Well Read, Then Dead (Read Em and Eat Mystery)

by Terrie Farley Moran

  We must have looked surprised because she continued, “You’d be amazed how often little mishaps need attention, especially for a cat that runs free part of the day.”

  Walking across the parking lot, I asked Bridgy, “You didn’t tell me. How did Miguel decide to take Bow, especially now, with his leg and all?”

  “Elena said it was Caridad’s idea. Miguel told them about Delia and how Bow visited his house all the time. Caridad said she thought Miguel and Bow could each use a little company. Apparently she didn’t have to say it twice.”

  We were nearly at Miguel’s house when Bridgy finally remembered that I’d come home all bubbly and full of news. Turning off the boulevard she asked me what I’d learned at the library that had me so excited.

  “I know who Bucket Hat is. His name is Ellis Selkirk. He’s investigating sunken treasure ships off the coast of the Ten Thousand Islands. I intend to find him and confront him about Miss Delia.”

  Bridgy was silent for a moment, then, “And have you thought about what you are going to do when he says, ‘I killed her because I don’t like troublesome old ladies, and if you don’t shut up, I’ll kill you, too’?”

  And she pulled the car next to the sea grape shrubs that lined the front of Miguel’s house.

  Chapter Twenty-six ||||||||||||||||||||

  It was really exhilarating to be part of Miguel and Bow’s reunion. When I lifted the cat carrier out of the car, Bow instantly sensed a familiar place and tried to stick her nose through the carrier door. She turned her head this way and that and began sniffing enthusiastically. We were so near the edge of Estero Bay, I’m sure Bow had the sensation of home.

  We could hear voices from the patio. We called out rather than walking in unannounced. Elena came around the side of the house and invited us back. Miguel and his entourage were sitting on the patio. Miguel’s leg was elevated on a pile of cushions. He and his cousin Rey were talking about soccer. Rey seemed to think Brazil had the greatest team in the world, while Miguel argued strongly for Argentina. Caridad was pouring a thick and creamy drink into tall glasses.

  She gave us a wide, toothy grin. “Ay, just in time. I am making batidos. The milk will help Miguel’s leg bone grow strong. Sit down. You have one, please.”

  “That looks delicious. What flavors?”

  “Papaya. Mango. A little banana.” Caridad placed a glass, overflowing with the fruity milkshake, in front of Rey. Then she put one a few inches out of Miguel’s reach. “What’s the matter with you? Greet your guests.”

  Miguel was reluctant to look directly at us. I knew he must be tired and overwrought since the accident, but I’d never seen him so depressed. If being home hadn’t cheered him yet, maybe seeing Bow would do the trick. I set the carrier on the table right in front of him.

  “We brought your new roomie.”

  Bow’s face was still pressed against the carrier grate. Miguel inclined his head until they were nose to nose. He made kissing noises and Bow responded with a quiet meow. Then Miguel unlatched the carrier door.

  Rey picked up his glass and leaned back from the table. “Are you sure . . . ?”

  Miguel shushed Rey and then began whispering to Bow as he lifted her from the carrier. “Hola, chica, you look very pretty today.”

  He held the cat to his chest and she snuggled in. Then just as we were all oohing and aahing at such a cute scene, Bow made her escape. She jumped out of Miguel’s arms and scampered behind a rattan end table.

  I started to go after her, but Miguel held up his hands.

  “No worries, she is looking for her water dish. Elena, you put it where I told you, sí?”

  “Yes. Yes, Mr. Fussy.” Elena looked at us and shrugged. “He has done nothing but give orders since he decided the cat was going to come here to live. We have enough supplies—”

  “And we brought more.” I handed her the bag from Doctor Mays. She set it in front of Miguel, who looked at the card.

  “Doctor Mays. Wonderful woman. I would have no one else take care of my Bow.”

  I was surprised. “You know Doctor Mays?”

  “Oh, sí. She and I are on the Hurricane Committee. Our subcommittee is in charge of seeing that all the domestic animals on the island are cared for should there be an evacuation. Pets must be allowed in shelters. You weren’t here for Hurricane Charley . . .”

  Miguel continued to chatter away, his usual happy self once again in evidence.

  When Bow finished lapping up some water, she took a casual stroll around the patio and then darted into the cluster of sand pines that stood between Miguel’s house and the mangroves edging Estero Bay. She meandered back to the patio and scooted behind a clay planter that was home to an overgrown bush of some type, and she didn’t come out.

  “Nap time,” Miguel announced, and everyone jumped to help him inside.

  “Not me. Bow. Behind the planter is her favorite spot for a nap.” Bow was falling rapidly back into her old routine, which brought a glow of satisfaction to Miguel’s face.

  That was the moment I finally relaxed. Miguel was home surrounded by family and friends, and was all the happier for it. Bow had a loving new home. Bridgy was deep in conversation with Caridad, cooking terms and ingredients flying back and forth. I gave her the high sign. She answered with a thumbs-up. Our little world was returning to normal.

  Except . . .

  I thought of Miss Delia and my promise to Miss Augusta. That stirred the restlessness inside of me, and I knew we had to get going.

  I touched Miguel on the shoulder. “It is so good to have you home and happy. We’ll stop by again soon.”

  I was surprised by a spark of irritability that flitted across Miguel’s face, but gentleman that he was, he said, “Gracias.”

  Elena walked out to the car with us. “Thank you for being such loyal friends to my brother. It is hard for our family to have him so far away. The rest of us live in either Miami-Dade or near Orlando. We have each other. He lives on this island all alone.”

  “He’s not alone,” I assured her. “He has us. And many other friends.”

  Bridgy added, “Please, please call if we can help. Really, anything you need.”

  Elena’s smile turned frosty. “The Guerra family will take care of him. We always take care of family.”

  Bridgy’s face reddened. “Of course you do. That goes without saying. But one of us can always sneak away from the café to help with shopping or to drive Miguel to the doctor.”

  “Ah yes, the café.” Elena’s tone was as cryptic as if the café was a crucial piece in a puzzle she had nearly solved.

  Bridgy pulled away from the curb, both of us smiling and waving to Elena and to Caridad, who’d come up behind her.

  As soon as we were down the block, Bridgy let go of her smile and fretted. “What is going on here? Do you think Miguel blames us for the accident? Maybe the whole family blames us.”

  I thought about it. “No, there’s more to it. Miguel loves us. He loves the café. He loves creating new recipes, he loves our regulars, he loves—”

  “I get it. I get it,” Bridgy cut me off. “But you do agree that something doesn’t feel right? Miguel is withdrawn. That day in the hospital I thought he was tired and in pain, but now he’s home, surrounded by family, has adopted Bow and still . . .”

  She shook her head as if she was the one tired and in pain. She stopped the car when we reached Estero Boulevard.

  “We going home, or . . . ?”

  “Home. Definitely home.”

  Ophie was sitting on the terrace watching a sunset cruise glide along the Gulf.

  “Come look at how gorgeous this scene is. If I were an artist, I’d sit here and paint seascapes all day long.” She turned away from the window. “Didn’t know how long you’d be so I made a cold chicken salad and corn bread. That way, dinner is always ready. If you want
to wash up, I’ll set out the food.”

  With grapes to add sweetness and water chestnuts for crunch, Ophie’s chicken salad was over-the-top delicious.

  Bridgy wondered aloud where the tangy came from.

  Ophie played mysterious for a minute and then confessed that her secret ingredient was a mixture of white pepper and onion powder.

  “Extremely important that you mix them together before you add them to the dressing,” she emphasized, proud as a peacock that her salad was a hit.

  Bridgy thought the dish would make a nice addition to the menu at the café, and we went back and forth about quantity and how long we could reasonably leave chicken salad in the fridge before it would have to be thrown out.

  Finally we decided that we’d do a trial, a one-day special of two dozen servings. If it sold well, we could make it a weekly item and expand the serving numbers.

  “I’d be available to eat the leftovers.” Bridgy was always happy when we had a new dish for our customers to try. Then she glanced at Ophie and said hastily, “Not that we’ll have any.”

  I was beginning to squirm. I really wanted to talk to Bridgy about Bucket Hat, but it never seemed to be the right time. So I plunged in, trying to create an end to the chicken salad conversation.

  “How about Wednesday? Could we make Ophie’s chicken salad the special of the day for the next few Wednesdays?”

  Bridgy nodded, but Ophie asked what we were going to name the dish.

  “Aunt Ophie’s Chicken Salad, of course.” Bridgy patted her aunt’s hand, satisfied that the issue was resolved.

  Ophie, normally not one to hesitate, looked uncomfortable.

  “Darlin’, I’d be pleased as all get-out to have the salad named after me, still I wonder if y’all could come up with a book title, make it entertaining. With all the cats and turtles and fish Dr. Seuss wrote about, surely there’s a chicken book there someplace.”

  “Not that I know of. The only fun story with a chicken title that comes to mind is ‘Chicken Little.’ You know, ‘The sky is falling!’”

  Ophie gave her head a vigorous shake and then patted her hair to make sure that not one strand fell out of place. “Sassy, you’re the book person. Surely you can be more original than that.” She stood up and began to clear the table. “You have until Wednesday to decide on a suitable name.”

  Bridgy looked at me with big round eyes and then looked down at the tabletop before Ophie noticed. We both knew I was in deep weeds.

  I moved to the patio and opened the windows. A soft breeze ruffled my hair, and the salty fragrance of the Gulf, as always, calmed me. Carrying a plate of oatmeal cookies and a pitcher of sweet tea, Bridgy sat down and commented on how peaceful the evening was. I nibbled on a cookie, drank in the loveliness of the Gulf and watched the sun slide leisurely below the horizon.

  While drying her hands on her apron, Ophie stuck her head through the doorway to ask if we wanted anything else before she closed the kitchen. Bridgy and I exchanged looks. Behind Ophie’s back, we always hooted at the image of Ophie putting massive iron chains across the kitchen door and holding them fast with a humongous padlock that couldn’t be opened until reveille. Sure, we knew she meant the kitchen was all tidied up and she was turning out the light. But we still liked to poke fun, only not to her face. We said we were content, and Ophie headed back to the kitchen, untying her apron as she walked.

  Bridgy leaned over and whispered, “Out comes the padlock.”

  We were still smiling when Ophie came back, carrying my library books. “I found these on the hall table. Are they for a book club meeting?” She held up Shadow Country. “This one is awfully heavy to the hand. Is it a heavy read as well?”

  “I don’t know. Our local librarian, Sally Caldera, recommended it. It’s a fictionalized account about a murder in the Ten Thousand Islands a hundred years ago.”

  “Well, I hope you enjoy it.” She bounced the hefty book in her hand a time or two. “Feels like too much reading for me.”

  She set the books on the table and asked what I’d learned at the library.

  “Well, I started out wanting to learn more about the Ten Thousand Islands and where Delia’s land might be. And then I stumbled across the name of that man with the Bucket Hat. Ellis Selkirk. I’m sure he’s staying on the island, because he signs in at the library’s research and map center at least two or three times a week. Now all I have to do is find him.”

  Ophie stood up, walked into the hall and came back with the telephone book. “You mean all we have to do is find him.”

  She pulled out a chair and sat. “Far as Delia’s land goes, don’t you think Augusta would know exactly which island Delia owned?”

  Chapter Twenty-seven ||||||||||||||||||||

  I had no idea what she thought we’d find in the phone book.

  “He wouldn’t be listed there. I doubt Selkirk is a resident. He’s only here to organize his expedition.”

  Bridgy snorted. “You make him sound like Ponce de León—‘organize his expedition.’”

  “Don’t be a brat. I have no idea why he selected Fort Myers Beach. He could have pulled together his wrecker crew in lots of places. Marco Island. Everglades City. Even some of the Keys, like Marathon or Big Pine. Any of those are closer to the Ten Thousand Islands, if that’s the geography that interests him.”

  Ophie tut-tutted. “Honey chile, if y’all are going to pursue a conniver, you have to learn to think like one.”

  Bridgy got it right away. “Squee! He wants to be far enough from his target so that anyone interested in the sunken treasure ships offshore of the Ten Thousand Islands won’t know what he’s planning.”

  I was a step or two behind her, but it made perfect sense. If Bucket Hat had a specific ship in mind, he wouldn’t want the entire wrecker community to know about it until he had his team and equipment lined up and his permits in order.

  “It’s at least—what?—fifty, a hundred miles from here to Cape Romano, and that’s only the northern tip of the Ten Thousand Islands. If he stayed in a place that was closer, someone might notice. Here, no one would have paid him any attention if he hadn’t been mean to me.”

  I exhaled a “that will teach him” humph.

  Ophie picked up the phone book. “He has to be resting his head on a pillow somewhere. Do you want to start with the hotels or the B and Bs?”

  She flipped pages back and forth, ripping out any that might help us find a temporary resident.

  “If we don’t find him as a guest at any of these places”—Ophie held up the thin papers covered with excruciatingly tiny print—“we can call the Realtors during our downtime at the café tomorrow and see if anyone with that name arranged a rental.”

  I had to admit, Ophie seemed to have a knack for finding someone, whether he wanted to be found or not. I wondered if she had some wild stories about people she’d hunted down in the past.

  We each took a page from the phone book and sat in different rooms so that our background noise wouldn’t sound like a busy call center.

  After hearing “I’m sorry, we have no guest by that name” from about ten apologetic desk clerks, I was starting to think our efforts were futile. I plugged my phone in the charger and wondered if Bridgy and Ophie were doing any better.

  Bridgy was on the patio crossing a name off her list with a felt-tipped pen.

  “Darn, I’ve been using the point and not pressing down, but I blotted out half the numbers for the Mid-Island Motel. Now I’ll have to look it up.”

  I slid a ball-point pen across the table to her. “Keep this with your list for tomorrow. I think we’ve had it for tonight. Where’s Ophie?”

  “Kitchen. She’s putting together a cheese and fruit platter. Says we need to keep up our strength ’til the job is done.”

  Ophie came in carrying a plate of grapes, pineapple chunks and Swiss cheese
cubes stabbed with colorful toothpicks, the ones with cellophane curly tops. I wanted to make a joke about Swiss cheese apparently being fine to serve with fruit but not with burgers, but since Ophie turned out to be a crackerjack member of our investigative team, I decided prudence should win the day.

  Chatting about nothing in particular, we munched away. After a few minutes, Ophie stood and stretched, saying she needed to get back on the phone. When I told her that it was late, we’d call again tomorrow, she arched an eyebrow.

  “Honey chile, it’s never too late to call hotels and such. They’re open all night. Why once, at a hotel in Atlanta, I had such a stitch in my side I thought it was appendicitis for sure. Doubled over in pain at two in the morning, I called the desk and don’t you know that darlin’ young lady sent me an Alka-Seltzer and I was right as rain the next morning. That’s why they answer the phone at night. For emergencies.”

  She was so resolute that Bridgy and I couldn’t help but giggle, which moved Ophie straight to vexed.

  “I’m just explaining to y’all.”

  “Aunt Ophie, Sassy didn’t mean it’s too late to call the hotels. She meant it’s too late for us to sit up calling. We need our beauty sleep. And we have a busy day tomorrow, don’t we?”

  Bridgy looked to me for confirmation and I realized that she was right.

  “As a matter of fact tomorrow is the Classic Book Club, which means it’s our longest day of the month. The club started out as a YA—young adult—Club so we scheduled it for four o’clock because the kids would need time to get home from high school on the mainland. It didn’t quite work. For three months in a row the only one who showed up was Holly—you remember, Maggie’s daughter.”

  Ophie spent a few minutes describing Holly and Maggie as well-mannered ladies, lest we thought she forgot.

  “Anyway, by the third month I’d decided to cancel the YA Club, but as it happened, Sally Caldera from the library had stopped in for lunch. When I was whining about my lack of success, she offered to come back.