I nearly giggled at the stricken look on Jocelyn’s face. She was having trouble staying in her clergy spouse role. I pushed her into the kitchen and closed the door.
“If we keep it low, we should be able to sit in here. Can I get you a glass of tea?”
Jocelyn set the muffins on a placemat in the center of the scarred wooden table and sat gingerly on the edge of a rickety chair. She glanced at the door as if she feared Augusta would barrel through and toss us out into the road if we disturbed her again. I moved the pitcher of sweet tea right in front of her and she nodded.
I set out glasses, poured the tea and sat, grateful for the opportunity to relax for a few minutes.
Jocelyn took a sip or two and then leaned back in her chair. She pulled a bright blue fan out of her purse and slid it open, revealing a large white ibis holding its head high, with its long, thin beak pointing majestically to an orange sun. She flapped the fan in front of her face while using a tissue to tap at her brow.
She dropped the tissue on the table and gave a wry smile. “Soon enough, Sassy. Soon enough you’ll be flashing and sweating and wondering where your waistline has gone. Count your blessings for the years between now and then. The day will come when an hour in the kitchen with the oven on is like working in a blasting furnace.”
I nodded in sympathy. I’d often heard these same complaints from my mother. I bit my tongue before I said that out loud.
After a moment of silence in memory of her declining estrogen, Jocelyn folded her fan and leaned across the table whispering as though we were coconspirators.
“I know you were close to Delia. Tell me what happened?”
My mind sifted through the bits I’d picked up from Cady and sorted what I could comfortably say. “Well, the mail carrier found her this morning. She was . . . she was already beyond help.”
I hesitated, still trying to decide what to reveal, but Jocelyn heaved a loud, impatient sigh. “That’s old news, Sassy.” With a flutter of her fan, she dismissed my reluctance to say more. “I want to know how she died.” She snapped the fan shut and tapped my forearm sharply. “Everyone knows you’re on the friendly side with the newspaper reporter.” She arched her eyebrows to let me know her definition of “friendly.” “If he knows something, you know it, too. Now tell me.” And she rapped my knuckles with the fan.
Much as I cherished living on this island paradise, the lack of personal privacy often drove me crazy. If you sneezed in Bowditch Point Park, people as far south as Lovers Key were soon calling to say Gesundheit.
Searching for a response less vague than Cady’s just a friend. Why would he tell me anything? I was saved by Augusta’s summons. She had me call Fern to let her know that she and Pastor were ready to leave for the funeral parlor, but Fern was finishing up with another client and said she’d call Pastor as soon as she was free.
Back in the kitchen, Jocelyn had drained her glass and was standing by the table smoothing her beige linen skirt with both hands; the fan was no longer in sight, which, since I was starting to view it as weapon, was fine with me.
“Never let it be said that a pastor’s wife is less than honest. You may be tight with information, but I am obligated to tell you what I know. That skull man? The itinerant? He’s been hanging around Delia’s house more often than not. Does your news-writing beau know about that? And the sheriff? Did anyone bother to tell the sheriff? I’d say you have some work to do, Sassy. You owe it to Delia.”
And she turned on the clunky heels of her open-toed tan sandals and charged through the kitchen door. I followed in time to hear her say to the pastor, “See you at home, John.” It sounded more like a threat than a welcome. Poor man.
I was wiping the kitchen tabletop when Augusta called me back into the dining room. Her face was sunken as if she had suddenly lost all her back teeth, and there were cavernous shadows under her eyes. In the few hours since Cady and I told her about Delia, Augusta had aged ten years. I prayed the next few days wouldn’t kill her. Augusta asked Pastor to give us a few minutes alone. He excused himself, saying he’d be on the porch if we needed him.Augusta offered me a chair.