He had me start at the beginning. I told him that when Bridgy and I opened the Read ’Em and Eat, Miss Delia and Miss Augusta were semi-regulars for breakfast, and then one morning Augusta boomed, “Delia keeps reading in the Fort Myers Beach News that you hold book club meetings here.” I remember her head swiveled for thirty seconds or so, then she commented, “Don’t look like you have the room for it, but you sure got a lot of books.”
I explained to Lieutenant Anthony that Augusta and Delia added the Books Before Breakfast Club to their schedule and occasionally sat in on one or two others, especially the Potluck Book Club.
“Neither of them seemed to be interested in cooking, but they enjoyed the books and the talk. It may have helped that we usually serve snacks, sometimes made from recipes from the current book. And who doesn’t like a midafternoon snack?”
Bit by bit Frank moved me forward in time, until we were up to the day before Delia was found on her living room floor.
He was a patient and skillful interrogator. I found myself wondering if he was that methodical in everything he did. And, as always when a thought like that came into my mind, I found myself twirling my hair. I forced my hand back to my lap. Better to stay with the progression of time leading up to the murder rather than allow myself to be sidetracked by Frank’s determination to reach any and all of his goals.
“You mentioned that there was a book club meeting that morning. Did anything out of the ordinary happen that you can recall?”
I thought about mentioning the Anya Seton/Daphne du Maurier dustup between Jocelyn and Rowena but then decided that those two bickering would hardly be considered “out of the ordinary.” So I shook my head.
“You have to realize anything that happened that morning was completely overshadowed when Miguel fell in the kitchen.”
“Ah, the chef with the broken leg. How could I forget? After all, that’s when you and I first met.” And there it was again: the wide, smirky smile and the crinkly eyes. I didn’t miss that his tone of voice made it sound like this was the story he was saving to tell our grandkids. Was that a sneaky interrogation technique he used on female suspects?
He leaned toward me, and clasping his hands, he rested his forearms on his knees. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something. And then I remembered I did have something to say. Something guaranteed to throw him off his game—whatever the game was.
“That was also the morning Augusta had words with two young wreckers who stopped in for breakfast. Delia was with her.”
He straightened instantly, his whole demeanor changing back to no-nonsense official.
“Why am I only hearing this now? Shouldn’t you have mentioned it yesterday? Tell me exactly what happened.” There was a tad of accusation in his voice, as though I was shirking my responsibility as a star witness.
I recounted the conversation as accurately as I could remember it. Frank nodded, and I saw his shoulders relax ever so slightly.
“Well, doesn’t sound like there was much to it. From what I’ve heard about Augusta Maddox, she’s likely to scrap with anyone over anything. Still, I’ll have the deputies be on the lookout for a couple of kids trying to scrounge up some four-hundred-year-old Spanish coins.”
I shook my head. “No. No. They weren’t talking about walking metal detectors along the beach after hurricanes. They were talking about ships. Sunken treasure ships. That’s what got Augusta so wound up.”
“You mean they want to salvage a Spanish galleon? Most of that action is on the east coast right now. Off north Florida, I think.” He shrugged. “Of course hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of treasure from the Atocha was salvaged back in the eighties somewhere between the Keys and the Dry Tortugas. But that was forever ago. Even the lawsuits are finished. Haven’t heard any rumors about another treasure hunt being planned. We usually hear; the hunt brings jobs and money. And the occasional bar fight.”