As a well-earned treat, I’d poured myself a glass of red wine. I’d just taken one sip when I noticed Poppy standing toe-to-toe with the Senator.
“While you’re bragging about all your accomplishments, don’t forget to mention all those folks who died because you were busy lining your pockets,” my grandfather said.
I set down my glass and raced over to see what Poppy was on about.
“How dare you?” Jenny Beth Wentworth’s eyes narrowed in anger. “My husband has had an honorable career, putting the needs of his constituents first.”
“That’s what Peter Minuit told the Indians when he traded beads for Manhattan Island,” said Poppy. “Your husband’s idea of service has been to walk around with his hand out, grabbing money as fast as he can. Whoever paid the most has always bought his attention. He can tell all the lies he wants, but facts is facts.”
“Poppy!” I said, reaching for him.
He twisted away.
Honora managed to slip between Poppy and the Wentworths. Her voice rose to a high pitch as she diverted the conversation. "Dick? I didn’t know you were back from the Keys. Come and tell me all about your fishing trip!"
"I ain't done here!" hollered my grandfather.
“Poppy!” I grabbed him by the back of his belt. “Let’s go see—”
“Did you invite this man?” my grandfather asked as he jerked out of my grip. “Because if you did, you ain’t no kin to me. Senator Wentworth is a murderer, pure and simple. Take a good look at him, Cara. This here is the fool who killed your grandmother.”
CHAPTER 34
Sid and MJ bracketed Poppy and ushered him out through the back before I could wrap my hands around his neck and strangle him. With that, the party was officially over. People couldn’t leave my store fast enough. A few took the time to thank me, but in the main, they made a mad dash for the exit.
Thanks to my grandfather and his big mouth, the cleanup would go on and on. The food and trash would be easy enough to clear away. But the memory of my grandfather calling Senator Wentworth a murderer would linger like a red wine stain on a white damask tablecloth. I thanked my friends for hustling Poppy out the door.
“Bummer,” said Sid.
“You’ve got that right,” said MJ. “Especially after all the hard work we’d put into this event.”
“Poor Dick,” said Skye. “Emotionally, he has more ups and downs than a roller coaster.”
“Poor Dick?” I whirled on her. “My grandfather spoils a terrific evening, and you feel sorry for him?”
“Yes, I do,” said Honora, although I’d been talking to Skye. Honora was busy ladling leftover punch into a pitcher. “I know what it’s like to lose your spouse. I’d been with Frank for nearly fifty years when I buried him. Poor Dick only had fifteen with Josephina, and she was the love of his life.”
That shocked us all into silence. In the heat of self-pity, it’s easy to forget that others have their own aches and pains. When we focus on ourselves, we forget our common humanity.
“You know what I need? I need a pencil,” I said.
“A pencil?” Skye paused while sweeping up little bits of plastic bags that had littered the table where she’d done her demonstration.
“That’s right, a pencil. I'd like to poke myself in the eye as a distraction." I was sorting the recyclable goods from uneaten food.
"Can’t help you there. I don't carry a pencil, just a hatpin," said Honora with a chuckle. “Many’s the time I used one to poke a groping hand while riding the subway in New York City. Came in very, very handy.”
“Forget the pencil. I think we need to get you a padded desktop,” said MJ. “That way you could bang your head against the wood, but you wouldn’t make any noise.”
“I think I need a padded cell,” I said. "Otherwise I might hunt Poppy down and kill him."
“Good idea. At the very least, you could lock your grandfather in the padded cell and we could take turns throwing darts at him. Sort of like pin the tail on the donkey, but we’d be using a real, live jackass,” MJ tidied up the leftover paper napkins, putting those that hadn’t been used in a plastic bag.
A shared burden is always lighter. The banter with my friends eased my anger. I tried to count my blessings. At least most of the guests had already left when Poppy went on his rampage. Because he’d lived here his whole life, his reputation as a hothead had preceded him. Maybe some of my guests would cut him some slack because they, too, had lost a spouse.
Intellectually, I knew that I wasn’t responsible for Poppy’s behavior. Emotionally, I began the arduous process of wresting my guilt to the ground.
As she passed by our new display window, MJ said, “It’s raining buckets outside. At least it held off until after the event to start pouring. I might need to call a cab to get home.”
“Worried about the canal flooding?” I asked. I knew her house was a block from a waterway that often overflowed.
“No. My Cadillac is pretty high off the road. It’s not the rain so much. It’s the fact that I plan on drinking all the half-empty bottles of wine.”
“You can’t drink all the leftover bottles of wine. Not if I get to them first,” said Skye, pulling up a folding chair and plopping down. “This one is mine,” she drank directly from a bottle of Merlot as she picked through the plastic bags, trying to separate those she had ironed from those that were in their raw form.
“Girls, I would join you, but I brought my own flask,” said Honora. Reaching into the depths of her handbag, she withdrew a silver vessel. When she tippled it, the strong smell of bourbon roiled free.
MJ brought the remains of two bottles of wine over to the table where I’d been working. I’d lost my original glass of wine when I played referee with my grandfather. Sid contributed a stack of eight-ounce paper cups. I drank a couple of sips, but I was too upset to enjoy it. MJ knocked hers back in a wink. Skye finished her bottle and let out a hearty burp.
"Gracious! Excuse me!" she said and turned a pretty pink.
“I wish I was old enough to drink. Do you mind if I light a spliff?” Sid asked.
“Don’t you dare!” I said.
He laughed. “Don’t worry, Cara. I can’t afford to buy dope. Wish I could. Seems like a good time to get high. Especially after your grandfather ruined the mood.”
“Tomorrow, first thing, I am lighting all the sage smug sticks I own,” said Skye, refilling all our cups. “We need to clear the air here. Starting with the dead guy we found when you first moved in and now this, enough is enough.”
“Why stop there?” I asked. “Why not burn down the building? I’ll donate the lighter fluid. Why not take down my whole business all at once instead of letting Poppy ruin it one visit at a time?”
Jack whimpered from his crate. Skye plucked him up and handed him over to me. “Even Jack feels miserable.”
“How is it that we could have come this close,” and I positioned my index finger a half an inch above my thumb, “to a resounding success only to have Poppy flush all our good work down the drain?”
“To be fair, he didn’t ruin everything,” said MJ.
“Only because most of our guests had left before he accused Senator Wentworth of murder,” I said.
“Which technically is true,” added Honora.
“Huh?” All four of us stared at her.
“I’m nice to Josiah Wentworth but I don’t like the man. I certainly don’t admire him,” she said, before taking another pull from her flask. “He’s a scoundrel of the first order, but his money is green. It pains me to admit it, but that’s why I’m gracious to him and Jenny Beth.”
“Poppy wasn’t blowing smoke?” I asked. “He really is a murderer?”
“Senator Wentworth accepted money from the railroads,” said Honora. “They were the biggest funders of his campaigns. In return, he pushed through legislation that allowed them to avoid slowing down at crossings. He also overturned laws mandating that they blow their whistles on approach. According
to Josiah the sound of the whistles was more of a nuisance and a distraction than a safety precaution. Then he stonewalled legislation that would have shifted the burden of paying for crossing gates to the railways.”
“And that’s how Cara’s grandmother died? At a crossing?” asked Sid.
“Josephina didn’t hear or see the train. It was an unmarked crossing. The conductor had the engine cranked up to full speed. She never knew what hit her.”
“Wait. Honora, are you saying you knew my grandmother?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Yes, dear, I did. That’s one reason your grandfather couldn’t control his tongue. He told me when he walked in tonight—and I agreed—that you’re the spitting image of Josephina.”
CHAPTER 35
If I hadn’t been exhausted, I would have bombarded Honora with questions about my grandmother. As it was, I just wanted everyone to go home so I could get to bed myself. But emptying out the store was complicated. MJ had been drinking, Honora didn’t have a car, and Sid had ridden his bike to work. I didn’t have the heart to send him out into the dark and the rain. Florida’s large number of senior citizens make our highways hazardous under the best of conditions, but in bad weather, things go from dicey to dangerous. Bicyclists are especially at risk, because they can be hard to see.
“Come on, I'll drive all of you home. The fresh air will do me good,” I said.
First I drove MJ to her house, a neat stucco bungalow not far from the store. Two cats sat in her windows. When she opened the door to let herself in, I caught a glimpse of typical Floridian décor complete with bright colors and open textures. I wondered when or if she’d ever invite me over. Skye and I had become close, partially because we were almost roommates, and I considered MJ a friend, but she was more private.
Sid shared a trailer with three other guys. Hip-hop music floated from the open windows as did the pungent smell of marijuana. “Thanks for the lift. I’ll get a ride in tomorrow,” he said, as he bumbled his way out of the backseat. Despite his all-black wardrobe and multiple piercings, he reminded me of Tommy. Sure, their choices in clothing were vastly different, but their mannerisms weren’t. All teenage boys shuffle around in bodies that seem to be a bad fit. They never lift their feet off the ground. Their posture is perpetually hunched over, as if to protect the little kids that live inside them.
Honora and I watched as Sid climbed the rickety aluminum stairs and slipped into the dimly lit metal shell.
“Hard life for that child,” she said. “I’m glad he’s working for you. Needs a steadying influence, since his mother hasn’t got the time for him.”
“Sid told me that her boyfriend doesn’t want him around.”
“Her boyfriend? What a romantic term for a nasty parasite. The less said about that leech the better. After Sid’s father died, Vivienne got a lump sum from her husband’s insurance policy. Instead of using it to take care of their son, she flashed the cash around until she attracted that loser of a partner. Sid hasn’t seen a red cent.”
“Honora, you seem to know the scoop on everyone,” I said, as I pointed my Camry, aka Black Beauty, back toward A1A. “What do you know about my sister, Jodi Wireka?”
“Let me think how to put this,” she said. “Give me a minute. The bourbon makes my brain sluggish.”
The streetlights blinkered the road as I drove. Dark, light, dark, light. A comfortable silence filled the car. The windshield wipers beat a hypnotic rhythm.
“The coral snake is beautiful, but deadly. Cooper didn’t realize how venomous Jodi was until after she’d poisoned his life.”
“He says she’s holding something over his head.”
“I wouldn’t doubt that. He’ll need to make a tough decision, won’t he? He can let her ruin his life or find a way to survive the pain as the poison works its way out of his system.”
Time to change the subject. “I meant to tell you how much I appreciate all you did to make the evening a success. The orchids looked wonderful. The punch was a hit. I know we sold several pieces of EveLynn’s work, and I assume you sold that scene in the watering can. The customer drooling over it seemed enthralled.”
“Yes, she was happy with her purchase. I’m glad you realize that the evening was a success because it was.”
“Up until the moment when Poppy made a scene.”
“Dear girl, more people agree with your grandfather than disagree. Don’t mistake their silence for admiration. The Senator is an old man, and as you probably noted, his mind is slipping. Karma has finally caught up with him. The locals might smile and nod when they see him, but in private there’s a lot of schadenfreude.”
“What’s that?”
“A German word for feeling joy at another person’s misfortune," she said. "I can attest to the satisfaction it gives one to see an old enemy brought low."
"Wait…you really, really don't like the Senator, do you? I would have never guessed by how nice you were to him and his wife."
"It never pays to let other people know you despise them. You lose all the advantage of surprise. When they know they’ve upset you, they feel powerful. Such knowledge gives them a tactical edge."
I mulled this over. "You hate the Senator because of my grandmother?"
"That was one instance in a chain of many events, culminating with the Senator cheating my husband out of our family business." She waved a weary hand in the air, as if to clear away a bad odor. "We knew quickly that EveLynn was not…like other children. That made us frantic for answers. We paid one specialist after another. My husband decided to take a loan out against our appliance store. Josiah heard what we needed, he came by, and offered my husband a deal. Unfortunately Frank didn't read the fine print. The agreement gave Josiah majority interest and the right to sell the place without our permission. Which he did."
"Ouch."
"Hmmm. I used much stronger language, but 'ouch' indeed." She sighed. "That was years and years ago. I've tried to let bygones be bygones. The Wentworths are so accustomed to stepping on people that they've probably forgotten what they did to my family by now."
“That makes me sick."
"It's all in the past," she said.
Yeah, I thought, I guess. Holding on to grudges was a tiring way to go through life.
"Well, I still think I should send flowers and a note of apology to the Wentworths. Poppy was out of line. No way can he stand in the middle of my store and bash a customer.”
“Dick has always let his tongue get ahead of his brain. Although you don’t owe the Wentworths anything, I think a bouquet would be a lovely gesture. Why don’t we drive over to their home tomorrow and deliver the flowers ourselves? I imagine you could use a break from the store. I always love going for a ride in the car. A personal visit to the Wentworths will seem much more heartfelt.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
CHAPTER 36
The next morning I awakened to drizzle splattering my windows. Jack had his head next to mine on my pillow. He yawned, exposing his tiny pink tongue and blasting me with dog breath.
“You’re a sweet boy,” I said, rubbing his tummy. “Raining again. So much for sunny Florida, huh?”
I dressed and carried him downstairs. Fat droplets of rain streaked the big display windows. A brown palm frond tumbled past, end over end. A distant rumble told me the heart of the storm was approaching, fast.
Jack wasn’t thrilled about going outside, but the portico over the back stoop offered a modicum of shelter. He finished his business quickly. After popping two leftover mini-quiches in the microwave and starting the coffee maker, I fired up my computer. First off, I searched for Kathy Simmons’ name. Sure enough, one of the local funeral homes had received her body. Services would be held Monday afternoon.
That sad event needed to be added to my Outlook calendar. On to happy things. Things I could rely on, like numbers.
Jack pranced around my feet. I lifted him onto my lap. “If you’re good, you can stay here while I wo
rk,” I told him. “But you have to be good. No prancing and dancing or romancing.”
He seemed to understand as he curled up against my belly and closed his eyes.
My father had taught me that figures are a business owner’s best friend. “They don’t lie,” he said. “You can think you’ve had a good night or a poor one, but until you’ve done the math, you’re a sniper shooting blindfolded. No accuracy.”
All the receipts for the food, serving supplies, and promotional materials were bound with a bright red plastic clip. My fingers moved quickly over the number pad to total these expenses. Next I calculated the personnel expenses and expenses incurred from my media event. After adding up all my costs, I turned my attention to the register tape. To that total, I added phone sales written up by hand. Finally, I included deposits that MJ had taken on Highwaymen paintings.
We’d made a healthy profit.
Dad told me that making money wasn’t good enough. You had to know how you made it. “You have to keep an eye on what’s performing well and drop items that don’t pull their weight.”
Revisiting the detail tape, I turned my attention to specific categories, particularly our newest addition, consignment goods. All of EveLynn’s items had sold. Every single one of them. In addition, we’d taken orders for custom pieces. Two of Honora’s expensive miniature scenes had sold. A lot of her smaller individual items had been purchased as well.
Skye’s spa recipes had been a big hit. She’d also written up orders for a variety of OOAK items, including a painted chest of drawers and a pair of nightstands decorated with shells.
Of the 43 Old Florida photos, we had sold thirteen, not counting the one that Kathy had purchased and taken with her. Although we'd collected payments in full, the pictures would stay on the wall for thirty days. That gave me thirty days to “use” my customers’ money. Since our cost of goods for the pictures was negligible, we had made a handsome profit. More importantly, we’d turned discarded items into a curiosity that had gotten—and would continue to draw—customers into the store.
Second Chance at Life Page 11
