Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When the check came, I divided it in half and told Opal her half was twelve twenty-seven plus tip. She laughed.
“You’re buying me lunch.”
“I never said I’d buy you lunch.”
“When you interrogate someone over a meal you should pay for it. It’s only polite.” She took a ten-dollar bill out of her wallet and laid it on the table. “I’ll leave the tip.”
“A tip would be four dollars.”
“Nothing says ‘fuck you’ like a really big tip.”
As soon as she walked away, I took out my wallet, trying to figure out which credit card I could squeeze this onto.
They were all pretty worthless. I just made the minimum payment on each of them—well, two of them.
I used the money I was supposedly spending on food, which meant one of them should have enough room. But which one?
“Hi Henry, how are you doing?”
I looked up and there was Dr. Stewart. He’d been my doctor when I landed in the emergency room the night I was run off the road.
He was tall—so tall—with auburn-hair, peachy skin and blue eyes the color of a Malibu sky.
I said, “avahhhmmm,” then cleared my throat and tried again, “I’m good. Thanks.”
“You look a lot better than the last time I saw you.”
“So do you. I mean. You look really good, too.”
“Your ankle’s healing well?”
“Yeah. My foot’s still attached.”
“Your nose looks good.”
“Thanks. But it’s not my best feature.”
“It’ll do.”
Then the conversation died. I didn’t know what to say.
Dr. Stewart was one of those beautiful people you occasionally see around and they’re just so perfect they belong in a movie or a magazine, and the idea that they might want to talk to you is just insane so you don’t even attempt to talk to them.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty too. But if I’m honest, I’m mainly young. Dr. Stewart was the kind of man who would be gorgeous at any age.
“I saw your picture in the Eagle.”
I blushed.
“You did a good thing.”
“Oh, I don’t know—I mean, um, thanks.”
“This may sound unethical. It’s not. You’re no longer a patient of mine. We’re just like any two guys who meet in a restaurant. Well, maybe not any two guys.”
He was beginning to sound like me, which didn’t make any sense at all. He had no reason to be nervous or weird or uncomfortable.
“Would you like to go to dinner with me?”
“Oh.”
Seriously, I’d had no idea what he was working up to, but I didn’t think it was that.
“Um, you mean like a date?”
“Well, no, not like a date. A date. Would you go on a date with me?”
I had no idea what to say. I mean, he was gorgeous, so I wondered if my lips would even be able to form the word ‘no.’ I should say no. I had a lot on my plate and no intention of staying in Masons Bay any longer than I had to. So if things—
“Yeah, of course, I’ll have dinner with you. I want to,” I said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.
We exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet in front of Elaine’s Table at seven on Saturday night. Then he walked away.
As soon as I could pry my eyes off his backside, I began to wonder where I’d find someone to babysit my grandmother while I went on a date.
As I left Main Street Café, I was high as a proverbial kite—and I hadn’t taken a single pill. Imagine that! I had to call someone. When I got into the Escalade, I pulled out my flip phone and pressed the button for my friend Vinnie.
“Hello, this is Vinnie,” his voicemail said. “I can’t come to the phone right now because I’ve met the man of my dreams. I know, you’re probably dying of jealousy. Well, all I can say is… hang up and call 911.”
I didn’t bother to leave a message. I mean, maybe I’ve met the man of my dreams, too. I certainly wasn’t going to compete with Vinnie about that… at least not on voicemail.
Then I decided—stupidly I suppose—to call my mother. I mean, let’s face it, she’d always been more of a friend than a mother. Not even a great friend. More of a fun acquaintance. Surprisingly, she answered.
“I have a bone to pick with you,” she said.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“We’ve docked in Santa Barbara. How could you tell that awful person from County Hospital to call me? What were you thinking?”
“You told them to call me. You told them I’d pay a twenty-seven-thousand-dollar bill. What were you thinking?”
“Well, I certainly wasn’t thinking you’d pay it.”
“I told him that.”
"You should ask your nana.”
“Or you could ask her for me.”
“Oh, she wouldn’t give me the time of day. Besides, you know she dotes on you.”
“If she does, she waits until I leave the room.”
“That’s just her way.”
“You could ask David for the money. I mean, he has a yacht.”
“We don’t call it a yacht. That’s pretentious. We just call it a boat.”
“The point is, he’s rich. Isn’t he?”
“Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he should pay your hospital bill.”
“You had me committed against—”
“Oh please, let’s not have this conversation again.”
“And now you expect me to pay for what you did.”
“I don’t expect you to pay for it. At least not the whole thing. Did you try negotiating? They’ll probably take ten thousand.”
That’s when I realized she knew; she knew I’d gotten a reward. Obviously, she didn’t know they’d taken taxes out, but still. Nor did she know I’d had my bank account garnished. She thought I had fifteen thousand dollars and wanted me to give it to the hospital. What was wrong with her?
“I can’t give them my money. I need a car—a car that I can drive cross-country. I’ll need car insurance, a security deposit for an apartment in L.A., and I’ll need money to live on until I get a job.”
“Oh, look at you, being all responsible.”
“No thanks to you.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s fair. You’re still here, aren’t you?”
“That’s the bar? That I survived?”
She got quiet for a moment, then said, “Fine. I’ll talk to your grandmother about paying the bill for you. Does that help?”
“It does.”
If nothing else, I had the pleasure of imagining their conversation. After I solved the murder, Nana Cole would try to talk my mother into paying the bill. In the meantime, my mother would attempt to talk Nana Cole into paying the bill. Priceless.
She launched into a long explanation of David’s business, which had something to do with weather futures. That elicited a ‘huh?’ from me, so she launched into an explanation of what exactly a weather future was. It had something to do with farmers hedging their bets against bad weather.
“He’s let me pick a few,” my mother said. “I’m good at it.”
“It sounds like gambling. Why not just go to Las Vegas?”
“Life itself is a gamble. Haven’t you learned that yet?”
Had I learned that? I wasn’t sure. I certainly felt like I’d been on the losing side of a few too many bets. But—
“Oh. I have to go. David needs me. We’re shoving off. I’ll call Mother in a week or two, I promise.”
Then she hung up on me. And I’d never had the chance to tell her I had a date with a hot, a very hot, doctor.
Now I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. During the conversation, I’d been angry, hurt, triumphant, insulted, manipulated, and outright confused.
All of which was typical for a five-minute chat with my mother.
Before I left the village to go home, I decided I’d stop at the Conservancy and talk to Bev. If I was going on a date Saturday night, I’d need someone to babysit (grandma sit?) my Nana Cole. I wondered if they’d made up.
The Wyandot Land Conservancy office was also on Main Street; well, sort of.
It was actually on the back side of an old gray house that had been split up into offices.
Basically, it was a tiny room that looked out on the parking lot in the back.
Also in the building was a bookstore, Village Books, and a hairdresser, Hair Flare.
I drove down the alley and squeezed the Escalade into a parking space that was much too small. I did my best not to ding the car next to me when I opened the door. I can’t say I was successful.
Ignoring that, I let myself into the Conservancy’s office. Bev Jenkins was in her late fifties, with steel gray hair and sharp features. She was not thin but not overweight. Square would be the best way to describe her.
When she looked up and saw me, she said, “Oh thank God. You’re back.”
“I’m not back. Sorry.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I’m wondering if you could hang out with my grandmother on Saturday night. I have plans.”
She raised an eyebrow at me but didn’t say anything.
“Emma’s not very happy with me right now.”
“She’ll have to get over that.”
She frowned at me for a moment but then seemed to have an idea.
“I’ll trade.”
“Trade what?”
“We need to staff our annual plant sale. We need at least eight people, preferably ten.”
“How much are you paying?”
“It’s volunteer.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t exactly know ten people.”
She pushed forward a tin box that held three by five cards. “These are people who’ve volunteered in the past. All you have to do is make calls until you fill two eight-hour shifts. July 11th and 12th. Friday and Saturday. Eight to four both days.”
Honestly, I felt like I was getting the short end of the stick. But what else could I do?