by J. C. Eaton
I’d heard the expression, “Like a deer in the headlights,” but up until that second I’d never seen anyone who epitomized it better.
Cecilia sat steadfast, as if someone had glued her to the chair and duct-taped her lips.
I tried again. “Please? It would really help our table if you could scooch over to the next chair.”
Short of lifting her and dumping her into the other seat, I wasn’t sure quite what to do. However, in that brief moment it didn’t matter. Another woman approached the table and plunked herself into the chair that faced our table. If Cecilia reminded me of a nun, this woman was Mother Superior, and I’d seen her before.
“I’m Olga Loomis,” she said, “and I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
Olga Loomis. From the Railroad Club. The one who reminded me of Whistler’s mother.
“It better not be what I came here for,” the snazzier of the two women said. “Hand it over and I’ll be on my way. Trust me, honey, you don’t want my husband to barge in.”
Wonderful. An unhinged husband to add to the mix.
I pulled out the vacant chair that was sideways to our table and motioned for Cecilia to take it. She stood without saying a word and moved over to the new spot. That meant the third person to arrive would have their back to our table, but it was better than having Cecilia turned completely away from us.
“Thank you.” Then, without warning, I watched as the people around us shuffled their chairs to make room for the man who thundered his way to our table. I recognized him immediately and wondered how long it would take for Candace Kane’s husband to tip the scale from “upset” to “out-of-control.”
His voice was so loud it raised the decibel level in the restaurant. Not to mention a few eyebrows. “How long do you expect me to wait in the car? I thought you were buying bagels, not chitchatting with the locals.”
“Barry, sweetie,” Candace began, but Olga Loomis stood and pointed her long, bony finger in the man’s face.
“Until you learn to approach a table in a civilized manner, I insist you leave immediately. Bad enough we were subjected to your crassness at our Railroad Club meeting, but this is a public establishment and I will summon the management if I have to.”
Barry Kane didn’t budge an inch. Instead he turned to his wife. “Buy your damn bagels so we can get the hell out of here. I’ll wait for you in the car, but if you’re not back in ten minutes, you can find another way home.” With that, he exited Bagels ’N More in such a huff it reminded me of those Peanuts cartoons where Pig-Pen left a trail of dust behind him.
“Someone grab Phee’s arm and tell her to sit down,” my mother said to the women at her table. “I’m too far away to reach her.”
“I can hear you,” I whispered. “Everyone can.” I moved away from Cecilia’s table and plopped myself back in my chair as inconspicuously as possible.
Meanwhile, Candace Kane and Olga Loomis were no closer to collecting the gold charm than the man in the moon.
Cecilia clasped her hands in front of her and all she could do was mutter, “Oh dear, oh dear.”
“Listen,” Candace said, “you heard my husband. I need to get the hell out of here before he gets upset.”
Myrna plopped an elbow on the table and eyed all of us. “Before he gets upset? What the heck was that?”
Then Olga Loomis spoke. Loud and clear. “I thought he was doing us a favor and leaving if you’re not back in ten minutes.”
Candace shook her head. “Nope. That was an idle threat. But trust me, his repeat performance will be worse.”
“Not any worse than what’s coming through the doorway,” Louise said. “Isn’t that Herb with his pinochle cronies?”
Sure enough, Herb came marching in, along with his usual entourage: Kevin, Kenny, Bill, and Wayne. Without wasting a second, he motioned for the men to grab a table and then made a beeline for ours.
“If I thought you ladies were having a party, we would have joined you. Why are you at two different tables?” Then he turned his attention to Candace Kane. “Have we met before?”
Holy cannoli! If Barry Kane walks back in here, Herb will be minced meat. “Cecilia’s taking care of church business. Church business.” I shouted loud enough to be heard across the room.
“Geez,” Herb said, “what’s she doing? Giving away Vatican secrets?” Then he looked at Candace again. “Herb Garrett. And who do I have the pleasure of—”
Before anyone could answer, our waitresses returned and set up the stand that would hold the tray containing our orders. “I need to get in here,” she said to Herb.
The tension building in my neck released slightly as Herb mumbled something to Candace and sulked over to his table. Talk about a close call.
“Hurry up,” Candace said to Cecilia. “Give me the gold charm and I’ll be out of everyone’s hair.”
Olga steepled her fingers and took a breath. “The gold charm is mine. I always carry it in my purse. Unfortunately, when I was in the social hall a few weeks ago for bingo, I reached in my purse for a tissue and must have pulled out the little pouch. Undoubtedly it fell, and I didn’t realize it until I needed to use that purse again. Imagine my elation when I read that lost-and-found announcement from the Rec Center.”
“Nice story, lady,” Candace replied, “but that little doodad belongs to me. It was a gift from someone very close to my heart.”
“What on earth are you talking about? It’s a commemorative charm for all my diligent work at the Model Railroad Club.”
By now, I was at the opposite side of the table, but I could hear every word at Cecilia’s. I leaned over and spoke softly. “Will someone close to Cecilia stretch out a leg and give her a kick? Tell her to ask them what the engraving said. But bend down and keep your voice low.”
Who was I kidding? No one at my mother’s table could keep their voice low.
Myrna gave me a nod, but instead of kicking Cecilia she tried a different tactic. All of a sudden she used what best could be described as an outdoor voice. “That’s right, ladies. My salad bowl was engraved. Gee, engravings can tell us so much about a gift.”
Cecilia must have gotten the hint because next thing I knew she found her voice and asked Olga and Candace to tell her what their charm engravings said.
“ ‘To Olga Loomis, Choo-Choo Chick Extraordinaire, from the SCW Model RR Club.’ ”
“I’m so sorry,” Cecilia said, “that’s not what’s engraved on the back of the charm I found. Here, see for yourself.”
She pulled out the tiny pouch and showed Olga the inscription. Olga’s face turned beet red. So red, her blush was visible from where I was seated. “Harrumph. I earned my pin the respectable way.” Then she glared at Candace and, without saying another word, stood and left.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” Cecilia said, but at that point Olga was halfway across the room.
Candace motioned for Cecilia to hand over the pouch. “Now will you give me the damn charm so I can get out of here before my husband gives us a repeat performance?”
Next thing I knew the waitress was placing our orders in front of us. Salads, bagels, soups, and cheese spreads. Not the case for Cecilia’s table. With the exception of the plain toast Cecilia had ordered, only glasses of water were on her table. And one of them wasn’t about to remain upright for long.
Out of nowhere a third woman appeared. Petite, with a pixie-cut hairdo that reminded me of all those fairies in the Disney movies. Only their pixie cuts weren’t dyed orange and blue at the tips. And they weren’t wearing pink-hued, wire-rimmed glasses. She picked up the nearest water glass and threw the contents in Candace’s face. “I should have known you’d make an appearance to claim what isn’t yours. Why, you tap-dancing hussy. You make me nauseous. You’re nothing more than a man-kissing trollop. You stole my boyfriend right out from under me. At least I can reclaim the token of our short-lived romance.”
“‘Man-kissing trollop’? At least I wasn�
�t a home-wrecker. I heard about you. You set that ship in motion long before I ever arrived on the scene. Who the hell are you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Then Myrna started in again. “Did I ever show you ladies my engraved candlesticks? Beautiful inscription. Nothing like owning an engraved item. They were a gift from my late aunt Velma.” If she had said the word “engraved” one more time or any louder, the entire population in Baltimore would have heard her.
“I think Cecilia gets it,” I whispered to Myrna. “She’s not that spacey. I’m sure she’ll ask if those women know what the inscription says. Meanwhile, let’s pretend we’re eating.”
The pixie-cut-hairdo woman sat and crossed her arms while Cecilia handed Candace all the napkins within reach.
Then Cecilia continued. “Let’s start by having one of you tell me what the inscription says.”
I winked at Myrna and took a breath. Finally, we were on track. Or so I thought. The minute Cecilia asked her question, the women spoke at once. Unfortunately, that was the last civilized thing to occur at Cecilia’s table.
CHAPTER 30
Candace’s voice was the louder of the two. “You chug and tug in all the right places.”
The last time a comment set off a series of actions that would go down in history, it was William Prescott at the Battle of Bunker Hill when he said, “Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes.”
The chug-and-tug comment also took a spot in history—the gossip circles in Sun City West. It also resulted in a response from the Surprise Police Department, who had jurisdiction on that side of Grand Avenue. No sooner had Candace recited the inscription from the back of the gold charm when the pixie-haircut lady threw her body across the table and reached for Candace’s neck with her hands.
I knew, in that instant, that if something wasn’t done immediately to stop her, the situation would escalate beyond control. It didn’t take a psychic to read the tension at that table. And apparently, I wasn’t the only one to notice.
My aunt Ina leaped from her seat. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.” Then she screamed at the top of her lungs, setting off a much worse series of events. “EEEK! It’s a mouse. A large, brown mouse, and it’s running under the tables.”
Unfortunately, the word “mouse” must have been inaudible. In seconds, people were shrieking.
“A rat! There’s a huge rat in here!”
“Brown scorpion. Brown scorpion! Watch out!”
“Did someone say roaches? Where?”
“Bark scorpions! A bite can kill you.”
“Rats everywhere! Run! Run!”
In seconds the sound of chairs being moved and people racing to the door permeated the room. Glasses and plates fell from tables as people shoved and pushed their way out of there. Cecilia’s table was no exception.
The pixie-hairdo gal pushed herself back from the table and Candace Kane made the fastest getaway on record. Large, black boot on her foot and all. In a blink she managed to crisscross the adjacent tables and join the stampede at the door. I lost sight of her in a matter of seconds.
“I’ll be back for my charm!” the pixie-haired woman shouted, but not before toppling over two chairs and dodging everyone in sight.
Screams, shrieks, and squeals competed with the thunder of footsteps. The once-cozy little bagel bistro was now a full-fledged Armageddon. The only good thing for Bagels ’N More was that this wasn’t the Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook crowd. There would be no videos popping up to scare future customers away. Or so I thought.
With the exception of Herb, Kevin, Kenny, Wayne, and Bill, who were laughing their heads off at a nearby table, only the women from the Booked 4 Murder Book Club and I remained. Even the Sun Cities Ecumenical Council left their table. I imagined Olga Loomis led the charge.
“Look what you’ve done, Ina!” my mother exclaimed. “You nearly caused a riot.”
I stood to survey the scene and my jaw dropped. “Nearly? Nearly? Um, look around. Aunt Ina did cause a riot. And if I’m not mistaken, I hear police sirens. Listen. Yep. Police sirens and they’re getting louder.”
My aunt puffed out her chest and squared her shoulders. “I prevented a catfight. It was only a matter of seconds. The woman who looked like a punk version of Tinker Bell was about to strangle Candace.”
While the turmoil moved to the parking lot, the waitstaff, along with staff from the kitchen, hurried into the room with brooms, dust pans, and large trash containers.
Our waitress motioned to us. “I’ll be right there.”
“Now what do we do?” Louise asked.
“We pay our bill, leave a generous tip—and by generous I mean more than fifteen percent—and hightail it out of here,” my mother answered.
Cecilia hadn’t budged from her table. She just sat there shaking her head and muttering, “This is all my fault.”
To make matters worse, if that was at all possible, Herb and his crew joined Cecilia and the book club ladies. They grabbed the nearest chairs and plopped themselves down.
“I haven’t laughed so hard since that pet parade Harriet’s dog was in,” Wayne said.
“It’s not funny,” Cecilia sobbed. She wadded up a wet napkin from the table and proceeded to wipe her face.
“Here, take a clean one,” Herb offered.
As Cecilia started to dab her face, our waitress came over. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was in the kitchen putting in an order and the next thing I knew it sounded like the scene from one of those monster movies. And look outside. There are two Surprise Police cars pulling in.”
“I’m so sorry,” Cecilia said to the waitress. “It’s all—”
“A terrible, terrible thing,” I blurted out. “Mass hysteria or something. The geriatric crowd can be unpredictable.”
At that point my mother shot me a look and I shrugged.
“I suppose,” the waitress said. “It’ll get chalked up to insurance losses. Lots of broken plates and stuff, but no real physical damage. Most of the people who left are regulars, so we’re hoping they’ll square up their bills when they return.”
Kevin and Kenny glanced at each other and shook their heads. Thankfully, the waitress didn’t notice.
“Is there anything else I can get any of you?” she asked.
Yeah. A strong antacid.
“We’re all set,” a few of the women replied.
The waitress proceeded to hand out the individual bills, and I did a mental eye roll, knowing the next twenty minutes would be spent doing fourth-grade math. When she headed back to the kitchen, I turned to Cecilia. “On a positive note, at least the charm has been narrowed down to two women and not three.”
“And one of them is Candace,” she said. “You know what that means, don’t you? She’ll be at all of our Rhythm Tapper rehearsals plaguing the daylights out of me for that thing. I might as well give it to her and be done with it.”
I widened my eyes. “Tell her that if she takes it, it’ll be like an admission of guilt regarding Wilbur’s death. A piece of jewelry with that kind of an inscription all but shouts ‘other woman.’ And tell her revenge is the oldest motive for murder. Let’s see how fast she distances herself from that charm.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Cecilia asked.
I bit my lower lip. “Then she’s not our killer.”
“What if the other woman contacts me? The punk-looking one. She has my name from the Rec Center.”
My mother took a deep breath and looked directly at Cecilia. “Tell her the same thing. That the inscribed charm is an admission of guilt. We’ve got to speed this investigation along somehow. Roxanne is rotting in jail and those sheriff’s deputies are more concerned about getting their paperwork done.”
As the women haggled over their bills, two police officers conversed with the hostess.
“Better get a move on before we get stuck here,” I said.
Surprisingly, no one objected and our entire crew, complete
with Herb’s cronies, vacated the place in record time. The parking-lot crowd was down to less than a dozen people and none of us wasted any time getting into our cars.
“Call me tomorrow,” my mother shouted, “and next time you come up with a plan, Phee, run it by me.”
“Hi, hon,” Marshall said when I came in the doorway. “You’re just in time for the news at nine. Something about a riot at one of the local restaurants. One of the customers caught the whole thing on his cell phone and forwarded it to all four TV stations. Honestly, some of these people are totally out of control. Carrying on like crazies if someone messes up their order.”
“Um, yeah, about that . . . it was Bagels ’N More and Aunt Ina sort of caused the riot when she tried to prevent a catfight.”
Marshall lowered the sound on the TV and sat up. “Are you all right? What on earth happened?”
I glanced at the TV and sat next to him. “Watch their version first. I’ll fill in the rest.”
By the time Marshall finished watching the TV and listening to my commentary, he looked as if he’d fought a battle. “Good grief. It just goes from bad to worse. Listen, before things really get out of hand, maybe you should back off a bit and let Nate and me pursue the other leads. You were lucky you didn’t get hurt.”
“Oh, I wasn’t in any real danger. I’m not loony enough to throw myself into a crowd.”
“True, but it sounds as if some of the players are more than slightly unpredictable.”
“The pixie-haircut lady?” I asked.
“For starters. Did anyone get her name?”
I shook my head. “It might be Tracee Pearl. She was the one who admitted to Nate she had some sort of dalliance with Wilbur. Darn. I should have asked him what she looks like. Don’t worry. If she wants that charm badly enough, she’ll call Cecilia. Say, how did your meetings go today with Gerald Albus and Francine Elitsky? Any luck?”
“I’m not sure. I wanted to tell you the minute you got home, but then the news came on. Neither of those people had any strong motivation to murder Wilbur, but both of them were really annoyed with what they referred to as ‘Wilbur’s excessive nitpicking and tattling.’ Francine said he was worse than a schoolyard kid, always reporting infractions to Human Resources.”
