Into the Frying Pan

by Sarah Osborne

  Why did I still jump whenever Phil asked me to? I had loved him once. I thought he was like my dad. I guess I still found it hard to believe he didn’t have a kind heart. Maybe contact with Phil was a way to make me believe I still had my father nearby.

  “No matter the reason, I think a party or a ‘reunion’ is a fantastic idea,” Lurleen said, putting her fork down for a moment.

  “Why the sudden endorsement?” I asked her.

  “There is a mystery here, Ditie. You know there is!” Her eyes brightened, and her usual French accent settled into a more comfortable Southern one. “I can be a Southern Belle and charm all the men who come without partners.”

  “Wait a minute, Lurleen. I do plan to be there,” Danny said.

  “Silly boy,” she said, waving an imaginary fan. “I will be a femme fatale spy, nothing more. I can find out what’s going on with that odd group of friends of yours, Ditie, and no one will know what I’m up to.”

  Lucie giggled.

  “What, you don’t see me as a spy?” Lurleen asked. “Did I never tell you about Richard and his work with the French CIA?”

  “Richard?” Danny asked.

  “No one of consequence,” Lurleen replied.

  “Just another one of Lurleen’s many conquests,” I said. I doubted there ever was a Richard, but it made a good story.

  “CIA?” Lucie asked.

  “Those are spies that work for the government, Lucie,” Lurleen said. “Anyway, Richard needed some help from a woman, so he asked me to accompany him to a den of iniquity—“

  “Okay, Lurleen, this story has gone far enough,” I said. “Back to the question of a reunion, you think I should do it?”

  At that moment Mason arrived.

  We went silent and returned to devouring our pancakes, eggs, grits and gravy.

  “Did I come at a bad moment?” he asked.

  Rita, our favorite waitress, appeared, ready to take his order. “It’s never a bad moment when you arrive, Detective Garrett. You want your usual—scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy?”

  Mason smiled. “Yes. With a little corned beef hash on the side, I’m pretty hungry.”

  “Coffee coming right up, hon.” She returned seconds later with a full pot and made sure we all had what we needed.

  Mason took two sips and turned to me. “What’s going on? This group never stops talking. Let me hear it.”

  “You’re not going to like it,” I said.

  “That’s what I thought. Tell me anyway.”

  As Mason drank his coffee, I started at the beginning and tried to make it sound innocent. His food arrived as I finished.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said. “Phil Brockton asked you to entertain him and a few close friends because he was afraid he might get bored waiting for the next reenactment.”

  Danny stepped in. “You know, Mason, it’s not a bad idea. Phil called me late last night, and I’ve agreed to be his bodyguard. A gathering might be a great way to get to know some of the players, see who looks or acts suspicious, that kind of thing.”

  I nodded along as Danny spoke.

  “With the kids involved?” Mason asked, looking at me.

  I hadn’t stopped to think there could be any danger. “If you don’t think they should be there, I’ll get a babysitter.”

  “I’m your babysitter,” Lurleen said, at the exact same moment Jason said, “I’m not a baby.”

  “Now see what you’ve started, Mason,” I said.

  “What I’ve started?”

  “I’ll be there, glued to Phil,” Danny said. “Nothing’s going to happen at the party. No one would be dumb enough to try something at a small gathering.”

  “According to the Sheriff, it could still be an accident,” Mason said. “They won’t have the final word from the crime lab for a few more days or even weeks. Am I invited to this reunion?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, “but you have to dress in costume.”

  “Maybe I’ll come as a cop,” he said.

  “A Civil War uniform,” I said.

  “That’s not going to happen. Are you cooking?”

  “Of course. I’m going to find old recipes from the 1800s if I can.”

  Mason looked at the kids and paused before he spoke. “It seems an odd time for a celebration.”

  I put my hand on Mason’s arm. “I understand what you’re saying. It’s not great timing. On the other hand, maybe it’s a way to say good bye to someone we all knew. It will be a quiet gathering, and I’ll make sure it ends early. I’d like to know what my old classmates have been up to since I saw them last.”

  “I’ll watch the kids,” Mason said, “but I won’t be in costume. I’ll bet Mom would like to come. She loves to get a taste of the Old South.”

  Mason’s mother Eddie was a great cook, along with being an ex-cop.

  “She might even like to help me hunt for authentic recipes,” I said.

  “I’ll check with her,” Mason said.

  We planned the party for Wednesday evening on the early side. Wednesday was my half day at work, so I’d have plenty of time to cook. I could do most of the baking ahead of time. The kids were excited but not nearly as much as Lurleen—or Danny.

  “Man,” Danny said. “I’ve got an old belt buckle from the Atlanta Arsenal, and Phil says he can get me a uniform, maybe a saber.

  “No sabers allowed,” I said.

  “Sure, sure. I was thinking of the reenactment on Saturday and Sunday,” he said.

  “And now it’s Phil, is it?” Mason asked.

  “That’s what he asked me to call him. I can’t very well go around calling him Dr. Brockton, IV, can I?”

  Mason didn’t comment.

  Lurleen insisted on handling all the decorations, naturally. That was her forte. We’d have the party in my backyard if it didn’t rain or get too hot, and we’d move inside if it did. Lucie would be my sous chef and Jason would be whatever Jason would be. I’d put him in charge of managing Hermione and Majestic. Majestic would simply disappear and Hermione would be her old sweet self once she’d greeted all the guests.

  Lucie and I skipped plans for a swim that afternoon, so we could get down to work. Lurleen and Danny took Jason to Piedmont Park.

  I called Phil and told him to invite people for a casual dinner on Wednesday, in period costume if they liked, no weapons allowed—starting around five and ending by eight thirty.

  “Eight thirty?” Phil said. “Who ends a party at eight thirty?”

  “I do. I’ll need to get the kids to bed. If you want to go off with your buddies after that, fine. Let’s keep it to a dozen people. And I’ll want a list of guests, so I know who’s expected.”

  “I’m surprised you’re willing to do this for me.” Phil was quiet. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever talk to me again after I moved away—that’s one reason I showed up in person at your house.”

  “Is that an apology, Phil?”

  “I guess maybe it is. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “Don’t you mean you didn’t want a scene when you told me you were leaving?”

  “That too. I admit it. I hate scenes.”

  “You did hurt me, Phil, but now I have a terrific man in my life.”

  “I’m happy for you, Ditie, I really am. I didn’t know what I had with you.”

  “Don’t go there.”

  Phil paused, and then he spoke in a more animated way. “I know why you’re really doing this! My dad couldn’t stop talking about how you solved the Sandler’s Soda case after your friend died. You’re just itching to figure this one out, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t give me a chance to speak.

  “I’m glad you are. It means you believe I’m innocent. You want me to bring all the likely suspects on Wednesday, don’t you?”

 
“Phil,” I said, “do you want this reunion or don’t you?”

  “You know I do.”

  “All right then. You handle your part, and I’ll handle mine. If you’re free Tuesday night, why don’t you come by around nine and we’ll go over the details.”

  Even as I said it, I knew Mason would be unhappy, but Phil was eager to come.

  “Sure. Great. Thanks. I’ll pay for the food and decorations.”

  “Wow, Phil, have you become a more thoughtful human being than the man I used to know?”

  “People do grow up, Ditie. You should give me a chance. You might like what you see.”

  I hung up not sure what I was feeling. I’d put Phil in a category of lousy human being and now he was trying to ease his way out of that box.

  Lucie and I spent the rest of the day searching the web for authentic recipes from the mid-1800s and trying out some of the simpler ones that I had the ingredients for—like old fashioned tea cakes. Mason’s mother Eddie called to say she’d be delighted to help and already had found some interesting recipes. She’d test them out and let me know.

  Danny and Lurleen arrived with Jason in time for dinner and sampled the tea cakes for dessert.

  “Fantastic,” Danny said. “These are just like the ones my grandmother used to make. Not too sweet. Can I have one more?”

  “You can take some home. We’ll make a bigger batch for the party.”

  Lurleen got the kids to bed while I finished baking and cleaned the kitchen. She and Danny left before Mason arrived around nine. I poured us both a glass of wine, and we sat on the porch swing to talk.

  “I’ve told the Gordon County Sheriff what we’re up to, so he won’t feel blindsided,” Mason said. “He’s okay with it as long as I give him any information we uncover.”

  “So you do think we might find out something Wednesday night?”

  “We might.”

  “How shall I introduce you? If they know you’re with the Atlanta Police that’ll shut down the party.”

  “I know. I’ll think about it.”

  It was a beautiful night and we sat in the swing pushing it gently with our feet. We didn’t speak for a while. We listened to the crickets, heard a door slam down the street, and the backfire of a car on Highland. Mason put his arm around me, and I snuggled against him.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been acting like a jerk,” Mason said. “I just can’t bear the thought of ever losing you. I’ve never been this content before.”

  “Me neither. A year ago I thought I’d always be single and always on the move. Now I can’t imagine being anywhere but here in Atlanta with you and the kids. Funny, isn’t it?”

  Mason smiled. “Phil doesn’t stir up a different kind of longing?”

  “No, he doesn’t.” Was it the tiniest lie? I gave Mason a lingering kiss meant to erase any fears, and it seemed to do the trick. We made sure the kids were asleep and then we went upstairs. Mason left reluctantly around midnight.

  I got up early for work on Monday. Lurleen would come at eight. I stood at the sink cleaning up the breakfast dishes and watched Jason in the backyard playing tag with Hermione. Lucie was settled on a stool in the kitchen reading Harriet the Spy. She had a notebook beside her.

  “That’s a wonderful book, Lucie, but don’t get any ideas from it.”

  Lucie smiled, showing her latest missing tooth. “I won’t.”

  “What’s the notebook for? I saw you reading from it to Jason.”

  “Oh,” said Lucie blushing, “that was my story notebook. This one is more like a diary.”

  “You’re not keeping track of people, like Harriet did?”

  Lucie didn’t answer me directly, except to say, “It’s Lurleen who wants to be a spy.”

  “I know.”

  “Aunt Di, is Lurleen really French? She doesn’t sound French like our French teacher in school.”

  My perceptive Lucie. “That’s a hard question to answer. I think you should ask her.”

  I hadn’t pried into my dearest friend’s childhood, and she’d never told me much about it. I suspected it wasn’t a happy one, and I suspected Lurleen had invented a history that was happy. She told stories, usually about French boyfriends and occasionally about a French aunt. I never knew what to believe. Someone had left her a lot of money a few years ago—that much was true. I thought she might one day tell me the rest of her story, but if she didn’t, that was okay too. I knew Lurleen the way you want to know a person. I knew her good heart, her humor and her intelligence.

  Lucie watched me as I put breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and finished cleaning up the kitchen. “You know, Aunt Di, when I ask Lurleen about when she was little, she looks sad sometimes. Do you think something bad happened to her, and she doesn’t want to talk about it? I know when people talk about their mothers, it makes me sad, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I think you may be right, Lucie. I don’t know because she’s never told me.”

  “Then I don’t think I’ll ask her about being French. Is that all right with you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Chapter Five

  I got ready to leave for work as soon as I heard Lurleen pull up in her yellow Citroën. She came in like a small tornado. That was how she always entered my house. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, her Gucci knock-off dark glasses sat on top of her head. I was pretty sure Lurleen could have bought the real Gucci, but she was always more excited when she got a bargain.

  “Ooh la la, the plans I have for you and Jason today,” she said, kissing Lucie on both cheeks. “Where’s my boy?”

  Jason must have heard her car. He came running in through the kitchen with Hermione at his heels. “Hi Lurleen.” He pretended to pull away when she tried to hug him, but it was all a game. “What will we do today?” he asked. “Will we look for spies?”

  Lurleen smiled at me as if to say she had no idea what Jason might be talking about.

  “We’ll go to some stores for costumes and decorations for the party and then, if we have time, and you are both very, very good, we’ll go swimming. I’ll have them back here around five thirty. That suit you, Ditie?”

  “Perfectly. Get whatever you want for costumes and decorations. I trust your judgment and I’ll settle up with you tonight.”

  “My treat,” she said and smiled. “Do you have any tea cakes left? I’m starving.”

  I brought out a plastic container. “Have all you want.”

  I left and managed to shift mental gears before I reached the refugee clinic. Mondays were full days. We had help from CDC volunteer physicians and the local medical school, so the place was packed when I arrived. Several clusters of families were waiting to be seen, seated on red vinyl chairs in the large waiting room where a television provided early morning cartoons for the kids. A few interpreters were already talking with some of the adults.

  Vic waved me over as soon as I entered. “Someone’s here to see you.”

  “What?” I asked and entered her office. There sat Phil. “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought I’d see where you work. Ryan and Harper are super anxious to visit with you. They can’t believe you’ve been back in Atlanta for two years and never looked them up. I’m an emissary to see if you can come to lunch today.”

  “I eat at my desk. Sorry. Make sure they come to the party, and I’ll see them then.”

  Vic listened to the conversation. “You can take a lunch hour and see old friends. We’ve got it covered.”

  Normally, I loved Vic’s generosity and her ability to stay calm in the face of any emergency. She was a powerhouse of energy packed in a compact body a little taller than me at 5’4’’ and without my rounded edges. She and I both complained about our curly hair, but hers always looked as if it obeyed her orders. Today I wished she’d made things harder on
me. I wanted to focus on work, and the last thing I wanted to do was spend extra time with Phil.

  “We’ve got more help coming in the afternoon,” she said, “so we’re fine. You probably don’t need to come back.”

  I tried to smile. “I’ll be back.”

  “I’ll pick you up at twelve thirty,” Phil said and left.

  “He seems nice,” Vic said.

  “You think everyone is nice,” I said.

  “Oops, did I do the wrong thing?”

  “No. Mason won’t be pleased, but I can deal with that.”

  Vic nodded. “An old boyfriend?”

  “Yep and a long story.”

  We left it at that. We looked over the roster and divvied up patients who were already waiting. Some had appointments, but most were walk-ins.

  I greeted a family from Syria, a father, a mother and three small children. “Do you speak English?” I asked. The father nodded.

  “It’s our four year old, Bana. We’ve been here two months now and Bana has never been well. She sniffles and coughs and acts tired all the time.”

  I nodded and led them back to the examining room. The rest of the family sat in chairs near the wall as I helped their sick child up onto the examination table. I looked in Bana’s ears and down her throat. I peered in her eyes and had her lie down and poked on her belly. The whole time she just stared at me and said nothing.

  “Do you speak English?” I asked.

  She nodded. “A little.”

  “Does anything hurt?”

  She shook her head.

  I turned to her parents. “We’ll get some blood work, but I think your daughter may be suffering from allergies. Atlanta is known for that. If the blood work comes back normal we’ll give her some medicine for allergies. Are you fine with that?”

  The man nodded. “These allergies—that is not a bad disease?”

  I smiled and called in an interpreter. “Could you explain to Mr. Abadi and his wife that I think their daughter has allergies from the pollen in Atlanta. Let him know it is not serious and once the pollen clears his daughter will feel better at least until the fall when it starts over again. We’ll give her some medicine if the family is willing to have her take it.”