Thirteen #3
Marcy folded her hands carefully on the table before her and looked at each of them in turn. “Maybe you could come back to Songbird Hill when he’s not there and find out what Nana is mad about.”
Frances resisted the urge to cast a triumphant look at Irene and Joan. “As lovely as that sounds, I’m not sure we can.” She stirred her coffee. “We need to get back to our families. Unless maybe we could see her today?”
Marcy glanced at her watch.
“You know, we wanted to tell her in person that one of our friends died,” Irene said. “She’d want to know.”
“Really?” Marcy asked. “Who?”
“Diane Miller,” Irene said, and smiled sadly. “Car wreck.”
“Just terrible,” Frances added.
“Maybe,” Marcy said. “Maybe … I could arrange it?”
They had her. Frances had to work very hard to keep her face neutral—they weren’t done yet. “Arrange what, dear?”
“For you to see Nana. I could get her to come down to the gazebo. Pappa never goes down to her gardens. You could talk there without anyone around.”
“That is so kind,” Frances said. “But we wouldn’t want to impose.”
“No, it’s fine, really.”
“If you really think it’s okay,” Joan said.
“Yes, of course. There is just one thing,” Marcy said.
“Of course. Anything,” Joan said.
“Are you really planning a heist, or whatever you called it?”
The silence that befell that table was remarkable.
It was rare that one of them was caught flat-footed, and never all of them at once.
Frances was pretty sure her head might choose this moment to explode.
The thudding at her temple had started up again.
She was thinking how poetic it would be to be brought down by Simon Kessler’s granddaughter after all these years.
She didn’t dare look at Joan. “Pardon?” she said sweetly.
“I, ah … I heard you talking,” Marcy said.
Joan said, “Oh, that. I think you misunderstood, Marcy. It’s a silly game we play—”
“No, I heard you,” Marcy said calmly. “I was sitting right there,” she said, pointing to a barstool. “I’m assuming that’s why you want to see Nana? She was the fourth, wasn’t she? And now you’re trying to think of someone to take her place.”
Frances was completely dumbfounded and couldn’t think of what to say. That all three of them were dumbfounded did not bode well for their enterprise.
Marcy laughed softly at their blank stares.
“No wonder Nana never talks about her past. But here’s the thing, ladies.
I recently lost all my money, and I’d like to recoup some of that loss.
Maybe I could be the fourth? And I don’t need twenty-five percent,” she said, resting her hand on Frances’s arm to assure her.
“I mean, I don’t think I do. Unless we’re talking peanuts.
How much do you make on one of these things, anyway? ”
Frances clawed back some of her composure and smiled at Marcy. “Oh, Marcy. We are in our seventies. We’re not heisting anything. We just say silly things because we can. But we’d really love a chance to speak to Edie.”
Marcy’s gaze lingered on Frances. But then she shrugged. “Okay. I’ll take your number and text you.”
“Really?” Frances asked. “You wouldn’t toy with senior citizens, would you?”
Marcy rolled her eyes. “Give me your phone,” she said, and held her hand out. Frances hesitated. “I’m going to give you my number,” Marcy said.
Still, Frances hesitated. “Do it,” Joan whispered.
Frances handed the young woman her phone.
Marcy took it, typed in her number, then tapped out a text, and sent it.
“I sent that to my phone so I’ll have your number.
” She handed the phone back to Frances. She was smiling, but there was something in that smile that was familiar to Frances.
It was around the eyes, she decided. They were Edie’s eyes, and Frances always knew when Edie was lying because of her eyes.
This young woman did not believe them. What would Marcy do?
“I’ll be in touch,” Marcy said, and stood up from the table. “It was a pleasure to meet you all,” she said, smiled prettily, and made her way to the door.
When they knew she was gone, when they saw her jog across the street to a little red convertible, the three of them looked at each other. Joan glowered at Frances. “This is your fault.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“When did Gen Z get so smart?” Irene asked. “I heard they were lazy dumbasses.”
“Right?” Frances whispered. “I thought so, too.”
“You were just running your mouth over there,” Joan said. “That little snipe heard everything!”
“So, what do you think she’ll do? Go to Pappa? Or Nana?” Frances asked.
“Do we wait to find out?” Irene asked.
“Yes,” Joan said. “We know how to make ourselves scarce. Unless Franny is going to talk about it, tell anyone who will listen where we are and what we’re doing.”
“I’m sorry,” Frances said, feeling contrite. “It won’t happen again.”
“If we haven’t heard from her by five, we’re out of here,” Joan said. They nodded in agreement.
“I don’t know,” Irene said. “I think the kid is going to set it up.”
They all turned to the window again, hoping that’s what she would do.