The front door opened and we all turned to see who was going to join us. My smile faded the moment I saw her strawlike hair and determined thrust of chin. Jocelyn.
She tore into me the second she had me in sight.
“Aha! I knew I’d find you here. John is over at the funeral home right this minute with Augusta and where are you? At book club! I suppose it didn’t occur to you that the poor man might need a bit of respite. Too self-absorbed, trying to sell your books, keep this rickety place afloat. Doesn’t seem to bother you that one of your book club members has been murdered.”
That triggered a rustling of chairs and a loud gasp from one of the snowbirds.
I wasn’t slow to stand up and face her down. Jocelyn was the second person to rant at me in less than an hour. If this was “Pounce on Sassy Day,” I was tired of it.
“Well, bless your heart, did you say you brought chervil?”
Aunt Ophie had charged out of the kitchen and grabbed Jocelyn by the arm.
“Let’s wash it off and make something tasty from it. Not enough time for soup, but I’m sure we can have a flavorsome treat ready in two shakes of a sheep’s tail.” Ophie beamed a thousand-watt smile, as if we were all the best of friends.
Jocelyn sputtered, but before she could conjure up a response, Maggie jumped in.
“Pardon, ma’am, but the chervil is from my garden.” She proffered the paper cup. “I brought it to share. Take what you need.”
Ophie spun on today’s impossibly high black sandals worn to match her tightly cinched tiger-striped shirtwaist.
“Well, aren’t you a darlin’ girl?” She patted Maggie’s cheek, then she spun back to Jocelyn and gave her the same nose to nose treatment that Bucket Hat had given to me. Her southern drawl was softer, but her manner was every bit as intimidating.
“Seems like these ladies are ready to start talking about their book. You’re welcome to join me in the kitchen or you can sit in on the meeting. Those are your choices.”
Those were the words Ophie spoke, but we all heard her true meaning. Your only choices. Carrying on is not an option.
Even though she’d stopped sputtering, Jocelyn was agitated, and visibly annoyed that Ophie had outflanked her. We all watched as her determined chin weakened and began to rock from side to side. She was struggling for control of the situation against an unknown force. Then she primped her hair, gave Ophie her best barracuda smile and allowed herself to be guided gently but firmly away from the book nook.
Ophie tossed a triumphant smile my way, but I knew one way or another Jocelyn would settle the score. I picked up a copy of The Long Quiche Goodbye and in my most cheerful voice asked, “What did you think about Charlotte Bessette as the protagonist of this story?”
Sliding to the edge of their seats, the snowbirds seemed torn between wanting to run straight out the door and sitting tight in the hopes they’d hear more about the murdered book club member.
No one answered me. I held my breath for a heartbeat or two, and was about to ask the next question from my list, when Lisette bubbled cheerfully, “I liked her so much,” and as she told us reasons why, we all followed her into the family-owned cheese shop with all its charm and mystery. Even the newbies relaxed, leaning back in their chairs.
Within a few minutes Jocelyn came out of the kitchen and walked straight out the door. I heaved a deep sigh of relief and began passing the cheese and cracker platter.
The café was quiet, as it usually was in midafternoon. Some swimmers, with hair towel dried and noses sun red, came in for a light snack, and folks stopped by for a take-out order or two. We’d reached the “choose the next book” part of the meeting when Aunt Ophie came out of the kitchen carrying a large tray with ramekins. She walked right into the middle of our circle and announced, “Chervil soufflé.”