“You think Ophelia would like to make them?”
“Ophie? No. She leans more toward grits and hush puppies. You’re our international chef. Who else do you know that can make clotted cream?”
“Ah, the British, of course. But you know I can only make it when I am able to find unpasteurized milk. Not easy to come by.” He used both hands to move his cast-bound leg slightly to the left. “So, I can come back to work?”
I was aghast. “Well, not today, but hopefully soon. We’re hanging on by a thread without you.”
“Ah, then it is settled. I am not moving back to Miami.”
“Moving?” My voice arched so high I squeaked. “How could we run the café without you? Even with Ophie’s help, we’re stretched to the max. We need you back.”
“Bueno. I will tell my sister that I am staying here.”
“Your sister?”
“She said you found a replacement so quickly, I must not be necessary to the kitchen of the café.”
I laughed so hard that the stitches on the back of my head throbbed, but I didn’t care.
“Miguel, you are the kitchen of the café. Without you the whole café goes haywire. You should see Bridgy and Ophie battling over whether or not Swiss cheese belongs on a hamburger.”
“Of course it belongs. The Swiss Family Robinson Cheeseburger.”
The indignant look on his face sent me back into gales of laughter, which brought Bow out from behind a planter to investigate the noise that disturbed her nap. Clearly we didn’t look interesting, so she walked past us, nose in the air, and settled in a just-the-right-sized circle of sunshine, stretched out with her head on her right paw and closed her eyes.
Although she was unmindful of us, we smiled at her like two doting parents fawning over the newborn window in the maternity ward.
“She seems content.” I wanted to pet her but was afraid I’d break the mood.
“Sí. I think she is lonely for Miss Delia, but so many of her haunts and her old friends are nearby. It must provide some comfort.”
I patted his hand. “I think Miss Delia is dancing in heaven knowing that her beloved cat is here with you, although she might think that green ribbon with yellow polka dots is too bold a color scheme for her sweet Bow.”
The rest of the week I hung out on our patio and took my fifteen-minute walks around the parking lot. After days of practicing new hairstyles to cover my bandage with absolutely no success, I wasn’t sure whether it was boredom or vanity that made me decide to splurge the day before I was due to go back to work. Either way, I walked over to Creative Hair and practically cried with relief when Nancy said, “No big deal. A little layering goes a long way. You’ll be gorgeous.”
I so loved my swingy new hair that I turned the splurge into a spree and decided on a mani-pedi in neon raspberry, complete with white daisies on random fingers and toes.
Bridgy and Ophie put their heads together and decided that I shouldn’t get up early and open with them on the morning of my first day back, so they arranged for Cady to pick me up and drive me to the café during the lull between late breakfast and early lunch. They weren’t taking “no” for an answer.
I was gussied up and ready to go when Cady pulled into the building driveway. He actually whistled, which flustered me a tad.
“You look wonderful. You’re glowing.” Then he blew it. “You should get hit in the head more often. Er, I didn’t mean that the way it came out.” His cheeks turned redder than my hair.
I shrugged it off. “For a reporter you really don’t have a way with words. New hair.” I waggled my fingers in his face. “And new nails.”
“Okay, nice,” was all he could manage, probably afraid to move further into foot in mouth territory. He threw the gear shift and off we went.
I’d been away from the Read ’Em and Eat for less than two weeks, but when we pulled up in front I felt at peace the way folks do when returning from an extra-long vacation. I was finally home.
Cady opened the door and, gentleman that he always was, stepped aside so I could walk in first.
I took one step inside and was floored by voices yelling, “Welcome back!”
Bridgy wrapped her arms around me, gave a tight squeeze and whispered, “Don’t you ever do anything like that again.”
“Like what?” I feigned ignorance.
“Like solving a murder, you dope. Come say hello.”
Tears welled up. I tried to brush them away but they kept coming. Then Bridgy started crying, too. Ophie thrust paper napkins in our hands and flipped the sign on the front door from “open” to “closed.”
I was thrilled to see Miguel, crutches leaning on the back of his chair, sitting next to Miss Augusta. I wondered if they were talking about Bow.
Pastor John and Jocelyn rushed forward, each pushing a bouquet of wildflowers at me. Resisting the temptation to annoy Jocelyn by reaching for John’s first, I stepped back.
“Why, these are such lovely flowers. Ophie, could you please?” Then I leaned toward the Kendalls, whispering, “Still wobbly, you know.”
Pastor offered me his arm and led me to Emily Dickinson. When we reached the table Miss Augusta stood.
“Sassy, I can’t thank you enough for tracking down Delia’s killer. I was wrong about the wreckers, but you kept your promise. Not everyone does.”
I started to cry again and enveloped her in a gentle hug. She squeezed me back.
“Sit down, right there in Delia’s seat. Lots of folks want to thank you all proper-like.”
And for the next twenty minutes I felt like the Queen of Fort Myers Beach granting audiences to her loyal subjects. More than a dozen of our regular customers and nearly every member of the café book clubs came by to say how glad they were to see me, how happy they were that I was all right. I blushed when Connie and Iris, the two newbies from the Potluck Book Club, presented me with a golden-wrapped box of chocolates. Iris remembered aloud that when they first came to book club they were uneasy about the murder—Miss Augusta flinched at the word—but it turns out they’d met a heroine.
According to Maggie, Holly wanted to skip school and join us, but since she missed a day for Delia’s funeral, Maggie put her foot down.
“She’s been telling all her friends you are more than tope.” At my blank look, Maggie explained. “As far as I can figure, ‘tope’ is beyond cool, so you are way beyond cool.”
I polished my imaginary crown, which had even Augusta chuckling.
“Don’t be surprised if she comes around begging you to start a teen book club. Her friends think you’re poppin’—what we used to call ‘happening.’”
Maggie gave me a warm hug good-bye.
Judge Harcroft looked sheepish as he stepped up to our table. He told me how sorry he was for my trouble and that he was glad I was feeling better. He started to turn away and then thought the better of it.
“Augusta, I . . .” He faltered and then recovered. “I am sorry for any discomfort I might have caused at the reception for Delia. I had no idea.”
She glared at him for a long while and then exchanged a twinkle-in-the-eye look with Blondie. “Some things can’t be helped. Any little boy knows that.”
Confused but glad to have been given absolution, he turned toward the door, saying, “If you all will forgive me, I must . . .”
“Dash.” Augusta completed his sentence for him.
His confusion mounting, he flushed and slipped out the door.
Like the judge, most folks said their piece and left quickly. A couple of regulars were snacking on the courtesy sweet tea and cookies that Bridgy and Ophie had set out. One or two others were looking at the bookshelves, but my reign as queen had come nearly to an end.
When Sally Caldera came in, I heard Jocelyn whispering, “Mustn’t tire Sassy. She’s been through a lot, you know.”
Would Jocelyn remember to be so kind to me at future book club meetings? Oh, but with Rowena gone, who would she tussle with? My face must have clouded, because in an instant Bridgy was hovering like a helicopter looking for the perfect spot to land.
I waved her off, but rather than go away she leaned in and whispered. “It’s Rowena, right? All this talk about book clubs. You’re having flashbacks.”
Getting all huffy about my book clubs being under attack, I said through clenched teeth, “Well it’s not like she tried to kill me at a book club meeting.”
Bridgy bent down and whispered in my ear, “Seriously? If she’d killed anyone at a book club meeting, it would have been Jocelyn.”
And we rolled into one of our fits of hysterical laughter, which had become more frequent now that I was home from the hospital and feeling better.
“Well, you two are in a festive mood.” Frank Anthony was standing right behind Bridgy, Ryan at his side.
Ryan stepped forward and presented a shiny silver bag, tied with a half dozen rainbow-colored curly ribbons, to Miss Augusta. It got her so rattled that we were all grateful he didn’t insist she open it. She could do that in her own good time.
Without being asked, they swung chairs around and joined our little group, which had dwindled down to Miss Augusta, her neighbor Blondie, Cady, Miguel, his sister Elena, Bridgy and me, with Ophie flitting around offering more sweet tea and cookies. After Jocelyn made a little speech about how happy she was to be of some minor help, which we all knew meant “you couldn’t have held a funeral, caught a killer or done anything else without my assistance,” she and Pastor walked out with Sally. The few remaining stragglers seemed to sense that it was time to go, and in a few moments we were left to talk among ourselves. I wondered how Augusta would feel about my asking Frank and Ryan a few questions. While I was still trying to decide, Miss Augusta charged ahead full throttle.
“Since Sassy went out and found your killer for you, don’t you think you should tell her what in tarnation this was all about?”
Chapter Thirty-six ||||||||||||||||||||
“Rowena wanted the commission for brokering the sale of Miss Delia’s island.” I didn’t need the deputies to tell me that much. “But why kill Delia?”
Frank Anthony nodded. “According to Ms. Gustavsen, it was an accident. The trouble started when she convinced Tighe Kostos that a ‘local’ could seal the deal easier than he could. She wangled a hefty commission agreement out of him. Her visit to Delia Batson was, as she put it, ‘to try to talk some sense into her.’ When that didn’t work, Ms. Gustavsen offered to purchase the island, pretending she wanted it for herself. She actually planned to resell to Kostos. Make a fortune.”
Ryan picked up the story. “Miss Delia was tougher than she looked. According to the confession, she refused politely, then not so politely. She showed Rowena the door, but Rowena was seeing dollar bills and grabbed Miss Delia by the arm. Gave her a rough shaking. Miss Delia fell, hit her head and was knocked unconscious. In a panic, Rowena grabbed a couch pillow and . . .” He looked at Miss Augusta, who sat stoically, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere along the far wall. “Well, that was the end.”
“Y’all need more sweet tea.” Ophie made it sound more like a directive than a question. She went into the kitchen and came back with a full pitcher of tea with lemon slices floating on top and a plate of Robert Frost Apple and Blueberry Tartlets.
“Why did Rowena try to kill me? I had nothing to do with selling or not selling the island.”
“You are a snoopy busybody.” Frank Anthony chuckled when I glared at him. “Hey, that’s not me. That’s what Ms. Gustavsen called you, and if it’s any comfort, she swears she wasn’t trying to kill you, only wanted to scare you away. That’s why she locked you in the shed a few minutes before her meeting with Kostos. She was going to rescue you, but he was early. She kept telling us that she’s really not a killer. Miss Delia was an accident and you and Skully were . . . threats needing to be tempered.”
“Threats?”
“You were getting in the way of her potential commission on the sale of the island. She considered that a threat.”
“What about Skully? What did he do?” Bridgy had a soft spot for him, and I have to say after our time together in the hospital, so did I.
“When Rowena found out that he’d been seen lurking around Delia’s house, she was afraid he knew she’d been there the night Miss Delia . . . that last night. So she asked him to meet her at the Point on the pretense of paying him for some jewelry. He’s a trusting guy.” Ryan shook his head. “When he reached into his canoe to lift out his bag, she hit him in the head with an oar. With him bent over, she had gravity on her side and knocked him cold. The Gulf tide was coming in and she thought it would finish the job. She wanted it to look like an accident.”
I shivered at the thought.
Frank Anthony said that Skully was down but not out. Lacerations on his scalp but no fracture. “He’s a sailor and knows these waters. He’d automatically pulled his boat a few feet above the water line, so when he fell and the tide came in, it didn’t come high enough to drown him or drag him out into the Gulf.
“Ms. Gustavsen had an insulin pen her sister left behind after a visit. It was sitting in her fridge and came right to mind as a solution to the Skully problem. As soon as she found out he was in the hospital, she tried to sneak into the room to stab insulin into his intravenous tube, but for a while his roomie had a private duty nurse 24-7. When Skully came out of the coma, he couldn’t remember what happened, so she thought she had time. But once you”—he pointed directly at me—“told her that Skully was Delia’s heir, not the nephews, she knew he’d be impossible to negotiate with, so he had to go.” He gave me a nod. “You put a stop to that.”
“How is he? Does anyone know?” I looked at blank faces and a few shrugs of shoulders. “I called him a few days ago at the hospital but of course his phone was turned off. Or, more likely never turned on. And then yesterday when I called the nurses’ station to check on his condition, they said he’d signed himself out.”
“Sounds like Skully.” Ryan looked at Frank. “I guess we could keep an eye out for him. Check Tony’s boat dock, like that.”
There was a loud bang on the door and then the ship’s bell clanged.
“Lord a’mercy. What part of ‘closed’ do these folks not understand?” Ophie steamed toward the door like a Key West sunset cruiser trying to outrace a lightning storm. When she peered outside, she surprised us by flinging the door open.
“Y’all, look who’s here.”
And in came Skully. I jumped up and ran to greet him, but when I saw the wary look on his face I stopped dead, not wanting to overwhelm him with hugs.
“Good to see you.” I reached out a tentative hand for a shake and was surprised when he took it. “We’re having some sweet tea and tarts. Come. Have a seat.”
“Thank ye, but I have a job waiting on Matlacha—help rebuild a boat dock. Need to shove off, get there before dark.” He took an envelope out of his pocket and started to hand it to me. “I wonder if you would . . . oh, Miz Maddox, didn’t see you there.”
He brushed past me, walked to the table and placed the envelope in front of Augusta.
“This here is for you; help fend off those nephews.”
Augusta opened the envelope and took out some official-looking papers.
“Don’t have my cheaters. Could you tell me . . . ?”
Skully thought for thirty seconds or more and decided he could.
“I went to see the government man. Turned out to be a government gal. Didn’t expect that. Anyway. I signed papers. When all is said and done, and the lawyers and the courts do what they do, Delia’s islands will stay open and free.” He took a deep breath, unused to talking so much and to such a large crowd.
“Told the government gal about the nephews, a
nd she said that once my claim as Delia’s husband is set right, I can deed the land to the government. While we’re awaitin’, I get to pick who can act for me in case something happens. I pick you. I made her put it in writing ’til the other paperwork is fixed. She did and that there is the paper. Notarized and all. It’ll make Delia happy.”
He looked at the clock over the counter, picked up his bag and headed for the door. I rushed to catch him. I touched his arm and whispered, “Thanks for saving my life.”
“Little Miss, we saved each other.” And he was gone.
Everyone started talking at once, except for Augusta, who was unnaturally still. Noticing how quiet she was, we settled down.
Ryan slid the present he’d brought up close to Augusta’s glass of sweet tea. “Miss Augusta, I do believe this cause for celebration requires you to open your gift.”
Augusta yanked the ribbon and both it and the silvery bag fell to the tabletop, revealing a tall bottle filled with golden corn likker.
Buffalo Trace.
AUNT OPHIE’S BUTTERMILK PIE
1 unbaked 9-inch, deep-dish pie crust
4 eggs
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons softened sweet (unsalted) butter
1¼ teaspoons vanilla
1 cup buttermilk
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
If pie crust is frozen or refrigerated, let it warm to room temperature.
Crack eggs into a small bowl, hand beat with a fork until yolks are broken. Set aside. Measure one cup of sugar and sprinkle flour on top. Hand stir until well blended. In a large bowl, beat softened butter with mixer set on low and slowly add sugar/flour. When well creamed, continue to beat while adding eggs and vanilla. Then dribble in the buttermilk a little at a time while still beating. Continue for one or two minutes until well mixed. Pour into pie crust shell.
Bake for 15 minutes at 400 degrees, then lower temperature to 350 degrees without opening the oven door. Bake for 45 additional minutes. Pierce center of pie with a knife. If it comes out clean, pie is done. If not, bake for a few minutes more.
Well Read, Then Dead (Read Em and Eat Mystery) Page 24