Julio was quick to agree with Larry, but there was an unmistakable hesitancy in his voice. I tried to draw him out. “Julio, why do you think it would be fun to hang out with Ed Kennedy?”
“Well, for one thing, Ed needs to have some cooler friends. Except for Audrey, his friends are losers.”
The whole group laughed as Julio and Larry high-fived and fist bumped each other.
Jenna, usually quiet but filled with good ideas when she can break through her shyness to share them, said, “I think that is the whole point. In the beginning, didn’t you expect Ed to turn out to be a big loser?”
Holly bobbled in her chair. “Exactly. When the book opened with Ed foiling the bank robber and becoming a hero, I thought he had no place to go but downhill. I kept waiting for him to fail. I think he kept waiting for himself to fail.”
I felt my phone vibrate. I slid it out of my pocket just enough to see that it was Bridgy. I excused myself, answered and said, “Hold on, please.”
As I practically ran out the front door, I heard Daphne say, “Must be an important call.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Do you think it’s her boyfriend?”
Larry asked, “When we came in, the fella who was here, isn’t he her boyfriend?”
I reached the door, opened it and stepped outside before I could hear the answer and any further speculation the clubbies might have about my personal life. I looked around and, satisfied there was no one around to overhear, said, “Okay, I can talk. You’ve been gone forever. What’s going on? Why are you talking to a criminal attorney?”
“No big deal. Owen thought it was time I met with Clarence Darrow and put her on retainer in case the sheriff’s deputies persist in bothering me.”
“Clarence Darrow?”
Bridgy laughed. “Not really, but close. Her name is Georgette Darrow. Believe me when I tell you, she has one office wall covered with pictures and ancient newspaper clippings. It looks like every snap ever taken and every word ever written about Clarence Darrow.”
“Are they related?”
“I was afraid to ask for fear she would bring out some genealogy charts and we’d be there a few more hours while she explained something about third cousins twice removed. Better not to know.”
“So what did she say about . . . Oscar?”
“Not much. She mostly listened. I told her that I found Oscar and how Lieutenant Anthony has been questioning me ever since. Georgette seems to think that the questions are coming hot and heavy because they think I may have seen or heard something that I don’t realize I saw or heard. It’s like I’m the sheriff’s department’s personal game of Clue.”
“If she’s right, and all they think you have is information, that’s a huge relief. Listen, I have to go. I have the Teen Book Club here. See you in a few?”
“Actually, I am really wiped. Owen said he would take me for a bite to eat and then drive me home. Do you have your key for the Escort? If not, I think there is a spare—”
“I’m sure I have mine. It’s always on my key ring.” I pulled my keys from my pocket. “Yep. Got it. I’ll bring your car home safe and sound. See you later.”
I stood up, and as I shoved both my phone and my keys in my pocket, I knew I’d heard something in Bridgy’s voice that hadn’t been there for a long time, and I wondered if she was starting to like Owen enough to go on a date or if a bite to eat was just a bite to eat.
I opened the door, and the clubbies were happily munching on freshly made potato chips and telling Miguel he was the best cook on planet Earth.
Angela dug in the bowl for another handful. “Or maybe in the universe. I’m not convinced there are extraterrestrials out there, but one thing I do know: If they are there, you can out-cook ’em.”
“Ow, little green men. Sure. And what would you do if you met one?” Larry practically growled.
I couldn’t take another round of Larry and Angela, so I went over to wrap up the meeting. No one had any suggestions for our next book, so I said I would email three names to them tomorrow, and they could vote. We’d read the book with the most votes. Everyone “yessed” me. The yarn bombs were far more interesting at the moment.
I offered to find a spot where I could store the chair covers between meetings, but to my surprise, even the boys wanted to take the yarn bombs with them. I had a feeling the chair covers would visit lots of places before the Teen Book Club met again.
Laughing and teasing, the group headed for the door. I was sliding the cover off my chair when Holly came running back. “Oh, my mom really needs to talk to you. Could you give her a call? She told me to tell you it’s about Oscar. She treats me like such a baby. She probably didn’t want to say it’s about the murder. Honestly, mothers.”
And she ran out the door behind her friends. I pulled my phone from my pocket and began scrolling for Maggie Latimer’s number.
Chapter Sixteen
I consider Holly’s mother a friend. Not only is Maggie a talented instructor of yoga and meditation who has taught me wonderful approaches to both, she’s also an enthusiastic member of several of our book clubs. I found Maggie in my cell and was just about to press the picture of the little green phone under her name when Miguel came out of the kitchen and asked if I needed a ride home.
I told him I was driving Bridgy’s car home.
“Then you heard from her?”
“I did. She’s fine. I think this meeting was Owen’s way of preparing her so that if she needs a criminal lawyer down the road, it won’t be such a shock, since she now has the lawyer on retainer. Not like bringing in a stranger.”
“Ay! May she never need this lawyer. Still, for the peace of mind, it will be money well spent. Can I get you anything before I leave?”
“No, thanks. You were a huge help today, and the potato chips were a stroke of genius. Calmed those kids right down. They are such fun, but they can be a handful, especially when I have other things on my mind.”
Miguel laughed. “Think how their poor mothers feel. Mañana, chica.”
I locked the door behind him, sat down and called Maggie. She answered the phone immediately. “Sassy, good. Holly swore she would deliver my message, but, well, you know kids. She might actually think she delivered the message, but . . .”
“Miguel and I were just talking about the difficulties of raising kids, which is pretty funny considering neither of us have any. So what’s up? Holly made it sound serious.”
I could picture Maggie leaning her head toward her left shoulder with her shiny blond ponytail dangling. I’d observed it dozens of times. The deeper the lean, the more serious her thoughts.
“Well, it could be nothing, but Tammy Rushing has, how can I say this? She’s disappeared.”
“Disappeared, as in vanished?”
“Without a trace. The cottage she rented for the season is empty. She’s gone and so are her belongings and her lease isn’t up for another two weeks. I heard it directly from Jake Gilman, who owns the cottages. He takes my “Yoga for Arthritis” class. You know Jake’s cottages, the ones near the bay, past the library? Anyway, Tammy’s been complaining about a dripping faucet. It was interrupting her sleep. Not the speediest of landlords, Jake finally got around to sending the plumber this morning, but Tammy didn’t answer the door. Plumber called Jake, who went over to let the plumber in with a passkey. Tammy was gone. Not a good-bye to anyone, and she didn’t leave so much as a hairpin behind.”
I was stunned. “She didn’t tell Jake she was leaving?”
“No. He said that was the weird part. When people have to leave early, they always try to get some money back. Tammy didn’t even ask for the return of her security deposit. Left the key on the kitchen table and a quart of milk turning sour in the fridge.”
I thought for a second or two. “Maybe she had a family emergency and was too distracted to think about money. She j
ust needed to get home ASAP.”
“Noooo. There’s something more. I was at the community center a little while ago, dropping off some old jigsaw puzzles for the rec room. The sewing class was letting out, and I bumped into some of Tammy’s pals. You know that Margo and her friend Sonja. There was another woman . . .”
“Could it be Angeline Drefke? She takes the sewing class with them. I know because they are all in the Cool Reads/Warm Climate Book Club. They once did a little show-and-tell with some aprons they made. And every one of them was with us at the Edison and Ford estates.”
“Exactly. They were all on the trip when Oscar was killed, and now Tammy has bolted for no reason anyone can think of. Well, I can tell you the ladies thought it was highly suspicious. They didn’t think she was scheduled to leave so soon and were more than willing to point a finger straight at her. Seems to me, she didn’t have a true friend among them. Snowbirds.”
I couldn’t help but notice that Maggie used the same tone of exasperation when she talked about snowbirds that Holly did when she talked about mothers. It was totally comical. Although Tammy Rushing’s disappearance was not.
“Maggie, do you think, er, is it possible that Tammy had a falling-out with Jake? We all know he can be a tad gruff. Maybe she just found another rental for the last few days of her stay. Under those circumstances she wouldn’t be looking for a refund. She’d just go.”
Maggie’s “Well . . .” was drawn out into several syllables. Then the rest of the sentence tumbled out. “Why isn’t she answering calls, texts or emails from her snowbird buddies in the sewing club?”
She had me there.
Then she dropped the bomb, and it wasn’t made of yarn. “Could her leaving so hurriedly have anything to do with Oscar’s murder? Do you think we should tell Ryan?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Great idea. I’ll let Ryan know. He and Frank Anthony can worry about Tammy Rushing. I have enough on my mind with Bridgy being questioned all the time.”
Maggie said she would be coming to the Potluck Book Club and asked if Miguel was going to make any special Julia Child dish. I think she was disappointed that I had no idea.
* * *
Every time I turn my key in the lock and open the door to the Turret I get a warm feeling in my heart. Not only are Bridgy and I lucky enough to live in paradise, we also have an expansive view from five stories above. I opened the verticals that kept the afternoon sun from fighting with the air-conditioning for control of the apartment temperature, and I sighed. Yep. It was all still there. Sea, sand and greenery.
I headed for the shower, still thinking how lucky we were. I found myself humming the theme from Star Trek. For a moment, I wondered how the music came to be rattling around in my brain. Usually, I was more of a country music singer in the shower, a little Carrie Underwood, or some Martina McBride. Then I remembered the men on the Fisherman’s Dream teasing their friend Kirk. I quoted, “To boldly go where no man has gone before,” and turned the water full blast, ready to scrub away the stress of the day.
Of course, the thought of the Star Trek groupies reminded me that I hadn’t had any success in finding out anything about the fight Oscar had with his shipmate. I still didn’t know if there truly was a fight. If so, who was the other deckhand? It was like the entire trip had been a waste of my time.
I was massaging conditioner into the ends of my hair when I heard my smartphone. I loved my new ringtone, Cookie Monster singing his theme song. It rang again while I was tidying the bathroom, and I sang along, but not before yelling, “I’ll call back,” as if Cookie could relay the message.
Much as I wanted to slide into my footie pajamas, there was always the chance Bridgy might bring Owen home with her, so I opted for clean shorts and a bright pink tee, while I decided how to spend my evening.
I remembered that Bridgy’s mom’s idea of crisis resolution had always been to fill the days with busywork until the crisis went away. While we were waiting for our college applications to come back yea or nay, she found dozens of chores to keep us occupied. First, Bridgy’s grandma needed her closets cleaned, then a neighbor needed babysitters for her five-year-old twins, and of course Sister Cornelius was running a bake sale for the elementary school summer camp and needed dozens and dozens of cupcakes, along with a pineapple upside-down cake or two.
Once Bridgy’s mom got to town, I wouldn’t have the time or the peace and quiet to keep up with my book club reading. I decided to get through a few chapters of My Life in France while I waited for Bridgy to come home.
I barely had the book in my hand when Cookie Monster started singing again. Cady. I told him that Bridgy was on her way home. Then I complimented him on his terrific handling of the kids earlier in the day.
“You really connect easily. That is quite a gift.”
I could almost see him blushing right through the phone. Then he said, “Ah, listen, Sassy . . .” and I knew he switched from blushing to running his palm across his head, smoothing his hair front to back as if he’d managed to survive a windstorm.
I gave him a noncommittal “Uh-hm.”
“I thought it was a bad idea for us to go on the Fisherman’s Dream, because I knew you would start nosing around, and I was afraid you would get into trouble. That’s why I went with you.”
He paused, and when I didn’t respond, he continued, the relief in his voice palpable. “As it turns out, I’m glad we went, because you didn’t get into trouble, and now you have no reason to go near the boat again.”
When he stopped talking, I knew I’d have to say something. “Cady, thanks for indulging me today. I promise to give you no further cause for worry.”
We chatted for a few more minutes, and when we hung up, I was satisfied that he bought my shtick. Whatever I chose to do, it wouldn’t be his concern.
I found My Life in France to be a fascinating book. Julia Child may have written it with her grand-nephew, but her voice shines through every page. The history buff in me was captivated by the descriptions of life in post–World War Two France and the role of her husband, Paul, in what was essentially the American diplomatic corps. Nothing could prepare me for the fact that there was a time when Julia Child was a terrible cook. So I enjoyed her journey through the schools and kitchens of France.
Along with Julia, I was happily accompanying Paul on a business trip to Cannes when I heard Bridgy’s key turn in the lock. I jumped from my corner of the couch and met her in the foyer. I looked over her shoulder. No Owen. And when I took a good look at her face, I was glad that she was alone. I took her arm and guided her into the kitchen.
“Sit.” I poured a glass of orange juice and placed it on the table in front of her. “Here.”
I noticed her hand was shaking as she picked up the glass. I sat opposite her.
“Bridgy, what is it? You look like you’ve been shot out of a cannon.”
She drained the glass and slammed it on the table so forcefully I thought it might crack.
“Everything was going so well. I actually like Georgette, and crazy as she is when it comes to Clarence Darrow, I think she is a competent attorney. But I never thought I’d actually need her to represent me.”
She held out her glass for more juice. I filled it from the container on the counter and placed it in front of her. This time she only sipped.
“Anyway, after our meeting, Owen and I went to Bahama Breeze for something to eat. We were hardly in our seats when his phone rang.”
She took a long sip of orange juice. “It was Frank Anthony. He said . . . he said that he wanted to give us a heads-up. Someone from the state attorney’s office would be calling to ‘invite’ me to their office to ‘discuss’ Oscar’s murder. Frank ended the call by warning Owen that it was time for the criminal lawyer.”
She put her head on the table and began to cry.
Not knowing what to say, I petted her head and croon
ed, “Don’t worry, your mother will be here tomorrow. Everything will be all right.”
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning when I told Bridgy that she looked great and asked how she pulled herself together, she winked. “It’s all a façade. Mom will be here in a few hours, and that is my first priority. I’ll let Owen and Georgette worry about the state attorney for now.”
We got to the café extra early, probably because we were both so tense that we were moving at lightning speed. Bridgy threw the Escort’s gear into park. Then she tapped my arm.
“Before we go in, I want you to come to the airport with me to pick up Mom. Okay?”
Instead of answering, I looked across the parking lot to the café. Bridgy followed my gaze.
“Oh, it’ll be fine. Ophie is willing to work at the café. I asked if she wanted to ride over to the airport with me, but she said I should take you and offered to move her appointments around again to help us at the café.”
When I didn’t reply, Bridgy read the big question mark on my face correctly and answered as if I had asked.
“I told you Ophie would be edgy with Mom around. She probably doesn’t want to feel trapped in the car with only me to run interference between the two of them. They usually do really well if they are surrounded by lots of people in a large space.”
“And you need someone to come with you to pick up your mother because . . . ?”
“Because I might not be able to drive safely while she bombards me with questions about . . . about Oscar. Suppose I start to cry, right in the middle of all the traffic on Daniels Parkway? You know how crowded Daniels can get.” Bridgy gave me a look that was half pleading, half direct order.
I knew I had no choice. “Of course I’ll go. And I’ll drive. Now let’s get ready for the breakfast crowd.”
The café was mobbed for most of the morning. Judge Harcroft, always set in his ways, came in at his usual time dressed in a dark blue suit complete with white shirt and a patriotic red, white and blue tie. No matter that he had retired from traffic court ages ago, he generally dressed as if he might be summoned to handle an emergency hearing at any moment. I came out of the kitchen with a tray stacked with breakfasts, and he stepped in my path, nearly causing a calamity. I stopped dead.
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