Into the Frying Pan

by Sarah Osborne

  That seemed like a very good question. “Somehow, Carl was the only one on the left side of the cannon,” I said. “The others stepped away and turned their backs. I assume the weakness in the cannon was on the left side.”

  “It was,” Mason said, “and it appears Phil was in charge of where people stood.”

  “He was. We watched them practice their roles. Danny explained to me what was going on. Phil placed Carl in the number two position to the left of the cannon. He was behind him and then backed away altogether when Carl pulled the lanyard.”

  “It’s not looking good for your former boyfriend,” Mason said.

  “No it’s not,” I said. “Normally, two people would be to the left of the cannon. The gunner—Phil—would be directing the show, standing well behind the cannon. However, according to Phil, they were a couple people short, so he filled in. Originally, he was going to pull the lanyard, but when Carl asked to do it, he stepped away.”

  I thought about the picture in my mind. Andy was to the right front of the cannon. Sally was behind him. Ryan stood behind both of them. Carl was to the left side, initially in front of Phil. Frank was in charge of the powder and standing a few feet away from the cannon near the ammunition wagon. Phil was in charge and held the lanyard in his hand. After a conversation with Carl, he gave the lanyard to him and backed away.

  “In the end, Phil was several feet behind the cannon,” I said.

  “Where was Harper?” Lurleen asked.

  “Harper wasn’t there.,” I said. “Phil had assigned her to be a Yankee and then at the last minute they didn’t need her for that. After the explosion she came running over from the sidelines.”

  “Dommage,” Lurleen said. “So she couldn’t have orchestrated where people stood. Looks like we have one less suspect. I must say I’m sorry to take Harper off the list.”

  We stopped talking when we saw the kids reappear on the deck. Together we went into the house, and I gave them a proper hug and kiss.

  “Hungry for dinner?” I asked.

  Lucie groaned. “Lurleen made us eat the whole watermelon.”

  “What a storyteller,” Lurleen said. “I brought home half a small watermelon, and they kept eating. You can’t blame this on me, Lucie.”

  “Never mind,” I said. “My brother, father, and I used to do exactly the same thing in Iowa, only we’d eat a giant watermelon out in the field behind the house and do our best to keep the bees away.”

  That was a fond memory of Tommy and my dad—before Tommy left for boarding school and my father got sick with cancer.

  “We’ll wait a bit and then have a light dinner. You two can take your baths and find a movie to watch.” I glanced over at Mason. “Do you need to go?”

  “Shortly. I can stay for dinner.”

  “I’ll help with Jason’s bath,” Lurleen said.

  “Good. I need to call Phil.”

  Mason stopped smiling.

  I went upstairs to call. Phil was annoyed to hear from me.

  “Ditie, it’s twelve hours before the reenactment. This better be important.”

  I almost hung up on him.

  “Phil, I’ve just heard the police think the cannon was deliberately tampered with to make it explode. Have the police talked to you?”

  Phil sighed audibly into the phone. “Yes. For over an hour. It sure as hell wasn’t me who damaged it. That gun was a classic—it belonged in a museum, and I was going to put it there someday. You can’t believe I’d destroy that.”

  “Why did you put Carl on the left side of the cannon?”

  “Carl knew nothing about reenactments. It was the only position he could handle. He just had to receive an imaginary cannon ball and pretend to put it in the cannon. It was actually the position he wanted. Someone told him it would keep him close to the action.”

  “Someone told him that?”

  “I don’t have time for your interrogation. Someone told him that. I don’t know who, and I didn’t argue.”

  “It turned out to be the right position to get him killed,” I said.

  “Look, I’m busy, and if all you want to do is accuse me of murder, I don’t need that right now.”

  “Okay.” This time I did hang up.

  I came downstairs to find Mason and Lurleen in the kitchen. “Phil is impossible,” I said.

  Mason looked pleased. Lurleen gave me a sly look.

  “What’s that look about, Lurleen?”

  “He’s always been impossible, chérie. You just didn’t recognize it—you were blinded by his good looks, and you were used to being ordered around by your mother.”

  “Well, I’m done trying to protect him. I’ll get dinner started.”

  “I’ve got it covered,” Mason said. “I’m a one-dish wonder and I’m working on my world-famous spaghetti, actually my mother’s world famous spaghetti—Spaghetti à la Eddie.”

  “Great. I’ll make the salad.”

  “I’ve got it, chérie,” Lurleen said, pushing her sunset red hair away from her face with the back of her hand. She pulled a store-bought bag of salad greens from the refrigerator and ripped it open. “Have a glass of wine and enjoy the kids.”

  I heard the kids in the living room. Jason was apparently following Lucie around with his bugle.

  “I’ll wait with the wine,” I said.

  I gathered both children on the sofa with me and asked about their day.

  Lucie went first. “Mrs. Foster made us write a story, so I wrote one about Lurleen and her old boyfriend Antoine, but I called him Tony because that’s what Lurleen called him.”

  “What did this boyfriend do for a living?” I was almost afraid to ask.

  “He worked in a zoo in Paris with the parrots and taught them to talk,” Lucie said.

  “How did Mrs. Foster like your story?”

  “She said I had a very good imagination, and she asked if Lurleen was my imaginary friend. I told her I was too old for an imaginary friend, but I’m not sure she believed me.”

  I was sorry Lurleen had missed this.

  “How ’bout you big guy?”

  “Oh, Mommy, I’m not a big guy.” Jason stopped and looked stricken.

  “Jason, it’s okay to call me Mommy. That’s how I think about you. Both of you. I feel like your second mom, and if that’s all right with you, it’s good with me. Your first mom wouldn’t mind. In fact she’d be happy to know someone loves you as much as she did.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  We all woke early on Saturday. The kids were excited and didn’t make a peep about not going to the real reenactment. Instead, they asked about when they would see their Uncle Tommy and would he be in a costume. I assured them he would not.

  They dressed in theirs, and I insisted on pictures before we headed out.

  We met Tommy at ten outside the Atlanta History Center. He looked great, but then Tommy always looked great— blond hair, buff body. He spent an hour a day in the gym regardless of what else was going on in his life, but the big difference in him was that now he was really happy. He had a serious boyfriend, a doctor not a lawyer, which meant they couldn’t talk shop when we had them over for dinner. Of course, Josh, the boyfriend, and I could do that, but we tried not to. Actually, we did it occasionally just to get a rise out of Tommy. Tommy was still used to being the center of attention—that hadn’t changed. He liked seeing himself on TV handling the most sensational cases he could find.

  Today, however, he was all about the kids.

  “Look at you, Jason,” Tommy said. “You look like a real Confederate soldier!”

  “I am a soldier! Will you come to the ‘actment later at Eddie’s house?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. I think Josh will come too. And you Miss Lucie, you look divine. Does that dress twirl by any chance?”

  Lucie giggled and twir
led under Tommy’s arm.

  “Indeed it does,” Tommy said and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  “You get one too, my little man.” He gave Jason a kiss and ruffled his dark hair.

  Jason glanced at me and hesitated.

  “What is it, Jason?” I asked.

  “Is it okay?”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant but I nodded my head anyway.

  Jason looked at Tommy. “Mommy said I’m a big boy.”

  Tommy shot me a look and smiled.

  “He is a big boy, don’t you think, Tommy?” I asked.

  “I hardly recognize him.”

  Tommy took Jason’s hand. I took Lucie’s. We entered the Atlanta History Museum’s main building, and Tommy showed his pass. It seemed he’d done some pro bono work for them and had a lifetime pass for himself and anyone he cared to bring with him.

  We had an amazing time. When I looked at my watch we’d been inside for an hour, and Jason showed no signs of getting restless. I begged for a break, and we went to the museum cafe for something to drink.

  “You haven’t even seen the room with all the Civil War guns,” Tommy said to Jason.

  Jason couldn’t stay in his seat. “Let’s go now, Uncle Tommy!”

  I smiled at Lucie. “What do you say, Lucie? Have we seen enough? If so, we’ll leave the boys to it, and we’ll go to the mansion up the hill. I don’t think Jason will want to see that.”

  Lucie nodded enthusiastically.

  “How ‘bout we meet up again in an hour at the Swan Coach House for lunch?”

  “Perfect,” Tommy said.

  Lucie and I headed up the hill. She took my hand and stopped walking. “Aunt Di, is it okay for Jason to call you Mommy?” she asked. “Do you think it makes Mommy feel sad?”

  I hugged Lucie. “If you had a little girl and a little boy and you couldn’t be with them, would it make you sad if someone else loved them?”

  “No,” Lucie said. “I’d be happy about that.”

  “Well, that’s what I think your mom must feel. She and I were friends for a very long time.”

  “When you were little kids,” Lucie said. “Mommy told me.”

  “Yes. We met when I was younger than you are now.” I looked at Lucie with her white blond hair and sapphire eyes and for a moment all I saw was her mother. “You look just like her.”

  Lucie beamed at that. “I do? Mommy is beautiful.”

  I nodded, and I could see Lucie was close to tears. “Want to sit for a while?” I asked.

  Lucie nodded. We found a large oak tree with a circular bench around it. From where we sat we could see a glimpse of the Swan House, a beautiful mansion built in the late 1920s.

  “Do you want to talk about your mom, Lucie?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I do too.”

  Lucie looked at me and burst into tears. I wasn’t far behind. We cried and we talked.

  “You know, I think your mom would have loved to live in a house like the Swan House. You’ll see when we get inside. The rooms are big and elegant and we’ll look for swans—the architect loved them. That’s how it got its name.”

  Lucie nodded. “Mommy said someday we’d live in a mansion. But you know, Aunt Di, I never want to live in a mansion. I want to live in a house just like yours.”

  “I’m with you, Lucie. When we were little your mom and I would play house all the time. She’d be the mom and I’d be the dad.”

  That made Lucie smile. “You’d be the dad? But you don’t even look like a dad.”

  “Thanks. I didn’t think so either, but whatever your mom said to do, I pretty much did.”

  “Like me,” Lucie said.

  “Yes. One time your mom said she was so hungry for an apple and would I climb up a tree and get her one. I did, and then on the way down I slipped and landed on my back. I wasn’t hurt but the apple was smashed. Your mom picked me up and dusted me off and made sure I was okay. Then she asked me if I’d climb up and get her one that wasn’t smashed.”

  “Did you, Aunt Di?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you did.”

  We both laughed at that, and then for some reason we couldn’t stop laughing. People stared at us as they walked by.

  Finally, we headed up the road to the grand front steps of the Swan House. Lucie stopped on the second step and put a hand over her mouth.

  “Oh, Aunt Di, I saw this in a movie.”

  “A movie?” I asked.

  “The Hunger Games. Lurleen let me watch it when Jason had a play date.”

  “Lurleen let you see The Hunger Games? All three of them?”

  “She said not to tell you because you’d get upset,” Lucie said. “She covered my eyes when something scary happened.”

  All I could do was shake my head.

  “It wasn’t bad, Aunt Di. It was wonderful. I’m going to grow up and be just like Katniss.”

  “I bet you are.”

  “Lurleen said when I turn eleven, and if it’s okay with you, I can read the books.”

  “We’ll see.”

  We entered the house. A beautiful curved staircase led up from the marbled black and white floor. Lucie could barely contain herself when she entered a room she’d seen in the movie. “That’s where they sat around a huge round table,” she whispered when we entered the dining room. “That’s where President Snow sat,” when we saw a desk and later a period sofa in an elegantly furnished room.”

  We left the house by the back entrance, and Lucie looked at me, eyes sparkling. “That was wonderful, Aunt Di. Wait till I tell the kids at school!”

  We walked up the hill to the Swan Coach House restaurant where we found Jason and Tommy waiting for us.

  “They let me hold a musket, a real musket,” Jason said.

  “It was taller than he was,” Tommy said, “and heavier.” He took Jason’s hand and headed for the entrance. “I’m starving. Can we eat now?”

  “Yes.” I said.

  Jason wasn’t happy once we got inside. It was very froufrou, and that was not something Jason had time for. He did finally agree to eat a tuna salad sandwich while the rest of us had our dainty salads and cheese straws.

  After we ate, we spent a few minutes at the old farm. The kids enjoyed the animals, but they’d had enough of museums and old buildings. They wanted some action.

  We arrived at Eddie’s a little after two. It was only then I thought to call Mason.

  He didn’t pick up, so I left him a message.

  When we entered the gate to Eddie’s front yard, we were greeted by her one-year-old poodle mix—the cutest dog you’d ever want to see. We’d helped Eddie pick him out at the pound, and I swear he remembered us. He couldn’t get enough of the kids and bounced all over them in the yard.

  I always felt as if we were coming home when we arrived at Eddie’s, and she treated us the same way. She gave me a giant hug, and together we watched the kids tumbling on the grass with Schnitzel. Schnitzel Doodle was his full name.

  Eddie hugged Tommy the same way she hugged me. It used to be Tommy would freeze if anyone tried to hug or kiss him. Not anymore. He gave Eddie a warm kiss on the cheek and asked if she’d heard from Josh.

  “He said he’d be here between three and four in uniform.”

  “That figures.”

  “And Mason?” Eddie asked me.

  “I left him a message, but he didn’t pick up.” Just then my cell rang. It was Mason.

  “Everything okay there?” I asked.

  “Yes. Lots of smoke and gunfire, but no accidents or surprises. We’re done for the day.”

  “Thank goodness. Is Lurleen with you?” I asked.

  “She’s going to spend a night out with Danny. Phil apparently gave him the evening off.”

&nbs
p; It was a long drive for Mason, and he didn’t think he could get there until five, so we carried on without him. Josh arrived as Eddie was explaining the ground rules for our reenactment.

  Eddie must have been studying the tactics of war because she laid out a battle in her backyard that even Phil would have admired. We had to make the sounds of guns firing and cannons booming, but Josh and Tommy did that admirably. Jason got to use his wooden gun and hide behind trees. We all fell over when he yelled, “Got you!”

  Then Jason would demand the whole thing start over again.

  Those of us who were Yankees surrendered for the final time a little before five. Eddie started the grill while I took the kids inside to help them clean up for dinner. Josh and Tommy followed.

  “That was the best ’actment ever,” Jason said. “Wait ’til I tell Uncle Mason. I killed you three times, Uncle Tommy.”

  “Only three?” Tommy asked. “Then why am I so sore?”

  “Getting old,” Josh said.

  Josh and Tommy were a good pair but they were nothing alike—Tommy, meticulous in all things and Josh, casual. They’d known each other for years but had only gotten serious in the last three months. Already Josh had softened some of Tommy’s uptight edges. I think for the first time in his life, Tommy felt someone knew him inside and out and loved him for the man he was. That’s all it took to make me love Josh.

  Mason arrived hungry and thirsty. Over dinner he described the day in glorious detail. I asked Josh if he knew any of the players involved. He was an internist in Buckhead.

  “I know the Hudsons,” he said. “I refer to them often. And of course I know Phil Brockton’s father. Everyone in Buckhead knows him. I also met Carl Thompson and his wife—what’s her name?”

  “Kathy,” I supplied.

  “That’s right. She had the famous dad who wrote those books.”

  “Yes.”

  “I met Carl and Kathy at a party at Brockton’s house a couple of months ago. Phil was there and Sally Cutter.”

  “What did you think of them?” I asked.

  Josh hesitated. He was not one to speak ill of the dead—or the living for that matter.

  “Maybe we’ll finish this another time,” I said. “I need to get the kids home to bed.”