“Many a time her father and brothers complained that supper was late because she’d run off to pick a bunch of wild yellow sea daisies or that lavender lobelia she took a likin’ to. Come back long after the men were home from the day’s chores. The time came when Delia was missing more than she was home and her excuses were thinner.”
Augusta took a deep swallow of her Buffalo Trace.
“Then he came knocking at the door. The mystery man. Said he met Delia at a church square dance and wanted to come courting all proper-like. ’Course her father turned the man away. Delia had responsibilities, like I said.”
I’m sure that Bridgy was as horrified as I was. We needed to remember that this was another time, another place. We sat perfectly still, barely breathing, as Augusta continued.
“Next thing, Delia run off with him. Dang near to Miami. Her father and her brothers followed along, shotguns in hand, and found Delia before any damage was done, if you catch my meaning. She come home and no one ever mentioned the mystery man again. He up and left these parts. Or her brothers shot him dead. Hard to say which. Don’t much matter. I’m guessing all that’s left is this picture.”
Augusta washed the end of her story down with a healthy sip of the Buffalo Trace and then turned the topic to another missing creature.
“Anyone found Delia’s cat? That Bow is a sweet little kitten. Cats make me sneeze, but I’m sure Blondie next door would give her a safe home.”
I told her Ryan was actively looking for Bow. But Augusta decided we needed a flier to help search for the missing cat, and Bridgy offered to help make one.
Augusta was looking through her photographs for a large, clear picture of Bow that could be centered on the flier, when the phone rang.
I reached for it, but August said, “No, I’ll get it. Probably that pesky Josiah asked his cousin, Edgar, the one with the likable singin’ voice, to try and sweet-talk me out of Delia’s house key.”
She said hello and was quiet for a few seconds. Then she exploded.
“You listen to me. Listen good. No one is buying any part of the Ten Thousand Islands. Not you. Not some resort company. Not for any amount. Show some respect to Delia and stop this tomfoolery.”
With the old-fashioned metal telephones, the call can be disconnected with a really loud slam. The other person may only hear the usual click, but for the slammer the satisfaction doesn’t fade. Well, Augusta cracked that receiver down with an explosion that could be heard on the mainland.
Then she took a long sip of Buffalo Trace, set the glass down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“That Rowena is a bothersome one. Why’d she think I had any of Delia’s land to sell? And if I did, why’d she think it’s any of her business?”
My cell phone rang in the middle of her rant.
It was Ryan calling to say that no one had seen so much as a whisker of Bow since Delia was found.
Looks like we’d be circulating those “Have you seen this cat?” fliers after all.
Chapter Sixteen ||||||||||||||||||||
A portly man in a dark suit with an appropriately subdued demeanor opened the door of the Michael J. Beech Funeral Home. He gave us a tight smile and pointed the way to Fern’s office, even as he was plastering the somber mask back on his face and widening the door for an elderly couple who had come up the front walk a few steps behind us.
Fern jumped out of her chair-on-wheels and it bounced off the wall behind her, something that, judging by the scuffs on the paint, had happened dozens of times. She hustled out from behind what looked like a genuine oak desk and grabbed Bridgy and me for a group hug.