Stranded (31 page)

And yes, there was Magnolia right in the midst of it, half a head taller than anyone else, flagpoling the wagon-wheel routine as if she’d been doing it for weeks instead of only a couple of hours. The audience area was dim, but the stage brightly lit. Lucinda called directions, her hand motioning for emphasis. The taped music wasn’t quite as loud today as it usually was.

“To the right now. One, two, three, kick. Back up now, keep your heads up. Kick.
Higher!
Dance like you’re trying out for the Rockettes!”

Magnolia wasn’t perfect, but neither was anyone else. She made some missteps, bumping hips and stepping on the foot of the dancer next to her when she went left instead of right. She was a little low and wobbly on the kicks and uncertain on the part where the dancers turned their backs to the audience and gave a little flounce of skirts. Or what would be skirts when they were in costume. But when they came to the part where the line broke into individual dancers doing a Charleston shimmy, she shimmied right in there with the best of them.

When the music ended on that routine, I gave a one-woman standing ovation.

“Okay, break time,” Lucinda called. She came up to where I was sitting and dropped down beside me. She wiped a hand across her forehead as if she’d been working as hard as the dancers themselves, which she probably had. “She’s going to be okay.

I was glad to hear that, for both Lucinda’s and Magnolia’s sakes. “How’s Lulu?”

“They took her on down to Hayward instead of keeping her at the local hospital last night. She had surgery early this morning. Good specialist down there. Paul said she broke her hip in two places when she fell. Or maybe the hip broke, and that caused the fall. I understand that’s how it happens sometimes.”

“Osteoporosis?”

“Right. Take your calcium. She was still a little dopey from the anesthetic when I saw her a few hours ago, but the only thing she was worried about was the chorus line. I told her she could never be replaced, but we’d found someone to fill in for her. And I picked up the costume.”

Diplomatic Lucinda, always thinking of how to keep someone’s feelings from being hurt.

“Charlotte and Magnolia will have to get together to see if the costume needs alterations. You don’t happen to have any more talented friends tucked away somewhere, do you? I talked to Ben today too, and he’s definitely out. No Will Rogers monologue.”

“Did you get Charlotte and Stella’s ruffled feelings about DaisyBelle taken care of?”

“I think I’ve convinced Stella that DaisyBelle might accidentally get hurt if something went wrong at one of the performances, and she’d be safer at home.”

Diplomatic Lucinda at work again. Appealing to Stella’s affection for her pig rather than laying down hostile rules. And it was true. DaisyBelle might get hurt. Charlotte definitely had mayhem in mind where the pig was concerned.

“Oh, I didn’t have breakfast before I went down to Hayward, so I stopped at a little café,” Lucinda said. “They have the biggest cinnamon rolls you’ve ever seen. Enormous! You should try the place sometime, if you get down that way. It’s called the Nugget, out near the stock auction yards.”

She went back to the stand she had set up just below the stage, and I sat there with my jaw going a little slack. Was her going to that café and telling me about it just some odd coincidence? Or was she subtly letting me know that she knew I knew about KaySue? Which meant what? And did this have anything to do with the fire . . . or Hiram’s murder?

No way, I scoffed. My imagination working overtime again. If I could just get paid for all that overtime, I could retire with a menu of lobster and prime rib, a Dior wardrobe, and shoes from Manolo Blahnik. And, more importantly, hire a bodyguard built like a Sherman army tank and thumb my nose at the Braxtons. But an overactive imagination, unfortunately, is not exactly a marketable skill. I squelched mine.

Lucinda surely wouldn’t be telling me about the Nugget if she was guilty of anything. The only thing on her mind here was an oversized cinnamon roll.
Don’t make more out of it than that
, I told myself.

A few minutes later, Lucinda had the chorus line back at work. I could see Magnolia making progress even as I watched. Her kicks got higher, in line with the other dancers, and she spent less time peeking sideways at the other ladies to make certain she was doing the right steps.

“How come you aren’t up there?”

The whisper spoke directly in my ear. It sounded like . . . but it couldn’t be . . .

I whirled in the seat, then jumped to my feet. Even in the dim room there was no mistaking the thick, silver-white hair, break-your-heart blue eyes, and big smile. Behind him Geoff was smiling too.

“Mac!” The back of the seat was between us, but he gave me a hug over it. A rather awkward hug, although I didn’t know whether the awkwardness was because of the seat or because of us.

“I don’t understand.” The music ended, and I lowered my voice to normal. “How . . . ? Where . . . ?”

“I told you I was coming,” Mac said. He sounded mildly reproachful, as if he’d made a promise, so how come I was doubting him? “So here I am.”

Yes, here he was. No knobby knees today, not in this weather. Today he wore jeans and a bulky tan vest, long-sleeved blue shirt hiding the blue tattoo of a motorcycle I knew was on his forearm. He’d shaved off the beard he’d had the last time I’d seen him. He’d looked good with it. He looked good without it. The contrast between his Florida tan and his white hair definitely put him over into Senior Hunk status.

“I was walking around the RV park, looking things over, and there he was,” Geoff said. “Just pulling into the park.” He spoke with a kind of pride, like a fisherman who’s just landed the biggest fish of the day.

“I thought I’d find a space and get settled in before trying to locate you,” Mac said. “Which turned out to be not as difficult as I thought it might be, since I ran into Geoff. It’s good to see you, Ivy.” He reached over and squeezed my hand.

“Good to see you too.”

It was good to see him, yet at the same time I felt the familiar ambivalence I always feel with Mac. Ambivalence in him, ambivalence in me. The pull of attraction, the push of wariness of getting too involved.

Forget it
, I told myself firmly.
He’s here. Enjoy the moment.

“What is this, anyway?” Mac motioned toward the stage as the chorus line regrouped.

I explained about the skits and chorus line, and what the proceeds from the Revue went for. “The main performances are scheduled for next Friday and Saturday evenings. Can you stay to see one of them?”

“Oh, I think I probably can. I’m in no big rush to get anywhere. You and Abilene plan to stay around here for a while?”

“She’s working on another murder,” Geoff said.

“What?” Mac and I yelped the word simultaneously. I was startled because I didn’t know how Geoff could know about the murder, since I certainly hadn’t mentioned it. Mac wasn’t so much startled, I suspected, as exasperated with the news. Was that part of his ambivalence? He didn’t want to get too closely involved with a woman who seemed to stumble into murders as easily as other women stumble into some new boutique selling cashmere bargains?

“Mag was talking to the people who run the RV park,” Geoff said. “She mentioned that we didn’t know anyone here in town except you, and they were telling her about the murder and how you were looking for the killer.”

I mentally groaned. Me and my rash statement about being a criminal investigator, which had apparently taken wings around Hello. Fortunately, the music started again, loud enough to discourage conversation. The chorus line moved sideways, forward and backward, their whirls and kicks not exactly in precision time, but reasonably close to it.

After a few minutes, Mac raised his voice over the music. “They’re pretty good. Like I said, why aren’t you up there?”

“I’m doing props.”

“I didn’t know Mag could do that,” Geoff said as his wife went into the shimmy that was the highlight of the final routine. I couldn’t tell if he was startled, admiring, or just bemused. Probably some of all.

My reaction, even though I’d earlier had my doubts Magnolia could carry this off, was
humph
. Women can do all sorts of things men don’t know they can.

That routine ended the afternoon’s practice session. Magnolia accepted congratulations from the other dancers, then made her way to the steps at one side of the stage and up the aisle to us.

“You were fantastic,” I said sincerely. “Awesome, as my grandniece would say.”

She was a little out of breath and her color high. Magnolia isn’t a couch potato, but she isn’t a lightweight, and I guessed this was more activity than she’d had in some time. She put a hand on the small of her back and groaned. “I’m going to be sore all over by morning.”

“Probably not as sore as when you took up horseback riding,” I pointed out. “And the costumes are much nicer.”

She brightened. “True.”

Suddenly a thought dropped out of nowhere into my head. I turned to Mac. “How do you feel about Will Rogers?”

I expected a noncommittal answer. Who doesn’t like Will Rogers’s folksy humor? Then I’d try to use my persuasive powers to get him to try the monologue.

But Mac went into a cowboy slouch and put an aw-shucks grin on his face. “There’s two theories about how to argue with a woman,” he drawled. He pushed back a pretend hat. “Unfortunately, neither one works.”

It was one of the very lines from Ben Simpson’s monologue of Rogers’s sayings. I stared at him in surprise.

“I was Will Rogers in some playacting thing Margarite got us into years ago. I wanted to be George Burns because Margarite was playing Gracie Allen, but they already had a George Burns, so I wound up as ol’ Will.”

“You must have been very good.”

“Afterwards people were always after me to do the Will Rogers thing. It’s been a long time though. I’m not sure I even remember any of the other lines. Oh yeah, there’s this one.” He went into the slouch and grin again. “I never met a man I didn’t like.”

I couldn’t believe it. Ben Simpson had said the lines competently enough, but Mac had a warmth and style that went beyond reciting words. He made you believe he really had never met a man he didn’t like. I grabbed his hand and dragged him down the aisle toward Lucinda.

“You asked if I had any other talented friends lurking in the wings? Well, I do. Meet Will Rogers.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Mac protested. “I’m not getting involved in—”

“Just do it,” I said.

He did the slouch and grin and hat pushed back. “After eatin’ an entire bull, a mountain lion felt so proud of himself he started roarin’. He kept at it until a hunter came along and shot him. The moral is, folks, when you’re full of bull, keep your mouth shut.”

Lucinda gaped at him.

“Though I’m not sure those are exactly the right words,” he said.

“Close enough,” Lucinda breathed, as if the skies had just opened and showered her with stardust. To me, as if I were his keeper, she said, “Will he do it?”

Mac, who is definitely his own man, wasn’t about to let me decide anything for him. “Do what?”

“A local man was supposed to do a Will Rogers monologue for the Revue,” I explained. “But his back gave out, and we need a replacement.”

Lucinda was already rummaging in the stand where she kept everything. “I have the script in here somewhere . . .”

“Hey, wait a minute—”

“Rehearsal Monday afternoon.” Lucinda handed Mac the script and then turned and gave me a hug as if I’d just solved all her problems.

I held my breath. Mac and I keep running into each other here and there across the country. There’s this
something
between us. But in all honesty, I didn’t really know him well enough to predict how he’d react in this situation.

Then Lucinda said, “You will do it, won’t you? We really need you.”

Mac smiled, and I relaxed. “Well, yeah, I guess I will. It’s for a good cause and all, isn’t it? Though if I’m going to do this I really think Ivy should have to be in the chorus line too.”

Lucinda saved me. “That would be nice, but we can’t do without her as our props person.”

I started to say, “Maybe next year.” Magnolia seemed to be having great fun in the chorus line. But honesty made me remain silent. Some of us are chorus girls, and some of us are props people.

Lucinda had already dashed on to a new problem. “Which reminds me. It isn’t on the list, but, Props Person, we need a rope.”

“A rope?”

“A rope. A cowboy-type rope. Charlotte located a photo of Will Rogers on the Internet. He always carried a rope and kind of played with it during a performance.” She gave me a glance as if expecting I might pull one out of my pocket, like I’d produced Magnolia and Mac.

“We’ll locate one,” Mac said.

Magnolia and Geoff were sitting in the back row, and we made our way up to them. I announced Mac’s part in the production. They didn’t seem nearly as surprised as I was by this. They were headed back to their motor home, Geoff said.

“Ben-Gay,” Magnolia groaned as she stood up. “I need Ben-Gay.”

“I’ll take Ivy home and see you later,” Mac said.

“It isn’t exactly home,” I admitted. “We’re staying with Kelli temporarily. There was this fire where we were living—”

“Ah yes. A fire. A fire and a murder, I believe. Ivy, we need to talk.”

“Maybe you could stay for dinner?”

“Peach cobbler?”

He never forgot that peach cobbler was what I’d brought the first time we met at one of Magnolia’s barbecues back in Missouri. There’s something heartwarming about that kind of memory.

“Peach cobbler,” I agreed.

I didn’t think until we got outside just how he planned to take me home. He’d never pulled a vehicle behind his motor home as many people, now including Magnolia and Geoff, did, just had a bicycle mounted on a frame on the back of the motor home.

Now I saw what our transportation was to be. It stood angled into the curb right outside the hotel, chrome gleaming. I swallowed, hard.

Although I should have guessed, I realized. Sooner or later a man with a blue tattoo of a motorcycle on his forearm is going to show up with the real thing.