Read to Death

by Terrie Farley Moran

  I wondered how she was able to diminish the severity of discovering the dead body of a murdered man, but I didn’t ask.

  “This morning when I came out of the sheriff’s office and turned on my phone, I found an email she sent me with her flight confirmation. I never expected her to come down here, but I’m so happy she decided she would.”

  I was nearing the turnoff from the bridge onto Estero Boulevard and realized I didn’t know if we were going back to the café or heading home. “Right or left?”

  “Huh? Oh, I don’t need anything from the café. I finished the cleanup and shut down before you came back, and we definitely locked the doors, so take the right. Home it is.”

  We half listened to the radio asking everyone in earshot to attend a fund-raiser for one of the local nature sanctuaries.

  Bridgy snapped to attention. “That sounds like fun. I am going to need a lot of activities to keep Mom occupied.”

  “Can’t Ophie . . . ?”

  “Didn’t you hear a word I said? They can’t be left alone. They need a mediator at all times. Do you have any book clubs coming up that Mom might enjoy?”

  “I might. Remember when the moms took that French cooking class at Brooklyn Community College? The Potluck Book Club is reading Julia Child.”

  Bridgy clapped her hands. “That sounds perfect. Which book?”

  “Well, we had a bit of a problem deciding that. Maggie Latimer suggested Julie and Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously. You know the one. It was written by Julie Powell who decided to cook her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking.”

  “I remember the movie, although we never did see it. I bet we could find it on Netflix. Meryl Streep and Amy Adams, wasn’t it? Anyway, I know Mom would love to read it for the book club. She’d love the chance to talk about French cooking with the ladies.”

  I turned the radio volume to barely there and said, “Well, it is a bit complicated. You see, Jocelyn . . .”

  Bridgy laughed and flapped her hands like a toddler. “Say no more. If Jocelyn is involved, it’s complicated.”

  I turned the car into the parking lot of the Beausoleil Apartments and remained silent.

  Bridgy nudged my arm.

  “Hey, don’t poke. I’m parking the car.”

  “Tell me about the complications at the book club.”

  “You said, ‘Say no more.’”

  “A figure of speech.”

  I turned off the engine and said, “Okay, let’s get up to the Turret, and for a cold glass of just about anything, I’ll tell you the whole dreary story.”

  A few minutes later we were relaxing on the patio stretched out on side-by-side chaise lounges. Glasses of lemonade and a plate of sugar cookies sat on the round table at our elbows.

  “Look at that view.” Bridgy sighed contentedly. “It never gets old.”

  She was right. By a stroke of good fortune we rented an apartment on the fifth floor of the Beausoleil. Our patio and most of our windows overlooked the Gulf of Mexico, the beach and the barrier islands stretching up the coast of Florida. Sanibel, home to the Ding Darling National Wildlife Refuge, is a haven for birders and folks who collect shells. Pine Island is a fishing mecca. North Captiva, Cabbage Key, Cayo Costa and other lush islands continued northward. We were forever enthralled by the view.

  Bridgy snatched a cookie and took a bite before she asked me about the Potluck Book Club.

  “It was no big deal. Just the usual fuss. After Maggie suggested Julie and Julia, everyone agreed except Jocelyn.”

  “No surprise there.”

  “True. She said that if we were going to read about Julia Child, we should read something written by Julia Child. Jocelyn suggested My Life in France.”

  “So which book did the club pick?”

  “The argument got heated, and Jocelyn dug in her heels wide and deep. Finally, I recommended that the club members could read whichever book appealed to them, and we would talk about Julia Child, her cooking and her influence on Julie Powell. That satisfied most of the clubbies.”

  “Satisfied all but Jocelyn. She isn’t happy unless she’s triumphant.”

  “Well, she may still wind up triumphant. There is some really strong language in Julie and Julia. Who knew? I don’t censor the books. I read along with the clubs. I think the vocabulary will be a major topic of discussion.”

  “Have you heard complaints?”

  “Not yet, but I expect the meeting will be a raucous one.”

  Bridgy chuckled. “Won’t be the first time.”

  A fishing boat pulled into a dock on Pine Island. We watched a flock of seagulls flying in ever-narrowing circles waiting for the crew to toss the leftover bait into the Gulf. Two deckhands emptied a half dozen or so buckets over the side of the boat, and the seagulls dived and lunged, squawking at one another to get out of the way.

  “That’s it. We have to get someone on that boat.”

  “That boat?” Bridgy pointed at Pine Island.

  “No, silly. The Fisherman’s Dream.” I pulled my cell phone from my pocket. “I’ll call Cady. I’m sure I can get him to go on tomorrow’s fishing trip. He loves to fish.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cady answered on the second ring. He instantly reminded me why I liked him so much when he opened with, “How’s Bridgy?”

  “She’s right here beside me on our patio. We’re watching a flock of seagulls devour the leavings of a fishing boat docked on Pine Island. For the moment, all is serene.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way. Any news about Oscar?”

  Just the opening I needed. “Actually, I have a lead that could give you the scoop of the century.”

  His normally sweet tone of voice turned stern. “Sassy, what have you been up to? Please stay out of trouble.”

  I put on my brightest smile, hoping he would hear innocence in my voice. “I haven’t been up to anything. Unless you consider making a condolence call with a box of pastries being ‘up to something.’”

  “Condolence call? Where? The paper hasn’t been able to find any local relatives.”

  Good. His nose for news was on the scent.

  “I hired the van, you know, and Oscar along with it. I don’t want his friends and colleagues to be afraid to work with us in the future, so I brought some treats for their break room. Let them know we share their sorrow.”

  Cady’s voice relaxed. “I’m sure everyone appreciated your thoughtfulness.”

  He was hooked, so I continued on the thread of helpfulness. “I had no idea such lovely people worked at Gulf Coast Cab and Van. Darla, the receptionist, couldn’t be sweeter. And did you know Blondie Quinlin’s nephew works there? His name is Mugsy. He’s a dispatcher.”

  I may have laid it on a little too thick. Still, I could feel Cady’s curiosity right through the phone. “Really? And you managed to meet him? I suppose with an introduction from his aunt. What did Mugsy have to say?”

  That last question was tinged with sarcasm, but I stayed nonchalant. “He was shocked that Oscar was murdered and upset that his aunt—”

  “Sassy,” Cady interrupted. “Cut to the chase.”

  Hopefully I roused his interest enough to get him to do what I wanted. “Mugsy happened to mention that Oscar used to be a fill-in deckhand on a fishing boat but lost that job when he got into a fistfight with another crew member.” I skipped a beat. “No telling where a fight could lead.”

  “And did Mugsy happen to mention which of the hundreds of fishing boats on this part of the Gulf—”

  My turn to interrupt. “No, but Tony said it was the Fisherman’s Dream out of San Carlos Island.”

  “Tony? Boat basin Tony? Was he making a condolence call, too?” More sarcasm.

  “No, but Bridgy and I ran into him after the condolence call.”

 
“Sassy, even through the phone I can see your nose growing like Pinocchio’s. You’ve been snooping.”

  “Okay. Just listen for a minute.” I needed his cooperation, so I was willing to plead guilty to assorted crimes. I kept it simple. “When Mugsy told me about the fight that Oscar may have had, he didn’t know the name of the boat, so Bridgy and I went to ask Tony, because he knows everything about boats. He sent us to the Fisherman’s Dream.”

  “He sent you? You mean he put you in a cab and paid the driver twenty dollars to take you to San Carlos Island so you could snoop around a fishing boat?”

  In need of his help or not, I was losing patience. “Skepticism doesn’t become you. You know exactly what I mean. Tony told us where Oscar crewed part-time. He, too, had heard about the fight but didn’t have details. He said Captain Jackson could tell us, so off we went.” Then I played my trump card. “Bridgy’s future could be at stake.”

  Cady was silent for a minute. “I’m sorry. I know you’re concerned. It’s just that I worry when you wander off on these investigations of yours. No telling what could happen.”

  Time to snap the trap. “I know I’m impulsive, and I hate that everyone worries about me, which is why I called you. How would you like to go fishing on a charter with me tomorrow? My treat.”

  He was silent for so long that I was afraid my smartphone had turned stupid and lost the connection. Then I heard a long, exaggerated sigh. “Well, I suppose I’d better go along. Keep you out of trouble. And I’d feel better if we went dutch. What time should I pick you up? And where?”

  “Time?” I had no idea. “Let me think, but we can definitely meet at the café.”

  I’d noticed that Bridgy was fiddling with her iPhone while I was talking to Cady. I thought she was texting, probably with her mom. Then she held her phone screen in front of my face to show me that she’d searched and found the advertising page for the Fisherman’s Dream. I finger scrolled until I found tomorrow’s date. All the information I needed was right in front of me. I blew Bridgy a kiss and turned my attention back to Cady.

  “The Fisherman’s Dream departs at nine sharp tomorrow morning for a half-day run. Seems kind of late to start a fishing trip. I remember having to wake up when it was still dark the day you took Bridgy, Ophie and me out on your boat.”

  Cady set me straight immediately. “When it comes to the charter boats, those going out for a full day leave early. Half days leave later. That prevents traffic jams in the harbor, since those boats have to follow a schedule. Small fry like me can come and go pretty much as we please.”

  “So it pleased you to make us get up early. You could have let us sleep in and started fishing later in the day.”

  “Really, Sassy? That was months ago. Did it ever occur to you I might have had a reason, like the weather or a report that the grunts or groupers were running early? As I recall, all three of you caught fish.”

  Bridgy could see a fight was brewing, so she started giving me the “wrap it up” signal, rolling both her hands frantically, first forward, then backward.

  I held up a hand, palm out, in the universal sign for “just a minute.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I hoped I sounded contrite. “What time did you want me to be ready tomorrow?” I added a sweetener. “And what would you like for breakfast?”

  I was elated by the time we hung up. Captain Antoine Jackson would be trapped in his boat with me for hours. No way I wouldn’t get the information I wanted.

  Then Bridgy burst my bubble. “So, what happens when Cady shows up tomorrow morning and you don’t have tickets?”

  I grabbed her phone and headed for my laptop. In less than five minutes Cady and I were fully registered for the next day’s excursion on the Fisherman’s Dream.

  * * *

  Bridgy parked her snappy red Escort ZX2 on the opposite side of the parking lot from the café. I didn’t question her motives. I suspected we’d both be hard pressed to park anywhere near the scene of the crime for some time to come.

  I picked up the pile of today’s Fort Myers Beach News that was always waiting at our front door. I put the papers on the counter by the register and slipped off the string that held them together. Our current bill was right on top. I headed through the kitchen to the office to put it in our bill folder before I lost it entirely.

  Miguel had things humming in his usual orderly fashion. Something smelled fabulous. I reached for the oven door to investigate.

  “Don’t open the oven. You’ll ruin my pies.”

  I gave him a big grin. “Are we going to have something for the specials board today?”

  “You remember my friend Benny? He’s the sous chef at one of those elegant restaurants on Sanibel, and he got a bunch of us together for a great deal on pecans from a farmer up around Gainesville.” He pointed to a rumpled paper tacked to the bulletin board. “There’s the bill for our order. Great price for pecans fresh from the farm.”

  I inhaled deeply. “Pecan pie? Delish! Miguel, you are a marvel.” I continued on through to our tiny office. Behind me Miguel said, “You forgot the bill.”

  I circled back to the bulletin board and pulled the pecan bill off without removing the pushpin. Naturally, the rumpled paper ripped in the process. I taped the torn piece and put it and the newspaper bill into the folder that held a few other things I knew I had to pay soon.

  I could hear Bridgy telling Miguel that Cady was coming by to take me fishing.

  “Ay, a date so early in the morning. What will they do for the rest of the day, I wonder?”

  I could almost see him raise an eyebrow in expectation. I stepped back in the room.

  “Not exactly a date. We’re going out on a charter boat hoping to find the deckhand that got into a tussle with Oscar. We’ll be back as soon as the boat docks.”

  I didn’t have to look at Miguel to see him roll his eyes.

  “You better be back. The Teen Book Club is scheduled for this afternoon. I can’t stay for even a minute. I have to shop. My mother will be here tomorrow.” Bridgy practically sang the last part.

  I knew to grovel. “Don’t worry. I so appreciate you holding the fort down by yourself this morning, I wouldn’t dare be late.”

  “No problem. You’re doing this for me. Anyway, I sent Ophie a text, and she’ll pop in to help between her Treasure Trove appointments. We’ll manage, won’t we, Miguel?”

  “Sí.” He gave me the same stern look that I usually got from Cady. “But don’t think I approve of your antics. I am only free from worry because I know Cady will take care of you.”

  I was saved from replying by the ship’s bell attached to the side of our door frame. It clanged. Twice. The morning rush was about to begin.

  I did as much as I could, all the while keeping an eye out for Cady. As soon as he pulled into the parking lot, I took off my apron and spent a moment telling Bridgy what the folks at my tables would need. By the time Cady came through the door, I had two large coffees and two Miss Marple Orange Iced Scones ready to go. I turned him right around, and we headed for San Carlos Island.

  We were in the marina parking lot well before eight thirty, so I was surprised to see dozens of men, women and children wearing the latest fishing gear and carrying rods and tackle boxes milling around the main deck of the Fisherman’s Dream looking for their perfect spot to cast off as soon as we were out in the Gulf.

  Cady popped his trunk, reached in and tossed me a fisherman’s vest festooned with hooks and lures. “Here. Put this on. You may as well look the part.”

  Chagrined, I put on the vest. I suppose I wouldn’t do well as a spy. I thought to bring sunscreen and a visor, but fishing gear never entered my head. Cady put on his own vest and a khaki bucket hat to match. He carried three fishing rods and a beat-up metal tackle box. He slammed the trunk shut and took a few steps toward the charter boat before he asked if I had our
admission tickets.

  I harrumphed. I may not have thought a fig about fishing gear, but I wouldn’t forget the tickets that would provide my best chance at access to information that could help point Frank Anthony far away from Bridgy. I took the tickets out of my cross-body bag and fanned his face with them.

  The line was short. Two crew members wearing tanks with “FISHERMAN’S DREAM” plastered across their chests and backs were collecting tickets, so we moved quickly up the gangplank. Someone behind us yelled, “Hey, wait a minute.” For a second I had the wild thought that Lorgan spotted me and was going to drag me off the boat. But the call was for the family directly ahead of us. They’d handed in their rod and tackle rental slips with their admission tickets.

  Cady and I leaned against the safety rope on the side of the gangplank to let the father run down to retrieve the rental slips, and then we followed his family onto the boat deck. The fisher-folk were in high spirits. A man in the group to my left was recounting the rules to win the wager they’d all agreed upon, when another man shouted him down. “C’mon, Kirk. It’s the same rules every time we go out. Do you really need to spout ’em over and over?”

  Someone shouted from the crowd, “Problem is, he thinks he’s Captain Kirk. Well, this ain’t the good ship Enterprise.”

  Several of the men started da-da-da-ing the theme for the original Star Trek television show.

  With all the raucous laughter and good-natured commotion around us, I began to feel happy and confident. Once I found the person Oscar fought with, Bridgy would be in the clear. I looped my arm through Cady’s. “Let’s take a stroll around the deck before we choose our fishing spot.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  As we headed from stern to bow, Cady pointed to the right side of the ship. “I always think starboard is lucky for fishing. I caught my first prizewinning snapper from starboard of a boat smaller than this one. Never fished from port side again.”

  I praised his prowess and wisdom but gave up because he was busy marveling out loud at the splendor of the morning. There was a slight breeze coming in from the Gulf, and the sky was cloudy, the sun not over-bright. He pronounced it perfect fishing weather. He started to explain about wind from the west and how the clouds reduced sunlight on the water and made our hooks and lures more attractive to the fish. Blah, blah, blah.