With her elbow resting on the tabletop, and her chin supported firmly by the palm of her hand, Bridgy stifled a yawn.
“Worst night of sleep I’ve had in years. You’d think that would happen on the day we first found out . . .”
Ophie held a plate of bacon and eggs and set it down when Bridgy nodded. We ate in fret-filled silence until Ophie said, “Okay, enough of that feeling down in the dumps. We are going to put on our best clothes and go to church. We will sing. We will praise the Lord. We will celebrate Miss Delia’s life. So you two put a smile on your faces. Well-mannered ladies know that a funeral provides us the opportunity to comfort the living. There’ll be plenty of time to mourn the dead for years to come.”
I laughed out loud. Bridgy looked at me as if I’d gone mad, and perhaps she was right. On the other hand, Ophie gave me a wide smile of approval.
I smiled back. “Comfort the living! That’s what I’ve been thinking since, well, since I saw how worn down Augusta has become over these last couple of days.”
Ophie had begun to clear the table, but I put my hand on her arm and motioned her to sit.
“What is the one thing we could do that would provide the most comfort to Augusta?”
To Bridgy, most difficulties could be solved by attending an amusing party or meeting a new friend, so her answer was quick and sharp. “Find her a new BFF?”
“Bridget!” Ophie used her schoolmarm voice. “Would you go running out looking for a new best friend before Sassy was even in the ground? Where are your manners? Apologize at once.”
Bridgy was genuinely startled. “Oh, Sassy, I didn’t mean . . .”
I grinned when I saw the dismay in her eyes. Evidently I’d be missed.
My grin was contagious. We both started laughing, a low chuckle at first, and then we were holding our stomachs and wiping our eyes.
“Land sakes, I’ll never understand you two.” But Ophie’s schoolmarm voice was gone, as was the tension in the air.
“I’ve been thinking that what Miss Augusta wants most right now is to find out who did this to Miss Delia. And I think we should try to make that happen.”
“Shouldn’t the sheriff . . . ?”
I cut Ophie off before she could finish the sentence. “Oh, they should and they will, over time I suppose, but if the three of us work together, we can find out more than they can. We’re in a café with folks coming in and out all day long. We hear what people say. They don’t even realize we’re listening. And we have friends in both the sheriff’s office and on the newspaper.”
“Aha!” Bridgy nearly knocked over her coffee cup. “I saw you being all flirty with Cady. You are one crafty investigator.”
“Crafty means more than quiltin’.”
We both turned to stare at Ophie, who shrugged. “I have no idea, but it’s what my mama used to say whenever she thought one of us kids was trying to pull a fast one. She was mostly right.”
And her glance drew our eyes to the clock on the microwave. We’d have to hurry to get to the church on time. I was happy that I got my idea out with no resistance. Once the funeral was over and our schedule was closer to normal, I was determined that Delia’s killer would be caught and punished.
Chapter Seventeen ||||||||||||||||||||
Ophie insisted we take Bridgy’s sporty little Escort ZX2 because she deemed the Heap-a-Jeep too “scruffy” for a funeral. She refused to drive her roomy Town Car because she didn’t know the roads. I mean, really, on an island less than eight miles long and not a mile wide at any given point, did she really think we’d automatically get lost because she was behind the wheel?