6 A Cup of Jo

by Sandra Balzo

  Her turn for imitations.

  Ragnar raised one impossibly white finger, seemed to ponder for a moment, and then searched through his pocket, coming up with a cigarette lighter.

  He flicked it to get a flame and then pantomimed that he was riding a horse.

  'Blazing Saddles,' I said, impressed. 'Exactly.'

  I turned to Sarah. 'Blazing Saddles used a misquote – or a consolidation, really – of the original lines from The Treasure of the Sierra Madre.'

  Sarah looked at me blankly.

  'You know what I'm talking about,' I persisted. 'The line in the original movie was "We don't need no badges. I don't have to show you any stinkin' badges!" In Blazing Saddles it morphed into "Badges? We don't need no stinkin' badges", so that's what everyone remembers. Sort of like Casablanca's "Play it again—"'

  'Sam,' Sarah supplied, looking venomous. 'I know. You've told me a million times. Bogie really doesn't say that anywhere in the movie. But maybe if you had a life . . .'

  The mime was wagging a finger at her, a scolding expression on his mobile face.

  'He says—'

  'Enough!' Sarah exploded. 'You two are sawing through my last nerve.'

  I turned to Ragnar apologetically. 'You'd better go, before she decks the both of us.'

  The mime rubbed both fists into his eyes, like he was grinding away tears. Starting to leave, blonde braid waggling, he passed the steps of the stage and hesitated. Turning back, he held his left hand out, palm up and rounded like a bowl. With his right, he seemed to be grasping a line coming from the top.

  'Your balloons?' I guessed. 'They were already taken down. Yesterday morning, I think.'

  He paused then nodded, slowly and sadly, tracing a tear down his cheek. Finally, twirling an imaginary walking stick, he waddled away like Charlie Chaplin.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sarah and I had managed to get all the finger food to our table before the first train slid to a stop at Brookhills Junction. The focaccia and sandwiches were a hit. In fact, we were cleaned out before the second train was in sight, so we called it a day and headed to Sarah's house, me making a quick stop home to let Frank out. I might be hungry, but I was well aware of Frank's priorities. Eat. Sleep. Poop. Rinse and repeat.

  'I thought Christy was going to brain you over taking that toothbrush away and telling her to go home,' Sarah said, coming back into the living room after calling in our order.

  'I know.' I was in my favorite reclining corner of her sectional couch, feet up. 'You were answering the phone at the time, I think, but the only way I got Christy to leave was to tell her she could come back tomorrow, cleaning implements awaiting.'

  'What else did the girl need to do with that toothbrush anyway?' Sarah settled into the opposite corner, also a recliner, and up went her feet, too. 'After her meticulous attention to the casters on our condiment cart, I mean.'

  'Clean the grout in the bathroom. I tried to explain the tile had just been re-grouted, but she ignored me.'

  'What a headcase,' Sarah said. 'No wonder Christy gets along my cousin Ronny.'

  'Well, if Christy thinks our new brand new coffeehouse is dirty, how can she walk into that cruddy jail without going comatose?'

  'Think they strip-search her? Confiscate her toothbrush and table knife?'

  I laughed. God, after the days we'd had, it felt great to relax.

  'Want some wine?' Sarah asked. 'I have a nice Cab if you're going red or Sauvignon Blanc if you're doing white for a change.'

  'The white,' I said. 'I don't like it as much, so I'll only have a glass.' Or two.

  'It's in the fridge.'

  'You're going to make me get my own wine? Some hostess you are.' I levered myself out of the recliner.

  'I ordered the food. What do you want from me?'

  'Are the kids coming home for dinner?' I asked from the kitchen.

  Sarah was the guardian of two teenagers, the children of my former partner, Patricia. The one who died the day we opened the original Uncommon Grounds. Sarah had been Patricia's best friend.

  'Sam's at college, did you forget?'

  I reappeared, bottle and corkscrew in hand. 'I did, honestly. Time sure has flown.'

  'You're telling me. And Courtney has her driver's license.'

  Yikes. 'Is she out cruising now?' I looked through the window and into the darkness.

  'I don't let her drive at night yet, and the law forbids friends in the car. So, I dropped Courtney and her posse off at the mall and she'll call when they need a lift home. Probably won't be until eleven, or even after. The bunch of them are catching a late movie.'

  I'd forgotten. Friday night was date night.

  I held up the bottle of wine and looked at my date. 'Are you joining me?'

  'Nope. Doesn't mix well with my medications.'

  'I remember.' I put the bottle down and positioned the corkscrew above it. 'I was just checking to make sure you did.'

  'Go ahead, though. Don't mind me.' Sarah was watching me with a smirk on her face.

  'What?' I gave the corkscrew a twist. Nothing. Now I looked more closely at the bottle. 'When exactly were you going to tell me this was a twist-off?'

  'Honestly? I thought you'd notice when there was no foil to slit and strip. Then I figured, hell, maybe Maggy's old-fashioned and wants to pop the bottle anyway, sniff the tin top and all.'

  'Funny.'

  Sarah heaved herself up to get me a stemmed glass from the inverted rack over her wet bar. 'Here. Don't want you drinking straight from the bottle.'

  'That happened only once,' I said, gladly taking the glass. 'And it was a joke.'

  'Right.' She watched me pour. 'Thinking of cutting back? Alcohol's not healthy, you know.'

  The only person more self-righteous than an ex-smoker is an ex-drinker, and Sarah was both. Unfortunately, she also was right.

  I had been hitting the vino a little hard the last year or so. While a glass of red might be good for your heart, the whole bottle? Too much of a good thing.

  I hadn't reached that stage yet, but, realizing I was edging up there, I'd consciously begun to rein myself in.

  'As I said –' raising the glass – 'the reason for my choosing Sauvignon Blanc.' I took a sip and made a face. 'While it's perfect with food, the stuff is so bone dry that I'm not tempted to continue quaffing it after dinner.'

  'Hey, whatever works.'

  'I'll drink to that.' I raised my glass a little higher as a toast and then settled back into my corner. 'So, tell me your news.'

  'What news?'

  'Don't play stupid with me,' I said.

  'Sorry,' she said apologetically. 'I'd forgotten how much better you are at it.'

  'Yeah, yeah. Very funny. Now give.'

  Sarah crossed her arms stubbornly. 'Uh-unh. You first.'

  'Me first on what?'

  'Now who's playing stupid?'

  'Like you said –' I put down my glass – 'I'm good at it.'

  She just looked at me.

  And me, back at her.

  We had ourselves a stand-off.

  Finally, I sighed. 'OK, I surrender. You want to know about Pavlik.'

  Sarah tried to lean forward, but was defeated by her recliner and the laws of physics. 'What did he say? Did he admit to the affair?'

  'Your first priority is the affair? What about JoLynne's murder?'

  Sarah waved my reaction aside. 'The murder I know he didn't commit. The affair, well, who knows? JoLynne was a very good-looking woman.'

  'And I'm not?'

  Sarah eyed my comfy jeans, coffee-spotted Uncommon Grounds T-shirt and, propped up on the footrest, sneakers. Vented, over time, by holes at the soles.

  'I clean up good,' I said defensively.

  She said something under her breath. It sounded suspiciously like 'Not as good as JoLynne did.'

  I couldn't argue with Sarah's assessment. 'For your information, Pavlik did not have an affair with JoLynne.'

  'Who says?'

  'He does.'


  'Well –' Sarah now leaned back, seeming unfulfilled without a cigarette to puff nor a drink to sip – 'there you have it, then.'

  I exploded. 'Why do you even ask me these things if you're going to pooh-pooh my answers?'

  'You, I believe,' Sarah said. 'Him, ehhh, not so sure.'

  'I thought you liked Pavlik.'

  'I do. I just don't trust him.' Another snatch of something: '. . . all dogs.'

  Granted, Sarah had at least one bad relationship that I knew of under her own belt. As in, don't you just hate it when your new beau turns out to be a criminal?

  Still, I thought she was overgeneralizing. 'Pavlik has admitted another relationship, so yeah, I believe him when he says he didn't do the dirty with JoLynne.'

  But my friend hadn't heard anything past the first phrase. 'See, Maggy? I told you.'

  'Fine, believe what you want. But Pavlik was seeing this woman first, so she's the lover betrayed, not me.'

  'Which makes Maggy the "other woman" this time.' Sarah seemed to be savoring the role reversal. 'Now that's an interesting turn of events. Were they in a committed relationship?'

  Committed? Right about now I was thinking one Maggy Thorsen should be 'committed' for opening her stupid mouth about Pavlik and Milwaukee County Executive Wynona Counsel. Thank God I hadn't named names.

  'No,' I said simply, hoping that would end the discussion.

  'According to your sheriff.' The doorbell rang and Sarah rose to answer it.

  'What's biting you?' I called after her. 'A day or two ago, didn't my best friend tell me I should grow up? That naive no longer became me?'

  From over a shoulder: 'My advice applied toward your playing he-loves-me, he-loves-me-not. This is the other side of that coin and you're still acting naive. Maggy has to protect herself, because nobody else will.'

  Sarah flung open the door. 'What?'

  I got to Sarah's foyer as fast as my feet would propel me.

  The poor delivery guy, thank God, managed to stand his ground and keep his grip. He had our food. 'China Inn?' the young Asian man ventured hesitantly.

  'Yes, thank you.' I swept Sarah out of her own doorway so I could take the corrugated slat of cartoned goodies. 'Pay the man.'

  Surprisingly, Sarah did and quietly followed the food and me to the kitchen table.

  As I opened the containers, I realized that – contrary to what I'd told Sarah – it was Chinese, not pizza, that Pavlik and I had eaten the night before. Pizza was Wednesday night. Can't keep track of the take-out without a scorecard. Or, better yet, an annotated menu.

  Happily, though, there were no repeats from the night before, except for fried dumplings which, as everybody knows, are staples.

  'Good job ordering,' I said, standing back to survey the array of white boxes. 'Dumplings, egg rolls, Kung Pao chicken and . . .'

  'Pork-fried rice. I had them add cashews.'

  Sarah knew I loved the nuts. Either she was being unusually kind or carefully priming my pump for even more information. What answers my friend hoped for, I didn't know. Sarah sure didn't seem pleased with what she'd gotten thus far.

  We doled out plates and silverware, sinking a soup spoon into the contents of each little white carton. Then I went to retrieve my wine from the living room.

  'I really appreciate your ordering the cashews,' I said, sitting down and claiming the fried rice as my first helping.

  'Hey, I like them, too.' Sarah speared a dumpling and popped it in her mouth whole before setting down her fork.

  I had the disquieting thought that the only difference between my friend and my sheepdog was the – occasional – involvement of utensils.

  'So, if Pavlik is telling the truth,' Sarah said around the dumpling, 'then it must be Rebecca who lied.'

  'Or JoLynne, lying to her.'

  'Why would the recently deceased do that?'

  I mulled the question as I sipped my wine. 'To hide an affair she was having with someone else?'

  'Exactly,' Sarah said, mouth now full of a second dumpling.

  I tried not to look. 'Are you telling me you know who?'

  'Wish I did.' Next up to Sarah's plate was an egg roll. 'You should eat the appetizers first, they're not good cold.'

  'I like variety,' I said, adding Kung Pao Chicken to my plate.

  'You and JoLynne both.'

  I ignored that. 'You know what makes the most sense, don't you?'

  'Maggy, I don't like playing guessing games any more than you do.'

  'Rhetorical question.' I held up one finger. 'Who's the one affairee JoLynne wouldn't want Rebecca to know about?'

  'You're doing it again,' Sarah griped. 'But I get your drift. JoLynne would tell her sister she was banging Pavlik to hide the fact she was already doing her future brother-in-law.'

  I wouldn't have put it in those terms, perhaps, but, basically: 'Yes.'

  Then I did a double take. 'Rebecca and Michael are getting married?' Poor Michael. 'Wait a minute. How could you know that?'

  'People do tell me things, you know.'

  No, I didn't. In fact, Sarah was the last person folks usually turned to with their secrets. Not because she would maliciously blab them, but rather because my friend just couldn't give a shit.

  For me, though, Sarah was the perfect incarnation of a confessional experience. The warm confidentiality of a priest and the cool detachment of a psychiatrist. Now, if only she had a prescription pad.

  I took another slug of wine. 'Who told you about the pending nuptials, Rebecca or Michael?'

  'Neither.' A shrug. 'It was Mary, our librarian. With the town not opening the building before noon and cutting even her hours to save money, she's been working at the jewelry store part-time.'

  Things were very bad when the head book-guru was forced to moonlight. No wonder Mary had the time to attend the dedication on Wednesday.

  I closed my eyes, searching for reliable, visual memories. 'I don't recall seeing an engagement ring on Rebecca's finger.'

  'Maybe Michael hasn't given it to her yet.'

  I opened my eyes, only to see Sarah shoving the last of the egg roll into her mouth. Prelude devoured, she reached for the meal's main act.

  I managed to snag two cashews off the top of the pork-fried rice as it zoomed past me. 'Knowing Rebecca, I'd expect she'd want to choose her own ring.'

  'Me, too.' Sarah was digging around, cherry-picking pork morsels and nuts.

  I paused, fork in mid-air. The cashew that I'd balanced carefully on top of rice and pork hit the table.

  'What?' Sarah said, snatching the nut – mine, by all that was holy – and popping it on to her tongue.

  I stuck the remaining forkful of food into my own mouth, lest it meet the fate of the cashew, and held up a finger as I chewed.

  Lips closed. My mother taught me well.

  Then, after I'd patted my mouth with a paper napkin: 'What if it wasn't an engagement ring for Rebecca?'

  'Why else would Michael lay out that kind of money?'

  I raised my eyebrows to drive home the point. 'For JoLynne?'

  'Maggy?' The tone used to explain the obvious to a slow learner. 'JoLynne is . . . was married. To Kevin, remember?' Sarah reached for my wine glass and took a sip.

  'Hey,' I said. 'You're not supposed to have alcohol.'

  'Just checking to see if you're right that Sauvignon Blanc's good with Chinese.' She made a face. 'Not.'

  The only clear drink Sarah truly enjoyed was vodka. And, yes, that includes water. Unless it was mixed with vodka.

  'Good. Give it back.' I set my glass out of her reach. 'You're certain the purchase was an engagement ring?'

  'A diamond ring, Mary said.'

  'They set diamonds in other types of rings beyond engagement ones,' I pointed out. 'Maybe it's a cocktail ring for his mother.'

  'What mother?'

  'Do you know Michael's mother is dead?'

  'No. You know she's not?'

  This was getting us nowhere. 'All I'm saying is
that maybe the ring was a gift for JoLynne and Rebecca found out.'

  'How?'

  'Mary told you, didn't she?'

  If you wanted to be specific, Mary didn't 'tell' anybody anything. She only asked, as in: 'I was going to the store?' 'Your book is overdue?' 'Your cat just got run over by a semi?'

  Subtract twenty years of age and add a designer handbag, Mary'd be a valley girl. Kate must have had a picnic interviewing her at the dedication ceremony.

  A thought that cheered me immensely.

  Sarah was thinking, too. 'I just can't believe Mary would spill the beans to Rebecca. Especially if she thought Michael was planning a surprise.'

  'Maybe she assumed he'd already proposed.'

  'Without a ring to show his intended?' Sarah held up her hands to stave off further discussion. 'Regardless of how Rebecca supposedly found out that Michael had bought a ring he perhaps meant to give to someone else, what could she do about it?'

  'Confront him.' I picked up the remaining egg roll and set it back down.

  'Told you.' Sarah waved her fork at me. 'Gotta eat 'em while they're hot.'

  I hate it when she's right. Normally I'm eating with Frank and the food doesn't have a chance to get cold. The dinner conversation between the sheepdog and me amounts to chewing, swallowing and slobbering, accented with the occasional 'yum'. Sometimes Frank makes noises, too.

  'Rebecca –' I picked up the cold egg roll and took a defiant bite from it – 'is not afraid to start a row.'

  Sarah grabbed the roll out of my hand, wrapped it in a pink paper napkin and stuck the package in her microwave. 'To recap –' she pushed a button and turned – 'Rebecca may have discovered that Michael bought a ring he might – or might not – have intended for JoLynne. Rebecca perhaps reams him out. What does he do, maybe confess?'

  'Will you stop with all the "perhapses", "maybes" and "mights"? Of course, we're just theorizing. It comes with the territory.'

  'You're theorizing. I'm making it up as I go.' The microwave beeped and Sarah removed the napkin-wrapped egg roll.

  'Thank you,' I said as she plopped it on my plate. The thing was steaming now. 'But my answer to your question is, no. I don't think Michael told her the ring was for JoLynne. Rebecca must have suspected, though. There seems to be a long, convoluted history between the sisters.'