Chapter Twenty ||||||||||||||||||||
Bridgy found me in the gift shop paying for three gaudy get-well balloons, a box of crème-filled chocolates and a white ceramic bud vase filled with yellow gerbera daisies.
“Epic choices. Miguel loves chocolates. Flowers are cheery, and . . . what does the blue and green balloon say? ¡Qué te mejores! Is that ‘get well’ in Spanish?”
“Well at least that’s what the sign on the counter says. And don’t pronounce the ‘j’ like that.”
In the elevator Bridgy cautioned me not to expect much from Miguel. When she visited yesterday, he was loopy on pain meds, extremely sleepy and didn’t make much sense. We tiptoed into his hospital room only to find Miguel, left leg propped up and in a cast from hip to ankle, spinning around in a wheelchair. A harried-looking middle-aged woman dressed in yellow scrubs was trying desperately to stop him.
“You will get hurt, I promise you, with all this spinning and fooling around. Now pay attention to what you’re doing,” she demanded, but Miguel wasn’t having any.
On the next spin, he saw us in the doorway and came to such an abrupt stop that he nearly fell out of the chair. He grabbed the edge of the bed rail to steady himself and ignored the therapist’s triumphant “I told you so.”
“Hola, chicas. ¿Qué pasa?”
He wasn’t at all the sleepy patient Bridgy described, although loopy might still apply. I felt compelled to screech, “Miguel, careful!”
His grin was mischievous. “I conquered the chair no problem. The crutches are the real torture. And Esther runs the torture chamber.”
Rather than be offended, the lady in yellow smiled and extended her hand. “Esther Johnson. I run the physical therapy section, and believe me, I’ve had worse patients. Miguel will be fine on his own when the doctor sends him home. Well, I’ll leave you to visit. Please don’t let him spin.”
And with a shake of her finger toward Miguel, she was gone.
“Lucky I moved from my old second-floor apartment near Times Square to the bungalow. Only two steps. I can manage sin mucho problema. Say, what are you doing here so early in the day? Who’s running the café? Is Ophie in my kitchen? I warn you, she’s very sloppy.”
I laughed out loud. Sloppy doesn’t begin to describe Ophie’s methods. Still, I wasn’t ready to tell Miguel about Delia, so instead of answering, I thrust the balloons and chocolate at him.
Bridgy held up the vase and set it on the windowsill. While he was opening the box of candy, Miguel asked us to tie the Spanish language balloon to the handle of his wheelchair and the other two to the foot rail of his bed.
“Tie the red balloon a little lower. Now can you raise the orange and yellow one to the same height? Gracias.”
As soon as we had all three balloons anchored to his exact specifications, Miguel handed me the chocolates, shouted, “Balloon fight!” and rolled into the narrow space at the foot of the bed. The ¡Qué te mejores! balloon bounced against each of the balloons tied to the bed rail. Then he spun and lined the chair up, preparing for another run.
Miguel totally ignored our protests. He cheered when the wheelchair balloon knocked the first bed rail balloon smack into the second. Waving his arms in victory, he asked for another chocolate to celebrate his righteous win.
“So nice you came to see me. My sister Elena and my aunt are at the Edison Mall looking for men’s big and tall clothing. While I am neither, my cast takes up a lot of room. I am going to need pajamas, shorts and, you know, other clothes that are wide in the leg so I can take them on and off.”
The stray though that a leg cast would make skirts come in handy passed through my mind. I subconsciously smoothed my olive green skirt, and the motion caught Miguel’s eye.
“You two look fancy for an ordinary day. What’s going on? You looking for a bank loan? We moving to a bigger place? I warn you, too many customers at one time and I will need an assistant chef. Figure that into your calculations.”
That caught me off guard. First Ophie, then Bridgy and now Miguel talking about a larger space. Was I the last to know? For the moment I set it aside.
“Nothing like that. We closed for a funeral. You know Miss Delia? Comes in with Miss Augusta? Always sits at Emily Dickinson?”
“Sí. The quiet one, no? ¡Dios mío! A sweet lady. We used to talk about Miami. Tell me what happened. Does Miss Augusta have her cat?”
“Bow? You know Bow?” I was floored.
“My bungalow is one street behind Miss Delia’s house. I’m at the other end, closer to the bay. All the time Bow would turn up in my yard. Each day a different color ribbon around her neck. You know Miss Delia found her at the water’s edge in Bowditch Park, right? That is how she came to be called Bow. The ribbons were a sign.”
Bridgy and I looked at Miguel in astonishment, but he seemed not to notice and continued.
“Bow is a house cat, sort of, but she needs a lot of freedom. I got the feeling that I was only one of her stops. So, where is she? And what happened to Miss Delia?”
We told him what little we knew about Delia’s death and ended by saying that since no one turned Bow in to Animal Rescue, we were all on the hunt, including Ryan.
When Esther came back into the room and said she hoped we had a nice visit, we knew she was signaling that we should leave.
As soon as we got in the car, Bridgy said, “Cheering up Miguel depressed me, especially talking about Delia, and with Bow missing . . . There’s only one place to go. Times Square for ice cream.”
“You read my mind.”
Traffic heading back to the island moved at a slow crawl. But the day was cloudless, and as we crept along, the view of herons and egrets flying and diving for dinner in Estero Bay was relaxing. We were rewarded for our patience by an open parking spot right off the square.
As ex–New Yorkers we always got a kick out of Times Square, Fort Myers Beach style. Set right on the edge of the beach, it’s a delightful plaza of shops leading up to the long and elegant pier that juts far out into the Gulf of Mexico. The square is dotted with benches as well as tables and chairs. Plenty of room to sit and relax. The centerpiece of the plaza is a freestanding pedestal topped by a hefty square encasing round clock faces fronting in all four directions. The clock stands about fifteen feet high and can be seen from the street and the beach. Hence the name Times Square, but the area could have been named “the heart of downtown,” because that’s what it is.
We were walking past a man sitting at a round metal table who seemed to be talking to himself. Bridgy grabbed my arm and whispered, “It’s the resort guy. Should we say hello?”
As we came up behind him, we heard a harsh voice blast from the speaker of his iPhone sitting on the table.
“I don’t care if you have to marry the old cousin. You get me that island. You won’t have a job if you come back without the deed to that land.”
Bridgy and I exchanged glances. Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to speak to Mr. Kostos, but before we could make our escape, he slid his chair back, ramming me in the leg. He muttered, “Sorry,” but barely looked up as he stood. His rudeness annoyed me, so I felt obligated to annoy him back.
“Mr. Kostos, how nice of you to attend Miss Delia’s funeral, although it would have been nicer if you waited until she was buried before trying to negotiate the purchase of part of her estate.”
He looked at me as though I was from Mars until he recognized Bridgy. He remembered his manners long enough to say, “Nice to see you again.” But he was clearly flustered, probably wondering how long we’d been there; how much we’d heard. He opted for impeccable civility.
“Please sit down. May I buy you an iced coffee? Ice cream, perhaps?” He looked around as if searching for a server in the midst of this self-serve plaza.
He seemed relieved when we declined but still felt the need to explain his actions. Once again
he pulled out his business cards.
“As you can see I work for a highly reputable company. We’ve been in the industry for more than fifty years.” He looked at Bridgy. “Didn’t you say you work at that café up the boulevard? I can drop off some brochures. Show you the quality of our resort designs. World of Luxury Spa Resorts is a company of international esteem.” He made a big show of staring at his expensive-looking wristwatch, plotting his escape.
“With all due respect, Mr. Kostos, we’re not interested in the quality of your company’s work. We’re interested in why you used our friend’s funeral as a place to try to cut a business deal. Passing out business cards at the church. Trying to negotiate a sale at the reception. It’s hard to believe that a company that conducts business in such a way could be well regarded by anyone.”
He turned beet red, pursed his lips and shook his head. “I told Ms. Gustavsen . . . But she’s, well, a bit overeager.”
Was that the best response he could come up with? Blame Rowena?
“Rest assured we’re Miss Delia’s friends, and we are going to let it be known far and wide that she didn’t want that land sold ever, to anyone.” I delighted in giving him a verbal smack down. And we turned to leave.
Kostos growled, “Like anyone is going to care what a couple of waitresses say. You environmentalist freaks don’t understand business.”
“Oh, we understand business, buddy. We own the Read ’Em and Eat. Decent companies don’t destroy nature; they work hard to coexist.”
Walking away, I flung over my shoulder, “You have a lot to learn about doing business here on the Gulf Coast.”
* * *
The next morning was hectic at the café, with patrons at every table and more than a half dozen boaters lined up at the counter waiting for box lunches for their group trip to Mound Key. We were all pressured by the hustle-bustle. While I was filling thermoses and she was bagging the take-out orders, Ophie joked, “Did Miguel say when he was coming back to work?”
The boaters left, promising that for their next day trip they’d call in their orders ahead of time. The early crowd began to thin, and the late risers straggled in for their breakfast. A few of the regulars asked how Miss Augusta was managing, which reminded me that we should check on her later in the day.
I was walking among the tables, refilling coffee cups, when Ryan came in. He stopped at the counter and signaled. Without so much as “hello,” he told me to get Bridgy and come outside.
I was remembering when Cady made me come outside to learn the awful news about Miss Delia. Ryan must have seen the dread on my face, and brushed away the worry, saying he had a happy surprise. Then he gave it away by asking us to bring out a saucer of milk.
Bow.
Bridgy told Ophie to watch the front and picked up a container of milk. I already had a saucer in hand.
A pet carrier with Fort Myers Beach Animal Rescue League stenciled on its side was sitting on the bench outside our door. Bow was wearing a ratty-looking green ribbon that had long since come undone, and her fur was dirty and matted, especially the long hair on her stomach and britches. We put some milk in the saucer, but when I reached to open the carrier, Ryan cautioned me.
“She was kind of feisty when we found her. Actually scratched the first guy on the scene.”
I unlatched the carrier door carefully and slid the saucer inside. Bow gave me a suspicious look and turned up her nose. So I turned up my nose and added, “Humph.” Two could play this game. I closed the carrier door thinking that once I moved out of sight she’d start to drink. I took a few steps away, and soon enough I heard Bow lapping up the milk.
“Ryan, I never thought Bow would be found. We were all so worried. Even Miguel loved her. He was so upset when we told him she was missing. Where did you find her?”
“Bowditch Point.”
“And we were there yesterday.” I was irked. “We should have looked for her. Isn’t that where Miss Delia found her years ago? I guess after witnessing the murder, she headed for the last place she felt safe, poor kitty.”
“That’s quite a trip for a cat to make on foot, especially with all the extra people and cars here for the season. How do you think she managed without getting hurt?” Bridgy wondered aloud.
“The thing is,” Ryan faltered, “Bow wasn’t alone. We found her with Skully.”
Chapter Twenty-one ||||||||||||||||||||
Bridgy and I both started talking at once.
“Bow was with Skully?”
“Why did Skully have her?”
Ryan shook his head.
“No idea. An early-morning jogger found Skully, bloody and unconscious, next to his canoe at the tip of the Point in Bowditch. Looked to be that way for hours. Bow was sitting right next to his shoulder. When the jogger tried to render aid, Bow scratched and clawed at him, so he stopped trying and called 911. Dispatch sent us and called the Animal Rescue League as backup. We weren’t much help. Bow fought to keep our guys away from Skully. Nobody wanted to hurt her, but we had to get him looked at. Animal Rescue showed up, and one of their ace handlers coaxed the little spitfire into the carrier. To stop her pitiful crying, Animal Rescue set the carrier right next to Skully until the EMTs took him away. I talked Animal Rescue into letting me bring her to you. Before I can turn her over, you have to promise to bring her for a checkup right away. Never know what she’s been through the past few days. The Animal Rescue folks want an update after a vet takes a look at her.”
“And Skully, what happened to him?” Bridgy was biting her lower lip.
Ryan grimaced. “We don’t know. He was at water’s edge. Looks like he was pulling his boat in or pushing it out when he slipped and hit his head. He was mega lucky. He was unconscious and his nose was inches from the high tide watermark. He could have been swept into the Gulf, a goner for sure.”
My mind was whirling like a dervish. I couldn’t see this as an accident. Skully was a boatman, rowing up and down the Gulf of Mexico his entire life. Delia was attacked and now Skully. It was all too much of a coincidence for me to accept.
Bridgy asked, “Will he make it?”
“Too soon to tell.” Ryan was as emotionless as his job warranted. Still, he showed a kind heart. “So, can I leave the cat with you? It’s you or Animal Rescue. You’ll take her to be checked?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. And, please, we definitely want to know as soon as there is any change in Skully’s condition.”
“Ten-four. I have to get back. Busy day. Thanks for taking care of the cat. I’d give her a farewell pet, but the mood she’s in, she’d probably bite off my finger.”
Ryan half jogged over to his department car and peeled out of the parking lot.
Bridgy picked up the milk container and said, “I better get this inside before it sours. And then we should get Bow cleaned up and checked. I want to go with you to drop her off at Miss Augusta’s. I’m sure Bow will be a measure of comfort.”
“Augusta’s allergic. She can’t take Bow.”
I looked at Bridgy, who was biting her lip again. I knew she was thinking what I was about to say out loud.
“Poor Bow. Do you think a sweet kitty who loves to roam free will be happy living in the turret with us?”
Bridgy shook her head. “First things first. Let’s find a vet, make sure Bow’s healthy and get her cleaned up. And we need to pick up a new ribbon. Do you think we can find one the color of Delia’s special dress?”
Bridgy’s sense of fashion never failed.
We hid Bow, still in her carrier, in our little office behind the kitchen and prayed the health inspector wouldn’t be making his rounds today. I put another plate with some bits of tuna next to her milk and went back to work. When I checked her a half hour later, she was curled up fast asleep.
Finally the morning hustle died down. Bridgy and I were sweeping and scrubbing in an
ticipation of the lunch crowd. Just as a retired couple from Kentucky visiting for the season walked out the door hand in hand, Cady walked in.
“I heard Delia’s cat showed up. I bet Miss Augusta will be happy. What did she say?”
I automatically picked up the coffeepot and nudged him in the direction of Robert Frost. He started to decline, but I said, “Fresh. Made ten minutes ago. And Ophie just took some corn bread out of the oven.”
Bridgy went into the kitchen and came back with a couple of slices of corn bread with a healthy dollop of honey butter on the side. She set it down in front of Cady, and then she and I sat on either side of him.
Cady groaned as his eyes slid back and forth between us. He picked up the butter knife and set it down again.
“Okay, let’s have it. Get all your questions out of the way, and then I can enjoy my corn bread and coffee.”
“Questions?” I was all wide-eyed innocence but could see that he wasn’t buying my act.
“Questions. You know by now I’ve spoken to the sheriffs and the Medical Center about Skully and you want me to tell you the absolute latest information.”
I feigned indignation.
“You came here specifically to ask us about Bow. We didn’t ask you anything.”
“Bow?”
“Miss Delia’s cat.”
“True, but I can see now that wasn’t my best idea. You two have curiosity written all over you.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you don’t care about Bow? She’s merely another part of your story?” My indignation was rapidly becoming real.
Cady’s face told all.
“Aha! Hoist on your own petard.”
Always the grammarian, he responded, “Actually, the line is ‘hoist with his own petard.’ Hamlet, you know. It means . . .”
“I know what it means. Now stop dithering and tell us what you can.”
Well Read, Then Dead (Read Em and Eat Mystery) Page 14