“I’ve been thinking about that,” said MJ, as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “Especially after Skye showed me the earring. Danielle delivered that dress in a Paramount Dry Cleaner’s bag. Paramount is known for being meticulous, because it’s the closest dry cleaner to Jupiter Island, and their customers are picky. Very picky. Good dry cleaners empty out all the pockets of a garment and put them in a small paper bag. I’ve gotten back dresses with a ticket stub they found. That earring is chunky. No way could they have overlooked it.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off the headache that threatened. “I don’t understand what you are saying.”
“Let me see that there piece of jewelry,” said my grandfather.
Skye retrieved the pill bottle with the earring inside and handed it to Poppy.
Poppy rubbed the slender silver post between his fingers and rotated the earring to look it over. “Granddaughter, did Binky say anything to you when she handed back the dress? Anything at all?”
Closing my eyes, I went back in time. Bit by bit, the conversation came to me. “Just something stupid.”
“Tell me word for word.”
“She said, ‘Tell Dick that I’ve been seeing Samuel Morse on the south end of the island.’”
“This ain’t no ordinary earring,” said Poppy. “It’s a distress signal.”
CHAPTER 38
Poppy would have lit into me, but we were interrupted when Lou knocked on the back door.
The tight expression on his face suggested that he was a man on a mission. After helping himself to coffee and a donut, he pulled up a chair.
“How’re you doing, Cara? Dick?”
“Fine.” Poppy sounded curt. I could tell he was miffed at me.
“No serious lasting effects? Good, because I have news.”
I shot Poppy a sideways glance, wondering if he’d interrupt to share what he’d discovered about the earring, but a slight shake of his head encouraged me to wait.
“I just got a call from Ron Cisco up in Port Saint Lucie. The medical examiner confirms that Danielle Cronin was killed with a knife. The width and length of the blade might be a match for the weapon we took off the creep who attacked you two.”
This took a minute to sink in. Poppy understood the correlation faster than I did.
“Then it was connected? That couldn’t be a coincidence. Even if it is a commonplace type of knife. I cain’t imagine two creeps prowling around this area and causing mischief. You’re checking it out, right?” My grandfather’s voice carried a healthy dose of urgency.
“Right. We’re sending an impression from the knife up to Port Saint Lucie, along with DNA from the assailant. Also been checking the databases. He’s bad news, all right. Been arrested several times down in Miami, but always managed to squeak through the system. In fact, his attorney has already been in to see him. He’s going to push to get this man out on bail. And we aren’t talking about some Lincoln lawyer whose car is his office. This attorney is with one of the best criminal practices in the country. I guess this creep runs with a fast set down on South Beach. Might even be connected to money being laundered through a casino.”
“Danielle used to do a lot of partying down in Miami. She told me as much. I had mentioned that Tommy was going to college at U of M, and she laughed about all the good times she had before dropping out of school” I paused, thought a bit, and added, “There was a U of M bumper sticker taped onto the back of the car sitting in Binky Rutherford’s driveway. I remember it seemed odd. I mean, why tape up a bumper sticker? Why not stick it to a bumper unless it’s temporary? Unless you were trying to blend in on campus?” When my face creased into a frown, the contraction of my muscles caused my throat a great deal of pain. Who knew that you used your neck when you frowned? I didn’t.
“Lou, it’s still a little early on a Monday, and I was out late last night. What exactly are you trying to say?” MJ raised an eyebrow at him.
“Couple of things. One, this isn’t your ordinary, garden-variety creep. He’s connected. Got resources in Miami. Cara? You’re probably right. He probably prowls the places where U of M students hang out. Two, given his background, we’re thinking he was hired to do a job here. And three, there’s a connection between Cara’s mermaid and Danielle’s murder. But I’ll be doggone if I know what it is. Not yet at least.”
“Yup, well, guess what? I can tell you what’s you’re missing,” said Poppy. “The connection has something to do with that there dress of Cara’s.”
“What?” I nearly spit out my coffee. “A dress? You’ve got to be kidding me. Poppy, you can’t seriously be suggesting that Danielle was killed for a dress. A vintage Lilly at that. It’s not worth a ton of money.”
“No, I ain’t kidding.” He explained to Lou how I’d tried to give the dress back to Binky, only to later find an earring in the pocket. “Binky and I go way back. I get it now. See, when Danielle went to pick up clothes from Binky, Binky knew that giving away that dress would send a signal. All her pals would realize there’d been a mistake. So she made sure the dress would come back to her—or at least that one of her friends would come by and ask about it. And that worked like a charm. When Honora and Cara showed up with that there dress in tow, Binky stuck that there earring in the dress, so she’d have yet another chance at sending up a flare. She also gave Cara a message.”
He shot me a disgusted look. “A message my granddaughter didn’t think to share with me, ‘cause she was so all-fired sure it couldn’t be important.”
“A message?” Lou repeated. “Cara, you didn’t tell me anything about this.”
“That’s because it was a bunch of nonsense. Come on. She was babbling about an old friend. Give me a break.”
“What was the message, Cara? Tell me word for word,” said Lou.
“She asked me to tell Poppy that she’s been seeing Samuel Morse. I guess he lives on the south side of the island. Okay? It’s just a bunch of hooey.”
“Samuel Morse has been dead for years,” said Skye.
“See?” I persisted. “Binky’s mind is slipping.”
Skye continued, “But before he died, he invented the Morse code.”
Poppy and Lou decided they needed to speak to Police Chief Aaron Reiss, the head of the Stuart Police Department. “The problem is jurisdictional,” said my grandfather as he stood to leave. “Binky is on Jupiter Island. Danielle was murdered in Port Saint Lucie. Then we got ourselves attacked here in Stuart. It’s a mess.”
I listened, but I was totally embarrassed. I’m a real fiend about taking and returning messages. That’s one of the few business protocols that I’ll get rabid about. But here I sat, face burning with shame because I’d neglected to pass along a message to my grandfather.
“I bet that if you asked a hundred people on the street who Samuel Morse was, none of them could answer.” I spoke to everyone and no one, while Skye puttered around in the kitchen and MJ shuffled papers on her desk.
“Probably right,” said Skye.
“How did you know?”
“I love Westerns. Someday I want to go see the desert. They always used telegraphs to send messages back then. I read up on Morse code.”
“Quit pouting, Cara. It’ll give you wrinkles,” said MJ. “You’ve had a rough couple of days, and now it’s out of your hands. The long arm of the law will take it from here. Besides, isn’t Tommy coming home tonight? You didn’t forget, did you?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten.”
Skye dashed past me to the restroom. The sounds of her heaving filled the small back room.
“Morning sickness. Wonder when she’s due and whether Lou knows yet,” said MJ in an almost bored sounding tone.
“What?” I’d been saying that a lot and mentally kicked myself. “When did you find out? How long have you known? She doesn’t think you know.”
“She’s been up-chucking for weeks now. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?”
“No, I’ve been
a little distracted lately.”
Realizing I’d been totally self-centered made me feel awful. Just horrible. And my head hurt. And my neck hurt. And I really, really missed Tommy. I sniffled back a sob and blurted out, “Cooper says his business associates don’t want to hire Poppy. They’ve decided he’s too old. That’s not what I agreed to. In fact, I bought this place so that Poppy could stay in business—and, and this just isn’t fair. Poppy is really depressed. Looking after Sid has been good for him, but what else will he do with his time? What happens when Sid gets well?”
MJ had this way of looking at you that made you feel about as tall as one of Honora’s miniature people and every bit as capable. Rather than respond, she let that scathing glare settle over me. Meanwhile I imagined what she was thinking, and it wasn’t very pleasant. Whereas, Skye goes out of her way to reassure people, MJ calls it like she sees it—and she does not wear rose-colored glasses. Nope. MJ wears safety glasses because she throws the kitchen sink at you, and she’s well prepared for you tossing it right back at her.
“And that’s your problem?” MJ gave a mean little laugh. “That’s why you aren’t paying attention to anyone or anything lately? Because you’re fretting about Poppy? What is Poppy? Ten years old? Younger? Mentally challenged? Hel-lo? I think he was doing just fine before you moved down here. I imagine he can take care of himself.”
I stuck out my jaw, feeling a strange combination of defiance and relief. “Of course, he can. Don’t be silly.”
“Silly? I’m not being silly. You, however, are being ridiculous. If you’d stop mooning over Cooper Rivers and move on with your life, you might actually notice what’s going on around you. Like the fact our friend is heaving her guts out every morning. Or that Lou has practically moved in with her, but still hasn’t gone totally public about being her guy. You might even notice that Sid is worried sick about his computer. Or that I’ve found a lump in my breast.”
A silence hung there between us.
“A lump?” I found my voice. “Are you sure? Have you had it checked out?”
She swallowed twice and cleared her throat. Tears welled in her eyes. MJ is rarely emotional. To see her choked up scared me. I forced myself out of my seat and put my arms around her. After a tick, her head drooped onto my shoulder. “Of course, I’m getting it checked out. I see the doctor tomorrow at eleven. He’s going over my mammogram with the radiologist first thing in the morning. My mother died of breast cancer. Who am I, if I don’t have a pair of gorgeous knockers to show the world?”
I would have laughed, but I knew she wasn’t kidding. Instead, I rocked her in my arms and cooed, “It’s going to be all right, MJ. Knockers or no knockers. We’re all here for you. What exactly did they find?”
In fits and starts, she explained that her mammogram had shown an abnormality. She’d gone back to have it redone. “Spalding, he’s my ob/gyn, won’t have the results until tomorrow afternoon.”
“It’s probably nothing.”
“Yeah, but what if it’s something? What if they have to cut off a boob? None of my clothes will fit right! I’ll need new bras, and I’ve invested a mint into pretty pieces of worthless lace. And my bathing suits. They won’t fit right either.” A thin dribble of wetness ran down my neck and burned as it touched the cuts on my throat. That put another level of fright into me. MJ never, ever cries.
“Shhhh,” I said. She was talking nonsense, and we both knew it. As random as her comments were, they illustrated her valiant attempt to keep from asking the questions that really worried us both…what if it’s cancer?...and did they catch it in time?
CHAPTER 39
When Skye came out of the bathroom, MJ and I carried on like nothing was wrong—and certainly like nothing significant had been shared. Skye walked a little hesitantly and sank down gratefully in a chair. Clearly, she’d been violently ill, because spots of red were the only color in her cheeks. Resting her forehead on her crossed arms, she slumped down onto the table and moaned. MJ brewed her a cup of peppermint tea and filled a small bowl with Saltine crackers. Opening the refrigerator door, she found a plastic tube of minced ginger and stirred that into the tea.
“Just a little stomach bug,” Skye said as she raised her head and smiled up at our friend.
“A stomach bug called pregnancy,” said MJ.
“Did Cara tell you?” Skye pouted at me.
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Skye,” said MJ. “You’ve been puking for the past six weeks. Your boobs are bigger, and you look terrible. Hello? Meanwhile, your apartment reeks of Lou’s cologne. I might not be Agatha Christie, but I’m not stupid.”
Skye let her head roll onto the back of her chair. “Cara? Will this ever get better?”
“Yes,” I said. “Have you talked to your ob/gyn? Does he or she know how sick you’re getting? Are you losing weight rather than gaining it?”
“Only five pounds.”
“Gaining five pounds isn’t much. Your blood volume increases by 40 to 50 percent. That’s probably the bulk of the weight gain. But that usually happens over time,” I explained.
“Lost it. I lost five pounds,” she murmured.
“What?” MJ used my new favorite word. “Skye, are you kidding? You’ve lost five pounds? And you haven’t talked to your doctor? In how long? That’s not good.”
Skye shook her head. “I’ve been meaning to, but between work and the store, I haven’t had the chance. Besides, this is what they call a self-limiting condition isn’t it? It’ll run its course.”
“Not if you let it sap all your energy.” I got up, grabbed the landline phone, and handed it to her. “Make the call. Do it now.”
With a groan, Skye punched in a number. MJ and I listened while she explained to the receptionist what her problem was. After the recitation, she didn’t say a word. Not for the rest of the call until she said, “Thank you. Goodbye.”
MJ slammed herself into the chair next to Skye. “Excuse me? Did she fob you off?”
“Skye, please tell us that the receptionist told you to come in so they could check you. Please?”
She traced a pattern on the table top with her index finger. “Not exactly. She told me to drink a lot of water. To switch to Pedialyte if I needed to. Although I tried that and couldn’t choke it down. Oh, and to drink soup.”
“That’s all?” asked MJ, grabbing the phone. Her fingers flew on the number pad.
“Elizabeth? MJ Austin here. Put Spalding on the line. Right now. Immediately.”
Skye’s face reflected the shock in my own. I would never, ever talk to a receptionist like that. I treat them like they’re the Swiss guards in front of the Vatican. But truth to tell, it’s harder to get past a receptionist in a doctor’s office than to connect with the president of my bank. He’ll answer my call any day. But my doctor? No way. I have to beg and plead with his receptionist Martha to get a message to Dr. Simmons. When I do, he usually doesn’t call until the next day. More than once, I’ve wound up in the ER or at a doc-in-the-box because I couldn’t get in touch with my own GP.
But MJ knew exactly what she was doing. In short order, she was connected to a man who sounded completely at her disposal. “Spalding? It’s me. No, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m fine, but a friend needs help. She has morning sickness. Lost five pounds in six weeks. I know; how crazy is that? Her doc’s a fool. When can you see her? This afternoon? Right. At two? We’ll be there. Gatorade? Ginger ale? Got it. Will do. See ya.”
And that was that.
Skye insisted on working her shift at Pumpernickel’s. “Babies are expensive,” she said as she headed for the front door. At least she left with her pockets stuffed full of soda crackers.
The store wouldn’t open for another half an hour, and there was no point to wasting time. I put on the clothes Skye had washed for me and set up the machine for a second pot of coffee. “MJ? Let’s brainstorm what we can do for Valentine’s Day,” I said. “It’ll take our minds off…” and I caught myself.
MJ gave me a terse look. “Take our minds off all these distractions. Boy, let me loan you a scarf, Cara. Your neck looks awful.”
“Thanks,” I said as I wound the soft fabric around my throat.
We’d no more than pulled up a few ideas on Pinterest when we heard car doors slam outside. A happy Honora showed up with EveLynn two inches behind her. EveLynn has no sense of personal space, so she’s usually tailgating her mother. Honora handles her daughter’s deficits with grace, but it can’t be easy. Being around EveLynn tires me out. Living with her would drive me insane.
“Cara, I heard about your close call at the hospital. So you and Dick are heroes! Are you all right?”
“Mainly. I’m a bit sore.” I tried to smile. “Thanks for working the store yesterday.”
“You’re welcome. Epsom salt. That’s the ticket. Be sure to soak in it. Remember our visit to the bridge club, Cara?” Honora chirped like a little bird in her naturally high-pitched and crisp voice. “You’ll recall that I handed out those order forms? So far I’ve gotten six of them back. Can you believe that? Six custom orders. I took one while the customer was standing here in the shop. That makes seven. Sid’s not here, is he? Not yet? Oh, dear, then MJ, will you input them? We don’t want to let any grass grow under our feet, even if it is miniature carpeting. Once we get the deposits, I’ll get them started. Isn’t that glorious?”
Her sunny mood contrasted with the somber concern MJ and I had about Skye’s weight loss.
As for MJ, I had promised to keep her condition a secret. Maybe there would be good news tomorrow, after the specialist had taken another look at her mammogram. At least she was under a doctor’s care. Sure, I could worry, but what good would it do? In the face of Honora’s good news, I did my best to act appropriately pleased and not as fractious as I felt.
Second Chance at Hope Page 17
