by Pam Moll
At closer inspection, I knew the winner of the monster fish. Standing next to a Goliath grouper hanging upside down from a hook was Jim Grist, the grungy fisherman. I immediately thought about Erica and worried that Jim had been the horrible person she mentioned who had upset her. I had sent her home early because she was so shaken up.
Now I could put a name with the face. One of the things I pride myself to try and do as an owner of a local café is to know everyone’s names. My café served up coffee, pastries and plenty of gossip. But it had been so crowded this morning, I didn’t get to confront Jim, the fisherman of a colossal fish, with a colossal attitude to match.
As I walked back to my apartment, connected to the village, I stared up the street that looked like a Thomas Kinkade oceanside painting. I passed the Yoga studio where Aurora’s mom worked, and the Bay Isle’s Real Estate office, both closed. Fresh flowers bloomed from the colorful pots resting along the sidewalk. I turned toward the bay and main canal that led to the Gulf. The smell of sea salt and burgers from one of the few island restaurants filled the air. I could travel in any direction from our quaint shopping village and end up at the water.
The sun had set an hour earlier, and the street lamps gave off a soft glow. Snickers let out a low growl as we moved closer to the corner where I was about to turn. I pulled his leash tighter.
Staying close to the side of the building, I peered ahead into the murky darkness. The faint crunch of footsteps came from the breezeway between my building and Gator Joe’s Bait and Tackle Shop about ten yards in front of us. I slowed down and slipped back from the shop walkway and thought about my choices. If I let Snickers off the leash he would walk ahead of me and surprise anyone or any animal lurking in the breezeway and could possibly scare them to death. Or I could ignore my over-active imagination and continue my walk. I heard the crunchy noise again and this triggered a bit of uneasiness and I felt fear starting to percolate. Plan of action decided, I bent down and unhooked Snickers leash from his collar.
He surprised me and the stray Siamese cat when he dashed to the end of the boardwalk and barked at the Bait Shop window box.
Through the shadowy light I could see Snickers barking up at a stray cat, possibly Kona. Suddenly, the cat sprang from the window and landed on the head of a man that appeared from out of the breezeway.
I heard the man let out a low-pitched yell. “What in God’s name?”
I rushed to the corner and a moment of confusion swept over me and the situation, when I spotted something perched on top of Deputy Lucky’s head.
“Leash your dog, so I can get this wild critter off my head,” Deputy Lucky roared as he stepped toward the wall.
“Down,” I yelled.
“I don’t think raccoons follow the same commands as dogs.”
“I wasn’t talking to the ca −,” I paused and inspected the animal on Lucky’s head. “I wasn’t talking to the raccoon. I was telling Snickers to back off and stand down.”
Snickers immediately lay down at our feet.
A beam of light struck me and blinded my vision for a few seconds. It was directed first at me then Snickers. Lucky flashed the light at the raccoon, but as long as Snickers was underfoot, the raccoon must have decided Lucky’s head was a safer choice.
Lucky fixed his gaze on me. I could see two black clawed hands digging into his scalp and tiny droplets of blood trickling from under them and his face starting to redden.
“Snickers come,” I said as I ran into the street and away from Deputy Lucky and his raccoon hat.
Lucky smacked the flashlight against the creature and it twisted down his long pant leg like a stripper on a pole. Once it hit the ground it took off in a run.
I sucked in my breath and stepped slowly back to the boardwalk. “I have to tell you, since I’ve lived here in South Florida. I’ve feared alligators, pythons, panthers, black bears and that’s just around Granny’s backyard. In the water, I fear stingrays, sharks and jellyfish. But a girl shouldn’t have to worry about being attacked by a masked animal, unless it’s a human, while walking home from work.”
Lucky wiped his forehead with his fingers. “Mo, I’m the one that was attacked, because your dog wasn’t on a leash.” He gave me an exasperated look.
Oops. “Look I’m sorry Deputy Lucky,” I said as I pulled a napkin from my backpack and attempted to wipe the scratches on his forehead.
His hand caught mine and he pulled it away. He took the napkin and pressed it against one of the scratches. “You know it’s a misdemeanor to have your dog off a leash.”
“I had Snickers off the leash because I heard you in the alley. And since when is it against the law?”
“It’s unlawful for the owner, possessor or person who keeps any dog to permit the same to run at large,” Lucky said it a stern voice.
“Snickers wasn’t running at large I was with him.”
“And if the owner is present but the dog is not controlled through use of a leash, cord, chain−.”
“Okay, I get it. I said I’m sorry.”
He pulled out a pad of tickets and I felt my face reddened. “You’re writing me a ticket?”
He must have seen my eyes widened and my jaw drop, because he smiled. Then he handed me the piece of paper. “Next time you’re worried about walking home you can call me or Deputy Walker at this number.”
“Really, I wasn’t worried until I heard the noise.”
“What noise?” His grin faded.
“The alley where you came from.”
“I heard it too, and I was investigating. I only spotted Ted Clawson carrying a fishing pole.”
I nodded. “I walk through here twice a day and really there’s nothing I should be worried about.” The mental image of a giant leaping raccoon and Deputy Lucky’s scratched head flashed through my mind. “Yep, nothing to worry about.”
“Well, you have a nice evening Ms. Molly,” Lucky studied me for a moment, like he was about to ask me a question, then said, “You too Snickers.”
I smiled and said, “Good night Deputy.”
I left, feeling his gaze as I walked away. I couldn’t deny that I liked the feeling.
I was humming when Snickers and I climbed the first-floor stairs to the second landing where my baby blue door awaited.
My cell phone buzzed as I reached for my keys in my backpack. I glanced at the caller ID, I said, “Hi mom. What’s up?” into the phone as I opened the door and walked in my apartment.
“Molly, I need you to do me a favor,” she said as I walked toward the kitchen. A word to the wise—pour a glass of wine when your mother starts out the call with “I need a favor.”
I willed myself to remain open-minded when I replied, “Sure, what can I help with?”
I was starving. I pushed the earbuds into my ears, so I could make dinner handsfree while I chatted with mom.
“It’s Granny,” my mom whispered.
“If this is about me not taking her to Bingo Night again,” I said jokingly, because we both knew Granny Dee hated Bingo.
In my tiny kitchen, I filled a pot with tap water, placed it on the stove, and turned on the gas burner. It was pasta night. I loved Italian food and had picked up a pound of fresh Italian sausage at the village market. I planned to smother it and bowtie pasta with Henrietta ’s homemade sauce. Henrietta Filadora was Granny Dee’s Italian cook and housekeeper, and I loved the sauces and gravy she whipped up.
“Molly, have you been to happy hour? You know she hates bingo.”
“No mom, I haven’t been drinking. I was kidding. What about Granny can I help you with?” I was in a jolly mood after running into Lucky. Unfortunately, the masked trash digger and his claw-covered paws did a number on his forehead forcing Lucky to leave in such a rush.
“I was thinking of surprising her for Christmas. I’d come in a few days before the Holly Fest.”
This was a shock to me. My mother here for Christmas? Before I could say “bah, humbug!” I needed to know what she w
anted. So much for my good mood.
“What about Hank and Carol?” My brother, his wife, and my niece and nephew loved celebrating with my mom every year. They lived in the Dallas metroplex area. And traditionally she’d come to Florida after New Year’s.
“He realizes it’s your first Christmas there in Bay Isles.”
I wondered how I’d manage the Holly Fest with my mom underfoot. “We’d love to have you, but why surprise Granny Dee. You know how she hates surprises.” An unannounced visit could only mean trouble at home or Texas.
Snickers nudged my feet. I filled his bowl with food, stirred the pasta water with a dab of butter and salt, and wondered what the real reason behind mom’s visit was.
“I think she’s not taking her meds and I want to make sure I’m there during this stressful time of year. I could help you out at the Bean Sprout.”
The unexpected news of Granny’s medicine habits made me concerned, but I only mumbled, “Addicted to the Bean,” annoyed by her continued forgetfulness of my café’s name.
“Yes, your coffee bean place.”
“It’s a coffee house, mom. And why do you think Granny isn’t taking her meds?”
“I spoke with Henrietta. She said your grandmother is not eating well and refuses to take all her medicine. Is she using her cane or walker? She needs to exercise.”
Henrietta was not only Granny Dee’s long-time live-in cook and housekeeper but had recently taken on the role of care-giver.
“Mom, everything is fine here. Granny was at the shop today, and come to think of it, she hasn’t used her cane at all that I can remember. But if you’re worried about her health, I’ll be happy to check in tomorrow and have a chat with Henrietta.” Wednesday’s officially my day off, but I always end up at the café. At least I’ll have time to go by Granny’s.
After my morning run on the beach, I could easily pop over to Granny’s for a late breakfast. My mouth watered when I thought of Henrietta ’s fresh herb, mushroom omelet with béchamel sauce. I knew she always used the leftover béchamel from Tuesdays night’s mac and cheese.
“Well, I see. You’re managing very well there without my help,” mom sighed and sounded disappointed.
I could feel the steam rising from my head like a tea kettle. “Mom, we’d love for you to come. At least let me tell Henrietta so she can get the guest room ready.”
“It’s always ready, my dear.”
I pictured her rolling her eyes toward the ceiling.
“I guess we could all use a nice surprise.” This wouldn’t be a surprise to Granny―more like a sneak attack. I hoped she wouldn’t be underfoot too much while I put the finishing touches on the Holly Fest and parade. “How would you get here?” The nearest airport from Bay Isles was a few hours north in Tampa, and there was a small private airfield about an hour away.
“I’ll call you tomorrow night with the details. I’m so excited to see you and Granny.” She did sound excited. It was funny that she called her own mother Granny, too.
“Okay, Mom. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Oh, and one more thing … are you bringing Roco and Bullet?” Roco was her tan, feisty Chinese pug. Bullet was her silver cat with a green eye and a brown eye that scampered about faster than a speeding bullet.
“Of course, dear. I wouldn’t put them up in a pet hotel over Christmas. I’ve already bought their Christmas outfits.”
“Great. Let me guess … an elf and …”
“A snowman with a top hat. You know how adorable they look when I dress them up!” she interjected.
Adorable and a bit miserable, I thought. One more reason to let Granny know. She had her own cat, George, and he was not fond of other pets around Granny, especially when they were in costumes. George, named after George Clooney, replaced Elvis, her fourteen-year-old Siamese a few years ago.
“Okay dear. I’ve gotta run. I look forward to helping you at the Bean and with theHolly Fest. Maybe we can find you a nice date for the party afterward. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you.” Click.
“Love you too …” I trailed off. So much for that. I ended the call, wondering what sort of party she had in mind. Gosh, I missed slamming down a phone receiver. Tapping on a touchscreen just doesn’t have the same effect.
I ignored the nagging feeling of apprehension rising in me over my mom’s surprise visit and took an extra helping of pasta. With a plate full of the steamy Italian dish, I plopped down on my brown leather couch. I tossed off two blue and white decorative pillows, which Snickers took as a sign to join me. He hopped on the couch and curled up at my side.
I’d positioned my couch so that it looked out the back window. If I stretched my neck just a bit, I could actually see the beach behind the tall palm trees, even though some of their sky duster tops fringed my windows. I loved the palms with their crisscross base and their flowering tops that dropped white buds like snow overhead.
My tiny one-bedroom loft was decorated with chic, seaside appeal. I worked such long hours, that living in a small space never bothered me. Besides, I had a beautiful suite on the third floor of Granny’s humongous house. My suite there, where I had lived for several months, was bigger than my whole apartment, and I often still stayed the night after our Sunday dinners together. It was only a few miles away on Oceanside.
My apartment, compared to the mansion suite, had a clean no-nonsense look to it. I was still working on my decorating style, picking up seaside art and collectibles here and there.
In my living room, besides my leather couch, I had two modern chairs (thrift-store bargains) with a painting of the sea above them. My beloved possessions occupied nearly the entire length of the west wall, a bookcase overflowing with my book collection. Besides gardening, collecting books was my favorite hobby, and the book nook in the café was filled with books from my own collection.
The favorite part of my apartment was the loft above my main floor. I had fallen in love with it the minute I stepped inside. The architect had a small winding staircase built in my apartment that led to the turret room. Although the real estate agent had called it the annoying, drafty loft in the end unit, I was enchanted by the cozy room snuggled under the circular peaked roof. It was like I was Rapunzel in the garden tower, albeit a frizzy red-headed one. Who couldn’t resist an attic loft with window seats, hideaway corners, towering ceilings, turrets and other quiet nooks?
Fortunately for me, more than half the population in Bay Isles was elderly and couldn’t be bothered with stairs to the apartment in the village shops. Let alone deal with another set of winding stairs to the turret room. I had rented it on the spot.
The loft wasn’t big enough for a bedroom, but it made a perfect sunroom. It was always brightly lit, filled with sunlight every day. I often fell asleep in the blue chintz overstuffed chair in the turret room reading by a small floor lamp in the corner.
My next-door neighbor, Mrs. Reynolds, was a retired principal and a delightful widow. She was a snowbird and only lived on Bay Isles November through February. She had recently broken her hip, so she would not come to Florida this winter, but would return in the Spring.
When I heard about the accident, I had sent her a care package brimming with my dried herbs. Most of my herbs I grew at Granny Dee’s, but I had a few select potted ones in the loft.
After dinner I cleaned up the kitchen, watered my herbs in the loft sunroom, finished five more papier-mâché candy canes for Santa’s float, and crashed into bed. The queen-sized bed was in my tiny bedroom on the main floor, where I snuggled with my downy white comforter tucked under my chin. Snickers always chose to start out the night at the foot of my bed on the wood floor, and by morning I often found him curled at my feet on the bed.
An open window in my bedroom that faced the beach brought in a cool breeze. My running top I had laid out for my morning jog rustled on the hook slightly as the breeze passed through. I fell fast asleep.
A soft noise outside made my eyes snap open. I stared at the red glowing numbers on my alarm cl
ock: 12:09.
“Damn,” I sighed. I only had five more hours of sleep left before my morning jog.
Another strange squeaky noise from outside made my body go rigid, and my head and wide-opened eyes turned toward the darkened window. None of the noises seemed to have woken Snickers, so I relaxed. It could be a late-night fishing boat in the distance passing through.
“Snicks, you there?” I whispered. His tail tapped the wooden floor three times. I liked to think it was his way of saying; I am here, or I love you.
“I love you too. Good night.”
Two thumps billowed from his wagging tail, as he laid under my bed. Good Night.
Before I knew it, I was once again sound asleep.
The next morning, I threw on my running clothes, ate a banana, and made my way to the boardwalk that led to the beach. Through the thick, gray fog I could see my café was still dark.
Through the mist I jogged alongside the sandpipers that walked briskly along the beach, and a lone seagull flew overhead, giving out a plaintive cry.
I turned up the beach and noticed a large log surrounded by seaweed on the edge of the surf.
I jogged toward the log with Snickers at my side.
A horrible thought hit me at the same time I saw it―a body, not a log, blocked my path. A foot in a rubber boot stuck out from the tangle of seaweed. I stepped closer, dread pooling in my stomach. I gawked at the pale face of the grungy fisherman.
I stared down at a motionless figure and my hand went to my mouth. I felt sick when I moved closer and peered down at Jim Grist, lying slumped awkwardly on the beach.
“Hello,” I said, hoping he was passed out drunk or sleeping off a nasty hangover. I gently tapped his side with my running shoe. No movement. I bent down and touched his bare wrist. It was cold and clammy.
The Goliath-winning fisherman was dead.
Coffee Solves Everything. ~ Anonymous