Caught Read-Handed (11 page)

I explained our idea to become funeral watchers rather than mourners, and Mark thought it was a practical strategy. “I've lived in Fort Myers Beach for more than thirty years. It's where I came to start my new life after I was discharged from the army. I'm bound to recognize folks you might not know. And, hey, no one can stop us from looking.”

We decided to meet at the café an hour before the funeral. As soon as Mark left, Bridgy ran to lock the door behind him and turned back to me. “Okay, no more interruptions. When I went out to the parking lot looking for Elaine, she was leaning over the driver's side of an expensive-looking convertible. Guess who was driving? Never mind. I'll tell you. Ellison Lipscome. And Elaine was all flirty and giggly.”

My mouth dropped open but Bridgy was far from done. “So I waited until the car pulled away and then I approached Elaine. She dismissed Ellison with a flap of her hand as one
of the ‘many' students she tutors. Looked to me like more than a tutoring job.”

I shook my head. “Honestly you are getting like Ophie—seeing romance everywhere.”

Bridgy protested. “I didn't say there is a romance, but they were sure acting as if they'd both like there to be a romance. And soon. So, without saying why we wanted help, I asked if she could work tomorrow morning. She was very sorry but—she will be attending Mrs. Lipscome's funeral. Threw me the big eyes and a sappy smile and said, ‘She was Ellison's stepmom, you know.' And away she walked.”

I was sunk. “What are we going to do about tomorrow? I already asked Mark to help out at the funeral. I really think it would help us to know who the Lipscome family's close friends are.”

“Oh, easy peasy, you're more the wannabe Miss Marple than I am. You go with Mark to spy on the funeral guests and I'll stay here.”

We heard the doorknob rattle and a pounding on the door. “I can see y'all sitting in there lounging. I could sure use a tall glass of your sweet tea. Open up.”

Bridgy got up to unlock the door for her aunt while I went to pour another glass of tea. Ophie spun into the room like a Miss America contestant making her first grand entrance the final night of the competition. Her flowered skirt did a little twirl of its own and then fell back into place with soft folds draping from her extra-wide pink patent leather belt and landing softly at the top of her knee. She glanced behind her and said, “No sense locking the door. Here comes Pastor John, and he has some folks with him, overdressed for this climate, I'd say.”

“The Merskys?” I'd been wondering all day how George
and his family were doing. I hoped to call but things kept happening. Busy day.

Ophie gave me big owl eyes. “I wouldn't know. I haven't met them yet, poor souls. Still and all, a cold drink and a bite to eat might raise their flagging spirits, leastwise if their spirits match their faces.” She tut-tutted.” Draggy, draggy.”

I ran to the window and sure enough, the Merskys were trailing across the parking lot behind Pastor John, who was on his cell phone, no doubt getting an earful from Jocelyn if he'd been out of her sight for any length of time.

I held the door open and welcomed them all. As if this was a festive social occasion, Ophie used her most Southern charm to introduce herself. She fluttered among the Merskys, and I was pleased to see she made an extra fuss of Regina, who was the most bedraggled. “You come over here and have a seat, honey chile. Can I get y'all a cold drink?”

Ophie looked slightly shocked when Regina asked for coffee on such a warm day, but then her penchant for hospitality won over. “I'll make a fresh pot. Y'all just get comfortable.”

Miguel came through the kitchen door. “
¿Qué pasa?
” He stopped, clearly surprised to see everyone, but sized up the situation instantly. “Ah, we have guests. Welcome.” He walked over and shook George's hand. “I am sorry you are having these problems. I hope it is over soon. In the meantime, can I fix you something to eat? And what about a snack for the ladies?”

All three Merskys shook their heads, but Miguel went back into the kitchen and I was sure he'd be out with a platter soon. Pastor John and I pushed the Hemingway table up against the Emily Dickinson while Bridgy and Ophie flapped around like hens rounding up the chicks until everyone was
seated. I noticed that George was listless and his face had a pasty sheen. I could understand why O'Mally was worried about him. I served water and sweet tea. Ophie was a minute behind me, coffeepot in hand. Bridgy disappeared into the kitchen and came out again with a tray covered with bowls of
Old Man and the Sea
Chowder paired with sides of crackers and corn bread.

I helped her set the plates in front of our visitors. It didn't do any good for George and Regina to wave us away. Bridgy and I were determined, and, ultimately, the Merskys were gracious. Pastor John reached for George's hand on one side and motioned Bridgy to sit and hold his hand on the other. We all bowed our heads and Pastor led us in a prayer that was part “grace before meals” and part “help us in our hour of need.” It was a short, much-needed conversation with the Lord, and although I got misty eyed, I know I felt better for it and I hoped the others did as well.

Miguel came out of the kitchen with his long white apron tied over his tank top and denim shorts. He fussed around George and his family as though they were as special to him as his beloved Maine Coon, Bow. “Eat. Eat up. Now tell me, when do you visit your brother again?”

George obediently took a spoonful of chowder. “This is delicious. Thank you so much. Well, the hospital asked that we leave for a while. I hope we'll be allowed to see Alan again in a few hours. Mark, I can't remember his last name, but he is one of the fellows from your program, Pastor John. Anyway, he called a few minutes ago. He wants to visit Alan and I said he was welcome to come along.”

“Excellent. I will make you a package of tasty treats that will charm the hospital staff into stopping by to check on
your brother frequently.” Miguel rubbed his hands together and as he bounded back into the kitchen, someone banged at the front door. Who on earth could it be now? We should have been closed an hour ago, yet the café was busier than a political party headquarters on election night. I looked through the glass and Cady Stanton was peering back at me. Here we go. Another county heard from.

I unlocked the door but put my finger to my lips in case Cady hadn't looked through the glass panels and noticed the crowd gathered in the dining room. He seemed taken aback but relaxed when I introduced him to the Merskys and didn't mention his job. I knew Cady well enough to know that he wasn't a sneaky reporter. If he needed to question the Merskys, he would tell them exactly who he is and what he does for a living.

I told him to pull over a chair, but he surprised me when he asked to speak with Miguel, who, at that moment, walked through the kitchen door carrying a plate of muffins, tarts and scones. “Here is a sampling of the treats I have packed up for your brother.” He set the plate on the table and stood watching the Mersky family enjoy their soup. I knew he would wait patiently until they began eating the pastries. Then he would be satisfied he had done his best.

Cady cleared his throat. “Ah, Miguel, about the green anaconda.”

Miguel turned. “Did they find him? Is he dead?”

Cady shook his head. “No. There's a problem. It seems he came ashore by the Mound House. A couple of tourists spotted him but by the time they could raise the alarm, he had disappeared.”

Miguel shuddered. “So now he is here. Right on the same
island as my sweet Bow, and she could be his dinner tonight. I will not stand for this. I am calling those Wildlife people Lieutenant Anthony spoke about.”

I tried to soften things. “Miguel, maybe tomorrow you could bring Bow to work with you. If she stays in her carrier . . .”

“You want me to keep her locked up all day? No. That is not right. The big snake—he should be locked up, not my beautiful little kitty.”

I hadn't noticed Aunt Ophie get up and come around to where we were talking. She rested her hand on Miguel's shoulder. “Miguel, do you think Bow would like to stay in the Treasure Trove with me? I wouldn't keep the darlin' girl in her carrier and I can lock the front door. When a client rings the bell, I can pick up the little honey and hold her safe as can be so she can't run out. What do y'all think?”

Miguel hesitated, and then his face nearly split in half when he burst out with a huge grin. He threw his arms around Ophie and planted a big kiss on her cheek. “
Tu eres una verdadera amiga
. You are a true friend, not just to me, but to my Bow.”

Rarely one to get flustered by male attention, Ophie colored slightly and covered her confusion by asking Regina if she wanted more coffee. I breathed a sigh of relief that at least one crisis was averted. We had so much going on, and as if on cue, there was a knock on the door.

Bridgy walked over, took a quick look and opened the door. Jocelyn Kendall pushed the door aside and fumed, “Is my husband still here? It's been hours”—then she stopped in mid-sentence when she realized that there were more than half a dozen people in the room and we were all staring at her. She absentmindedly pushed at a lock of her straw-colored hair that
hung down over one side of her face. Then right before our eyes, she morphed from strident shrew to helpful spouse. She walked directly to the Merskys, introduced herself as Pastor John's wife and offered to do whatever the family might need to make their time in Fort Myers Beach as comfortable as possible.

As often as I'd seen Jocelyn pull off this transformation, I was always amazed. It was as though she alternated her personality by flipping a switch and moved back and forth between being the Wicked Witch of the West and the Good Witch of the South.

The Merskys seemed charmed by the Jocelyn they were meeting. The rest of us knew better. Pastor John was standing by his chair. He began checking his pockets for the odds and ends he carried around. I'd watched him do it a hundred times. Cell phone, pocket Bible, notebook, pen. All present and accounted for. Feeling obliged by her presence to go home, the pastor told Jocelyn he was ready to leave. She gave him a sad smile. “John, I'm here to help. But if you're tired, poor dear, then I guess we should go.” And she triumphantly marched him out of the café.

George said, “Well she seems like a nice woman.”

O'Mally gave his cheek a pinch and said, “Don't kid yourself, honey. She's a tigress and that poor man is a lamb. Oh well, every wife can't be as wonderful as yours.”

The laughter was spontaneous. Once again, O'Mally had snipped off a little chunk of tension while the rest of us were totally stressed, wondering what was going to happen next.

George looked at our big round wall clock, took out his cell phone and in keeping with O'Mally's jest said, “Dear wonderful wife, do you have that piece of paper with the phone number the doctor gave us?”

O'Mally passed him a paper that she drew from the pocket of her billowing chartreuse blouse, and George excused himself from the table and walked back to the book corner. Cady signaled me with a head nod toward the kitchen. When we got inside he told me that the
Fort Myers News
had assigned him to write a story about the veterans program at Pastor John's church. “I didn't want to bring it up with Alan Mersky's family sitting there, but I want you to know that I'll be talking to Pastor John as soon as I can, and then I'll be talking to as many vets as will talk to me.”

I curved slightly away from him so I could think without him staring in my face, but Cady was having none of it. He
put his hands on my shoulders and turned me until I was standing straight in front of him and we were less than shoulder length apart. “Sassy, it's my job. I have to do this.”

From the doorway Miguel said, “So sorry, my friends, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

I slid out from under Cady's hands. “You're not interrupting, Miguel. Cady was telling me that he is going to write a story for the paper about the program that Pastor John runs for the vets.”

Miguel gave me an odd look. “But that's a good thing, no?”

I could see how Miguel might think publicity could help gain support for the program from folks who didn't know it existed. But I feared some of the veterans would become anxious or upset by what they considered an invasion of privacy. When I said that out loud, Cady shook his head. Then he automatically smoothed his hair from front to back, a frequent gesture, especially when his mind was scrambling.

“Sassy, my editor is a Vietnam veteran. He wants a story that will help, not hurt the vets. Trust us. Trust
me
to be careful not to stir up problems for people who, quite frankly, may already have far more than their share.”

I looked to Miguel, who kept his head down at the work counter. He was busy pretending we weren't in the room.

“Well, it's not like I can stop you. I hate to see George's brother and the other veterans used to sell newspapers.”

Cady gave me a look that said I was clearly missing the point. Then he stomped out of the kitchen without another word. But Miguel had two cents he decided I should hear. “You know Cady likes you and is a good friend to you, yet you treat him like yesterday's ham sandwich. Don't push him too far away,
chica
, or someday you may be sorry.”

When I turned to stare him down, he raised his hands in surrender and went back to kneading dough for whatever sure-to-be-delicious thing he was making.

Everyone in the dining room was in motion. George had finished his phone call and was walking back toward the tables. O'Mally hurried over to put an arm around him and give him a little squeeze. Bridgy and Ophie were taking Regina on a tour of the bookshelves, and I was delighted to hear Bridgy say, “Go ahead. Take a couple. Our treat.”

I knew from experience that when life hands you lemons, reading a good book makes the lemonade sweeter. I was happy that after wavering for a few minutes, Regina gave in and graciously thanked Bridgy for two books with such cheerful covers that they could only be cozy mysteries.

Cady was nowhere to be seen.

George looked happier and much more energetic than he had when he slouched through the café door a while ago. I was pleased that a small break with friends and good food had lifted his spirits.

“Okay, ladies, we are on the move. The hospital will allow us a longer visit with Alan this afternoon. And we can bring all the pastries Miguel will provide. Alan has no food restrictions right now. That's a great sign because some of his hospitalizations, well, the food was terrible and outside food wasn't allowed.” George demonstrated his exuberance by reaching over and giving O'Mally a playful smack on the butt.

We shouldn't have been surprised when she squatted and wiggled a twerk, saying, “Once more for good luck.”

George obliged and while we were all laughing, he turned to me. “I called that fellow Mark from the veteran's
group. He'll meet us right outside in your parking lot. Sassy, I can't thank you enough for all you've done.”

I gave him an impulsive hug. “Come on, I'll wait for Mark with you.”

Ophie walked out with us and was her most flirtatious self when Mark Clamenta drove up and got out of the car to say hi and round up the Merskys. We waved good-bye as they pulled out of the driveway, then Ophie headed to the Treasure Trove. I was walking back to the café when a sheriff's car pulled in the driveway. Frank Anthony was in the passenger seat. Ryan Mantoni rolled down the driver's window. “Is the family here?”

No need to say which family. There was only one family he'd be looking for at the café.

“Nope. You missed them by minutes. Drove off to the hospital. Can I offer you some pie?”

Ryan turned to Frank, who surprised me by nodding. If he wants to stop for pie, he's got something to say or questions to ask. I reminded myself to carefully check every word that came out of my mouth. No sense adding more fuel to the lieutenant's fire.

The deputies sat at Robert Frost. Bridgy brought a sweet tea for Ryan and a coffee for Frank. I became even more suspicious of their motives for stopping by when Frank declined a piece of peach pie. He was here on business no matter how casual he tried to make it appear.

I brought Ryan his pie topped with whipped cream and then began to move deliberately away. Frank politely asked me to sit, but I had a sense that it was more an order than a question. I glanced at Bridgy, who had begun steam cleaning
the floor. The cleaner wasn't overly noisy but it was distracting. She clicked it off and came to sit with us.

Ryan dug into his pie like a kid on the beach with a new pail and shovel. Frank, on the other hand, took a sip of coffee and then pushed his cup across the table and sat ramrod straight and dove right into questions without preamble. “Was there any particular reason you chose to recommend Goddard Swerling as the attorney for Alan Mersky?”

Never saw that one coming. Well let's hope my answer would rattle him. “You. You were the one who said ‘Tell the family to hire a lawyer.' I didn't want to pass along that message without a name or two.”

He raised his eyebrows and folded his arms. Neither was a good sign. “Let's try again. Why, with a broad choice of hundreds of lawyers in Lee County, did you decide to recommend Swerling?”

“I asked Cady, and that was the name he gave me. Why are you questioning me about this? You didn't say a peep when we were all together at your office. Never questioned how Goddard Swerling became Alan's lawyer. What changed?”

He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “There's a lawsuit about a swimming pool. Swerling is the attorney for a group of plaintiffs in a suit against the Lipscomes, and suddenly he's the defense attorney for a man accused of her murder. Didn't that strike you as some sort of conflict when you foisted him on the family?”

Foisted? Really? I bit my tongue. “Until Alan was arrested and
you
told me to advise George to hire a lawyer, I'd never heard of Goddard Swerling in my life.”

“And yet you recommended him to the family. You can't blame that on me.”

I reminded Frank that I was blame free. That one was on Cady.

Frank ran one hand over his hair, ruffling back and forth until it looked like a mini Mohawk. That hand-on-hair thing was a trait he and Cady had in common. Frank ruffled, Cady smoothed, either way it meant their brains were in gear.

Frank started muttering, almost to himself. “He should know better. He covers the crime beat for the paper and if he reads his own paper, he knows about the lawsuit. The whole town knows about the lawsuit.”

He shot me a look that was somewhere between a glare and a frown. “Except, of course, for you. Don't you ever read?”

I tossed a tougher scowl right back at him and pointed to the book corner. “Seriously? You're asking me if I read.”

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I meant ‘read the newspaper.' How else do you follow what goes on in town?” Then he looked around and said, “Or did I forget that this is gossip central? Oops. Did your gossip mill miss a beat?”

He pushed his chair back and signaled Ryan, who said a quick “Thanks for the pie,” and followed the lieutenant out the door.

I folded my arms on the tabletop and rested my head right there between our copy of “The Road Not Taken” and Frost's fruit poems. I needed a minute to collect myself before I helped clean and close the café.

But Bridgy didn't seem to realize I was totally spent. “Honestly, Sassy, does a reasonably young, reasonably attractive man ever come through our door without you
winding up in an argument with whoever it is? What is up with you?”

She had her hand on her hips, with her shoulders held high—a pose that spelled doom for whoever had ticked her off. I wasn't quite sure why but apparently it was me.

“What did I do? Cady expects me to be the bridge to the vets for his story. Frank came in, all full of ‘whys' and ‘why nots.' Now you're calling
me
a troublemaker? I don't think so.”

Normally when Bridgy moved into tantrum mode I ignored her until she calmed down, a process that rarely took longer than ten minutes. Today, however, I was done with people pushing me around. First Cady and his editor, then Lieutenant Frank Anthony. Now Bridgy had the nerve to tell me I'm the rabble-rouser.

Miguel came out of the kitchen, took one look at the two of us and said, “I'm leaving. If you're going to have a fight there is ice cream in the freezer. You can eat it when you make up.” And with a wave he was gone.

I looked at Bridgy. “I wonder what flavors we have.”

“Vanilla, for sure. Miguel has apple pie a la mode on the specials tomorrow. Probably chocolate and strawberry, too. The basics. Let's skip the fight. You sit. I'll serve.”

Ice cream. The one thing guaranteed to nip any potential skirmish in the bud. In a flash Bridgy was back with two glass bowls each holding scoops of all three flavors. “I assumed you want whipped cream and chocolate sauce?”

“But of course.”

She sat down and we both savored the cool and creamy treat. When we'd scraped the last bit of sweetness from the bottom of our bowls, Bridgy laughed. “Miguel sure knows how to get us to do what he thinks is the right thing.”

“Food. Duh. He's got our number. Bridgy, I'm sorry I snapped.”

She dismissed my apology with a flap of her hand. “I listened, you know, when you were, shall we call it, ‘talking' with Frank Anthony. What do you think the concern is? Is there a connection between the lawsuit and the murder?”

“I have no idea, but I know one thing. Before I go home today I am going to visit the scene of the crime.”

Bridgy, who is usually hesitant about anything to do with sneaking around, especially when it comes to gathering information we have no business collecting, shocked me by shouting, “Field trip.”