And when the snail is done, it leaves a lovely, well-shaped shell.”

  I’d heard Bridgy gush about shells so often, I was afraid once she got started, we’d spend the rest of the night on the beach looking for a few dozen more gastropods. “The pier is just ahead. Would you like to walk out over the Gulf or go directly for ice cream?”

  The moms agreed a short walk on the pier to watch the sun hit the horizon was a great idea. The gastropod was forgotten for the moment.

  We were leaning on the rail watching some Jet Skiers loop-de-loop when my phone rang. I mouthed to Bridgy, It’s Ryan, leaving her to entertain the moms while I edged a few feet away.

  When I said hello, Ryan was bubbly. “Hey, Sassy, thanks for calling. Great game tonight. Lee County brought Charlotte County to their knees. Score was nine to four. I hit a double, and Frank, er, the lieutenant hit two singles. You had to see Tina Wei. She hit a home run and trotted those bases like Derek Jeter. Oh man, I wish you guys had come.”

  “That’s fantastic. Good for you.” What else could I say? “Listen, I didn’t realize you were off duty. Enjoy the after game celebration. We can talk tomorrow.”

  Ryan’s demeanor changed instantly. “Hold on.” He covered the phone, but I could hear a mumbled conversation, then he was back. “Where are you?”

  “Bridgy and I are on the pier. We’re taking the moms to Times Square for ice cream.”

  “I’m with the lieutenant. We’re on the mainland, almost at the bridge. Stay in the square. We’ll find you,” he said, and he clicked off.

  Bridgy sidled over to me. “Well?”

  “They’ll meet us over there.” I pointed toward the four-faced clock that gave Time Square its name. “I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do with the moms. Of course, Ryan and Frank are coming from a ball game, so I suppose they’re not in uniform. That might help, but the moms are going to find the conversation creepy. I can see Emelia beating Ryan with her camera while Sage starts singing incantations and maybe even lighting incense. Who knows what she carries in that tote?”

  The sun was sinking into the horizon and taking my spirits with it. We moved the moms off the pier and toward the ice cream shop. I was certain that disaster would strike in the next half hour.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The disaster that struck immediately wasn’t the disaster I was expecting, but in some ways it was much, much worse. We settled the moms at a glass-topped table surrounded by pretty wrought-iron chairs. It took them a few minutes to decide how far from healthy eating they wanted to stray, but finally, we had the order straight. When Bridgy and I came back with two scoops of pistachio with granola in a cup for Sage, a double scoop of chocolate chip mint in an extra-large sugar cone for Emelia and our own ice cream, the moms had their heads bent together and were giggling like two schoolgirls.

  “We had a really grand idea, and we have put it in motion. Are you ready for a surprise? We . . .” Emelia started then hesitated. “Sage, do you want to tell them?”

  Sage reached out and grabbed Emelia’s hand. “Don’t be silly, we’ll tell them together. One. Two. Three.”

  “Surprise! You’re going to Key West.” In perfect unison, they were loud enough to turn heads. A couple at the next table started clapping and then stopped abruptly when no one else joined in.

  Emelia said, “We did some investigating and booked you a round trip on that Key West boat that leaves from somewhere here in Fort Myers Beach.” She circled her hand loosely above her head. “And you don’t have to come back the same day you go, which is a very good thing because . . . Sage.”

  “We also booked you a three-night stay at a charming hotel on Duval Street, a few blocks from Mallory Square,” Sage added cooperatively.

  Bridgy looked as if she’d been struck by lightning. She was in the midst of raising her butter pecan ice cream cone with the hard chocolate shell to her mouth, aiming, I thought, for a quick bite of chocolate so she could nibble her way to the butter pecan. The moms spoke, and Bridgy’s hand froze at shoulder height. Her eyes opened wider than I’d ever seen, and a deep red sheen crept up her neck and covered her face.

  I had no choice but to recover first. “What are you talking about? We can’t go anywhere. We have the bookstore and the café to run.” I thought it best not to remind them we were involved in a murder investigation, and while Lieutenant Anthony had not yet said the immortal words “don’t leave town,” we probably shouldn’t leave town.

  “Oh, the café,” Emelia sniffed. “We can do that. Ophie claims that she helps out all the time. If she can do it, how hard can it be? After all, Miguel does the cooking. All we’ll have to do is to wake up early and be polite to customers. Difficult? I don’t think so.”

  The chocolate coating on Bridgy’s cone cracked, and one thin ribbon of ice cream dribbled across her fingers. I passed her a fistful of napkins, and in that instant I was happy that I sacrificed the calories of a cone for a small scoop in a cup. This conversation might cause my ice cream to melt, but it would melt neatly and not ruin my new white tank top with dolphins leaping across the hem.

  I was struggling to think of an appropriate response to Emelia’s observation about how easy running the Read ’Em and Eat must be. Finding none, I would have settled for any response at all, but I was startled by a hand clamping down on my shoulder.

  “Sorry we took so long.” Ryan Mantoni was looking down at me apologetically. “The bridge.” He said those last two words as if that explained everything, and to islanders, it certainly did.

  Frank Anthony was standing behind Ryan. They both wore white pin-striped softball shirts with green letters declaring: LEE COUNTY SHERIFF. The shirts were dusty enough to show that they’d played hard. I jumped up, determined to do a quick introduction in the hope that I could grab on to the conversation and then remain in charge.

  “I don’t know if you’ve ever met our mothers. This is Emelia Mayfield and Sage Cabot.” I indicated who was which. “These are our friends, Ryan Mantoni and Frank Anthony.” I emphasized the word “friends” in the hope that Ryan and Frank would catch on.

  I didn’t count on Sage deciding to impress them with her psychic impressions. “Look at those auras. Nearly identical. So much blue. Calming. And peace. Such peace. Are you peace officers, by any chance?”

  Sure, like she hadn’t read their shirts and figured that out.

  Ryan responded with a snappy, “Yes, ma’am.”

  By this point Bridgy had tossed her ice cream in the trash. I’m sure she was as antsy as I was. We wanted to give our information to the deputies and be relieved of the burden. Then we wanted them to go away. The moms complicated everything. If they heard us talk about Bert, Lolly and the Dirty Pirate, there would be no end of questions. Not to mention the fact that Tammy Rushing disappearing would be a great excuse for them to hire private security guards to protect their little girls.

  I was trying to find a way out of this potential calamity when Bridgy stood. “I am so stuffed after that delicious meal you fixed.” She beamed at the moms. “I need more exercise. Maybe a longer walk on the pier would do me good.”

  I caught on immediately. “Why don’t you sit here and relax while we stroll along the pier for a bit with Ryan and Frank.” I gave Sage a sly wink, and her thoughts immediately turned to romance. I’m sure she was trying to figure out which man was the match for me and which one was for Bridgy.

  Emelia started to get out of he
r seat, but Sage patted her arm. “I couldn’t move a muscle. Let’s just sit here.” She shooed us toward the pier. “You run along now. We’ll be right here when you get back.”

  Before the moms changed their minds, Bridgy and I led Ryan and Frank away as fast as we could.

  As soon as we were out of earshot, Frank turned all lieutenant on us. “Okay, you sent for us. Now what is going on?”

  Much as I resented his tone, I gave up my news immediately. “We have some new suspects.”

  “You have some new suspects? I don’t remember deputizing you. I do remember telling you to stay out of this case, which, no matter how often I say it, no matter how much I emphasize it, you seem loath to do.”

  He had a point, but when he heard what we had to say, I was sure he’d be glad we’d nosed around. “One of the ladies who traveled to the Edison and Ford Winter Estates with us has disappeared.”

  That got his attention. He looked at Ryan, who indicated a discreet “I know nothing” with a slight shake of his head.

  Frank put his hands on his hips and stretched an inch or two above his full height. “Who disappeared and how do you know this to be true?”

  Bridgy took a step back. This one was all mine, and I relished the job. I started with the Teen Book Club. “You know Holly Latimer, don’t you?”

  “The yoga teacher’s daughter. What has she got to do with the disappearance?”

  I babbled about I Am the Messenger, the yarn bomb and Miguel’s homemade potato chips. The longer I talked, the more irritated Frank got, which pleased me no end. Finally, I told him Holly asked me to call her mom, and I summed up Maggie’s conversation with Jake Gilman as confirmation that Tammy Rushing had left town suddenly.

  Frank looked at Ryan, who nodded and said, “I know right where Jake Gilman is.”

  I watched Frank relax, pleased that he’d gotten information from me with a minimum of fuss. It was time to slam him with the other news we’d dredged up.

  “And then, of course, there was the fight.” I smiled perhaps a bit too triumphantly.

  “This Tammy Rushing had a fight? Who’d she fight with?”

  “Not Tammy. All she did was up and disappear. It was Oscar who had the fight. He got into a brawl with a deckhand on the Fisherman’s Dream. Sailor called Lolly.”

  Ryan was using a stub pencil to take notes along the margins of his softball scorecard. He spelled aloud. “L-o-l-l-i, as in lollipop?”

  “I don’t know. In my head it’s L-o-l-l-y. But I’m sure Ernie, the bartender at the Dirty Pirate, would be able to give you his full name. Lolly hung out there all the time.”

  Frank leaned in so far and so fast that I felt slightly menaced. He jabbed the air in front of my face with his index finger. “How do you know the bartender in the Dirty Pirate? For that matter, how is it you know about the Dirty Pirate at all? That den of wharf rats is a world apart from the Read ’Em and Eat. Completely different universe.”

  I kept my eye on Bridgy and was glad she didn’t flinch at the word “rats.” In fact, she wore a tiny smile. She was never happier than when Frank Anthony and I were waging war. Never mind that this time I was doing battle to save her. She liked watching us get on each other’s nerves. On the other hand, Ryan was getting more fidgety by the minute. For a deputy, he really couldn’t take confrontation. Or maybe he just didn’t like witnessing conflict between his lieutenant and a good friend like me.

  I adopted as prim a stance as I could manage. “You needn’t worry. Bridgy and I had an escort. An impeccable gentleman.”

  Frank turned away, looked out over the Gulf for a while and then waggled his hand back and forth between me and Bridgy. “I don’t know what you two think you are doing wandering around the docks. And Cady had no right to tag along as if he was protection enough.”

  I’d always suspected Frank Anthony didn’t care for Cady any more than Cady cared for him. Now I could tuck it away as a fact. I’d probably be able to use it to my advantage someday in the future. Not today. Today I was going for mystery. “Cady? Cady had nothing to do with this. He’s not the only man we know.” I tossed my head, hoping my auburn hair fell attractively back in place. “Are we done here?”

  Frank crossed his arms, assumed his “I’m in charge of the world” stance and pressed me for a name. “We’re not done here until you tell me who took you to the Dirty Pirate and why.”

  Bridgy gave me a sharp poke in the back that, roughly translated, meant “just tell him.”

  “Bert Wyatt.”

  “Who is Bert Wyatt?”

  Well, if he didn’t connect Bert to Oscar, then our information was valuable. Keeping that in mind, I doled it out in crumbs.

  “He’s a deckhand on the Fisherman’s Dream.”

  “So you were snooping around and got caught by a deckhand.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s a charter boat. I went fishing and happened to meet Bert. We got to talking about Oscar. The next day, he invited Bridgy and me for a drink. If that’s all you need to know, we’d better go back. Our moms are going to be worried.”

  “Okay. It’s not like we don’t know where to find you. Tell your mothers we’re sorry for the interruption.”

  There was no way for the four of us to walk from mid-pier back to Times Square without walking together. Always more socially adept than I was, Bridgy immediately asked Frank and Ryan about their softball game.

  Ryan was gleeful. “We trounced Charlotte County, and your friend Tina Wei was a star.” He proceeded to recount the game hit by hit until we were back in the plaza and approaching the moms. Frank and I walked along silently. I think we were both glad the grilling was finished, at least for today. The deputies said a quick good night and headed back to Estero Boulevard.

  Sage raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  Sage stood and linked arms with me. “Did you invite your friends? Are they going to Key West with you? Tell me about it while we walk. There are a bunch of shops right around the corner that I want to explore.”

  Life wasn’t complicated enough. Oscar had been murdered. Bridgy was a suspect. Both Tammy and the boisterous Lolly had disappeared. Yet I was positive that Sage playing Cupid was going to be the thing that pushed me right over the edge.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  I woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee and a hum of whispered conversation from the patio. When I opened the sliding glass doors, Sage said, “Good morning, daffodil. Isn’t it a glorious day?”

  I looked out over the Gulf of Mexico and our neighboring islands to the north. And, as most days are, this one was superb.

  Bridgy popped out of her chaise lounge. “I’m off to the shower. Here, take my seat and I’ll bring your coffee. We have to leave for work in twenty-five minutes.” She tapped the imaginary watch on her wrist.

  I’ve often thought she would have made an exemplary drill sergeant.

  “Your aura looks tired. Kind of fuzzy. Did you sleep well? I feel terrible pushing you out of your bed and onto the couch. Perhaps I should sleep in the living room. Or we could alternate.”

  I patted Sage’s hand. “Don’t worry. I am fine. It’s just . . .”

  Bridgy slid the door open, handed me a steaming mug of coffee, and warned, “Twenty-three minutes.”

  Sage laughed. “Bridgy inherited Emelia’s efficiency gene. I wish she had more of Ophie’s amusing gene.”

  “Bridgy is lots of fun. You know that. It is a really stressful time for her. For all of us.” I gulped down my coffee while Sage murmured the momisms that always made me feel better.

  Bridgy stood holding the apartment door open with one foot while she stage-whispered, “Hurry up.” Apparently, by showering and jumping into shorts and a tee shirt I’d missed her deadline by four minutes. She wasn’t happy that I had to run back into the living room to get my copies o
f Julie and Julia and My Life in France for the Potluck Book Club.

  In the elevator, she watched me stuff the books in my tote, befittingly stenciled with a long, fat, curly worm sprawled below the word “BOOK.”

  “I’m glad you got those books out of the house. If Mom doesn’t see them she may forget about the book club and we can avoid a clash between her and Ophie.”

  Once we got to the café, there was no time to think about Emelia, Ophie, the Potluck Book Club or anything else. Within five minutes of opening the door, every table was full, and the dining room stayed busy for several hours.

  The breakfast crowd was thinning out and I was at the counter pouring a cup of tea when the landline phone next to the register rang. It startled me and I splashed hot water on my fingers. I grabbed an ice cube with my burnt fingers and answered the phone with my other hand.

  Pastor John Kendall was one of my favorite people. Caring and generous to a fault, he considered everyone he met to be part of his flock and was always ready to help no matter what the problem. His one flaw as far as I could tell was that in what must have been a moment of insanity he married the cranky and demanding Jocelyn, often the bane of my book club meetings.

  “Sassy, I am in such trouble. I’ve invited several of the local clergy to lunch today, and it seems . . . it seems I forgot to tell Jocelyn. Well, clearly, she had a right to be upset and she . . . well, she went off to the community center . . .”

  “And you need lunch in a box for how many?”

  The relief in his voice was palpable. “Oh, could you? Really? I can pick it up if that’s convenient.”

  I looked around. More than half the tables were now empty, and according to the big clock above the door, we had a while until the lunch crowd descended on us. I’d rather run a basket over to Pastor than prepare for a book club meeting that might well prove disastrous.

  “Don’t be silly, Pastor. We deliver.” Since when? Well, we do now.