“Nope. Wish I did. Reminds me, I got to ask them sheriff fellas where my boat is, and my supplies, come to think of it.” He rubbed his forehead and winced. “Head still hurts.”
“Mr. Smallwood . . .”
“Call me Tom, or Skully. I don’t mind either one.”
“Thank you, Tom.” I decided to steer the conversation away from what happened before I asked about Miss Delia. “Bridgy saw Rowena’s display of your jewelry at the Emporium. She says it’s magnificent. We didn’t realize that Rowena consigned fishing line pieces. We thought the wire jewelry was what caught her interest.”
“Couple of fishing lines, is all. She said it might catch the eye of folks who liked to fish.”
We chatted for a few minutes, asking questions about the shells found up and down the Gulf. Skully was an expert and Bridgy had an interest, so I stayed silent waiting for my opening. Finally the shell talk petered out.
“It was so nice of you to come to Delia Batson’s funeral yesterday. A neighbor mentioned they’d seen you around her house now and again. Were you two close friends?”
“Name ain’t Delia Batson. According to the preacher and the papers we got, her name is Mrs. Thomas Smallwood. Been her name for more than half a century.”
Chapter Twenty-three ||||||||||||||||||||
I was stunned into complete silence. Behind me, Bridgy gulped loudly.
Skully sagged against his pillows, visibly relieved he could finally talk about his lifelong secret. In stops and starts, he told us the story we’d heard from Augusta when she recollected Delia’s mystery man.
Skully’s eyes brightened as he told us how they met, fell in love, and when her father objected to their romance, the two young lovers ran away and got married. His face clouded with anger when he talked about Delia’s father and brothers tracking them down and then dragging her back to the Everglades.
“I wanted to fight for her right then and there in that boardinghouse over to Homestead, but Delia was a gentle soul. She patted my cheek, told me not to fret. Said she’d go home for a while and someday . . .” He looked past us, staring without focus, perhaps at the clock on the wall, perhaps at memories from decades ago.
“By the time her pappy died and her brothers cut her loose to make room for their wives, we was both too set in our ways for much changing. Still, I’d stop by of an evening whenever I was on the island. Have some supper. Fix whatever needed fixing. Kept an eye on her, I did.”
“And no one knew you were married?”
“Nobody’s business, ’cept ourn.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“And,” I hesitated, “the night she died, were you, er, on the island?”
He flinched as though I’d smacked him, and smacked him hard. Bridgy looped her hand around my wrist and gave a quick tug as if trying to pull my words back into my mouth.
Skully’s shoulders slumped, and that faraway look recaptured his eyes. Finally he whispered as if only he could hear, “First time I saw her. Pretty slip of a girl, bright blue ribbon in her hair, chasing butterflies through a field, mile or so from town. I kept my eye out. When I got up the gumption to speak to her at a church social, well, I was took by her sweetness. But her family wasn’t havin’ it. All these years, I still see the girl with the ribbon in her hair.”
He heaved a shallow sigh and then dragged his mind back to the present. “Lord spare me, I truly wish I was on island that night, but I was over to Matlacha costing out a dock rebuild.”
My heart broke for his sadness. I reached out with the only words of comfort I had. “She wore the locket close to her heart until the day she died.”
“Little gold locket? I etched a swamp lily on the front. We went shopping for a wedding ring, but she saw that locket and nothing else would do. Said a ring would only get in the way of washing and cleaning. So I bought her the locket. She carried a picture of me hid in her purse. She took it out and had the shopkeeper put it in the locket right then and there.”
He closed his eyes and I thought perhaps he was drifting off to sleep, but I guess he was viewing his memories, because he said, “Delia was a fine woman. I was honored to know her.”
“How did Bow wind up with you on the Point?”
“That I do know. After I got word about Delia, I wanted to take a look at the house one last time. Bow was sitting in the sea grapes down along the bay side at the end of the street. Crying pitifully she was. ’Course she knows me, so she come to me right away. I took her, put her in my sack.”
“She’s going to be fine. She’s at the vet. I’m sure Doctor Mays would be happy to hold her until you are released—”
“Cat can’t live in a canoe like a man can. I only meant to find her a home.”
A nurse came to change his intravenous medication, and we wished him happy dreams.
People were streaming through the lobby, most leaving but some were hurrying upstairs to catch a few minutes with a loved one before the end of visiting hours. Bridgy and I never said a word until we were in the car. I took a sharp right turn out of the parking lot and the words burst from me like an unexpected swell catching a surfer off guard.
“You know what this means? Skully is Delia’s heir. If she owned islands, he owns them now.”
Bridgy sniggered, “That’ll set Tighe Kostos on his heels.”
“Um-hm. Him, Rowena, Judge Harcroft, even the nephews. They’re all in for a surprise.” My mind was racing. “You know what? I don’t think we should tell them. Not up to us. Let them tilt at windmills.”
On the drive home, we took turns guessing how they would all react when they finally heard the news. Bridgy couldn’t decide whether Judge Harcroft would sentence everyone involved to a lifetime of listening to him pun Dashiell Hammett’s name in a repetitive soundtrack of “I must Dash, I must Dash.” Or perhaps wrapped in the ignominy of it all, he’d give up his lawyerly persona and one grand and glorious morning we’d find him wandering Times Square dressed in cutoffs and a low-cut tank, his tangled gray chest hair overflowing.
I voted for the cutoffs and chest hair. I’d heard “I must Dash” enough times to last me until my nursing home years.
* * *
During the breakfast rush I had a lot of trouble pushing Miguel to the back of my mind. Every time I went to pick up a meal at the pass-through, I thought about how unresponsive he’d been, how depressed he looked. Miguel was one of the most cheerful, energetic people I knew. It was painful to see the accident have this effect on him. I made a mental note to call our insurance agent to check on our workers’ compensation policy. I couldn’t remember, with all the papers we signed, how that was handled in Florida, or how long Miguel would have to be out of work before it took effect.
Our small business health care plan would help with his medical bills, but it had a deductible, plus he was going to need car service, home care, physical therapy—I was sure they weren’t covered. Bridgy and I already agreed to pay his salary at least until his first workers’ comp check came. We were blessed by having free help in the kitchen via Ophie, so the pressure was off for the moment. Although we flippantly lamented that we might have the added expense of a cleaning service to follow her around.
With all the money and recovery worries, no wonder Miguel was feeling down; he had a lot to mull over. I was determined to talk things out with him, alleviate his concerns as soon as I had the chance. I hustled through the dining area serving, bussing tables, and when I had a free moment, I refilled the coffeepots and the iced tea pitcher we kept behind the counter.
When I saw Rowena open the door, I grabbed my order pad. She was always in a hurry. As if to prove it, she slapped her hand on the counter, demanding attention, no matter I was a mere two feet away.
Annoying as I found her behavior, I pasted a smile on my face and asked what I could bring her.
“I have a new client coming in and I’d like
three, no make it four, of those muffins I had the other day.”
“Lemon with poppy seeds?”
“The very ones”—she lowered her voice—“and I need a few minutes of your time.”
Not clear whether buying the muffins or taking up some of my limited time was her highest priority, I stood there waiting for her to snap at me to hurry with the muffins, or to yammer at me, likely telling me how I could solve the “life or death problem” she mentioned at Miss Delia’s funeral reception.
“Sassy, I’m desolate, absolutely desolate.” She stopped to see if her choice of words and quivering tone had the desired effect, so I tried to look interested, concerned, even.
When she decided I passed muster, her tone swung from quivering to highly confidential.
“I need your help. You must speak to Augusta on my behalf.”
“Listen, Rowena. I know Miss Augusta was fired up at the reception, but I don’t think it’ll soothe her one bit if I do your apologizing for you—”
“Apologize? Why would I apologize? If anyone should be asking for forgiveness, it’s Augusta. She caused a scene. That’s the entire problem in a nutshell.”
I rubbed my temples. Why was it always so difficult to follow Rowena’s train of thought?
“There’s no way I can make Augusta apologize to you.”
Rowena looked to heaven, her eyes filled with disbelief. She pushed the idea away with a flap of her hand.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Augusta wouldn’t say she was sorry to the Lord himself, never mind that she’d just stepped on His big toe. No. I want you to make her stop panicking the boys.”
“Boys?”
“Delia’s nephews.” Now her tone moved to impatient. “They got all squirmy after Augusta’s ridiculous outburst at the church hall. I’m afraid they’re going to back out on the real estate deal I’ve been negotiating with Tighe Kostos. I’m telling you, Sassy, I need this commission. It’s life or death for me. And Augusta has frightened those boys half out of whatever limited wits they may have. Augusta has them paralyzed by indecision, afraid of what she’ll do to them if they sell the island to the resort company.”
I chuckled to myself, knowing the nephews were out of the inheritance picture. Still, I played along. “What makes you think Miss Augusta would listen to me on a matter of such personal significance?”
“Oh, everyone knows Augusta has a soft spot for you and Bridgy, just like Delia did. You two are a younger version of them. Heck, you’ll be them in forty, fifty years.”
Much as I loved Miss Delia and Miss Augusta, I blanched at the thought of them as role models. Replicating their waning years wasn’t a life goal for me. Still, I let that all slide.
“Rowena, take my advice. Give Miss Augusta a few days to recover. Miss Delia’s death was sudden and tragic. Takes some getting used to. You might find Augusta more agreeable a few weeks from now.”
“Weeks? We barely have days.” She leaned closer, practically whispering in my ear. “Kostos told me his job is in jeopardy. If he doesn’t close this deal, good-bye high six-figure salary for him and a hefty commission for me.”
I was starting to feel the kind of power that comes with knowing more than the other players in the game. Before it went to my head, I tried changing the topic, as an easier way to resist Rowena’s pressure to help her betray Delia’s wishes.
“Bridgy and I went to the hospital to visit Miguel. Afterward, we stopped to see Mr. Smallwood.”
Her chin dropped, but I hurried on, pretending not to see how surprised she was. “Poor man is really foggy brained. He doesn’t remember his accident at all. Seeing him reminded me that Bridgy said you have quite a bit of his fishing line jewelry in the Emporium. I’m thinking of buying a few pieces for my mom.”
Always the salesperson, Rowena said, “You won’t believe the selection I have. You could send shell jewelry to your mother for any occasion or no occasion at all for years to come. Do you want to walk back with me and take a look?”
By changing the topic, I’d carelessly trapped myself. The dining room was nearly empty and the lunch crowd wouldn’t be in for a while. I had no excuse. I set Rowena’s box of muffins in front of her, and while she searched for money in her gargantuan purse, I took off my apron and told Bridgy I’d be AWOL for a couple of minutes.
During the short walk across the parking lot, Rowena asked about Miguel and then segued to Skully.
“I heard he was in a coma. Pretty much at death’s door. You say you spoke to him? And he answered?”
“It’s really sad. He has no idea what happened to him at the Point, although the rest of his memory appears quite intact. He recognized Bridgy and me, remembered the café.” I shrugged. “It’s so hard to predict what a head injury will do. He might never remember what happened.”
As magnificent as Skully’s wire jewelry was, I was enamored by the down-home charm of the fishing line pieces. Rowena had a fairly large quantity of both. Although I intended to look, not buy, I found a necklace my mom would love. A calico scallop shell pendant shaded from light pink to a darker mauve hung from fishing line that Skully had woven with a macramé-like touch. Its aura was delicate and strong all at the same time, just like mom.
I asked Rowena to set it aside for me, saying I’d come in tomorrow to pay. Always pushy about every dollar, she asked me to come back after work, and she pouted when I said I had an appointment at the library to do some research right after the café closed.
“You’re going snooping, aren’t you? Trying to find out what happened to Delia? You think I don’t know? The entire island knows that Augusta recruited you to help her look into the murder. Well you listen here. With a killer running all over the island, only a fool would keep on snooping. I didn’t think you were that kind of fool.”
Chapter Twenty-four ||||||||||||||||||||
When I returned to the café Bridgy was straightening tables and chairs. She looked at me with one eyebrow raised in a definite question, which I answered immediately.
“It was easier to go over to the Emporium and buy a gift for my mother than to waste my breath trying to tell Rowena that I refuse to intervene between Augusta and the nephews. You were right,” I added, “Rowena’s life and death issue is all about money—her commission when the nephews sell the island to the company Tighe Kostos represents.”
Then I started laughing.
“OMG! You didn’t tell her, right?” Bridgy was jumping around like a flea. “We agreed we wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“Oh, calm down. Rowena’s the last person I’d tell. She deserves to get skunked when the truth comes out. Skully’s a quiet man. If he wants the world to know he’s Delia’s widower and heir, he can grant Cady an interview and have the story printed for the world to read. My lips are zipped.” I closed my mouth tight and ran my index finger and thumb across my lips as if locking a plastic sandwich bag.
We got louder and louder until finally Ophie poked her head all the way out the pass-through.
“You two are worse than a couple of tweens stopping in for a shake after school.” And she ducked back into the kitchen, which only set us laughing harder until the front door opened. The new snowbird members of the Potluck Book Club came in, accompanied by two men, recently sunburned, whom I took to be their husbands.
“We could hear you gals giggling all the way across the parking lot,” said the one whose name I remembered as Iris, “and I said to Ed—this here is my husband, Ed—‘I told you this is the happiest place in town.’ Is the chef around? I need her to give me the chervil recipe again. I lost it between here and home. And Connie here never wrote it down at all.”
She stopped speaking long enough to look sideways at her negligent friend, but as Bridgy and I so often do, Connie simply ignored her.
I sat the group at Dr. Seuss, placing menus and water in front of each of them. Ed began spouting the
quotes on the table. “The more that you read, the more things you will know.” He followed that up with “I meant what I said and I said what I meant.”
I stood a few feet away until they called me over.
“So with all these great quotes stuck in between pictures of The Cat in the Hat, The Lorax and who all else”—he picked up his menu—“I suppose I’ll find Green Eggs and Ham on the list of choices?” And he gave a broad wink to his tablemates.
When he opened the menu, I pointed to the eponymous item, subtitled “Mexican vegetable omelet with salsa verde and grilled thick-sliced ham.”
Both men ordered Green Eggs and Ham, chuckling as they did so, while their wives settled on Agatha Christie Soft-Boiled Eggs with Miss Marple Scones. Two coffees, a decaf, one tea.
Later, when I came around with the refill coffeepots, Connie asked for more tea. I brought a fresh cup and she nudged her husband in the side.
“Go ahead, smart guy, ask her.”
He fidgeted with his napkin, twisting and untwisting, before he said, “Just some gossip is all. We were invited to play at the golf club down toward Lovers Key. We were having drinks in the clubhouse and overheard a man, showy type wearing one of those fancy blue-faced TAG Heuer watches, complaining into his mobile phone. He was accusing the person on the other end of the call of not realizing all the chaos ‘since the old lady died.’ That’s a direct quote. Then he mentioned treasure scavengers or some such, looking for an island to use as a base, and well, the price was going to go up.
“The other guy didn’t like it much; we could hear that right through the phone. When the call ended Mr. TAG Heuer sat slumped for a minute, then he straightened up, ordered a shot of Macallan’s 18, polished it off and headed to the showers.”
Connie’s husband sat back in his chair, satisfied that he’d done his duty. I was still waiting for the question.
“For goodness’ sake, Alfie, ask her.”
“Oh. We were wondering if he was talking about the woman who was murdered, and what are treasure scavengers anyway?” Alfie pointed to Connie. “She said you’d know, being the woman was a book club member and all.”
Well Read, Then Dead (Read Em and Eat Mystery) Page 16
