“Well, of course I asked him. I mean, I asked him what he was doing, and he said something silly about thinking he’d seen something under our building and wanted to see what that something was. Or, something like that.” I winced.
“So, did he say something else about this something he saw?”
“Oooh.” I writhed in my seat. “No. Nothing. Said he couldn’t find anything…said it probably was a raccoon, if you can believe that malarkey, and I said it could’ve been an alligator—”
“—Would you drop this fixation on alligators, for crying out loud?”
I pressed my lips together and glared at her for one very pregnant moment. “Bernadette…for the last time…there are alligators here.”
“Fine.” She had the audacity to smile sweetly at me. “So, what did he say to that?” Her voice dripped superiority.
“Nothing much. He was stammering a lot, and even in the dark I could tell he was blushing. I think he’s one very suspicious character.”
“No, he’s just one very dweebish individual who’s been bossed around by women all his life. You see it all the time.”
It was my turn to smile. “You are such an expert on human nature, Bernadette…”
After that the subject was closed and we turned on the movie.
* * * *
Halfway through, Bernie struggled to her feet, pushed pause, and stretched. “Potty break time.”
We each scuttled to our bathrooms and came out at almost the same instant. “Okay, I feel better. Let’s get on with it.” I said, snapping my fingers. “Jennifer Hudson is remarkable. She certainly earned her Oscar, in my book.”
“I agree.”
I sank into the sofa cushions, raised my feet to the coffee table then grunted. “That’s how we lost it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The electricity. Remember how odd we thought it was to be the only complex without electricity?”
“Well, y—”
“Lionel. Lionel cut our power. That’s why he was standing by our meter thingy.”
Bernie looked at me like I’d returned from a trip to The Pig with a pierced nose and snake tattoo. “What?” She snorted. “Why, for heaven’s sake? Why would he cut our electricity? What’s the point? And, furthermore, how could he? I mean, not everybody can hotwire a car or snip red and blue wires in seconds without giving themselves a shock to remember. Sheesh, Michaela.”
“Well-l-l…”
“I repeat…why would he even remotely consider doing such a thing?”
“Because…” I wracked my brains for a plausible answer. “Because…”
“Because he’s really Lord Voldemort and is determined to make us go insane.”
I gave her my most withering look. “Oh, please. I’m trying to be serious here.”
“Okay, okay, then tell me why he’d want to cut our power? I mean…poor Melba would be unable to watch her shows…and what about the youngish couple with the innocent little child upstairs?”
I closed my eyes in frustration then snapped them open when a brilliant idea struck. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of it right away?” I slapped my head. “I’m a numbskull.”
“We finally agree on something,” Bernie beamed.
I ignored her. “No, listen. What were we doing when the power went out?”
She looked puzzled for a second then shrugged. “Nothing much…just watching the news…”
“You got it. Don’t you see? He didn’t want us to see the newscast about Bonnie and Clyde. Oh, this just proves I’m right. Vicki and Lionel are Bonnie and Clyde. Oh, this is so exciting. To actually help solve a real, honest-to-goodness mystery. Oh, Bern—”
“Hush.”
That stopped me mid-sentence. “Huh?”
“Just calm down for a minute, will you?”
“But this is exciting.”
“No…it’s probably the stupidest thing you’ve come up with yet.”
“Oh, you’re just jealous that I have an intuitive, er, analytical, brain. You’re ticked off that you didn’t figure it out first.”
This time Bernie looked pained. She sighed, then sighed again. “Michaela, Michaela, Michaela…what am I going to do with you? You were like this back in your twenties and you haven’t changed. You work yourself up into such a frenzy that it’s no wonder you get sick and have to go on antibiotics all the time—”
“—Not since I retired. It was the stress of teaching that made me sick.” I said, a trifle defensively I admit.
Her smile patronized. “Dear, dear little wacko…just listen to you. All worked up over nothing. For once and for all, Vicki and Lionel are not—and I repeat—are not Bonnie and Clyde.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” I muttered under my breath. I wasn’t pouting, just annoyed at her condescending manner.
“Okay. Let’s drop the subject for now and finish our movie.”
“Fine.”
We watched the remainder of the video, shoveled in the popcorn and veggies, and mentioned nothing else about Vicki and Lionel. I stored it at the back of my mind, however. I still wasn’t convinced that I’d imagined things. Bernie would never, ever, hear the end of this if it turned out that I was right and she was so completely wrong. When Vicki and Lionel were hauled off to the slammer, I’d crow. Yes sir. I couldn’t wait. The last laugh would be mine.
SEVENTEEN
After attending Sunday Mass the following morning in a small modular building posing as a church that was actually very pretty on the inside, we returned the movie, then headed to The Pig to stock up on the necessities of life: crackers, onion dip, diet soda, and cantaloupe. Even on a Sunday, the local grocery store was over-flowing with throngs of people doing the same thing we were. Amazing.
On the way home I regaled Bernie with the bittersweet story of my fateful tumble from my bicycle two months ago when my hubby and I were staying with my sister and brother-in-law at the condo and using the bike path that ran through the heart of the island. Every time I brought up the subject I got riled up all over again. This time was no exception. And Bernie appeared to be listening.
“I’d pedaled miles and miles—”
“Yeah, right.”
“—Around the length and breadth of the entire island only to be mercilessly thrown to the ground and thoroughly bruised from head to toe by a careless cyclist—”
“Your husband.”
“Stop interrupting. Yes, my husband. Darn idiot failed to notice that I’d slowed to admire a butterfly and plowed right into me.”
Instead of inquiring how injured I’d gotten, Bernie laughed long and hard at the mental image of my short, plump little body toppling head over heels, landing in the gravel, stunned, disheveled. Not unlike her altercation with the ocean waves, now that I think about it. It was such an entertaining tale—at my own expense—that she was still laughing when we turned into the resort. I refused to let my feelings be hurt. After all, I’d laughed at her.
There must be something inherently wrong with two long-time friends such as ourselves getting that much enjoyment from one another’s mishaps and mayhem. Anyway, I ignored her, preferring to put all my attention into my driving. That started Bernie cackling once again, much to my disgruntlement.
“I don’t see why you find everything about me so funny,” I fumed.
Brushing a hand across her face, Bernie shook her fluffy head, smothered two more snorts, and said, “I-I don’t…really…sorry. I-I’m glad you didn’t break anything…important…”
“Uh huh.”
Still chuckling, she donned her best pseudo-sympathetic smile. “What did Joe do when he discovered you’d really been shaken up?”
“Joe? Humpf. My dear husband was dutifully remorseful and solicitous of my well being for a good two days following the accident. All it took was for me to show my sister and brother-in-law my sore ribs, scraped knees and elbows, and the magnificent purple-green bruise running the entire length of one thigh.” I sighed. “Oh, m
an, did I ache all over. Couldn’t sit, couldn’t roll over in bed. Had a heck of a time getting in and out of the tub, too. I mean, sheesh, I could’ve broken a bone. Even my neck. And I’ve told Joe, I don’t know how many times, not to follow so closely when we ride the bikes as you know how wobbly I am. Sheesh. But does he listen? Noooo. He never listens to a word I say.” I looked at my companion, waiting for a comment or two…or three. Bernie’s eyes looked out the window into the great beyond. “Bernadette,” I reprimanded, “are you listening to me at all?”
Bernie blinked, focused on me, and cleared her throat. “Oh, yes, yes, of course. I heard you. I did. Glad Joe finally came around. Yes. Men are so clueless sometimes, aren’t they? But, you know? I’ve been thinking about the mystery that seems to be unfolding right here in our little vacation community. On the surface, everything is as it should be. The sky is blue, birds are flying hither and yon. Golfers are slicing and divot-ing to their hearts’ content. Families are biking up and down the quiet streets. Yes, a perfectly normal summer resort, resorting in perfectly normal summer activities.” She pointed with her chin. “And then there’s Melba.”
I swiveled around to see sweet Melba shuffle across the complex’s parking area—ancient flowered dressing gown proclaiming her total lack of style, taste, and decorum. She was searching the pine needle-strewn asphalt as if she’d lost something.
As soon as we climbed out of the car, I chirped, “Hello, Melba. What’s going on? Lose something? Can we help?”
Melba glanced up, saw us, yet seemed unaware of who we were or why we were speaking to her. With a shrug, she resumed her study of the blacktop, pushing aside lawn debris with her terry-clad toe. Bernie and I blinked at each other in surprise. Both hesitant to intrude on her mission, yet curious about what had inspired this meticulous screening of the parking lot, we stood and watched her for several minutes.
A thousand and one heartbeats later, Melba looked up and registered our presence. “Oh, my,” she whimpered. “He was here just a few seconds ago. I don’t know what’s become of him.” A long sigh illustrated her keen disappointment.
“Who are you looking for, dear?” I kept my tone light. “Maybe we could, uh, help…”
“Well, I certainly hope you can help me. But you better move your car first. You have parked your car in Trudy and Anita’s parking spot, and they will be back soon, and will be ever so annoyed that you have taken over their parking place. By the way, my name is Melba, like the toast, and I live in 214, and you are…”
Deciding that it was pointless to continue the conversation, I completed the sentence with, “…exhausted. We are utterly exhausted. We’ll talk to you later, Melba. Okay?” Then my Christian upbringing came to the fore and I added, “Unless, that is, we can help you in any way.”
Melba’s brow puckered. “Have we met?” The woman’s voice was tremulous. “Who told you that I was here? Is he looking for me? Have you seen him? Is it time for Jeopardy? I love Jeopardy. Don’t you? And Wheel of Fortune. Dear Vanna comes from Charleston, you know,” Melba bobbed then executed a graceful pirouette. She shuffled toward the wooden steps that led to her unit, shaking her white head from side to side. Talking to herself, she muttered something about people taking liberties with other people’s parking spots. Then, in a louder voice, said something about Hostess Cupcakes, followed by a comment about Jay Leno’s chin. We trailed behind her as she hauled herself upward, step by step, to arrive in one piece at her own front door. In a flash of floral confusion, she disappeared into the dark recesses of her apartment, with only the faintest essence of Honeysuckle talcum lingering on the porch as a reminder of her presence.
“Whew.” I exhaled.
“Amen.”
I opened my purse and began rummaging.
“I’ve really had about enough.” Bernie huffed.
“Look, you could demonstrate a little patience here.” Just a shade on the defensive.
“No, no, I’m not talking about the keys…although it is ridiculous the amount of time you waste looking for them. I mean, normal people can find their keys within seconds but not you. But, no, that’s not what I was talking about,” Bernie retorted.
As soon as we stepped inside, my eyes bored into hers. “It’s Melba, isn’t it? You are confused and/or concerned about our dear little Melba. Face it, Bern…Melba is confused and/or concerned about Melba.”
At that precise moment, a solid rap on the storm door startled both of us. We whirled around in synchronized surprise to see our condo door thrown open as a sprightly Vicki invited herself in, at ease and not a bit concerned with invading our personal space. Uninvited.
We stared with mouths open. Once again Vicki had outdone herself in the wardrobe department. She was the poster child of glamour gone haywire. A mental image of a scene in the delightful movie, The Devil Wears Prada came to mind, and I nearly choked. When Bernie hissed under her breath, “I swear the woman doesn’t own a mirror,” I let out a strangled gurgling belch.
Vicki was indeed a vision…or, perhaps, nightmare is a better word. She had on something that I guess was supposed to pass as a blouse or shirt or—it doesn’t matter. Suffice it to say she was wearing an article of clothing not up to snuff in the covering of her generous endowment department. I mean, June was busting out all over…and then some, if you get my drift.
“Hey, y’all.” she sang, oblivious to our malcontent over her barging in like that. “Y’all having a good time here in Fun City?” One well-manicured hand brushed at her frizzy bangs. “Lionel and I have just marveled at your get up and go. You two are always on the move, aren’t ya? High-tailin’ it everywhere like you do.”
“Uh huh,” Bernie said dryly. “We only have ten days in which to spread our wings. So…we’re, uh, spreading.”
Vicki beamed. “Oh, I think what you two’re doin’ is simply wonderful. Wish I had a gal friend I could up and leave with. Go on a cruise, maybe, or—”
“Can we help you with something, Vicki? We’re planning another sightseeing trip and need to get a move on.”
“Ohh. Sorry.” She rolled her eyes. “Silly me. Lionel is forever sayin’ that I can go on and on and on and on—”
“Vicki?”
“Oh. I’ll get to the point then. We—me and Lionel, that is—would like to invite you two over for a real Texas barbecue. This evenin’. Can you come? Or isn’t it enough notice? I know it’s rather short notice, but you two are pretty darned hard to catch up with.” She giggled.
Bernie looked at me, her eyebrows almost to her hairline. I took that to mean she’d like to so nodded. “Sure, Vicki. We can come. Thank you for thinking of us. Would you like us to bring over something?”
“Heck, no. You’ll be our guests. Hope you like pork steaks on the barbecue.”
Coming from Missouri, Bernie certainly did. “Yes…that would be great. What time?”
“Oh…come along over ’round six-ish. That isn’t too early, is it?”
“No, that’ll be fine. We’ll see you then.” Bernie started walking forward, which forced Vicki to back into the doorway. She giggled, waved, and let herself out. Bernie closed the door behind her, turned and faced me. “Well?”
I did a jig. “This is great. This is really great.”
“You like pork steaks that much?”
“No. But I do like the chance of getting a peek inside their condo. Don’t you?”
“Ohhh. You mean a chance to see where they’ve hidden all that pilfered loot. Right?”
I smacked my lips. “You got it.”
“Humpf. Texas barbecue, my ass-pirations. Everybody knows Texans barbecue beef, not pork. Pork is a Mid-western thing…or, maybe, a Southern thing. Texas barbecue. Who does she think she’s kidding?”
EIGHTEEN
After Vicki pranced out of our unit, I ran both hands through my short hair, causing it to stick up in several places. Of course Bernie had to point that out to me by placing both hands on my shoulders and turning me around to face the d
ecorative wall mirror. And, of course, she was laughing. I didn’t care. We were knee-deep in some serious business.
“Bernadette,” I said between clenched teeth. “We’ve got to do something.”
“About your hair? I’m afraid th—”
“Bernie.”
“All right. So, what’s your plan? What can we do about it—whatever it is?”
“Well…I guess…first off…we have to somehow get inside Melba’s apartment…”
“Melba’s? I thought you were hell-bent on checking out Vicki and Lionel?”
I gave her my most withering look. “Oh, Bernie…for crying out loud. Wake up. Just a few minutes ago you, yourself, were fretting over Melba’s…well, lack of sentinence—”
“What?”
“Sentinence…you know—intelligence…awareness—”
Bernie was laughing so hard now, she had to sit down. “The word is ‘sentience’…” Another snort. “Sen-ti-ence…not ‘nence’…” A choking gurgle. “And you’re an English major…” More snorts, guffaws, and gurgles.
I glared at her. “Okay, okay. Let’s get back on track here, please. You’ve had your laugh therapy for the day. Help me think.”
“You’re beyond hel—”
“Bernie.”
“Okay.” She sobered and donned her principal-parent-teacher-conference mask. “So, how do you want to go about it—getting inside Melba’s unit, that is?”
My eyes darted about our small kitchen. “Bring her something? But what? I need an excuse to go over there in the first place. I can’t just knock on her door and walk in.”
“I don’t know why not. Vicki did.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not Vicki.”
“Thank God for small favors.”
“I know. I’ll take her a few of the peaches we bought at George and Pink’s produce stand.” I dashed to the drawer that had plastic grocery bags, whipped one out, and began selecting the best-looking peaches from the basket we had sitting on the counter. “You think three’s enough?”
Bernie grimaced. “Yes. It means three less that we get to enjoy. And I was enjoying those peaches. Best I’ve ever eaten.”
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