by B R Snow
“But he seemed so happy when we saw him today,” I said.
“Yes, he is,” my mother said, patting my arm. “Because he’s finally made a decision.”
“How did you happen to come up with Detective Abrams as his replacement?”
“It was Jackson’s idea,” she said. “He talked to Detective Abrams, and after he said he might be interested in the job, the three of us had lunch last week. Then I took it to the Town Council, and everybody loved the idea.”
“Wow. I can’t believe it,” I said, trying to ignore Josie who was getting cranky about the length of time it was taking people to order their dinners. “Jackson hates the grocery store business.”
“I know. And I tried to talk him out of it, but Jackson thinks that keeping the store in the family might somehow help his parents reconcile.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, glancing over at Josie who was about to turn dark.
Just as I was about to lean over and say something to her, Summerman whispered in her ear and casually placed a hand on her thigh under the table. Josie smiled and beamed at him.
“Wow. How about that?” I said to no one. “We should have found her a boyfriend a long time ago.”
“What’s that, darling?”
“Nothing, Mom.”
“She seems very happy,” my mother said, nodding at Josie.
“Incredibly happy,” I said, smiling.
“Good for her. Now, we need to find someone for you.”
“Don’t start, Mom.”
“I’m not starting anything. All I’m saying is that we need to find a good man for you.”
“So you’ve said, Mom,” I said, glancing around the table. “But do me a favor and don’t try to start tonight, okay?”
My mother laughed out loud and squeezed my hand.
“They are quite the collection,” my mother said, glancing around the table. “I guess all that money didn’t mix well with the alcohol and the pseudo-puritanical lifestyle.”
“What word would you use to describe Caspian?” I whispered.
My mom glanced at Caspian then took a sip of wine as she considered my question.
“Severe, darling. The word you’re looking for is severe.”
Chapter 8
If I’d thought the introductions were weird, dinner took the evening into the absurd, and by the time I was halfway through my first stuffed mushroom, I was certain that it was a scene Fellini would have been proud to call his own. We hit five on the Richter Scale for the absurd when the soup and salad course was delivered. Roxanne, who’d been alternating between drooling over Summerman and ignoring the angry glares she was getting from Josie, picked up her spoon to dig into her French onion soup. But she stopped when a dinner roll smacked her in the face.
Stunned, I watched Roxanne’s face turn beet-red, then I glanced at Mrs. Winters who was frowning and rubbing her shoulder.
I had to give the old woman her due. Not a bad arm for a ninety-five-year-old.
“How stupid are you?” the old woman snapped. “When are you going to learn that, in this house, we pray before we eat?”
“We’re not in your house,” Roxanne snapped back.
“Roxanne, please,” Brock whispered. “Just let it go.”
The old woman closed her eyes and lowered her head in prayer.
“Lord, we thank you for the bounty you’ve provided for our nourishment, and I again thank you for giving me the courage and strength to deal with the many challenges and disappointments I see around this table.”
A short, low murmur of an amen followed, and the old woman sat back in her chair and nodded her head once. Apparently, that was the sign we could begin eating.
“She’s not talking about us, is she?” I whispered to my mother.
“Not yet. But stay on your toes.”
“Lovely sentiment, mom,” Lucinda said, glancing around the table.
“Absolutely, Mother,” Bentley said. “Can I get an amen?”
He chuckled, then shrugged and started working on his salad when his joke fell flat.
“Can I get another drink?” Brock said.
I forced myself not to stare as the Winters clan began eating. They ate like automatons. The siblings handled their utensils in an identical manner I assumed had been drilled into them since they were children. And I had to admit that their table manners, while bizarre when studied in a group setting, were impeccable. But it was the fact that they all seemed to be eating with the same number of chews before swallowing that really made me nervous. I did my best to avoid staring but had to stop myself from counting along as I watched their mouths move up and down in perfect time.
I put my salad fork down and took a sip of wine. I glanced at my mom who also seemed baffled by what she was seeing.
“Are you getting this?” I whispered.
“Seventeen,” my mother whispered.
“You counted?”
“I couldn’t help myself,” she whispered before taking a bite of her Caprese.
Josie didn’t come from the Winters school of dining etiquette, and she worked her way through her soup and a salad with her usual gusto. But she did pause when she caught the old woman glaring at her.
“Yes, Mrs. Winters?” Josie said.
“Your table manners are disgusting,” the old woman said, folding her hands in front of her on the table.
“And yours are straight out of the Stepford Wives,” Josie said, returning her glare.
“What did you say to me?”
“You heard me,” Josie said, refocusing on her salad, but again having to pause when Roxanne leaned in front of her for about the tenth time to gush and flirt with Summerman.
“Roxanne needs to be careful,” I whispered to my mother.
“Yeah,” my mother said, glancing at Josie. “If she tries that when Josie is eating her prime rib, she could lose a finger.”
I laughed. Too loud for Mrs. Winters and she focused her glare on me. I smiled at her, then leaned closer to Summerman.
“Josie’s about to lose it,” I whispered.
“Yeah, I know,” Summerman said. “Any suggestions?”
“What did you whisper to her earlier? That seemed to settle her down.”
“Do you really want to know, Suzy?” Summerman said, giving me a big smile.
“Uh, not really,” I said, laughing. “Aren’t you glad you came?”
“Are you kidding? I already have an idea for a new song. And if this dinner keeps going the way it is, I might end up with a whole album.”
“Go with an end of the world theme, put Caspian on the cover, and you’ll have a major hit on your hands.”
Summerman roared with laughter, then choked and coughed uncontrollably. Wine dribbled out of his mouth, and he grabbed his napkin and held it to his face until he stopped laughing long enough to wipe his mouth and dry his eyes. Embarrassed, he looked around the table before landing on the glare the old woman was giving him.
“I’m so sorry,” Summerman said.
“Don’t be. It’s exactly the sort of behavior I’d expect from the grandson of a bootlegger,” the old woman said, then turned to my mother. “Do you always allow this sort of frivolity at the dinner table?”
“Actually, Mrs. Winters,” my mother said, giving her a small shrug. “I’ve always encouraged it.”
“That explains a lot,” the old woman said, taking a long swig of scotch.
My mother conjured up a look that still made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up every time I saw it.
“Lady, don’t start with me,” my mother said, coldly. “Worry about your own kids and eat your soup.”
The old woman blanched at first, then she gave my mother a small smile and a nod of respect. Their truce held for the rest of the night. But the same couldn’t be said for the rest of the Bentley clan as soon as the question of their dead brother finally came up after our entrees had been served.
And I’m proud to s
ay I wasn’t even the one who first mentioned it. But as soon as it was on the table, I seized the moment.
“I still say we should be having some sort of service for him,” Lucinda said.
I think she was trying to have a private conversation with Bentley, but Lucinda was a little too loud, and the rest of the family went on point.
“Why on earth would we do that?” Brock said, rattling the ice cubes in his empty glass.
“Because he was our brother, Brock,” Lucinda snapped.
“Not as far as I’m concerned,” Brock said, looking at Roxanne for support but again finding her turned in her seat and talking across Josie to Summerman.
“Let’s not have that conversation here,” Bentley said, glancing around the table.
“No, I think we should talk about it,” Caspian said. “If we don’t use this opportunity, it might be another twenty years before Wilbur comes up again.”
“Nobody asked you, Ghost Girl,” Bentley said.
“You’re being rude, Bentley,” Oliver said. “There’s no reason for you to speak to your sister like that.”
I think it was the first thing out of his mouth since he’d parroted hello when we first arrived.
“What we do or don’t do with our dead brother is none of your business, Oliver,” Bentley said.
“Thank you, Oliver,” Caspian said. “But I’m more than capable of fighting my own battles.”
“Battles?” Lucinda said, glancing down the table at her sister. “Is that what we’re calling your demons these days?”
“Just let it go, Lucinda,” Caspian said, staring off into the distance.
“I was just trying to help,” Oliver whispered into his glass.
“Well, don’t,” Caspian said, before refocusing on Bentley. “If you don’t want to talk about it, Bentley, then don’t. It’s not like you’d add much to the conversation anyway. But once we start talking, I’ll bet you fifty bucks you won’t be able to stay out of it.”
“You’re on,” Bentley said, nodding.
And although I wasn’t the first person to bring the subject up, I did manage to ask the first question that got the conversation rolling.
“If you don’t mind,” I said, glancing around the table. “We were wondering if you knew if Bug-, er, Wilbur had a dog?”
“Why on earth would we know that?” Brock said.
“He’s a beautiful French bulldog named Otto that was found at the time of the robbery,” I said.
“A French bulldog?” Lucinda said.
“Yes, and he’s fluent,” Josie deadpanned.
“No, I’m sorry that doesn’t ring a bell,” Lucinda said. “But since none of us had spoken with Wilbur in years, that shouldn’t surprise you.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I said. “We were just wondering if any of you knew anything about Otto.” I wiped my mouth, then went fishing. “That must have been hard. I mean, not seeing your brother all that time.”
I’d managed to toss the comment out as a casual observation that contained just the right amount of empathy, and I glanced around the table to see if it provoked any reaction.
Brock snorted, so I put him in the Definitely Hadn’t Seen category. Bentley looked like he was dying to say something, but he had fifty bucks on the line and just shook his head at me. I put him down as Doubtful. One glance at the mother told me everything I needed from her. She was a Definitely Hadn’t Seen, and she seemed to be taking great pleasure in that fact.
Once again, I thanked my lucky stars for being blessed with the mother I had.
I thought I saw Lucinda flinch and categorized her as a Maybe. Finally, I gave Caspian a quick look, then gave it up. I wasn’t going to be able to read anything in that shrink-wrapped face. But just to cover all my bases, since she was the one who suggested that Buggy should receive a proper burial, I also put her down as a Maybe.
I’d gotten away unscathed with my first question, so I decided to float another. But the old woman was giving me a strange look that boarded on hostile, so I decided to go with what I thought was an easy one.
“Do you know if there’s anyone else that should be informed about Wilbur’s death?” I said, casually.
Brock snorted again. It reminded me of the sound that Josie had a tendency to let loose with, but his was much more obnoxious.
“Again, how would we know?” Brock said. “But I’m sure that they’ll be able to read all about it online or in the paper. Everyone just loves celebrating the misfortunes of rich people.”
“Sure, sure,” I said, nodding. “But I was wondering about the need for some form of direct contact. You know, as a courtesy.”
“You’re talking about reaching out to the people Wilbur might have ended up spending his life with?” Lucinda said.
Of all the Winters, she came across as the most humane and was definitely someone I wanted to follow up with later.
“Exactly,” I said.
“Great idea,” Brock said, laughing. “Just write something up, and we’ll drop it in the mail for you. Do you happen to know the zip code for No Fixed Address by any chance?”
Brock and Bentley laughed and raised their glass to each other in salute. Lucinda seemed tired and embarrassed. Oliver seemed determined to ignore what was going on around him and not get drawn into the conversation. As such, he was slurping soup like a madman and starting to attract the attention of the old woman. Lucinda noticed her mother getting agitated and moved the basket of dinner rolls out of the old woman’s reach.
I kicked the Richter scale up a notch.
“By the way, what did Wilbur do?” I said.
“From what we’ve heard, a lot of drugs and alcohol,” Bentley said, laughing before grimacing with anger. “I can’t believe it. I blew it.”
“Hah,” Caspian said. “Pay up.”
“Now?”
“Absolutely. No way you’re weaseling out of it.”
Bentley reached into his pocket, removed a fifty, then crumbled it up and tossed it down the table.
“Bentley!” the old woman said. “Where are your manners?”
“You’re the one who threw a dinner roll,” Bentley said, pouting.
“At a non-human,” the old woman said, glancing at Roxanne. “But Caspian is your sister.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Isn’t this nice?” Roxanne said, shaking her head then leaning across Josie into the danger zone. “Summerman, if you’re going to be performing any concerts this summer, you must let me know. I’d love to come.”
“Well, I’m pretty busy this summer and don’t have any planned,” Summerman said, doing his best to ignore Roxanne, keep Josie in her chair, and focus on what was left of his lasagna.
“Well, if you change your mind, be sure and let me know,” Roxanne cooed as she reached a hand in front of Josie to pat Summerman’s hand. Then she jerked her hand back and stared at it. “Ow! That hurt. Oh, no, I’m bleeding.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see your hand there,” Josie said, putting her fork and steak knife down. She grabbed a clean napkin and handed it to Roxanne. “Let me help you get that wrapped around your hand.”
I snuck a quick peek at the expression on Josie’s face before looking at the cut on Roxanne’s hand. Josie’s knife had stabbed the fleshy part of her palm, and I knew it wouldn’t do any real damage. But it sure was bleeding. Josie helped Roxanne wrap the napkin around her wrist then tied it tight.
“Ow,” Roxanne said, flinching then jerking her hand away from Josie’s grip.
“You might need a few stitches,” Josie said. “Make sure you keep your hand elevated on the way to the emergency room. That will slow down the bleeding.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Roxanne said, giving Josie the death stare. “Let’s go, Brock.”
“Sure,” Brock said, sighing loudly. “It’s always something with you, isn’t it?”
“In case you didn’t notice, I just got stabbed, Brock,” Roxanne snapped as she got up from the
table.
“Actually, this might be a good time for all of us to head home,” the old woman said, then looked at Lucinda for assistance in getting to her feet. “It’s been an interesting evening. Do we have the bill yet?”
“No, Mrs. Winters,” my mother said. “Dinner is on me. It was very nice spending the evening with you and your family.”
“I seriously doubt that. But thank you for dinner.”
The old woman nodded her head, and the Winters entourage stood en masse and followed her toward the exit. Lucinda helped her mother remain upright as she slowly swayed away. I was sure the sway had more to do with the three scotch and waters she’d tossed back than it did with her age. Regardless, she was a tough old bird, and despite her considerable shortcomings at being a decent human being, I again had to give her due.
Roxanne looked back on her way out and gave Josie an angry glare. Josie returned it with a smile and a small wiggle-finger wave. After they had left, I stared at Josie as she refocused on her prime rib. Eventually, she felt my eyes on her and looked up.
“What?” she said, chewing.
“I can’t believe you stabbed her,” I said.
“A, it was an accident,” Josie said. “B, it wasn’t a stab, it was a little poke. And if I were going to stab her, it wouldn’t be in the hand.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I said, shaking my head. “But Roxanne did break two cardinal rules.”
“This ought to be good,” Josie said, cutting another piece of prime rib.
“One, never underestimate your skill with knives,” I said. “And, two, never get that close to you when you’re eating.”
“You forgot one,” Josie said, slowly chewing.
“What?”
“Don’t try to seduce my boyfriend while I’m sitting right next to you.”
“My dear,” my mother said. “Don’t you think you might have crossed the line with that one?”