Cast Iron Alibi

by Victoria Hamilton

  Jaymie smiled and teared up, sniffing. “Thanks, Mel! I know that, but I appreciate you saying it.” She cleared her throat and made the third pie iron, back to cherry.

  “I think mine’s done,” Rachel said. She brought over the pie iron and opened it up, letting the pie, steaming hot, slide onto the melamine plate Jaymie held out. She had a sifter ready and dusted the pie with icing sugar, then cut it into wedges and took some photos. The red filling oozed out onto the plate. “I’ve got paper napkins and plates ready, Rach, if you don’t mind doing the honors.”

  They all ate the pies and were polite about it, though they were scalding hot and a couple were burnt. Lips and tongues were burned and then cooled with iced tea, lemonade and beer. The women, more relaxed now, were yawning and stretching, long silences punctuating conversation that turned to life and love, kids and dating.

  “You were going out with that hunky detective guy a few years ago,” Brandi said with a glance at Jaymie. “We saw photos of him in your local paper. Lord, why didn’t you grab him and marry him? I would have. You’d never see me outside of my bedroom after that.”

  There was polite if nervous laughter. Jaymie thought back to her most recent dating life. She had gone out with a few guys, but Joel was her first serious boyfriend; he moved into the Queensville home with her. It broke her heart when he cheated on her, then ditched her. After that came Daniel, the multimillionaire (probably billionaire by now) who wanted to move too quickly to marriage; she knew all along that it wasn’t right with him. Then there was what Brandi referred to, her kinda-sorta flirtation with Zack, a detective. He was hunky, and dream-worthy, and . . . not right for her. They had nothing in common other than the way he showed up in her daydreams as the handsome duke from one of Melody Heath’s historical romances.

  “You have to find the right guy . . . the right guy for you, I mean. Not for the world, not for your friends or family . . . for you,” Jaymie said. “Jakob is my guy.”

  Melody sighed. “I wish I’d waited for Mr. Right instead of Mr. Right-for-the-moment.”

  Jaymie watched her face, the flickering flames shadowing patterns over her cheeks. Melody was not beautiful, like Rachel was, or striking, like Brandi. However, when you looked into her eyes you could sometimes see a whole other level to her, a world behind them.

  Did she know her friend as deeply as she thought she did? They talked on the phone occasionally, but Mel asked more questions than she answered. Older than the rest of them by several years, Melody had moved in with them midterm, responding to an ad on a billboard at the university, after a boyfriend she had been living with moved on and she couldn’t afford the rent on their apartment anymore. She had been a good roommate, quiet and introverted, seeming to get lost in the bigger personalities of Gabriela, Brandi and the few others who moved in and out with them over the three years. Jaymie and her (and Rachel) got along better than the others, bonding over their love of history and books. “I’m sorry things are bad for you,” she said simply.

  Melody shrugged and shook her head. “Nothing I can’t handle. Anyway, how about the rest of you. Rachel, you were dating someone, weren’t you?”

  “A nice guy at work, but it fizzled into nothing.” She moved restlessly. “Everything kind of seems off to me right now. Mom and Dad have moved back to Jamaica. I visit when I can, but it doesn’t feel like home to me, though I got a cute tattoo of a doctorbird . . . it’s a swallowtail hummingbird from Jamaica!” She showed them the tattoo in the semi-light of the fire, on her upper thigh.

  “Hey, tattoos! I’ve got a few,” Brandi said. “My ankle bracelet is the latest”—she displayed the woven tattoo around her ankle—“and some more I can’t show you.”

  Gabriela smiled. “I got a tattoo; one for my baby Fenix, right over my heart.”

  “I’ve never gotten one,” Jaymie said.

  “Me neither, though I’ve thought of getting a quill and scroll tattoo on my wrist,” Melody said. “That would be cool.”

  “Anyway, work is okay, I guess. Good money,” Rachel continued. “I hate my apartment. My cat died last year and I miss him, but I don’t know if I should adopt another. No guy sparks me . . . you know?” she said. “Not like the way Jakob did for you.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m whining, I know. Nothing is actually wrong, but nothing is right, either, you know?”

  Jaymie nodded. “I get you, Rach. I’ve been there.” So that was what was behind her friend’s vague sense of unhappiness; it was life angst, the feeling of not being sure of what you’re doing or how you’re going. “For a long time I kept moving forward, lots of small jobs, but nothing I was crazy about. Then Joel dumped me. To make myself feel better I jumped into Grandma Leighton’s old cookbooks and collecting old kitchen stuff, and . . . then I met Jakob—”

  “And dead bodies piled up in Queensville,” Melody muttered with a side-glance and smile.

  “—and voilà!” Jaymie finished, with a laugh and look at Melody. “Happy as a clam now. Despite the dead bodies. You have to figure out what you need to make you happy and grab it with both hands.” She looked over to Gabriela. “At least you’re happy, right, hon? You’ve got it all.”

  She looked up with a smile. “I am. Logan is wonderful—”

  “He’s a bore,” Brandi said.

  “And I love being a mom,” Gabriela said, making a face at Brandi. “In fact, it’s hard being away from them.”

  “Men are effing users and creeps,” Brandi said with a belligerent tone. She shot an odd look at Gabriela, maybe waiting for her to disagree, as Courtney nodded in agreement. “In fact, guys are such users, why shouldn’t women play their own game back at them?”

  There was silence for a moment, then Melody said in a mild tone, “You mean women should be users and creeps too?”

  “Why not?” Brandi, her sharp bone structure and high cheekbones cast in sharp relief by the firelight, looked around the circle.

  “You should know. You use guys and discard them like dirty socks,” Gabriela said harshly. “Look at what you did to poor Terry.”

  “Poor Terry?” Brandi said. “What do you know about poor Terry?” She leveled a steady look at their friend, then looked away. “He had his chance and he blew it,” she muttered, tears clogging her voice. “Marriage is dull anyway.”

  “But you’re dating a lot?” Jaymie said, thinking of the sexy pic and text she had seen on her friend’s phone. “All my other girlfriends say it’s hard to meet guys. How do you do it?”

  “Hah! She’s the queen of online dating,” Gabriela said, confirming Jaymie’s guess. “She meets guys on dating apps and all kinds of social media.”

  “Dating apps, gaming apps, cheating apps . . . and why not? I’m hot, young, free and single, ready to mingle.”

  “And you have three kids at home!” Gabriela said.

  “Who have everything they need or want!” Brandi yelled back at her. “You have to get down off your high horse. We’re not all Miss Perfect Suzy Homemaker, not even Jaymie! You sure aren’t, no matter how much you pretend.”

  Jaymie sighed and looked up the dark hill behind their property. She was glad the Redmonds weren’t home, but if Brandi got too loud, the cottagers on either side of her might complain. She heard plenty when the Leightons had renters who had loud parties and she didn’t want to be accused of having one herself. Time to change the subject. “Anyway, so . . . we’ll drive up to Canada tomorrow, right? And hit the Bend?”

  “Woo-hoo!” Brandi said, punching the air with one fist. “Damn straight.”

  “What’s the Bend?” Courtney asked.

  “Grand Bend. It’s a resort town on the Canadian side of Lake Huron. It’s our old hangout when we all went to Western U. I hope you don’t mind, guys,” she said to the others, “but I’ve invited a few of my Queensville friends to join us. Just for the day, though. You met them at the wedding: Bernie and Heidi, and my best Queensville friend, Valetta.”

  “The more the merrier,” Rachel said with a smi
le, touching Jaymie’s arm.

  “Much merrier, I hope,” Melody said. “Can’t get much unmerrier, can we?”

  Six

  After putting out the fire and tidying up the grove, Jaymie scrubbed the pie irons clean, hung them out to dry on a nail on a pine tree near the edge of her property, and followed her friends into the cottage. And so, to bed. There was a traffic jam in the one bathroom, making for laughing remarks about how while camping, at least, there was one large public washroom they could all fit into.

  Jaymie, Melody and Rachel were in one room, while Brandi, Courtney and Gabriela had taken the room with the two double beds. They were about to settle down for the night when Brandi, who had not yet changed into night attire, decided she wanted to take the pullout sofa bed in the living room. She liked to sprawl, to “starfish,” as she called it. She dumped her pillow and pajamas on the pullout and said, with studied nonchalance, “I’m going for a walk now that it’s cooler. I’ll be back. Leave the door unlatched, will you, Jaymie?”

  “Sure.” Jaymie watched her stroll out the front door, lips pursed, thinking how odd it was for her lazy friend to take to walking in the middle of the night. Oh well, she thought, none of my business.

  It was unexpectedly odd sleeping in a room with her old bunkies; at least back when they shared a house most of them had their own rooms, except for a couple who cut costs by sharing. What she discovered, as she tried to sleep, was that Rachel chuckled while snoozing, and Melody—in the top bunk—turned over and over and over either in her sleep or trying to sleep. Jaymie, who had taken the bottom bunk, was repeatedly shaken out of her doze by the shuddering of the bed frame. Note to self, she thought: see what she could do about tightening up the bunk bed frame for future guests.

  But finally she slept. Some time later, with the cottage silent, Hoppy jumped up on Jaymie—she had taken the bottom bunk knowing that would happen—and licked her face, whining. “Hoppy, come on,” she whispered, not wanting to wake up Rachel and Melody. “Not now.” But the little dog had to piddle; he danced around beside the bed, humming an insistent whimper. He wasn’t used to so many strangers, staying up late, and staying out at the cottage without family. She rolled out of bed and stole through the dark to the living room, hoping she didn’t wake up Brandi. But as she tiptoed past the pullout, it looked odd . . . she crept close. It was exactly the same as she had left it, hours before. No Brandi.

  Maybe she was outside on the deck.

  But no, no Brandi there, either, nor anywhere else that Jaymie could see. Hoppy skittered off to piddle as she stood on the back deck watching the moon up in the sky. It was a lovely night. That same nighthawk circled and cried, and something small rustled in the bushes. She hoped Hoppy wouldn’t go after it; God forbid it was a skunk. Crickets silenced as Hoppy nosed into the clumps of grass, but the peeper frogs kept up their incessant chirp. “Hoppy!” she whispered, sleepily wrapping her arms around herself. “Come on, sweetie, bedtime.” Her little dog came back and she returned to bed, with Hoppy curled up at her feet, falling asleep with a doggie sigh of contentment.

  Where would Brandi have gone, Jaymie wondered, on her walk? Even walking a circuit of the whole American side of the island wouldn’t have taken so long. Brandi, like the circling bird, always was a nighthawk. Uneasy, she got back up and crept into the other bedroom. She approached Courtney and touched her shoulder. “Court,” she whispered, hoping she didn’t awaken Gabriela. “Courtney, Brandi’s not in her bed. She wasn’t too drunk, was she? Should I be worried?”

  Courtney propped herself up on one elbow, blinking and rubbing her eyes. The tanned oval of her face was barely visible in the nightlight that illuminated the bathroom. “Don’t worry about her, Jaymie,” she whispered, knuckling her eyes. “She didn’t want to make a fuss, but she was going to go to some bar on the mainland and check it out. She . . . she does bar reviews online and said she was going to do it.”

  “Oh. Okay. She could have told me. She does know that the ferry stops at eleven, right? How is she planning to get back here?”

  Courtney shrugged and laid back down.

  “I’m not her jailer,” Jaymie muttered and headed back to bed.

  • • •

  The next morning dawned lovely, hot, a real August stunner, with cicadas buzzing at seven. Jaymie was first up. At some point in the night Brandi did come home and was sleeping, sprawled out, wearing a T-shirt and underwear. But they couldn’t spend all day sleeping. “Who wants aebleskivers?” Jaymie said, loudly banging around in the kitchen.

  “Whatchamacallits?” Rachel said, joining her and yawning.

  “There’s coffee there, Rach, in the pot,” Jaymie said, pointing to the drip coffee maker. “Gabriela, can you or someone make sure Brandi is up? And Courtney?”

  Brandi grumbled, but did haul herself out of the pullout. Mugs in hand, all were perched at the counter and table as Jaymie described aebleskivers. “They’re like Danish donuts, kinda sorta, or little round pancakes, and they’re made in this pan,” she said, holding up a cast iron pan that had seven round indentations. She whipped up the batter and tried her hand at them on the stove. As each one fried golden she turned it over with tongs—it was said that the Danes used knitting needles to turn them—and finished them off, popping them onto small plates for her guests to try; each person got a couple. They were good, served with jam and syrup.

  “Now . . . let’s get moving!” Jaymie said, scrubbing the pan with plain hot water, then wiping it out with a clean cloth. “We’re going to go to Canada!” She set the cast iron pan outside on the deck to dry completely, and hurried her friends along.

  As she packed a beach bag with her favorite towel, a birthday gift from Valetta with a depiction of Hoppy on it, she shared the mirror for a moment with Brandi, who was carefully lining her eyes with black liquid liner. “I don’t know how you do that,” Jaymie said, grabbing her UV protector lip balm and tossing it into her bag.

  “Practice.”

  “Say, Bran, what time did you get in last night?”

  “About two,” she said. “Why?”

  “Oh, I got up to let Hoppy out to piddle, but when I saw you were still gone, I was worried. I asked Courtney, and she told me you had gone to a bar on the mainland.” She watched her friend’s face in the mirror. “How did you get back to the island?”

  “By ferry, of course,” Brandi said.

  Jaymie didn’t say anything about her friend’s lie, but when she turned it was to catch Courtney trying to get Brandi’s attention, her cheeks red. When Jaymie saw her, she turned away swiftly. Her feelings were a little hurt, but she was not going to dwell on it. Whatever Brandi had done, wherever she had gone—on the island, most likely, or she would have known the ferry did not run late at night—it was her own business.

  “We’d better get a move on,” Jaymie said as she checked her phone. Val had texted to say she and the others were on their way. Jaymie made sure she had taken care of everything. She got down on the floor and cuddled her little dog. “I have to go away all day, sweetie,” she murmured, nuzzling the pooch. She had considered taking Hoppy to Canada with them, but Grand Bend beach was not open to dogs other than early morning and late evening; it wouldn’t be fair to any of them to restrict their day. She put down multiple pee pads, made sure the air conditioner was on and working, and left enough food, water, treats and toys so that he would be all right for the ten hours or so they would be gone.

  “Let’s go so I can lock up!”

  They walked down to the ferry dock, arriving as it pulled up. Valetta had, as she suggested, borrowed a passenger van from a friend. She brought it over on the ferry, accompanied by Heidi and Bernie. “Come on, folks,” she said, motioning to them all. “We have to load up and get this van back on the ferry to ride over to Johnsonville, where we begin our journey into Canada!”

  Jaymie reintroduced Val, Bernie and Heidi to her university pals, and to Courtney. After some questioning looks and snide remarks from Brandi
toward a sweetly oblivious Heidi, who wore an itty-bitty bikini top and short shorts, they all piled into the van with beach bags, coolers, suntan lotion, a change of clothes (for after swimming, if anyone did so), and much more. They pulled back onto the ferry, were taken to the Canadian side of the river and disembarked at the Johnsonville CBSA, Canadian Border Services, then went through customs, where they declared that the intention of their visit was to get thoroughly burned and water-drenched by dinner. Brandi added “to get wasted” and flirted with the Canadian border guard; he stoically nodded, and they were off. From there it was north to Sarnia, then east on the 402 to Strathroy, then north again on Highway 81 all the way into Grand Bend.

  It was a longish drive, and she worried that no one was as excited as she was. But Melody, at least, was happily in her element; she sat in the back row of three seats between Bernie and Heidi, grilling them on their lives. Jaymie heard bits and pieces of conversation float forward . . . What kind of gun training did you take? to Bernie, and Your family bought real estate in the early nineteen-hundreds in New York City? How much land? Where? of Heidi.

  Brandi groused, “Don’t you ever stop working, Mel?” she shot over her shoulder, but the writer ignored her. “Mel . . . hey, Mel!” Brandi said. “Did you know your weirdo husband friended me on social media?”

  There was silence for a long minute, nothing but the sound of the highway asphalt under the van and the growl of the tires on rumble strips as they approached a crossroads, then Mel, her voice filled with tension, asked, “You didn’t accept his friend request, did you?”

  Brandi chuckled. “Of course I did.” She threw a mischievous grin over her shoulder and winked. “Don’t I always say, the more the merrier?”

  There were a few moments of silence after that, though Mel may have grumbled under her breath that even she hadn’t accepted her husband’s friend request. Brandi leaned her head against the window wearily, staring down at her phone and flipping through messages.