That would have had entertainment value, but instead I had to sit there and listen to Frank hammer away at the fact that I had my first conversation with Jocelyn before he interviewed me and I neglected to tell him.
Then he had me painstakingly outline a timeframe connecting my second conversation with Jocelyn, my conversation with Blondie and the visit he and Ryan made to the café to bring me the locket.
In his mind, I’d been withholding information again. Still, he was civil until Bridgy told him we’d kayaked out in the bay hoping to find Skully so we could ask if he saw any unusual people around Delia’s house. Then he hit the roof.
He threw his hands up in the air and turned to Ryan. “You call these women your friends. How do they not understand that murder is serious business?”
Frank ran his fingers through his hair, but unlike Cady, who used it as a smoothing mechanism, Frank ruffled his hair until it looked like a rooster comb.
By the look on Ryan’s face, if he could have shriveled up and blown away like a fallen needle from a sand pine tree, he would have done so and gladly.
The ordeal ended with a clearly frustrated Frank Anthony telling us to “cease and desist.” Yep, he actually said those exact words, ordering us to stop interfering with an official murder investigation. As if we were interfering. We couldn’t even find Skully no matter how hard we tried. Glad to be out from under the repetitive blast of questions, Bridgy and I strode across the parking lot to her sporty Escort, anxious to get on with our afternoon. As she hit the clicker that flashed the lights and unlocked the door, I clapped my hands and shouted, “Freedom!” much to the surprise of the few mourners walking from the parish hall to their cars.
I jumped into the passenger seat.
Bridgy flipped on the air conditioner. “Freedom? Really? We were only being questioned. We weren’t in jail.”
I dismissed the deputies with a back flip of my hand. “Oh, not that. Freedom from a backseat that was clearly designed to carry a couple of grocery bags or a tennis racket, not a full-grown person no matter how I twisted and bent.”
Bridgy slid her iPod in the car dock and hit “Scramble.” We hummed along to the Black Eyed Peas and then I played air guitar accompanying Brad Paisley. When “Love on Top” by Beyoncé popped out of the speakers, we sang along, hit “Repeat” and sang again until we crossed onto the mainland. I was luxuriating in the space the front seat gave me to wiggle and bounce in time to the music. I kept an eye on Bridgy. Dancing while driving was as dangerous as texting while driving, but she seemed content to sing along, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.
Just as Bridgy turned into the Medical Center parking lot, I realized we didn’t have a get-well gift.
We decided she’d drop me off so I could run into the gift shop while she parked the car. It was a great plan until I stepped out of the car. As I turned to close the door, Bridgy held up her hand, “wait a minute” style. I leaned down to hear whatever she’d forgotten to tell me and was instantly sorry.
“Why don’t we ask Miguel what he thinks about expanding the café floor space? I mean, can he comfortably cook for a greater number of customers with only us to help out in the busy times? That’s definitely part of the equation.”
She laughed as she said it, but that didn’t make it any easier to take. Too stunned to answer, I slammed the car door, hoping it rattled her molars. Did she seriously think I’d consider turning the Read ’Em and Eat into a café without books?
Chapter Twenty ||||||||||||||||||||
Bridgy found me in the gift shop paying for three gaudy get-well balloons, a box of crème-filled chocolates and a white ceramic bud vase filled with yellow gerbera daisies.
“Epic choices. Miguel loves chocolates. Flowers are cheery, and . . . what does the blue and green balloon say? ¡Qué te mejores! Is that ‘get well’ in Spanish?”