Curses, Boiled Again!

by Shari Randall

  MY PLEASURE. HE’S GOING TO DO A SEGMENT ON MY VINTAGE SHOP! SCORE! HA! HOW’S AUNT GULLY? ARE YOU OK? she texted.

  FINE. TOO MUCH TO TEXT. TALK TO YOU LATER.

  I put away my phone.

  Friends and neighbors crowded the kitchen. The scent of coffee brewing blended with the creamy and briny scent of Aunt Gully’s clam chowder.

  The kitchen clock said 4 P.M. How had that happened? My stomach rumbled and I gratefully accepted a cup of chowder. Aunt Gully sprinkled some oyster crackers on top, just the way I liked it.

  Lorel sat in Uncle Rocco’s recliner, her feet up, her phone to her ear. She waved at me. “Yes, Aunt Gully will talk with you tomorrow. She’s exhausted and I can’t wake her now.”

  I looked back at Aunt Gully bustling about the kitchen, her face pink, her equilibrium restored by taking care of others, then turned back to Lorel. “Leo Rodriguez,” she mouthed at me.

  Lorel was trying to get some distance between the food festival disaster and Aunt Gully’s television appearance. Sometimes I thought cold salt water ran in Lorel’s veins instead of blood. I flopped onto the couch and set my soft boot on top of a pile of National Geographic and People magazines stacked on the coffee table. Then I lost myself in the creamy goodness of Aunt Gully’s chowder.

  Over the clink of spoons in mugs and the whistling teapot, I listened to the crowd in the kitchen rehash the morning’s events.

  “Terrible, but it looks like food poisoning.”

  “Tsk-tsk.”

  “Worst food poisoning I’ve ever seen.”

  “The mayor was okay, gabbing like usual from his hospital bed.”

  “Pack It In Packer. Did you hear about that time at the VFW picnic he ate five lobster rolls in five minutes?”

  Laughter rolled from the kitchen.

  “I love Rick and Rio. The doctors say poor Rio’s in trouble.”

  “You know my friend Judy, the one in real estate? She said Rio and Rick were looking for a spot to build a spa. That’s how they found you, Gully, when they were looking at real estate.”

  “They came in the second day the Mermaid was open,” Aunt Gully said, “but I didn’t know it. You know how they disguise themselves.”

  “You know Chick Costa used to date Megan Moss, when they were teens? His people summered on Fox Point. He never came back after she turned him down for Ernie.”

  “That Leo Rodriguez is so handsome. Did you see the way he looked at Lorel?”

  I smirked at Lorel.

  “No, you should’ve seen the way he was looking at Allie.”

  Lorel stuck her tongue out at me. I threw a pillow at her, then went in to the kitchen.

  “Did you hear the police closed Kahuna’s?” I rinsed my mug in the sink. “There was a lobster libber sign posted there, with red paint splashed on it.”

  The room went quiet. Aunt Gully’s friends turned to me, faces expectant, eyes alert.

  They all started talking and asking questions at once.

  “Lobster graffiti?”

  “Red paint, in a big X,” I said.

  “Was the red X supposed to look like blood?”

  “What color is lobster blood?”

  “Juvenile delinquents. This town’s going to hell in a handbasket.”

  I showed them the photo I’d taken of the lobster libber sign. “And this sign was in front of the Lazy Mermaid.”

  Aggie Weatherburn’s black seagull eyes glittered as she held my phone at arm’s length. “Stop or we’ll stop you.” She passed the phone to Aunt Gully.

  Aunt Gully peered at the photo under her glasses. She looked up, concern in her big brown eyes.

  “That sign was posted in front of the Mermaid,” I said. “I brought it to the Plex. Bronwyn Denby said she’d show it to the officers when they got back from the food festival.”

  Aunt Gully’s forehead creased. “Was red paint splashed on the Lazy Mermaid sign, too?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe they ran out?” Aunt Gully suggested.

  Aggie scoffed. “These dumbasses have a red lobster in the pot. A red lobster’s a cooked lobster. A dead lobster. Everyone knows that.”

  After more speculation and expressions of support, Aunt Gully’s friends gathered their things.

  Aggie wrapped the remains of the coffee cake and took her plate to the door. “I’ll come sit with your aunt if needs be,” she whispered.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Weatherburn.”

  Lorel joined Aunt Gully and me at the door as we waved everyone off.

  “Aunt Gully, I wish we’d saved those anonymous letters.”

  “Do you really think they’re from the same people that made the signs at the Mermaid and Kahuna’s?”

  I shrugged. “I’m wondering if they’re connected somehow.”

  Aunt Gully rubbed my arm. “The police will figure it out.”

  I followed her to the kitchen, deep in thought.

  Aunt Gully reached for a dishrag. Lorel pulled it from her hands and tugged her to Uncle Rocco’s chair.

  “Aunt Gully, sit. We have to talk.”

  “I can talk and work at the same time,” but Aunt Gully sagged into the recliner. I popped the handle so her feet were raised and sat on the arm of the chair.

  “Okay, Miss Executive.” Aunt Gully folded her arms.

  Lorel rolled her eyes. “Look, Aunt Gully, we’ve got to manage the situation. You’re going to have to get in front of this and make a statement.”

  “Lorel,” I said. “Did you see Chick Costa on the news? That appearance reeked of bad taste.”

  “He didn’t have me running things,” Lorel said. “I never would’ve let him wear that god-awful T-shirt or be interviewed so soon after what happened.”

  “How were things at the Mermaid, Allie? I should be there.” Aunt Gully started to get up.

  “Fine. Actually.” I glanced at Lorel. “I told Hector and Hilda to close for the day.”

  “I suppose that’s best.” Aunt Gully sank back into the recliner. Lorel looked at me. I could tell exactly what she was thinking. I’d made a decision without consulting her. But it was a decision she agreed with, so I’d get no flack. Lorel bent over her phone.

  “Who’re you calling?” Aunt Gully said. “That handsome reporter?”

  Lorel didn’t look up. “Updating our social media. I’ll make a statement about how saddened we are by the events at the food festival, best to be vague about that—”

  “And that we’ll be open tomorrow.” Aunt Gully rocked forward and the recliner creaked upright. “No matter what you say, Miss Executive, I’m going to clean that kitchen and bring chowder over to the Mosses’ house and if Megan’s still in the hospital I’ll go to the hospital to check on her and those poor judges.”

  There was no stopping Aunt Gully when she made up her mind. We all trooped into the kitchen and helped tidy the already spotless table and countertops while Aunt Gully took down a woven basket from a shelf full of them. She collected baskets—among other things too numerous to mention—but since she was always giving them away stuffed with food to new mothers, bereaved families, or friends needing cheer, the collection constantly changed.

  I nibbled some of Aggie’s coffee cake.

  “Food of the gods.” I wrapped a large piece of cake and added it to the covered bowl of chowder that Aunt Gully’d already placed in the basket. Aggie Weatherburn was hell on wheels, but she baked a darn good coffee cake.

  “We’ll go the Mosses’ house,” Aunt Gully said. “If Megan’s still at the hospital Ernie’ll stay by her side. Megan’s a quiet one, but as sweet as can be. And a hard worker.” That was the highest praise Aunt Gully gave—that someone was a hard worker. “If they aren’t home we’ll leave the basket with Lucia.” Lucia Barreto was the Mosses’ housekeeper. I’d often seen her sunning on one of the multiple balconies in front of Kahuna’s Kove, the Mosses’ massive beachfront home. Aunt Gully didn’t say anything about Lucia being a hard worker.

  We drove across
the stone causeway to Fox Point. Kahuna’s Kove was one of the largest homes on the Circle, a private enclave of massive homes. The windows were dark, the drapes drawn. We pulled into the drive.

  “We’ll go around to the kitchen door. Lucia’s here. I texted her,” Aunt Gully said.

  Lorel and I followed Aunt Gully to the rear of the house, across a flagstone patio with a lap pool and hot tub. A border row of tall grasses swayed, providing a buffer and privacy to the backyard without obstructing the glorious ocean view.

  A woman with a glamorously long waterfall of honey-colored hair and bright red lips opened the door. Lucia always looked like she’d wandered in from a telenovela.

  “Come in,” Lucia stage-whispered. She poked her head out and then stepped back into the darkened kitchen. We followed her, stepping carefully. A single candle burned on a granite countertop.

  “Can we turn on some lights?” I said.

  Lucia took the basket of food. “Thank you, Gully. You’re so kind.”

  “Why are all the drapes closed and the lights off, Lucia?” Aunt Gully asked.

  “So many television people,” Lucia said, but she flipped a switch, illuminating a huge open-plan kitchen that flowed into a dining area and sunken living room with a towering stone fireplace. “I drew the drapes and stopped answering the door. Mr. Ernie hasn’t called. I don’t know how Mrs. Megan is. I’m so worried!”

  Aunt Gully settled Lucia in a chair in the breakfast nook and bustled to the stove. She filled a kettle with water. Lorel and I exchanged glances. Not more tea.

  Lucia opened a low cabinet door. “It’s okay, Gully, I had enough tea today. I think I need this.” She set a bottle of Scotch on the table and brought out four shot glasses.

  I stifled a laugh when Lucia offered me a drink, as did Lorel, but Aunt Gully nodded. Lorel shook her head, but I accepted a glass. I took a sip and sighed as the amber liquid warmed me.

  Lucia knocked hers back and poured herself another shot. Aunt Gully’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve had quite a time, I think, Lucia.”

  “Gully, you wouldn’t believe it. The phone rings all the time.” As if on cue, the phone rang. Lucia glanced at the caller ID and ignored it. “People banging on the door. Trampling flowers. Trying to peek in the windows. They even called my house, my sister said. They wanted a statement. I told her, no statement! Not until I talk to Mr. Ernie. But he’s at the hospital and I don’t want to bother him.” She cupped her face in her hands, gold rings gleaming. She had kept rings from all her past husbands. “I don’t know what to do.”

  I went through the sunken living room and pulled aside the edge of the curtain. A dark sedan slinked down the street and slid to a stop in front of the house.

  “Do you see someone?” Lucia called.

  “A car. I think someone’s staking out the house. Probably going to wait until Ernie comes back home.” I smoothed the curtain into place and returned to the table.

  Aunt Gully set a slice of coffee cake in front of Lucia.

  “Oh, Aggie’s cake!” For the first time since we entered the house, Lucia’s tense expression softened into a smile. We waited while she took a few bites. “Do you want some coffee?” she asked.

  “No, thanks,” Aunt Gully said. “We’re heading to the hospital.”

  Lorel rolled her eyes.

  “Let me know how things are, okay? Tell Mrs. Megan I’m thinking of her. Oh, what she’s been through these past days.” Lucia shook her head.

  “These past days?” I asked. Megan had certainly had a bad day today. “You mean with all the preparation for the lobster roll competition?”

  Lucia mashed up the last coffee-cake crumbs with her fork. “No, that was easy. They just took the lobster salad they make all the time. The flavors must meld for at least twenty-four hours, so the salad was made as usual, at Kahuna’s.”

  “So that’s why they closed Kahuna’s,” I said.

  Lucia sniffled. “They thought it was a bad batch and the police took it for testing,” she wailed.

  Aunt Gully sipped her Scotch and patted Lucia’s hand. “There’s no way on God’s green earth there was anything wrong with that lobster salad.”

  Her words echoed in the cavernous kitchen.

  Our drawn faces reflected in a glass breakfront across from the breakfast nook. I felt like an exhibit under glass in a museum, a still life called Four Women Hiding Out with Scotch.

  Lucia knocked back the rest of her drink. “That’s not the only thing. For the past few months, Mrs. Megan sometimes got phone calls that upset her. And letters.”

  Aunt Gully, Lorel, and I exchanged glances. “What kind of letters?”

  Lucia shrugged. “All I know is, she’d open the letters out on the deck. She’d read them. And cry.”

  “Poor thing,” Aunt Gully said.

  “Not from lobster libbers?” I said.

  Lucia shrugged. “She never said anything about lobster libbers. But it’s strange. As far as I know, she never told Mr. Ernie about them. I saw her stuff one in her pocket when he came home.”

  I leaned forward. “Return address?”

  “None,” Lucia said.

  “Postmark?” I asked.

  The sound of a car door slamming made us jump.

  “Smudged, but it was from Massachusetts,” Lucia said.

  I knew Lucia would’ve checked.

  “Then Mrs. Megan had a visitor. He upset her,” Lucia said.

  “A visitor? Who was it?” I asked.

  “You know that guy in the yellow shirt from Chatham? On the news?”

  Lorel and I exchanged looks. “Chick Costa.”

  Chatham is in Massachusetts, I thought.

  Lorel got up and looked out the front window. “Two cars,” she whispered.

  “He came early this morning, in that fancy red sports car. Wanted to see Mrs. Megan. He was so bossy. He knocked right after Mr. Ernie went to Kahuna’s. Like he was watching the house and came when Mr. Ernie left.”

  I leaned forward. I’d heard something about Chick and Megan in the conversation at Aunt Gully’s.

  “They dated years ago, when they were in high school? When he was summer people?”

  Aunt Gully’s eyes took on a faraway expression. “She was waitressing at her family’s ice-cream shop. Well, they had ice cream, hot dogs, clams. In the same building that Kahuna’s is in now. It used to be called Scoops by the Sea.”

  “Well, I had no idea who he was. He had a big bouquet. Red roses, a whole armful. When she came downstairs and saw him”—Lucia hesitated—“she was angry.”

  All this drama with Megan Moss. I tried to square this with the quiet middle-aged woman who wiped tables and served lobster rolls at Kahuna’s. She usually had a smile on her chapped lips, her long light brown hair pulled into a messy braid. Her soft voice made me think of a sixties folk singer, wispy and sweet, strewing daisies, barefoot in a field. Funny that she ended up with a man with such a bullish personality.

  “She was angry?” I asked.

  Lucia shifted in her chair. “Well, she was getting ready for the competition. Mr. Ernie had to go down to the restaurant early. He got a phone call about something bad that had happened and he left. Swearing. He said something like, ‘I don’t need this this morning.’”

  The paint-splashed sign. Ernie was probably going over to handle the lobster libber crisis before they left for the lobster roll competition.

  Lucia continued. “When Chick came I said, Mrs. Megan, do you want to see this guy? She said yes. They went into the study off the foyer and shut the door. I heard her voice. At first she sounded mad. But then.” Lucia paused. “Like she was begging. Please. I heard her say ‘please.’”

  I pictured Lucia dusting the table across from the study door, over and over, waiting to hear some juicy tidbit.

  The rumble of the garage door made us jump. Car doors slammed, muffled voices rose. The phone started ringing again. Pounding rattled the front door. I felt a guilty jab of sympathy for Lucia.
The door to the garage opened and Ernie and Megan Moss entered, Megan leaning heavily on Ernie’s arm.

  Lucia swept the bottle of Scotch off the table into the cabinet. Aunt Gully hurried to the Mosses.

  “I’m so glad you’re home, Megan,” Aunt Gully said.

  I gathered the shot glasses and put them in the sink.

  “So sorry to intrude; we were just going,” Lorel said.

  Megan embraced Aunt Gully. “Oh, you couldn’t possibly intrude, Gully. I’m just so tired. Thank you for taking care of me today. The doctors say I’ve had a shock and need to rest.”

  Megan blinked as if she couldn’t stay awake. Probably sedated.

  “Let’s get you to bed, Mrs. Megan,” Lucia said.

  As Lucia helped Megan upstairs, Ernie turned to Aunt Gully. “Damned reporters are harassing me, plain and simple. I called the cops.”

  Fox Point had its own tiny police force. Its usual duties included enforcing noise ordinances on parties, checking on empty houses in the winter, and taking down speeders. They were a cross between a police force and a private security company.

  Moments later blue lights flashed around the front curtains, car doors slammed, and engines fired up. We peeked around the curtains. The reporters were in retreat. They probably figured they wouldn’t get anything out of Ernie now. I wondered if they would chase down the other contestants—like Aunt Gully.

  Fatigue hit me. All I wanted was to get Aunt Gully home safely, where she could rest. As she and Ernie spoke, I studied their faces. Ernie, beefy and red faced, seemed older than he had that morning. What was he, in his fifties? Megan was maybe in her late thirties, early forties, but it was hard to tell. Though the effects of the terrible events of the morning had taken their toll, Ernie was probably at least ten years older than his wife.

  I circled to the sink and washed out the shot glasses. I looked for a towel to dry them as Lorel swiped on her ever-present phone.

  The Mosses’ kitchen had beautiful mahogany cabinetry. When I slid open what I thought might be a drawer of towels, I pulled open a concealed trash bin. It was stuffed full of red roses. The red roses that Chick had given Megan. Had she angrily stuffed them into the bin this morning? Did she want to hide them from Ernie? She’d probably had little time to get rid of them before she left for the competition. I remember how busy we’d been this morning, which suddenly seemed a hundred years ago. I slammed the bin shut but the scent of the roses lingered.