Read to Death Page 17

  I whispered to Sage, “Shouldn’t we do something?”

  She shook her head. “They’re running out of steam.”

  And she was right. Words that had been tumbling out of their mouths a few seconds ago were slowing to a normal pace and volume. Finally, Ophie took a deep breath, did that spin on her super high heels that she always manages to do without breaking a leg and walked past us with a wink and a smile. “I’ll see y’all later.” She opened the front door and gave herself the final word. “Too bad that’s how you feel, Emelia, but done is done.”

  Sage poured a glass of sweet tea, handed it to Emelia and, leaving an empty chair between them, sat down. No way I was joining them. Best to leave Sage to comfort Emelia. I knew we were all on edge because Bridgy was being interrogated again. I fled for the peace and quiet of the kitchen.

  Miguel was scrubbing the top of his work counter. “Chica, is it possible to keep your mother out of my kitchen, por favor?”

  I knew better than to tell him whose kitchen this actually was. Who paid the rent for the kitchen along with the rest of the café. I knew exactly what he meant—maybe not exactly, but I knew Sage well enough to know that she would easily find a way to interfere with how Miguel ran the kitchen, all the while thinking she was being helpful.

  “I’ll do my best. What is it? Your aura is too fuzzy when you stand by the stove?” I hoped that a good-humored poke would help Miguel shake off his dusty mood. No such luck.

  “I took two packages of rosemary out of the refrigerator and was snipping them into small sprigs to sit decoratively along with a leaf of red lettuce on the serving plates tomorrow for any sandwiches that may be ordered. The rosemary is very fresh and adds a nice aroma to the plate without changing the flavor of the food.”

  I knew before he said another word. Sage is in her earth phase. “She saw the bags and said you should be growing your own herbs instead of buying them.”

  “Sí, but an herb garden is not practical with my wonderful Bow. She might chew on the herbs and make herself so sick. Ay, no.”

  “Don’t worry, Miguel. I’ll distract Sage,” I said with far more confidence than I felt. I heard voices in the dining room. I stuck my head in the pass-through. Bridgy was back. Emelia and Sage were fluttering around her, alternating between telling her that she was all right and begging her to tell them how she felt.

  “Well, at least I’m not in jail.” Bridgy sounded more surprised than happy.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “Now that’s something worth celebrating.” I startled all three of them. As they turned toward the sound of my voice, Sage and Emelia burst out laughing. Sage said that my talking head popping out of the pass-through looked like a cross between a bobblehead doll and a jack-in-the-box.

  That started Bridgy laughing. “I guess we’re so used to using the pass-through that way, I don’t think of it the way you do, but it is pretty funny.”

  It was such a relief to see her laugh. I came out of the kitchen clapping my hands. “I have a terrific idea. Sage, do you remember when Bridgy and I moved down here you said you were a big fan of the writer Randy Wayne White? You know his hero, Doc Ford, lives on Sanibel Island right next door, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. I still read every Doc Ford book. Why, in Bone Deep I learned so much about history and geology.”

  That might have been the start of Sage’s earth phase. I was never sure what moved her from one immersion to another. I once asked my father what he thought was the reason, and he said, “Your mother loves life and wants to touch every part of it.” I was beginning to agree.

  “We’re going to eat at Doc Ford’s.”

  Sage thought I was teasing. “Sassy, Doc is a character in a book. He’s not real.”

  “But his restaurant is.”

  “Restaurant? There is a restaurant?”

  “Randy Wayne White owns at least three Doc Ford restaurants on the barrier islands. The closest is right on San Carlos Island overlooking Matanzas Harbor. I say we go there for dinner tonight. Who’s with me for shrimp and grits?”

  Miguel came out of the kitchen dressed in his civvies—bright green surfer shorts and a black tank top. “What’s this I hear? Shrimp and grits? Great idea. We haven’t had that on the menu for a long time. I’ll have to make some calls and see what I can get from the shrimp boats.” He turned and headed to the door. “Buenas noches.”

  “Miguel, wait. We’re going to Doc Ford’s for dinner. Why don’t you join us?”

  “Thank you so much for asking, but tonight I am having company. My neighbor Liam Gerrity and his Tess are going to come for dinner. Cynthia Mays will be joining us for dessert. It is time for our annual hurricane planning meetings to begin.” And as he usually did when he left before we did, Miguel gonged the ship’s bell outside the door as his final farewell.

  Emelia said, “What an energetic man. He cooks all day and goes home and has a dinner party!”

  “Miguel loves to cook. Besides, Miguel, Mr. Gerrity and Dr. Mays are the steering committee for the part of the Hurricane Evacuation Committee that deals with pet safety.”

  Emelia looked puzzled, so I explained. “Back in the day, pets were not allowed in public shelters during hurricane emergencies. Most people didn’t want to leave their pets behind when the families evacuated. It could be a death sentence for the animal. At the least it would be a frightening experience for a pet to be all alone during a raging storm. So Miguel and Dr. Mays, our local veterinarian, have been working on the annual preparation for pet shelters and shelters for families with pets since, well, at least since Hurricane Charley, and that was more than ten years ago.”

  I was returning the book nook chairs to their tables, and Emelia helped as we talked. “And they do this every year?”

  “They do. After they update the mainland shelter locations where pets will be welcomed and readapt last year’s plan accordingly, they revamp the list of pets living on the island. They do this scrupulously prior to hurricane season, all the while hoping it won’t be needed.”

  Bridgy checked the supplies behind the counter while I ran a damp mop over the floor. In a few minutes we were set to go.

  Since we had both cars with us, Bridgy took her car, and her mom and I took Sage in the Heap-a-Jeep. I looked on it as my opportunity to suggest that she stay out of Miguel’s way in the kitchen.

  “Really, my sweet delphinium, I am only trying to help. You have all this glorious weather, brilliant days full of sunshine with just enough rain. Everything is lush and green. Why wouldn’t Miguel want to grow his own herbs? Besides, it was only a suggestion.”

  Having grown up under the command of Sage’s “suggestions,” I knew a sledgehammer when it hit me, and I’m sure Miguel did, too. I remembered Bridgy talking about finding things to occupy Emelia. It was definitely time to introduce some tourist attractions to the moms.

  “Sage, Miguel has a life and an adorable Maine Coon cat named Bow. She runs freely around his yard . . .”

  “I know where you are going, but there is no reason why he couldn’t grow his herbs in pots and train the cat to stay away from them.”

  Sage had never met Bow. Train Bow. Ha!

  It was not quite the beginning of the dinner rush, so Bridgy and I were able to park side by side. Sage was out of the car before I’d unbuckled my seat belt. “This is glorious. All blue sky and sea air. And look, there’s the Doc . . .” She pointed to a wooden multistoried building topped by a green sign proclaiming “DOC FORD’S RUM BAR & GRILLE.”

  We were not yet at the entrance when the door opened and Margo Wellington walked out, hanging on to the arm of a nattily dressed man. Margo blanched at the sight of us and dropped the man’s arm as though it was on fire. Made me wonder who the man was. She recovered quickly and introduced us to her husband. Nothing off base, then. Perhaps we startled her by turning up unexpectedly and
“catching” her eating in a place that wasn’t the Read ’Em and Eat. I chuckled to myself.

  Bridgy introduced the moms. Sage impulsively grabbed Margo and wrapped her in a hug. “Honey, your aura is so dark. I guess the murder had a deep effect on your psyche.”

  I think we were all shocked when Margo’s husband looked at her quizzically. “What murder? Margo, were you involved?”

  Margo grabbed his arm and planted a sweet kiss on his cheek. “I didn’t want to worry you. Let me out of your sight for half a day and there’s a murder nearby. You wouldn’t let me go as far as the supermarket by myself if you knew.”

  Without giving the poor man a chance to answer, Margo smiled broadly, said, “Nice to meet you,” to the moms and pulled her husband toward their car.

  I said, “That’s so odd. The whole town is buzzing about Oscar’s murder, and Margo didn’t bother to tell her husband. What’s up with that?”

  “You heard her; she didn’t want her husband to know she’d been in harm’s way. Nothing unusual about that.” Emelia looked at Bridgy. “You know there are lots of things I don’t tell your father.”

  Bridgy sighed. “Mom, hiding the fact that you are a witness in a murder investigation is not the same as ripping the tags off an expensive new dress and calling it ‘this old thing’ when Daddy says how nice you look.”

  “I agree,” Sage said. “There is so much more here. I was shocked by her aura. That woman is paralyzed with fear and worry. Emelia, do you think when the girls are at work tomorrow we could visit Margo, find out more about her?”

  I was never so grateful to have a hostess interrupt a conversation to lead us to a table. Although it was becoming clear how I got my nosy gene.

  As soon as we were seated, I knew it was well worth the few minutes we had to wait to sit outdoors on the harbor side. The terraced patio was built of heavy wood and decorated with potted palms. Every seat had a terrific view of the harbor.

  Bridgy and I stuck with water, but the moms each ordered a glass of wine. Emelia led us in a toast about love, loyalty and family. As we clinked our glasses, I couldn’t help but wonder if her definition of family included her sister Ophie.

  We shared an appetizer of Caribbean Jerk Tostados while we waited for our entrées. I took one bite of the jerk chicken and Cuban black beans mixed with salad and covered with cheese, and I was in heaven.

  “Try this.” I pushed the serving plate to Sage, who was leaning back in her chair and taking in the view.

  I followed her gaze. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, it is. Magnificent, really. What are all those boats?”

  “Those are fishing boats.”

  Emelia piped up. “You mean like the charter boats my husband’s firm rents for the annual company fishing trip?”

  “Mom, these boats are the real deal. Look at the size of them. They’re commercial fishing boats. Maybe the crusted grouper you’re waiting for came in on one of those boats this morning. Fort Myers Beach is a major hub for commercial fishing. It’s probably one of the largest fleets in the Gulf of Mexico. The old-timers will tell you that around here there was a time that shrimp was called ‘pink gold.’”

  The server brought our meals. The food was plated artfully. I knew Miguel would approve. Except for the occasional “um-hum” or “so good,” we were too focused on our food to talk.

  Emelia held a forkful of grouper in front of her. “Fresh fish caught in the Gulf of Mexico. I had no idea. Tell me more.”

  Bridgy shook her head. “Don’t have to. I can send you to the experts. There is a tour. The Fort Myers Beach Working Waterfront Tour. It starts right around here someplace. First there is a history lesson, and then the tour includes a visit to the docks and you’ll learn everything there is to know about the commercial fishing industry.”

  “I want to go. Sage?”

  “Oh yes, of course. Sounds fascinating.”

  I liked the sound of that. A guarantee that I could keep her out of Miguel’s kitchen at least one day.

  When we got back to the Turret, Sage opted for a shower and Emelia went off to catch up on her email. Bridgy and I stretched out on the patio.

  Bridgy said, “That was a great dinner.”

  I agreed and added, “And you are a genius telling the moms about the waterfront tour. That should keep Sage out of Miguel’s hair for a while.”

  “Oh no. What happened?”

  I told her about the herb incident and was surprised when she laughed. “Your mother is something else. I wouldn’t have the nerve . . .”

  “She doesn’t know any better.”

  “Ah, but you do.”

  “I know. I should have told her not to bother Miguel.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Didn’t you say Skully is fixing something at Pastor John’s?”

  “Crossbeam in one of the outbuildings.”

  “And who knows more about the outdoor life of this area?”

  “No one. I get it. I get it. I bet he knows a place where he can show Sage all the natural Florida plants and herbs and whatever. And I bet Emelia would go along. If I can talk him into taking the moms around for a day . . .”

  “We could pay him. Like a tour guide,” Bridgy offered, but I knew that Skully would never accept money. We’d have to think of another reward.

  “That’s two days that we can keep the moms out of our way. Should we try for three?”

  Bridgy was moving further and further away from the thing I wanted her to tell me. “Before the moms pop out here, how did it go at the state attorney’s? You didn’t seem too upset.”

  “I couldn’t cry in front of the moms.”

  As soon as my face crumpled, she punched me in the arm. “Just joking. This was so much better than being interviewed by Lieutenant Anthony.”

  I could understand that. Getting a dental cavity filled was better than being interviewed by Frank Anthony. But I wanted to hear everything.

  “Hurry up before one of the moms comes looking for us.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “When Frank called Owen and told him that I better bring a criminal lawyer with me to the state attorney, I thought that meant the questioning would be longer, and a whole lot meaner. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t like that at all.”

  I waited.

  “The lawyer, Mr. Dodson, read a bunch of questions to me. The same questions that I’d already answered over and over again at the sheriff’s office. He read a question. I gave an answer. When he reached the end of the list, he said I was free to go.”

  “And that was it?”

  “Yep, that was it. The only thing different was that Georgette spoke into the recorder at the beginning and said that for the record I was there of my own free will and could leave at any time, and she made Mr. Dodson say that was true.”

  “Owen couldn’t do that?”

  “I’m sure he could. In the car coming home Georgette said that the process was standard and this may only be the first step. Owen said that Frank might have expected the state attorney to push harder or something. Maybe Frank Anthony was just being cautious on my behalf when he suggested that I get a criminal lawyer.”

  That didn’t sound like Lieutenant Law & Order to me, but as long as Bridgy had been treated well and didn’t come home crying, I was content.

  The patio door slid open, and Emelia sat on the edge of Bridgy’s chaise lounge. “Your father sends kisses and more money if you need it. Legal fees and all that.”

  I crept out to give them some quality mother-and-daughter time. I could hear my mother singing softly in my bedroom. It sounded like a Beatles tune. “All You Need Is Love” or “Here Comes the Sun,” something from the era right before the group became full-fledged hippies.

  I knocked on the door. Sage was dressed in either pajamas that looked like shorts and a tank top or shorts a
nd a tank top that looked like pajamas.

  “Come in, my goldenrod.” She pointed to a bed pillow on the floor. “I’m just about to meditate. Join me. Please.” And she dropped another pillow. “Would you like me to chant aloud?”

  I gave her a quick hug. “No, thank you. I have really gotten used to mental visual meditation. I find it peaceful. I see the horizon over the Gulf.”

  We sat on our pillows, each finding a comfortable position. Sage squeezed my hand and whispered, “Listen to the voice within yourself.” The same thing she had been saying to me since my first meditation when I was a very little girl.

  I closed my eyes and was nearly focused on the horizon when the voice within me spoke. It said, Oscar has a boat somewhere on Pine Island. Could it contain a clue to Oscar’s murder?

  * * *

  The next morning as soon as the breakfast rush was over, I found Skully hammering away in the outbuilding he’d been repairing on Pastor John’s church property. When there was a break in the pounding, I called out from the doorway. He pulled off the hospital mask that covered his mouth and ushered me outside.

  “Too much dust in the air. I been doing a bit of sawing.”

  Seeing how busy he was, I asked if he could find time to introduce my mother to some of Florida’s edible plants.

  “Sure thing, Little Miss, I’m happy to help. Driving Miguel crazy, is she?” Perceptive as always, Skully understood the problem. “Happens I have a friend, Hector Clifford, lives down island and has a nice little herb garden filled with all sorts of treats. Your mom might like to visit. I could bring Bridgy’s mom, too.”

  I thought it best to explain that the moms wouldn’t be great at riding in Skully’s canoe, so it would probably be best if I picked up Skully and drove all three to Mr. Clifford’s house.

  “Smart. When I’m done here this afternoon, I’ll check in with Hector to see if tomorrow works. What’s a good time?”

  “Between ten and eleven I should be able to get away to drive you there.”