Well Read, Then Dead(16)

            “I can’t waste no more time talking with you. There’s lots of work to be done, folks to call.”

            I could picture Augusta waving her address book in Lieutenant Anthony’s face.

            I heard the murmur of both men trying to soothe her into continuing to cooperate, but she wasn’t having it.

            I jumped to my feet when I heard her yell, “Sassy. Get Sassy in here. And you two can leave.”

            I suspected Frank Anthony wasn’t used to being dismissed. Personally, I thought it would do him good.

            I was still standing at the bottom of the stairs when Ryan opened the door and head-nodded me inside.

            I couldn’t quite suppress a triumphant grin. Ryan responded with a quick wink, and then we both resumed our somber faces and walked into the living room.

            Frank rose from his seat and placed a business card on the coffee table in front of Augusta, who was still hugging the address book for dear life. She turned her head away, clearly indicating that she was done with him, but he persisted.

            “We’ll need to continue this conversation when you are feeling up to it. Maybe later in the day.”

            “Ain’t talking no more without a friend by my side. Or do I need one of those television lawyers?”

            Ryan and I exchanged glances. The fleeting vision of Augusta negotiating with one of the countless expensively dressed attorneys who solicited business during the commercial breaks on daytime television boggled the mind.

            Frank Anthony stood a little straighter, like he was stiffening his spine, and then proceeded to put on the most bureaucratic show I’d ever seen. As if Augusta were an errant child, he explained every American’s right to counsel, the difference between a lawyer and a friend, and most insultingly, said he was sorry to inform her that until they narrowed the pool of suspects, it was wisest to interview all the friends and family members of the victim separately.

            Augusta inhaled until her face turned nearly purple.

            I heard Ryan mutter, “Uh-oh.”

            And then, just as quickly, she deflated and gave a slight nod. “I suppose we have to do what’s right for Delia, even if it’s a waste of your time. Delia wasn’t killed by any friend or family. I’m sure of that.”

            The two deputies said their good-byes to Augusta, ignored me and left. As I closed the screen door behind them, I heard Ryan say, “Well that wasn’t so bad.”

            I couldn’t hear the lieutenant’s response, but it was a safe bet that he wasn’t as sanguine as Ryan. Frank Anthony didn’t strike me as a man who was used to not getting his way.

            I stepped into the living room and Augusta was holding up her glass.

            “Sassy, I could use a glass of water. There’s a pitcher in the fridge.”

            I was relieved she wasn’t looking for more Buffalo Trace. I went to the kitchen, found two clean glasses and filled them with ice cubes and water. There was half a lemon in the vegetable drawer. I cut it and put a slice in each glass, then I took out a stem of grapes and a few strawberries, washed them, rolled them in a paper towel and arranged the fruit on a paper plate. I found a round blue tray with a pink flamingo painted in the center and carried our fruit and water, along with a few paper napkins, into the living room.

            Augusta looked tired but she brightened at the sight of the fruit, and for the first time she let go of the address book, placing it to the right of the tray.

            “Thanks for fixin’ us a nice snack. I am feeling a might peckish.”

            We sat in silence, eating fruit and sipping water. Suddenly an earsplitting kee yarr shattered the peace. I remembered when Bridgy and I first met Ryan. He’d come into the Read ’Em and Eat and was introducing himself as our local deputy on patrol when a kee yarr exploded in the parking lot. I thought someone was being attacked and screaming for help. I couldn’t understand why Ryan hadn’t run out the door to see what was going on, but he explained the piercing screech was nothing more than the cry of the red-shouldered hawks who nest all over the island in the coastal woodlands. Now when I hear the hawks cry, it’s a welcome sound of home.