Well Read, Then Dead(33)

            Book club! I was completely blank. I couldn’t even remember the name of the book we’d read this month. With everything else going on today, how could I lead a book discussion? Was it too early for a mojito? I stood in the center of the room not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

            Then Ryan Mantoni walked in the door, looked me in the eye and said, “Sassy, come on. We need your help.”

            And he turned on his heel, expecting me to follow.





Chapter Eleven ||||||||||||||||||||


            I must have had a “what now” look on my face, because when Ryan glanced back to make sure I was behind him, he stopped in mid-stride.

            “What’s the matter? Miss Augusta needs you. We have to go.”

            “Augusta?”

            “Pastor John told me he called you.”

            “About the clothes, yes, but . . .”

            “Come on.” He hitched a thumb on his gun belt and pointed his head toward the door. “Pastor got permission for me to take you into Miss Delia’s house to find an outfit for the service. The techs are done and I can escort you through the house as long as I never leave your side and make sure you don’t touch anything besides personal apparel and jewelry. Not that there’s much in the way of jewelry, from what I saw.”

            “Ryan, I want to help but I don’t know exactly what Augusta wants Delia to wear.”

            “No prob. We’ll stop by her house and get a list. Can’t be much on it.” And he whisked me out the door.

            We shared a quick and quiet ride to Augusta’s house, while I tried to get my scrambled brain in order. When we pulled up in front, she was sitting on the porch swing, looked even tinier and more worn than she had yesterday. I guess the finality of the tragedy was beginning to sink in.

            Pastor John came down the steps to thank me for bailing him out. Of course that wasn’t the phrase he used, but that’s precisely what he meant and we both knew it. I couldn’t blame him for being uncomfortable at the thought of rifling through a woman’s wardrobe, but couldn’t Jocelyn have helped? Isn’t that why Pastors have wives, to be helpmates? When I climbed onto the porch, Augusta gave me a wan smile and spoke in hushed tones I’d never heard her use.

            “Come sit, Sassy.” She patted the other half of the swing. As soon as I was settled, she handed me a picture.

            “I was up half the night until I found this in an album. Don’t Delia look nice all dressed in her finery?”

            I looked at the picture. Delia had on a wide-brimmed straw hat that, given the angle of the sun, barely shaded her eyes. Her dress was a gentle teal blue, like the Gulf on a cloudless day. The empire waist hid her expanded midriff, and the puffed sleeves camouflaged the batwings I’d noticed when she wore sleeveless tops. The mid-calf length of the flowing skirt told me that the dress was a few decades out of style.

            “She looks lovely, Miss Augusta, absolutely lovely.” I was struck by the joy and animation on Delia’s face. Something I’d rarely seen. “Where was this taken?”

            “Few years back, we had a celebration at the church, anniversary of some sort.”

            “Twenty-fifth anniversary of the choirmaster’s service to the Lord,” Pastor John injected, pointing to the edge of a banner partially hidden by Delia’s hat.

            “Well, Delia and I had a grand time. Lots of singing. Delia always liked to sing in church. Never could talk her into joining the choir. Too shy. You know about that.”

            I smiled, thinking of Delia at our last book club meeting.

            “Anyway, Sassy, you take this picture to Delia’s house and find that dress, with shoes to match. Service is coming up and we need to make sure Delia’s as pretty as a picture. That picture. And don’t forget the locket.”