I laced the fingers of my free hand through his and held tight for a long, consoling moment. “You were a blessing to Solange, Osmond,” I said in a quiet voice. “But you weren’t her screaming chicken. You were her angel.”
He bobbed his head as if dismissing the idea, which is when I noticed what I hadn’t noticed before. “You’re not wearing your cervical collar anymore!”
“Nope. Pulling the lever on that one-armed bandit all afternoon did my neck more good than a month’s worth of physical therapy. Pain’s all gone. See?” He swiveled his head left, right, forward, back. “Good as new.” He winced as he rubbed his arm. “Now the only pain I’ve got is in my elbow.”
“So how’d you do at the casino? Were you as lucky as you felt?”
“Nah. Margi was the only big winner.”
“No kidding? The church raffle, now this? Good for Margi!”
He lowered his brows and tucked in his lips. “We’re not so sure it’s good.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t wanna be spreading rumors, so the only thing I’ll say about the matter is—unexpected windfalls aren’t always what they’re cracked up to be.”
“Oh, c’mon, Osmond. You can’t leave me dangling like this.”
He locked his lips with an imaginary key. “Talk to your grandmother. She’ll fill you in.”
Both baffled and alarmed by his statement, I made my way toward the lobby, taking note of other guests who had wandered into the lounge for conversation and discounted drinks. Woody was holding court in the center of the room, surrounded by distinguished-looking white-haired and bald gentlemen with sober demeanors and serious eyes. Cal was deep in discussion with a group of men his own age, occupying the settees and chairs next to the port windows. I wondered if the two opposing parties had conducted their business meeting yet, because if they had, it didn’t look as if they’d resolved anything. As I neared the exit, I passed good old Irv, slouched in an armchair, cane braced against the cushion, dark glasses still hugging his face, highball glass nestled in his lap, with three empties sitting on the table in front of him. I gave him a little finger wave as I passed, but when he didn’t wave back, I figured he was either dozing behind his shades or too impaired to lift his hand. Either way, it looked as if Irv was planning to indulge in a liquid diet this evening rather than the four courses the rest of us would be served.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Miceli,” the purser commiserated when I made my inquiry at the front desk. “Mrs. Saint-Sauveur hasn’t responded to your request yet, but I promise to let you know the moment something comes in. It shouldn’t be long. She’s ever so good about answering her email.”
We both winced as feedback blared out over the speaker system. KREEE … KREEEOOO! “Bon soir, mesdames et messieurs.” Heavy breathing. More feedback. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. For your dining pleasure, the restaurant doors are now open.”
Knowing what would come next, I idled at the front desk in an effort to avoid the stampede from the lounge, but to my amazement, there was no stampede. A few of Cal’s cremationists trickled out from the lounge, but they were well-mannered and orderly, and proceeded down the corridor without throwing one elbow, cutting anyone off, or accidentally tripping each other on purpose. They were so civil, it nearly brought tears to my eyes.
“Anything wrong, Mrs. Miceli?” asked the purser. “You look so …
forlorn.”
“I’m just surprised that my group is being so laid back this evening. They usually fight their way to the front of the line when the dinner bell rings.”
“In the lounge, are they?”