by Mary Clay
“If that grass was from the olden days, it had to be moldy. You may have poisoned people,” Timothy said sternly.
“It was vacuum packed in those boiling bags you see on TV and I’ve kept it frozen.”
“Frozen? How could you keep it frozen for twenty years, through all of these hurricanes?”
Guthrie swayed. “I was careful. What do you think I needed the ice for when I put the chicken on my knee?”
Timothy put his hands on his hips and stared. I held my breath. Was he going to deck Guthrie? Suddenly, Timothy threw back his head and laughed. “All these years you had me bringing you ice and dry ice, it was to store your old grass? Man, you are one piece of work.” Timothy reached out and pulled his staggering buddy to his chest. “You are the biggest pain I’ve ever known, but your heart is in the right place.” Timothy sat Guthrie on the ground with a bottle of water. “Tell me the truth, is that the last of it?”
Guthrie looked sad. “Yeah, that’s it. My youth is over. I guess I’ll have to be responsible now.”
Fat chance, I thought, trying not to smile.
As this drama unfolded, Annie was busy loading her mini-cup car on its trailer with Chris’ help. Finished, she returned to the group at about the time Timothy sat Guthrie on the ground.
“Penny Sue, I don’t know what happened in the bus race,” Annie started to apologize. “My headphone went dead. I have no idea what happened. Our sound checks were fine. I’m sorry I let you down, but it looks like you didn’t need me after all.”
Penny Sue put her arm around Annie’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.” Penny Sue pointed at a man coming our way. “He’s the culprit.”
Frannie May took one look at the man and went into hysterics. “Enrico! I thought you were dead!”
Our Larry, the fisherman, was Fran’s Uncle Enrico? Enrico, the man of mystery that no one in Fran’s family knew how he made his living and was afraid to ask? Uncle Enrico, who’d vanished one day without a trace, leaving behind a large trunk stocked with sniper rifles, knives, and other weapons that Fran kept stored in her attic?
Fran ran toward Larry/Enrico. He picked her up and twirled her around with kisses and mutterings about Little Francy.
Back on her feet, Frannie May gave him the once over. “You look good. But, you worried me to death!” She smacked his face lightly. “How could you do that to your family?”
Penny Sue interrupted, “Fran, we thought he was a fisherman, but he was watching our behinds the whole time you were away. Larry saved my life in the bus race. And he is in contact with Rich!”
All of us nodded, knowing that meant Enrico was FBI, DEA, Secret Service or some other clandestine government something.
“What the heck?” Fran said, slapping Enrico’s shoulder. “Everyone has to do something. Come back to the house, I’ll cook you a real Italian dinner. I have a big tray of my lasagna in the freezer, and you can meet Carlo, your great nephew, who’s a—”
I interrupted. “—a Klingon.”
Larry/Enrico chuckled. “Star Trek is one of my favorite shows.” His lips tensed, then slowly stretched into a grin. “I would like to get my trunk. If I come to your house, it can be only you, Carlo, and me. I can’t stay long, and you’re sworn to secrecy.”
Fran patted his cheek. “Anything you want is fine with me. Secrecy? No problem, we’re family.”
* * *
Epilogue
October 3, New Smyrna Beach, FL
It was noon, and we’d already done more than most people do in a whole day. Ruthie’s father had taken a fall—a broken wrist and luckily not a hip. In any event, she needed to go home as soon as possible. She was driving back with Penny Sue—seven hours, close to what it took by plane when you considered airport security and the commutes to and from the airport. We’d packed the Mercedes with their essentials and I promised to send the rest by UPS the next day.
We sat at the kitchen counter ruminating over the events of the last eight weeks. Three hurricanes, a nor’easter, five deaths counting Scooter, a grand slam at the races, close to a million dollars in contributions for hurricane victims, and I had purchased the condo next door.
All of that was weird, but the strangest event was the phone call we received that morning from the Federal judicial assistant who had kept postponing our depositions. Al passed away during the night from a heart attack, so our services wouldn’t be needed, after all.
We should be happy, yet the news was so unexpected it left us numb. Al and his mob had been hanging over our heads for close to a year. The Russian component—and Enrico!—was completely unexpected. Who would have guessed the Russians were trying to protect us? Who would have guessed Larry/Enrico was with the government? Who would have guessed that Pearl and her casino chiselers were a separate issue all together and not connected to the mob war?
The doorbell rang as we were about to click our cans of green tea and say goodbye.
Penny Sue huffed down the hall. “You know it’s Guthrie.” She flung open the door. Wrong. It was Woody with a giant bouquet of flowers.
“Can we call a truce?” he asked. Penny Sue unlatched the screen door and waved him in.
“Flowers, how nice,” I said. I found a vase under the sink and filled it with water. “This is unexpected.”
Woody looked as uncomfortable as any person could be. “My mother’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, pretty advanced. You did me a big favor when you didn’t press charges against her. With her mental state, she might have gotten off if she’d been charged, but it would have caused my family a lot of heartache. It’s hard to believe Mom went down hill so fast and I never noticed.”
I took the flowers, put them in the vase, and fluffed them. I thought of my marriage with Zack. “Yeah, sometimes we’re too close to a situation to notice what’s really going on. Anyway, I’ve purchased the condo next door,” I said brightly, hoping to lighten the mood.
“Then we’ll be neighbors. I’m moving my family into Mom’s condo, our native land. Our tribe was absorbed into the Seminoles, but this area has special meaning to me.” He ducked his head, seeming very sincere for a lawyer. “I hope we can put the past behind us and be friends.”
In unison, Ruthie and I parroted one of her favorite adages, “The past is gone, it can touch me not.”
A tear streaked down Woody’s cheek. Now Penny Sue was uncomfortable—dumbfounded to be more accurate. Typical Penny Sue, not knowing what to do, she offered Woody a scotch.