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Well Read, Then Dead(104)

By: Terrie Farley Moran


            “I got an invitation,” I muttered, dreading the conversation to come.

            “Someone invited you to Miss Batson’s house?”

            I nodded ever so slightly.

            “Who?”

            “I’m not sure. Er, I don’t know.”

            “Was it someone whose name you don’t know? Perhaps someone you recently met?”

            I pulled the blanket close to my chin, thinking I could duck for cover when the explosion erupted, then I answered truthfully in a voice just above a whisper, “I have no idea who invited me.”

            Ryan grimaced and pretended to put his hands over his ears, knowing the tirade that would come. I shrank down into the mattress, waiting for the blast.

            Instead of snapping at me, Frank closed his notebook. “If you can’t remember, you can’t remember. Head injuries are like that sometimes. We’ll check in with you later.”

            I so wanted to let it go, but in all honesty, I couldn’t.

            My voice dropped into complete whisper mode. “It’s not that I don’t remember. It’s that I don’t know. I never knew. Someone put a note on the ship’s bell . . .” I shrugged, and then winced because the shrug hurt my head.

            Ryan’s face froze, panic-stricken. I could see he wanted to run straight out the door. He actually took one giant step backward, and then caught himself.

            Lieutenant Anthony moved directly to apoplectic. He did not pass go. He did not collect two hundred dollars.

            “You have elevated dangerously stupid to a whole new level. We have a murderer running loose and you—”

            He was interrupted when the door banged wide open and a three-ring circus burst into the room. Aunt Ophie and Bridgy were carrying every toy and trinket the gift shop sold. Cady cradled a bouquet of brightly colored wildflowers in his arms.

            Ophie thrust her treasure trove at the unsuspecting Frank Anthony, who, at the last second, understood her intent and opened his arms enough to avoid calamity as she literally threw assorted teddy bears and colorful monkeys at him.

            “My darlin’ girl. My sweet chile. I’m so grateful you’re alive.” She lunged across the bed and grabbed me in a smothering hug, so she could whisper in my ear, “Y’all know we’re not supposed to be here but I told the charmin’ lady at the desk that I was your mama and begged her to let me bring my other children to see their poor baby sister. How she could think I was old enough to have grown children, I’ll never know. Bad eyes, I guess. But she let us up, bless her heart.”

            She put her two hands on the pillow at either side of my head and pushed herself upright. Then she wheeled one hundred and eighty degrees on the narrow heels of her impossibly high shoes, and stopped short.

            “My Lord, here we’re doing this ‘I’m your mother, here’s your brother and sister, we’re all so worried’ piddle, and there’s no need.” She gave a broad wave in the general direction of the two deputies. “Look here, the hospital staff is letting your friends in for a quick visit. So nice of y’all to come.”

            It was challenging for Frank Anthony to look official with his arms filled with stuffed animals. Still, to his credit, he tried.

            He cleared his throat. “Miss Ophelia, Ryan and I are here on official business.” And he tried to push the armful of stuffed animals back at Ophie, who ignored him. She began circling the room, opening doors and drawers as if she were choosing a hotel room for a night’s stay, but Bridgy’s and Cady’s ears perked right up.

            Cady honed right in. “What do you mean, ‘official’? Didn’t Sassy have an accident? Rowena Gustavsen got in touch with Pastor John. He called Bridgy, who telephoned me, but by then my editor was already on the horn because he monitors the police band. When I got to the site, the ambulance was gone. So I came here.”