Well Read, Then Dead(87)

            “I found him. I found Ellis Selkirk.”





Chapter Twenty-eight ||||||||||||||||||||


            Bridgy and I stopped in our tracks, absolutely bug-eyed. Whatever we were expecting Ophie to say, that wasn’t it.

            “How—?”

            Ophie reached over her shoulder and gave herself a pat on the back.

            “It takes a lot of cunning and womanly wiles to track down a cheating husband. And this fella is a different slice of the same pie. I sat outside the café, whipped out my cell and started calling, hoping to find this Bucket Hat by the end of your book club meeting, and darned if I didn’t.

            “Here’s his address.” Ophie handed me a piece of paper, one edge all jagged as if she snatched it hard from a pad. She’d scribbled notes and phone numbers and then methodically crossed them out, but one phone number had an address written underneath it. Ophie had circled the address with multiple rings pressing the pen harder with each go-round, as if savoring her success.

            I still wanted an answer.

            “How did you find Ellis Selkirk’s address?”

            “I told you last night. If we couldn’t find him in a hotel or B and B, he must have rented a house or a condo. If he has those young fellas you were talking about staying with him, the whole group would be far less noticeable in a house. So I looked on my pages from the phone book and started with any Realtors whose ads suggested houses rather than apartments. Found him on the sixth call.”

            She stopped, plainly waiting for applause, which we dutifully gave her.

            “I spoke to Charmaine at Mid-Beach Realty, who was eager to help me resolve the dilemma I was using as my cover. Isn’t that what they call it on television? A cover? Sounds so much better than ‘a lie,’ don’t y’all think? By the by, I invited Charmaine to stop at the café for lunch on the house any old time. I’d love her to come on a Wednesday so she can enjoy my chicken salad.” Ophie looked at me directly. “Have you found me a spectacular chicken name yet? Wednesday is right around the corner.”

            “You wait. Sassy’ll come up with a humdinger of a name.” Bridgy jumped in and shifted focus. “I’m dying to know about the ‘cover’ you used.”

            “Why, I told her that Mr. Selkirk had ordered catering platters for a business gathering he’s hosting and that, silly me, I lost the work order that included his address. Here we are with the food all prepared and no idea where to deliver it.”

            Bridgy gave Ophie a big ole bear hug, while I chortled, banged my hands on the counter and declared her to be brilliant.

            Blushing with pride, Ophie pointed to the paper in my hand. “I’ve done my part. What’s our next step?”

            I took a good look at the address.

            “Bucket Hat lives only two blocks from Miss Delia’s house. When I first met him, he told me he’d seen Miss Augusta and Miss Delia leave here and drive off in Augusta’s car. That beat-up Chevy isn’t hard to spot. He could have followed them around town anytime.”

            “But why would he go after Delia and not Augusta?” Bridgy had a valid point.

            I had no concrete answer.

            “Maybe Miss Delia was more convenient. He might have found her by chance. Perhaps he saw her sitting on her porch one day and decided to talk to her alone rather than tackling Augusta and Delia together. Divide and conquer.”

            Lisette knocked on the kitchen door. “We’re leaving.”

            OMG, I’d abandoned my clubbies. Awful. I hurried back into the dining room. Jocelyn was gone. I offered copies of The Three Musketeers to Lisette, Holly and the judge, who surprised me by saying the book is so long, he’d rather download it to his e-reader. Who would have guessed that Mr. Lives-in-the-first-half-of-the-twentieth- century would own an e-reader and actually use it?