Clearly at the end of his tether, Pastor bid us a hasty good-bye and drove away.
“No viewing?” Bridgy raised her eyebrows.
“Don’t look at me. This is the first I heard. Fortunate that he told us, though. This way we won’t bring up the topic of a viewing and all will be serene.”
We were on the porch about to knock on the screen door when we heard Augusta bellow, “You will not stay in Delia’s house. You will not step one foot inside Delia’s house. Go ahead, get a lawyer. What do they know, anyway? If you are coming tonight, rent a room. We got an island full of them.” And we heard her slam the receiver of her telephone hard into the cradle.
I silently counted to ten and then tapped lightly.
“Miss Augusta? It’s Sassy and Bridgy. May we come in?”
“Come on in. I’m just after talking to Delia’s nephew, Josiah, who’s ’bout as dumb as a sack of hammers. Don’t want to drive up for the funeral in the morning. Too cheap to pay for a hotel room for him and his brother if they drive up and stay tonight. Wanted the key to Delia’s house. Like I’d give him anything. Humph.”
“No problem there. I think the sheriff still has the house sealed. Crime scene and all.”
Bridgy gave me the elbow at the words “crime scene,” but Augusta actually smiled. “Forgot about that. Should have let them go to Delia’s and get themselves arrested for whatever the sheriff can think of.”
“Disturbing the peace?” Bridgy was nothing if not helpful.
“Disturbin’ my peace, that’s for sure. Anyway, where’s my manners? Come set down. Help yourself to a snack or a drink. People been right neighborly. My kitchen probably has more food in it than the Read ’Em and Eat.”
My laugh wouldn’t have been quite as forced if I didn’t have an immediate vision of Aunt Ophie wildly tossing hundreds of pounds of recipe ingredients hither and yon.
Bridgy came back from the kitchen with a plate of cheese and crackers and a pitcher with orange slices floating in a cheerful-looking red liquid, and pointed out the white tape on the front labeled “nonalcoholic sangria.”
“Clever, huh?”
“That’s Blondie next door. Nice enough woman. Can’t leave well enough alone in the kitchen, though. Always dropping an ingredient or adding something extra to tasty recipes been in the family for generations.”
“Her family?”
“Anybody’s family. Wish I had a nickel for every time she asked me for a recipe and then, a week or so later, brought over a sample to show me how she ‘improved’ it. Does it all the time. You better hope she don’t come into the café. She’ll beg you for recipes; then she’ll be giving free samples of her ‘fix up’ of your food. Probably right from that little table in front of your door.”
Augusta shook her head at the thought of our inevitable ruination.
I took the envelope out of my pocket and sat down on the couch next to her recliner.
“Ryan and Lieutenant Anthony found Miss Delia’s locket.”
Augusta’s hand touched her chest, resting at the base of her throat as if to check that she was still breathing. Then she slowly extended her arm and I placed the locket securely in her palm.
She clutched it so tightly that I feared its corners would cut her skin. She shut her eyes. Then she relaxed her hand, opened her eyes and took a long look. As I had done a few hours before, she caressed the swamp lily etching with her index finger.