Suiting action to words, Mimi disappeared beneath the surface of the lake, a circle of bubbles marking her descent. A minute later her fist popped out of the water clutching her blue Speedo. Mimi’s head followed, water streaming down her face.
“See?” she said, flinging her sodden suit at the pontoon. It caught on the corner with a wet
thwack.
“Easy.”
“Easy for you. Honey, I’d need a crowbar to get me out of this suit when it’s wet.” Birgie looked down. Shame. She liked skinny-dipping, too. It was a Chez Ducky ritual. Usually enjoyed after dark and for excellent reasons.
“That sucks,” Mimi said.
“Yeah, well—”
She caught sight of the missile a second before it hit the side of the pontoon and exploded green tempura paint all over her. “Damn it!”
Birgie heaved herself to her knees and lurched to her feet, setting the raft rocking.
“What are you going to do?” Mimi asked.
“I’m gonna go find those little bastards,” Birgie said grimly.
“I’m in,” Mimi said. “Just let me get my suit back on.”
“No. You stay. You’d only cramp my style by trying to keep me from killing those kids. I’m gonna put a moratorium on teenage boys at Chez Ducky. If I gotta be the goddamn head of this goddamn place I might as well get some satisfaction out of it. Unless you want to be the head of the place?”
“Ha. Ha. No, thank you.”
She hadn’t thought so. It was too bad. “Can I take the inner tube?” she asked. “I’m not as strong a swimmer as I used to be.”
“Sure,” Mimi said. “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
“Nah,” Birgie replied absently. She was thinking. What she needed was a replacement. But who? The Olsons of Chez Ducky had always been led by a matriarch, and the only other old ladies around were Birgie’s dead brothers’ widows, Naomi and Johanna. Neither would work. Naomi had been halfway round the bend for years and Johanna was so frantic trying to keep hidden the fact that she’d lately started shacking up with Charlie, her long-dead husband’s twin, that she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. But there was no reason
Mimi
couldn’t head the family.
True, Birgie couldn’t think of anyone more ill suited for the job, but she also couldn’t think of anyone better equipped. Ill suited by virtue of her temperament, well equipped by virtue of her abilities. Mimi might deny it with her dying breath, but the fact was that everyone knew that during Ardis’s last few years it had been Mimi who’d been the glue that had held Chez Ducky together. She’d sent in the taxes, arranged to have the septic tank sucked, kept track of . . . whatever needed to be kept track of.
True, Mimi might hate it, but she
could
do it. Hell, she might even keep Chez Ducky from being sold, and that would be good for her. Okay,
them.
Two birds, one stone.
True, Mimi would never agree, and she couldn’t be pressed into service. Mimi had withstood her mother’s demands to apply herself and do something—anything—for three decades.
But
if Birgie was really good, really careful, and played this right, Mimi
might
be slipped into the position. Like an oyster slips down your throat.
Hell,
Birgie thought as she dipped up and down on the corner of the raft, sending the pontoon rocking violently, it was worth a shot. She dove into the lake, causing barely a ripple.