Read to Death

by Terrie Farley Moran

  “I need the walk, especially if we are going to have dessert later. Is it my imagination or are we eating way too much in the way of treats since the moms came to town?”

  Bridgy mulled that over. “It could be the moms. I’m inclined to think it’s our reaction to Oscar’s murder.”

  We walked silently along the pier, watching tourists taking pictures from every possible angle. Someone yelled, “Oh look, a parasail.” And a dozen people rushed to the railing, holding up cameras and cell phones.

  A small boy in a blue and green tee shirt with the Seattle Seahawks emblem on the front pushed past me. “Where?”

  A teenager wearing the exact same shirt grabbed him by the arm. “This way, pip-squeak. You can see it better from this side.”

  “Got it.”

  I smiled at their enthusiasm for things we see every day. In fact, it wasn’t so long ago that Bridgy treated me to a parasail ride for my make-believe birthday. It was quite an adventure. I looked up at the sail, a bright orange puff gliding past even puffier white clouds.

  “We should go parasailing again sometime soon.”

  Bridgy agreed. “But not with Tony the Boatman’s cousin Darrin. He’s too touchy-feely for me. Imagine if Tony hadn’t gone on the boat with us. Trapped with Darrin.” She shuddered.

  We ambled past the bait shop and headed for the covered seating area near the end of the pier. We took two seats and watched a fisherman cast off. We were facing Sanibel Island and could see house lights begin to twinkle. Another gorgeous sunset would be ours to view soon.

  “Is your mom bugging you about sending us to Key West?”

  “Yep. And Sage, is she pushing you to go?”

  “Ordering me is more like it. She seems to think that the café is coming between us and our families, and not just by geography.” I shrugged my shoulders. “They think work keeps us too busy to enjoy life.”

  “Why can’t they understand how really happy we are. Our lives are perfect. Or, at least, we’ll be back to perfect as soon as Oscar’s killer is caught.” Bridgy looked at her phone. “We better start back. It is almost ice cream time.”

  We stepped off the pier just as Ophie and the moms came around the corner from the shopping strip. They were carrying lots of bags and packages. Sage was particularly weighed down.

  Before we could ask how the shopping went, Ophie said, “Y’all will never guess who we met and what she didn’t know.”

  We knew better than to speculate. Ophie could play “guess what” for hours. Both Bridgy and I raised our hands as if caught in the cookie jar and surrendered instantly.

  “It was that woman from the book club. The one with the superior attitude.”

  Emelia helped her sister. “You know, the one we met with her husband when we went to visit Randy Wayne White.”

  Ophie chuffed at her sister. “You visited Randy Wayne White without me?”

  I interceded before the bickering got out of hand. “Ophie, you know we had dinner at Doc Ford’s the other night. Randy Wayne wasn’t there.” Hopefully that ended that. I moved on. “So what you’re saying is you met Margo Wellington?”

  Three heads nodded in unison.

  “She was quick to tell us that Tammy Rushing had been arrested. Seemed almost gleeful.” I could see that Margo’s elation annoyed Ophie no end.

  Emelia chimed in. “I think she is one of those people who is proud to be the first one to announce the local gossip. She was just hoping we didn’t know. She turned dejected the minute Ophie told her that the person she was talking about was arrested for alimony, not murder. Annoyed her that Ophie was higher on the gossip chain than she was.”

  Sage agreed. “Definitely. I told you before that woman has a difficult aura, but when Ophie out-gossiped her, well all I can say is that her aura turned mean. I’ve never seen anything like it. All cloudy dark green and murky brown woven through wide streaks of black. Negativity galore, and her energy centers are totally blocked. She is suffering from envy and misery. I bet the poor lamb doesn’t even know why.”

  Again, it was my job to change the topic before we had to listen to lengthy descriptions of the muddy auras Sage has known.

  “Let’s find a table and buy some sweet treats. Then you can show us what you bought.” I tried to move them in the direction of several empty tables, but Ophie held out her hand and circled her wrist to show off a wide silver bangle bracelet. She raised her arm high. “Emy bought it for me. Read what it says.”

  I read aloud. “#1 SISTER.”

  Ophie beamed. Emy gave her a quick hug. Bridgy, Sage and I clapped. As I looked at the laughing faces around me, I could only hope that the cloud of Oscar’s murder that hung over us would be lifted soon.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Early the next morning everyone was flying around the Turret at warp speed. Bridgy and I needed to get to the café, Sage wanted to get her tai chi finished early and Emelia was determined to change all the bed linens before Ophie came to take the moms to the Working Waterfront Tour on San Carlos Island.

  As soon as we got into the elevator, Bridgy half whispered, “Thank goodness Mom and Aunt Ophie are back to being bestie sisters. Ophie should be able to keep them out of our hair all day.”

  “You don’t have to whisper. The moms can’t hear us in here.”

  “Remember what they used to tell us?”

  Together we bellowed, “A MOTHER’S EYES AND EARS ARE EVERYWHERE.”

  Of course that was the exact moment the elevator door opened and nearly everyone in the Beausoleil lobby turned to see what the uproar was all about. Blushing, we scurried out to the parking lot, climbed into the Heap-a-Jeep and headed off to work.

  We took it as an omen when Sister Sledge came on the radio singing “He’s the Greatest Dancer.” As soon as the song stopped, Bridgy turned the radio off and we both began to sing “We Are Family.” Every time we got to the word “sisters,” we blasted a major shout-out in honor of lasting peace between the Brice babes.

  As always, Miguel had the kitchen up and running by the time Bridgy and I arrived at the Read ’Em and Eat. He looked past us at the kitchen door as it swung shut.

  “Where are the moms? I was getting used to them.”

  “Be grateful for a day without Emelia double scrubbing every possible surface and Sage trying to inspire you to cook with fresh herbs, while deciding what customers should and shouldn’t eat based entirely on an aura that only she can see.”

  Miguel asked Bridgy to check the buttermilk pies in the oven and then looked at me. “Chica, the moms are trying to help you and to render support in this crisis. Be grateful for that. The rest, it is not so bad.”

  I knew he was right and said so. Then I heard the insistent gong of the brass ship’s bell that hung outside our front door. Customers. The day had officially begun.

  Toward the end of the breakfast rush, Tina Wei came in for a to-go cup of sweet tea. She looked very professional in her dark green sheriff’s deputy uniform. I noticed her pants had a sharp crease straight down each leg.

  As I was filling the container, I asked if she wanted a pastry. She leaned over the counter and said, “Ryan sent a message.”

  Knowing Ryan, I predicted, “He wants to know if Miguel has made any of those double chocolate chip mini muffins that were such a hit on the specials board last month.”

  Tina smiled and then turned serious. “I’m sure he’ll want to know about the muffins, but he wanted me to tell you, with the lieutenant’s permission, that interviewing Tammy Rushing was a big old wash. There was no Oscar Frieland in her past, no intersecting geography whatsoever, and when pressed, she claimed that she dropped her things in the trunk of her car and hurried into the café to use the restroom. When she came out of the restroom, Blondie Quinlin was standing in the alcove waiting her turn. Blondie verified the story, as did Augusta Maddox, who was sitti
ng at one of the front tables waiting for Blondie so they could get seats next to each other at the book club meeting. Would have been less stress for all concerned if Tammy had mentioned that in her first interview.”

  I guess my disappointment showed, because Tina patted my hand and said, “Don’t worry. Everyone knows Bridgy could never . . .”

  Bridgy swung out of the kitchen with a plate in each hand. Tina faked quickly. “So what do you want me to tell Ryan about those muffins?”

  I appreciated her change of topic. “Tell him I’ll check with Miguel and let him know.”

  I offered drink refills to the lingering customers and then began wiping down the empty tables and chairs, getting ready for the lunch rush.

  Three ladies came in and asked for a table. The one with the beet red, day-old sunburn said they needed to sit where they could have what she called a “protracted, talky meal,” because they hadn’t seen one another in a while.

  I’d barely got them settled at Barbara Cartland when Ophie came through the door. She was both alone and breathless.

  A man on a gray walker with yellow tennis balls on two tips and a fragile birdlike woman signaled from the Robert Louis Stevenson table that they were ready to pay their bill. By the time I brought back their change, she’d opened his walker and helped him stand. The gentleman left a generous tip on the table and told me that they’d be back before they went home to Maine. “The missus likes your breakfast better than anyone’s ’cept maybe her own.” And he pointed his walker toward the door. Ophie rushed to open it, and I walked alongside his purposeful steps until they were outside.

  As the door swung shut behind them, Ophie grabbed my arm. “Where’s Bridgy?”

  “Kitchen. Why? And how was the tour? Where are the moms?”

  Ophie ignored my questions. She looked around the room and nodded to herself. Apparently, she was content with what she saw, only three occupied tables each with customers that were keeping themselves busy. Ophie pushed me ahead of her into the kitchen.

  Inexplicably, she burst out laughing. “Y’all should have been there. We had a fine time. The tour started at the Marine Science Center, where they taught us more than I ever wanted to know about the fish around here.”

  “Aunt Ophie.” There was an edge of impatience in Bridgy’s voice. “Where are the moms?”

  “Oh, they’ll be along directly. Wanted to stop at the Turret to buff up a bit. I suppose I could use a bit of cleaning up myself.” She flicked an imaginary speck off the bodice of her cherry red surplice dress, cinched with a wide black patent leather belt that matched her spiky sandals. How she trotted all over San Carlos Island from shrimp boats to packing houses to the processing plant in those shoes amazed me.

  “But I needed to tell y’all . . .”

  Ophie turned her head until she had all three of us in her sights. “At the end of the tour we were walking back to my car, parked in that big lot behind the Marine Science Center, and who comes a-clumping across the parking lot? None other than the witchy pastor’s wife.”

  “Jocelyn? What was she doing there?”

  “Poor put-upon thing. She was picking up some pamphlets about an event geared for middle school kids. Said Pastor John wanted the information for the parish youth program. Don’t think she didn’t complain. Talked about how Pastor John could never get anything done if it wasn’t for her. It was her usual patter until . . .”

  Ophie waited long enough to get us on the verge of asking, “And then?”

  “Until she asked if there was any news about Oscar’s murder. ’Course, even if I had news, I’d never give it to her. Anyway, I said I hadn’t heard a peep. And I was about to introduce her to your mothers, when Jocelyn said that she was truly and deeply shocked that the meddlesome Sassy and Bridgy hadn’t stuck their noses into the investigation. And she prodded me to search my memory for incidents of all the worry the ‘meddlesome twosome’ had caused in the past.

  “I give your mothers credit. They stood silently by, waiting for me to drop a rock on Jocelyn’s toe, so to speak. And drop it I did.”

  “How did she respond when you told her that she was complaining about us to our very own moms?”

  Ophie stretched her neck like a proud peacock. “I am gratified to report that Jocelyn had the good grace to turn green and to change the subject right back to the parish youth program.”

  Bridgy asked, “And the moms didn’t smack her?”

  “No, they thought it was hilarious that Jocelyn mistook your innate kindness and called it meddling. Emy said she felt sorry for Pastor John, and that was after spending less than ten minutes with Jocelyn.”

  Miguel interrupted our laughter. “You remind me. The shrimp fiesta is set for my house tomorrow evening. I ordered the shrimp and will pick it up right after work. Please come around six.”

  “Now that sounds grand. Y’all can count on me. I’m not one to miss a party. Well, I’d best get over to the Treasure Trove and pick up my messages. I have an appointment in . . . oh, in ten minutes. Bye now.”

  I was cheered and considerably energized by Ophie’s Jocelyn story and Miguel’s invitation. I could see that Bridgy was, too, which was a good thing, because the lunch crowd swamped us. When the lunch hour began, every table was filled within minutes. Soon we had a large crowd waiting outside. The day was unseasonably hot for March, so I set up a pitcher of iced lemon water alongside a sleeve of paper cups on the outside table.

  Finally, the tide of diners dwindled. I was serving two orders of Green Eggs and Ham when Emelia opened the front door and held it for Sage, who was carrying a huge box. Ignoring the fact that I had a plate filled with food in each hand, Sage called, “Oh, my little hibiscus, could you help me?”

  I set the plates in front of two surfer dudes sitting at Robert Frost and rushed to the doorway. By the time I got there, Emelia had put a hand under the box to steady it.

  “Sage, what on earth?”

  “Just set this box in a corner somewhere. Careful, it is fragile. I’ll be right back with the rest.” With Emelia at her heels, Sage turned and disappeared into the parking lot.

  I pushed the box behind the counter and noticed a package on the shelf under the register. I’d forgotten about the copy of The Florida Life of Thomas Edison that Sonja had left for Margo. I made a mental note about the book, pushed the box in the corner and turned to find a customer at the register, a twenty-dollar bill in his hand. “Keep the change. We really enjoyed lunch. Great service, too.”

  Sage came in carrying a flat box filled with a half dozen large conch shells. She set the box down on the counter. “Where is my other box? Oh, I see it. And I need to talk to Miguel. He and I are going to help these shells support life once again.”

  And she gave me a thousand-watt smile while I was busy trying to think of a way to protect Miguel from Sage’s enthusiasm for whatever the project might be.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  I tried to distract Sage by offering her a glass of sweet tea. I needed a plan to keep her away from Miguel, which didn’t seem possible, since they were about twelve feet apart with only the kitchen door between them.

  And of course, Miguel picked that exact moment to come through that very door.

  “Sassy, about tomorrow night, I thought I might . . . Hola Sage, I didn’t know you were back. And Emelia. Did you enjoy your tour? I hope it put you in the mood for the shrimp fiesta at my house tomorrow night.”

  The moms raved about the tour and practically squealed with delight at the news of the party. But then Sage ruined it all. “I have a surprise for you, Miguel.” And she pointed to the box of shells.

  Muddled for an instant, Miguel gave some version of “thank you, they’re lovely,” but Sage wasn’t having it.

  She pointed to the large box I had stashed behind the counter. “There’s so much more.”

  More shells?

/>   The final customer of the day, a mother with two small children, interrupted to pay for their meal. Bridgy took her money and said she hoped to see them again soon, while I mentally wished the kids well and hoped their mother was a bit easier to understand than Sage. Through all this, Emelia stood off to the side, her face filled with the expectant excitement of someone who was watching the birthday child open the best present ever.

  I could see that Miguel was puzzled, but I was in no position to help. Sage began to tell him that basil is the easiest herb to grow and maintain. She opened the box that I’d set on the floor and pulled out some newspapers and spread them on the counter. Whatever she was up to, I realized this would be a great time to lock the door. We didn’t need customers at this moment.

  Sage removed two disposable bowls covered with plastic lids from the big box and set them on the newspapers. When she popped the lid on one, dirt spilled out onto the newspaper.

  “Miguel, pass your favorite shell to me.”

  He stood rooted to the spot, so Sage elbowed him into action. “They are all so lovely, I know it is hard to decide, but, well, why not take the large one in the center.”

  Obediently, Miguel handed the tan and white shell to Sage, who placed it in the center of the newspaper. “Now watch. I am filling the shell with rich compost soil.” She opened the second bowl and took out a few tiny rocks. “Aeration.”

  Sage mixed the rocks into the soil and bent down into the big box. This time she came up with two seedlings. “Basil, lovely and green.”

  Sage went on, blissfully unaware that she was the only one happy and excited about this project. When she finished securing the basil seedling in the shell, she held it up for all to see. “Thank goodness I didn’t buy that other seashell. It was completely wrong. How nice of your friend to point that out to me.”

  As is often the case, I had no idea who Sage was talking about. I asked which friend, but Sage ignored me and continued. “I was standing in the shop with a gorgeous shell in my hand. Next thing your friend came along and said hello. When I told her about Miguel’s herb garden . . .”