Caught Read-Handed (8 page)

Ophie was awash in self-satisfaction when she welcomed us at the Treasure Trove door. “I'm more than sorry that I didn't get to meet your friends but because I put business before pleasure y'all are going to be happier than an old dog lying in the sun and gnawing on a hambone.”

Then she gave us a big grin, folded her hands demurely and waited for us to ask. Naturally, Bridgy did.

“Aunt Ophie, darlin', what are you talking about? Have you made the sale of a lifetime? Is it thanks to you that we can now retire and spend each and every day lounging on the beach?”

“I only wish that were true, honey chile, but my news is darn near as good. I have it on the best authority that your murder victim may have had a fancy man.”

Bridgy and I exchanged questioning looks, then I remembered an old song by the Rolling Stones. I hummed the tune
until the lyric floated across my mind. “
You've got a fancy man on the side
.”

I nudged Bridgy. “Boyfriend. Tanya Trouble had a boyfriend.” I looked to Ophie for confirmation. “Am I right?”

“Quite possibly. Come sit down and I'll tell you what I heard.” She led us to the delicately plaited wrought iron patio set where she conducted business with her clients, usually while plying them with pastries and sweet tea from the Read 'Em and Eat.

“Just as I was getting ready to come on over and meet the Merskys—is that their name?—why y'all won't believe who walked in as bold as the morning sun after a week of rain. And pretending she never missed so much as one appointment, never mind two. Frederica, the designer for Lipscome Builders.”

Ophie bobbed her head and waited for us to take in the fact that the source of her gossip was well credentialed.

I couldn't resist pretending that I didn't get the connection so I asked if Frederica had bought some of Ophie's more expensive decorative pieces.

“Why, yes she did but that is the least interesting bit of the story.” Ophie leaned across the table and motioned us to lean in as well. If there were hidden microphones in the Treasure Trove, Ophie was making certain they didn't pick up a word. She spoke in the tiniest of whispers. “Frederica told me”—here Ophie actually glanced around to make sure no one was sneaking up on us—“well, she told me that Mr. Barry Lipscome, y'all know, husband of the deceased, wasn't so sure where his wife was spending her time before she met her unfortunate end. He pushed her to sign up for volunteer jobs and charity endeavors so he could go on
working his hundred-hour weeks and not be worried about where she was, who she was with.”

“Makes sense to me. Tanya Trouble no more wanted to be volunteering in the library than I want to backpack the Appalachian Trail.”

Always easily sidetracked, Ophie started telling us that hiking the trail is an exhilarating experience and she ought to know, since she'd hiked it several times and she was much older than we are now, so what were we waiting for?

With wide eyes and a slight tilt of her head, Bridgy gave me the “you sent her astray now bring her back” look. I tried. “I didn't see that Tanya was the least bit interested in the stacks or the patrons or the research material or anything else the library has to offer. If that was one of the projects her husband suggested to keep her busy, very likely it increased her boredom.”

“From what Frederica said, the husband was very sure that Tanya's extracurricular activities involved men, not books.”

“Men? Plural?” Bridgy was aghast. “How many could she handle at once?”

Ophie smiled. “Honey chile, I could tell you stories . . . But of course well-mannered ladies never kiss and tell.” And she preened just enough to let us know she still had what it takes.

I almost choked. Now it was Bridgy who'd gotten Ophie off track and on to something neither of us wanted to hear. I jumped in superfast, lest Ophie thought we'd try to wheedle information about her romantic past. “Does Frederica have any idea who Tanya was, ah, interested in?”

“Well, it seems that Frederica has lunch at least once a week with Lipscome Builders' head of security, a retired police detective from New York. I got the impression that
Frederica would like to move past lunch but so far . . . zippo. Anyway, the security man told Frederica that Barry Lipscome wanted him to hire a private investigator to follow Mrs. Lipscome for a while. Of course Lipscome wanted to remain at arm's length and the investigator would never know who the real client was.”

I was perplexed. “Why would the security boss risk his job by telling Frederica all this?”

Ophie smoothed her oat-colored hair. “He said he was conflicted. Needed advice.”

“And what advice did Frederica give, pray tell?” I was getting tired of this pointless story dragging on and on, all speculation, nothing concrete. I had to remind myself that was how conversations with Ophie often went.

“What advice could she give to a colleague about their mutual boss? She told him to follow Lipscome's directive and hire an investigator.”

Bridgy started tapping the tabletop with her fingertips, clearly restless. “Wait, if there was a PI following Tanya Trouble, then shouldn't he have seen the murder? Or maybe tried to stop it, or at least tell the sheriff's deputies who the killer is?”

“Mr. Lipscome was too slow in coming up with the idea, and the head of security was even slower in finding an investigator, so Mrs. Lipscome was murdered without a soul to witness it. An investigator could have stopped the murder entirely but no investigator was ever contracted.” Ophie threw up her hands.

We sat for a moment reflecting on what might have been if a private investigator had been on the scene when Tanya Trouble was attacked.

Then I realized it wouldn't have made a difference. “She was in her own backyard sitting in the hot tub. If an investigator was following her, he'd have to stay out of sight and probably couldn't see the yard from the street.”

Bridgy gave me a look. “Sassy. Stop it. There was no investigator. The deed is done. Now let's get to the restaurant supply house.”

We invited Ophie to come along for the ride, but she already had plans for the evening and wanted to go home and “buff up” as she liked to call it. “It's Blondie Quinlin's birthday and we're having a little celebration. I thought dinner would be in order, but some of the girls from the environmental group thought we should cut loose with a little wine and a little gambling. And of course a cake. Augusta Maddox is making the cake. Can't say I trust her cooking, but she did volunteer.”

“Aunt Ophie!” Bridgy pretended to be shocked. “I can't believe you are going to spend the evening gambling. What has gotten into you? And what kind of gambling? Roulette? Baccarat? Wait 'til I tell Mom.”

“You leave your mother out of this. It's only playing cards. What is that game the girls here like to play? A canasta game of sorts. Hoof and Mouth? No. No. Hand and Foot. That's it. So much fun. We laugh all night. I'll have to teach you
.
” Ophie took a peek at the starfish-shaped clock hung high on the wall and said, “Well if y'all are heading to the mainland, you better move along. But tell me, did Charmaine do right by that poor fellow's family? How is the rental she arranged?”

After telling Ophie how happy the Merskys were with their apartment, Bridgy and I walked over to our cars. Since
I'd spent much of the day driving the Merskys hither and yon, I was thankful that Bridgy offered to drive to Royal Restaurant Supply. We piled into her shiny red Escort ZX2.While she was pulling out of the parking lot, Bridgy asked, “You met this Mrs. Lipscome. What do you think? Was she the type to have a—don't you love Ophie's phrase—
fancy man
?”

Talk about being put on the spot to make a judgment call. “I didn't exactly meet her. I only saw her walk by me at the library.”

“Well, what was your impression? Did she look like a woman that would make herself, ah, easily available?”

I sunk back in my seat and stifled a yawn. “Really? In this day and age we gauge a woman's morality by how she looks? Seriously?”

I glanced at the iPod dock on her dashboard and tried to change the subject. “And where is your iPod?” I tapped the radio on. Instead of music we heard an announcer raving about a furniture sale in Bonita Springs.

Bridgy shrugged. “Not sure. I guess I left it at home. Anyway, don't change the subject. Do you think Mrs. Lipscome had a boyfriend?”

“We have no way of knowing. All we know is that somebody told somebody else that her husband
thought
Tanya Trouble was fooling around.”

“But if it's true,” Bridgy persisted, “if she had a fancy man, maybe they had a lovers' quarrel and he killed her in a fit of jealous rage.”

When I refused to answer, Bridgy scoffed. “You really don't want to speculate about this, do you?”

“Speculation won't get Alan out of the mess he's in. We need facts and so does the sheriff.”

Not one to give up, Bridgy said, “Well we can be sure of one fact. If she had a lover, it sure wasn't Alan Mersky.”

Well, she had a point there. A lover would certainly increase the suspect pool. If the lover wasn't a suspect, maybe he had a wife, or a jealous ex.

While I was lost in thought, the latest cut by Florida Georgia Line came on the radio and the duo, one Georgian and one Floridian, sang us right into the parking lot of Royal Restaurant Supply.

Royal is like a Toys“R”Us for cooks and foodies. You name it, they have it and in dozens of styles. A few months ago, Miguel asked us to pick up a new basting brush. There were so many to choose from that I wound up snapping pictures with my phone and sending them to him until he decided on a snazzy long-handled model with natural bristles. Although the café side of the business was more Bridgy's domain, I still loved to wander up and down the aisles looking at all the gadgets and the totally upscale service items.

A section of finely woven tablecloths and napkins caught my eye. I was selecting colors for imaginary holiday parties when Bridgy called me over to aisle three. She was with Patsy, our favorite salesperson, and they were discussing ice machines of various sizes and capabilities. I zoned out immediately. What does an ice maker have to do besides make the ice and keep it frozen? Well, according to Patsy, size matters. Did we want ice cubes, ice nuggets or crushed ice? All three? I stifled another yawn but snapped back to attention when they started talking price. Talk about sticker shock. Every machine, even the most compact, cost thousands of dollars. I didn't think those little yellow energy-efficiency stickers that indicated a reduction in electrical use would
save us enough money to warrant such an expensive purchase. I was relieved when Bridgy took all the brochures that Patsy gave her and said we'd make a decision soon. Sure we would. Right after we won the Powerball lottery.

Bridgy gave Patsy our list, arranged for six dozen of the glasses we picked out to be delivered to the café tomorrow, and in short order we were carrying two sturdy boxes of straws, plastic gloves, dish towels and assorted supplies across the parking lot.

“Should we go straight home or do you want to go to the café? We could drop off the supplies and you could pick up the Heap-a-Jeep at the same time.”

I barely heard Bridgy's question. Two men came out of the sporting goods shop a few doors down the walkway. They were heading in our direction and the closer they got, the more certain I was that Bridgy and I were about to cross paths with Barry Lipscome's sons.

I elbowed Bridgy. “You see these two fellows heading our way?”

“If you mean the handsome dude in the blue golf shirt and his tag-a-long friend, how could I miss them? Do you want to drop a box and play damsel in distress? Fine with me, but if they invite us for coffee or a drink, you have to take the young one.”

Always one for a little harmless flirtation, Bridgy leaped at any opportunity to increase her social circle. I rolled my eyes. “This isn't a pickup. Those are Barry Lipscome's sons. Too old to be Tanya's. Probably her stepsons.”

My response was enough to make Bridgy nearly drop the box she was carrying, but it would have been a genuine accident and not a flirtation technique. “You're kidding,” she said under her breath, although the Lipscomes were still yards away. “Let's talk to them. Put your package on that bench. Quickly.”

We put our boxes on the nearby bench as though it were a rest stop. I only had to take two steps to the right to be directly in the Lipscome brothers' way. The older one moved to walk around me but stopped when I addressed him by name.

“Mr. Lipscome?”

“Yes?”

I put on my serious face. “I'm Sassy Cabot and this is my business partner, Bridgy Mayfield. We own the Read 'Em and Eat café in Fort Myers Beach. I knew your stepmother and I want to say how sorry I am.” Bridgy tapped me on the back. “How sorry we both are for your sad and sudden loss.”

He nodded and tried, once again, to move around me but I took another side step, blocking his way, and stuck out my hand, holding it deliberately straight until he was forced to acknowledge me and shake my hand. “I'm Abbott Lipscome. This is my brother Ellison.”

I said I was pleased to meet him although the circumstances could have been better, then I asked, “How is your father doing? It broke my heart to see how stressed he was this morning.”

That's when he took a good look at me. “This morning. You were at the sheriff's office. You a deputy?”

It would have been so easy to bob my head in agreement and continue talking but honesty took over. “No.”

Bridgy stepped a little closer to me as if my answer gave us a reason to close ranks, and said, “She was visiting her boyfriend. He left his watch at her place last night. He's a deputy.”

I gulped and quickly shifted away from my imaginary love life. “Actually, I knew Tanya from her volunteer work in the library. She was always helpful.”

Ellison raised one eyebrow and gnarled his lips. “Maybe
she was all sweetness at the library but you didn't have to live with the—”

Abbot put his arm around his younger brother. “If you'll excuse us. The entire family is upset.”

But Ellison refused to be quieted. “The murder is so disruptive. We have to deal with the constant inconvenience of deputies, technicians trooping through the house and reporters showing up all over the place. And why? Because of Tanya. I know Dad was going to get rid of her. I know it was a matter of time 'til he would force her to sign the divorce papers.”

From the look on Abbott's face, I would not have been surprised to witness another murder right then and there. He tightened his grip on Ellison's shoulder until he amended, “Well, I'm sorry Tanya is dead.” But he couldn't quite let go. “Even though it makes me happy that Dad is rid of her, period.”

I was aghast at Ellison's callousness but Bridgy took no notice and inquired as to the wake and funeral arrangements.

That's when Abbot exploded. “What is wrong with this town? Perfect strangers accosting us in a shopping mall to ask about the arrangements for someone they barely knew. I wish I could say you were the first nosy nellies we've heard from, but the house phone has been ringing off the hook. Is it the goriness of the murder or the chance at being around my father's money that you ghouls find so attractive?”

He yanked his brother's arm and dragged him into the parking lot. They were about ten feet away when Ellison threw over his shoulder, “The service is private. Invitations have already gone out. If you show up without one, we'll have you arrested for trespassing.”

It took a few seconds for me to shake off my stunned silence. “Talk about overreacting! I never saw anything like that.”

Bridgy was always able to laugh off awkward social scenes more easily than I could. She dismissed the Lipscomes with a flap of her hand. “At least he acknowledged we're perfect.”

I accused Bridgy of not hearing a word Ellison Lipscome said, to which she replied, “I heard the one word that mattered. He said we were ‘perfect' strangers. Now let's get these boxes into the car.”

Once again I turned on the car radio and this time was happy to hear Jimmy Buffett's voice singing about what he liked on his cheeseburgers. Personally, I was only with him as far as “
lettuce and tomato.
” All the rest of the stuff he craved was fine for him but too much for me.

Still, Bridgy and I, foodies that we are, knew every word and sang along like dutiful Parrotheads.

During the commercial for a sneaker sale at the Reebok in the Tanger Outlets, we decided to bring the supplies to the café so we could get everything put away neat and tidy for the morning. After two or three more commercials, we were singing along to one of our favorite girls'-night-out songs. All those years practicing voice in the church choir when I was growing up back in Brooklyn and I still couldn't belt lyrics out like Carrie Underwood. It was so much fun to sing along with her anyway. The song was over but we were still dragging out “
I don't even know my last name
,” putting about ten syllables into the final “
name
.”

Carrie gave way to Billy Currington, as if we needed a song to remind us that “People Are Crazy
.
” I was glad the music made such a radical shift. I was afraid another girls'-night-out song would remind Bridgy of her fabulous bachelorette party in Las Vegas. The party was a blast. Unfortunately,
the marriage was less successful. It was bad enough Bridgy caught her ex-husband—the Bonehead—cheating. His paramour had enough Botox and plastic surgery that she didn't look quite as Mrs. Robinson-ish as she seemed. Unless you took a really close look at the old lady's face.

The Bonehead was half of the reason we fled Brooklyn. Howard Accounting, where George works and I worked, moved to Connecticut, too long a commute from Brooklyn for me. So we packed up and here we are.

Bridgy brought my thoughts back to Tanya Trouble.

“Oh, about the funeral. Call Cady.”

“And ask him what?”

“Don't ask him anything.
Tell
him that if he brings all the information he can scrape up abut Tanya Lipscome's “private” funeral to the café before lunch tomorrow, breakfast is on me. And that includes dessert.”

We normally don't serve dessert with breakfast, but Bridgy knew how to get the attention of Cady's sweet tooth, which brought the rest of him right along.

He answered before the second ring. “Sassy. I was going to call you in a while. How are the Merskys doing? Did they get in to visit Alan? How did that go?”

Actually, he didn't rat-tat-tat the questions. Like the great news reporter that he is, Cady asked, I answered and then he asked another question. And so on. As soon as he assured me that he was strictly a friend inquiring about my other friends, not, at this moment, a reporter hunting down a story, I didn't mind answering any of his questions.

As soon as I pressed the “End” button on my cell, Bridgy asked what I thought of the young Lipscomes.

“Arrogant comes to mind. And obnoxious. You'd think
they'd at least pretend to be sorry their stepmother is dead. I mean, if their father's net worth is as large as the boys imply, Tanya's death increases their inheritance, doesn't it?”

“You've seen the father. Is he tottering at death's door?”

“Nope. He looks healthy enough, but the Menendez brothers spring to mind.”

Bridgy was shocked. “You mean those brothers who killed their parents for their fortune when we were, like, babies? I saw the story on some sort of ‘where are they now' television show. Maybe
Larry King Live
before it went off the air.”

“We studied the case in my family psych course junior year. Really creepy. Not that I think the Lipscomes are Menendez weird, but money is a strong motive and they disliked their stepmother so much that they can't even put on a show of being sorry she's dead.”

Bridgy parked the car in front of the Read 'Em and Eat, and the Lipscomes were largely forgotten until we'd unloaded and stored our supplies. The supply room was stuffed to the gills, but I knew within a week we'd use up a third of what we'd dragged home. Bridgy opened a bottle of root beer and waved it at me. I nodded and she filled two glasses with ice and led me into the dining room. When we're closed and the cleanup was finished, we often sat and enjoyed the silence around us. Both Bridgy and I were still astonished by how much our lives had improved in the three-plus years we'd been the proud owners of the Read 'Em and Eat. We liked to sit quietly and look around at our domain. The thrill never got old.

Bridgy took a sip of her root beer and started rummaging in her sea green cross-body purse. She'd added a dolphin pin to the clasp and every time she opened the bag, the dolphin
wobbled, but he never fell off. Bridgy pulled out a stack of papers and pushed them across the table.

“I know you don't have much interest in kitchen supplies, but we really have to talk about the ice machine. We've had it repaired twice and it is puddling again. It's time to invest in a new one.”

I nervously traced the edges of the picture of Dickinson's house, which, along with a picture of the poet and copies of several of her poems, sat under layers of lamination on the tabletop. I hated when we had to talk about money. After expenses, the Read 'Em and Eat was providing just enough income for Bridgy and me to survive. As long as we continued to share the apartment we liked to call the Turret, because it was five stories high overlooking the beach and had miles of gorgeous views, we were fine.

I made a show of thumbing through the papers and then set them down. “Honestly, have you looked at these prices? How can we afford . . . ?”

“We can't afford not to. We serve cold drinks all day long. Do you realize how many customers order sweet tea rather than coffee for breakfast? And nearly everyone wants a glass of ice water with their meals. We have to have good-quality ice.”

As our bookkeeper, or “resident money guru” as Bridgy liked to call me, I knew the purchase would crimp our budget for a few months. But the café wouldn't survive if we suddenly stopped serving ice. I caved gracefully.

“Okay, how about this. Have Miguel look these over with you. Pick two or three you think would suit our needs. Call a couple of the restaurants our size, you know, like the Sandwich Shack and Estelle's Eatery. See what kind of machines
they use. I'll find the money for whatever model you think is best. Royal gives us a ninety-day line of credit, right?”

Bridgy jumped up. “Oh, I thought this conversation was going to be a lot tougher. That accountant's mind of yours puts everything in order lickety-split.” She leaned in and gave me a hug.

Bridgy's use of the word “accountant” reminded that I couldn't go home without checking in to find out how the Mersky clan was managing. While Bridgy gathered up all the ice machine papers, I pulled out my cell phone and began searching for George's number.