“WHAT?” Alice cried.
They whipped their phones up to their faces, exhaling a collective sigh of relief when their devices lit up in their hands. “False alarm,” sang out Dick Teig.
I searched their faces in disbelief. “No volunteers? Not even one?”
Nervous glances. Guilty expressions.
“Okay, what’s going on?”
The Dicks looked at Tilly. Tilly looked at George. George looked at Nana. “It’s like this, dear,” she hedged. “The crew’s keepin’ us so booked up with lessons and lectures and demonstrations, we don’t got no time to dig up no dirt on no dead girl, so we’re gonna have to pass.”
I stared at them, gobsmacked. “You’re passing up a chance to be glued to your iPhones?”
Tilly shook her head. “There’s a bit of overkill involved in our schedule, Emily. I think we’re all suffering from mental exhaustion brought on by overstimulation. But it’s absolutely inspiring.”
“We’re so hyped up, we’re pooped,” said Grace.
“But if we take time away to dish up the dirt on that girl, we’re afraid we’ll lose our momentum,” explained Alice.
“Sorry,” said the Dicks.
I waved off their apologies, feeling as if I’d just been jilted by my longtime steady. “No, really, it’s okay. I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself. It’s just that … you’re so much better at it than I am.”
“Malarkey alert! Malarkey alert!” warned Dick Teig. “She’s using flattery to change our minds.”
“I am not. You are better with Internet searches. You … you’re like a bunch of ten-year-olds.”
“Aw,” gushed Nana, “that’s an awful nice thing for you to say, dear.”
I realized this might be one of the few instances where being compared to a group of juveniles was actually a compliment. “So what have you learned from your lectures and demonstrations that’s left you so inspired?”
They all began talking at once.
“… woozy from all the wines we tasted from the different regions of—”
“The more I sampled of the brie cheese, the less it tasted like old dirt, but the Pont l’Eveque—”
“… said I excelled at fields of flowers, but she thought I might be even better with nudes. We just need a model.”
“… tasted like a moldy sock even with the garlic cracker.”
“… started snoring through the slide presentation and …”
“… so surprised when she offered five-minute makeovers with sample-size products that she actually let us keep. My eyes look so much bigger with—”
“… been set on cremation since I paid your Grampa Sippel’s funeral expenses, but them Walt and Ed fellas was so convincin’ that I’m gettin’ a notion to order the Fisherman’s Retreat casket what’s got the eight-inch memory foam mattress on the inside and the authentic fiberglass fish scales on the outside. It’s an exact replica of the spotted bass what your grampa mounted forty years ago.”
As their chatter grew faster and louder, I let fly my signature ear- piercing whistle to restore order.
Ear-muffling ensued, followed by cussing and collective wincing.