“The burial clothes for Delia. Fern showed us some lovely things that Mr. Beech is willing to include in the funeral costs for what I think is a reasonable price, but Augusta had a tantrum. Wants Delia buried in a blue silk dress she bought in Port Charlotte ages ago, and there is some sort of trinket. Oh, I don’t know. Can you come over here and talk to Augusta, find out exactly the things she wants and then talk your way into Delia’s house and get the burial clothes? Otherwise this funeral is never going to happen.”
He sounded so exasperated that, without thinking it through, I agreed if only to decrease his stress level.
“Oh, Sassy, thank you. I’ll tell Augusta. She’ll be so pleased.” I could hear the relief in his voice. Then to assuage whatever guilt he had about foisting this on me, he offered, “Don’t worry. You find the things Augusta wants and I’ll bring it all to Beech’s.”
Right, as if bringing the clothes to the funeral parlor was the hard part.
I put the phone down and sank into an empty chair at the Robert Frost table. Bridgy immediately appeared with my favorite midmorning pick-me-up, Greek yogurt and fresh berries.
I smiled my thanks and then asked if she had a minute.
“Sure, Ophie is doing her magic, messy may it be, in the kitchen, and we have a couple of minutes until the lunch crowd starts. What’s wrong? You look drained. Was that lieutenant mean to you?” She looked at the door, ready to give him a piece of her mind if he dared walk through it.
“Frank Anthony was the easiest part of the past half hour. Surprisingly, Pastor John has me crazed.”
As I explained the mission I had decided to accept, Bridgy rolled her eyes and hunched her shoulders.
“How do you propose to stroll into Delia’s house, take whatever Augusta wants you to take and then waltz out again? You do know there is a sheriff’s car parked right outside the house with a deputy sitting at attention, don’t you?”
Of course I knew, but that was my second worst problem.
“Bridgy, we need to talk about Skully.”
“Oh, stop. Not Rowena again! I’m starting to like your idea. Let’s sell his jewelry here. We could set up a display over there.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the bookshelves.
“Not Rowena. Jocelyn.”
“Ugh. Two sides of the same penny.”
“After getting a lecture not twenty minutes ago from Frank Anthony about my ‘withholding information,’ Jocelyn called—”
“Do y’all need more pastries than this for lunch?” Ophie pushed through the kitchen door carrying a tray piled high with muffins, fruit tartlets and scones. “I can whip up another batch of lemon poppy seed muffins quicker than you can say delicious.”
Looking exactly like a traffic cop in a busy intersection, Bridgy held up one hand ordering Ophie to stop while waving me forward with the other, as if we were two SUVs about to collide.
Ophie stopped instantly, pastry tray in midair. I grabbed the opportunity and my words tumbled out. “It’s Skully. On the phone Jocelyn reminded me that yesterday she told me that Skully’s been seen hanging around Delia’s house.”
Bridgy looked at the pastries and beamed a grateful smile. After lavishing praise on Ophie for the fresh-baked aroma that was filling the café, Bridgy asked her to check the freezer count for key lime pie, the number one dessert favorite with snowbirds and tourists. Fully expecting her will to be done, Bridgy turned her attention back to me.
“Come on, Sas. Skully is a sweet guy, not a killer. Jocelyn is a gossipy troublemaker. Exactly like Rowena,” she added.