Caught Read-Handed (19 page)

When Bridgy pulled her sporty little Escort into the café parking lot on Sunday morning, the lights were on and Miguel was at work chopping, slicing and baking, seemingly all at once. Being superefficient, Miguel had already hung several signs around the café and two on the front door for good measure reminding customers that we were locking up at one o'clock sharp. Today Bridgy and I would finally find out what turns a party into a cornhole party.

As soon as the breakfast crowd lightened, Bridgy and I practically pushed Miguel out the door. We knew he had things to prepare for the guests he and his neighbor Mr. Gerrity had invited to the cornhole party. Bridgy took over the kitchen. I walked around with the coffee carafes, orange-topped decaf and brown-topped regular, offering refills to the few remaining breakfasters. The Merskys came in just as we'd reached a real lull.

For the first time since they had arrived in Florida, George and Regina were as smiley and bubbly as O'Mally. I led them to Dashiell Hammett. George looked around the room, and asked, “Sassy, can you sit for a minute?”

“Sure.” I went to the kitchen, asked Bridgy to watch the dining room and carried out a tray with three glasses of sweet tea and an appetizer of corn bread and honey butter. While I put the tea and corn bread on the table, I asked how Alan was reacting to the news that he'd be free to do as he pleases once he's released from the hospital.

O'Mally and George exchanged a look. He hesitated. “I'm not sure Alan ever knew that he was going to be arrested as soon as the doctors gave the okay for a bedside arraignment. I guess it's safe to say that he understands that he'll be released from the hospital shortly. He has agreed to stay in the condo with us.”

Of course I saw the fatal flaw in the plan. The Merskys couldn't stay in Fort Myers Beach forever. George continued. “We really came with questions. We've asked the deputies but their answers are vague. I thought you might be able to tell us how this woman knew Alan and why she framed him for murder.”

Owen Reston and I spent enough time in the sheriff's office answering questions, making statements and answering still more questions, that there was very little we hadn't heard or at least discerned. The first part of George's question was easy to answer.

“Elaine was a graduate student who researched in the library. Now that we know of her relationship with Barry Lipscome, I'm sure she kept a close eye on Tanya Lipscome,
who was a library volunteer. Since Alan had several run-ins with Tanya, Elaine probably witnessed at least one.”

George pulled on his chin thoughtfully. “And Alan's car was so recognizable. Still, how did she know where to find his car so she could break off the branch and . . . hit the woman?”

“An accident of fate. Elaine tutored Tanya's stepson. She was familiar with the layout of the house, the street and the path along the bay. She was determined to demand Tanya give Barry a divorce. Elaine knew Barry was at a business event and she was sure his sons wouldn't be hanging out with the stepmother they detested. She parked her car in the parking lot of Pastor John's church and took the bay path so she could get past the Lipscomes' fence and confront Tanya.”

O'Mally furrowed her eyebrows. “So she planned to talk to her, not clobber her.”

“Originally.” I heaved a deep sigh and tried to think of the most painless way to tell the rest. “Elaine found Tanya sitting on the patio next to the hot tub. Vicious words were tossed back and forth. When Tanya laughed and dismissed Elaine, she sealed both their fates.”

Regina was shredding her napkin and looking totally frazzled. To give us all a break, I offered more sweet tea. When everyone's glass was full, I continued. “Elaine walked back to the church parking lot and by then a veterans' meeting had begun. Everyone remembers that Alan was present. Elaine noticed Alan's car, saw she was alone in the parking lot, opened the car door, tore a hefty branch from the tree limb that straddled the seats and went back along the bay path to physically threaten Tanya.

“When she got there Tanya was lounging with her eyes
closed in the bubbling water of the hot tub. Seeing Tanya relaxing like that enraged Elaine. She brought the branch down on Tanya's head more than once. Then she dropped the branch in the hot tub and walked back to the parking lot, got in her car, and, get this, drove down island to have dinner and drinks all by herself in an elegant waterfront restaurant to celebrate her impending ‘engagement' to Barry Lipscome.”

“She never.” O'Mally was horrified.

“Oh yes. I heard her say so, quite nonchalantly, to one of the emergency medical technicians who examined us both after . . . er, when we were at Alan's hut.”

Regina was dabbing at her eyes with the shredded napkin. “I'm sorry. I thought I was done crying. To think she could kill a woman and then let Alan take the blame . . .”

“George, what's next for Alan?” I thought we should look to the future.

“Well for now we hope he will stay in the condo. Regina has another month's leave from work. O'Mally and I will go home as soon as Alan is settled, and then we'll come back before Regina goes home. By then we'll know if we've gotten Alan the right medical help he needs. Now that we have Pastor John and the veterans groups to communicate with . . .”

O'Mally grabbed his hand and squeezed. “The future looks bright.”

My iPhone vibrated. Miguel. “
Hola, chica. ¿Qué pasa?
It's after one thirty. The cornhole party is moving along without you.”

“The Merskys stopped by . . .”

“Invite them. They have much to celebrate,
sí
.” And he hung up.

George put his hands on the table and half stood. “Are we keeping you?”

“Not at all.”

He slid back into his seat.

“But”—I gave the entire family a broad grin—“that was Miguel. He was calling to remind me to bring you to the cornhole party.”

George laughed—a loud, deep belly laugh that was wonderful to hear. “I was wondering what this cornhole party is all about. Is it like a barbecue with grilled corn?”

“I have no idea. Come with us and we will find out together.”

O'Mally jumped up and clapped her hands. “I'm in. I don't care a fig about the cornhole. I heard the word ‘party.'” She began waving her arms and dancing around the room. “Conga line, anyone?”

Bridgy and I closed up the Read 'Em and Eat and the Merskys followed us down Estero Boulevard. We parked a block away and when we walked down Orange Gate Drive, it looked like all of Fort Myers Beach had turned out.

People were milling around on lawns and in the street. Tables and chairs were scattered everywhere, and maybe George's guess about grilled corn was right, because there was at least a half dozen barbecues going full blast. We were only a few steps into the street when Cynthia Mays rushed over to give me a big kiss on the cheek. “Isn't this awesome? Look.” She pointed to a group of Guy Bradley members laughing with pet owners I recognized from the temporary shelter. “Your fears about enmity in the neighborhood were justified, but it all turned out well in the end. Everyone is friends again.”

“And where did the anaconda go?”

Dr. Mays beamed. “We found her a lovely home in a zoo west of the Rockies.”

“Her?”

“Definitely her. I examined the snake thoroughly. Ah, here comes Deputy Mantoni.”

She reached out to shake Ryan's hand and asked him to extend her thanks to Lieutenant Anthony for all his help during the snake crisis. “Not as though he didn't have other things to deal with. Murder. On our island.” She shook her head at the thought.

Ryan grabbed my arm. “Miguel is looking all over for you.” He waved for Bridgy and the Merskys to follow.

I tried to stop to talk to Ophie and Mark Clamenta, who were sitting on folding chairs under someone's royal palm, but Ryan kept moving forward.

Bridgy waved to her aunt. “We'll be back in a few minutes.”

And when Ophie replied, “Don't hurry, y'all,” Bridgy asked if I thought something was brewing between the two.

I told her it was too early to tell. And she reminded me I was often wrong about that sort of thing.

O'Mally put in her two cents. “Never too early if the spark is right.” And she hip bumped George, which started the rest of us laughing.

Miguel was as excited as I have ever seen him. “Finally, you are here. Welcome. The cornhole can begin.”

Mr. Gerrity was supervising three or four men who were moving a slanted box with a hole in the top of the high end into the center of the street. Then they dragged a similar box farther toward the bay. Mr. Gerrity was yelling. “Twenty-seven feet. They have to be exactly twenty-seven feet apart.”

Two men, one wearing flip-flops and the other wearing motorcycle boots, were trying to do a pace off and arguing about the effect their footwear had on the accuracy of the measurements, when a wizened, white-haired gentleman pulled one of those measuring wheels that surveyors use out of his shed. Problem solved.

Miguel looked at George. “You will play,
sì
?”

George laughed. “Why not?”

“Okay, we will be on one team. Sassy and Bridgy on the other.” He looked at us. “Agreed?”

“Sure, but you have to tell us the rules,” I insisted.

Miguel shrugged. “
Ay
, rules. You are so fussy. Just like my Bow. Partners stand opposite each other alongside a board.” He tossed me a blue bag, maybe five or six inches square. It felt like it weighed about a pound. “We take turns throwing bags at the hole of the faraway board. If the bag lands in the hole or on the board, you get some points. On the ground, no points.”

I nodded. “Sounds easy. How do we choose who goes first?”

“We generally play ‘ugly goes first' but since you ladies could not possibly qualify . . . I will go first.”

Everyone laughed and Miguel showed us exactly where to stand and warned us not to step over the imaginary foul line. He said Mr. Gerrity would keep score and explain how we won or lost points.

Forget points, I was losing patience. “Okay, okay I get all that, but why is a game played with beanbags called cornhole?”

Miguel gave me a slightly superior smile. “Because the bags aren't filled with beans. They are filled with . . .”

I rolled my eyes and finished his sentence.
“Corn.”

M
ISS
M
ARPLE'S
O
RANGE
I
CED
S
CONES

by
Karen Owen

SCONES

2½ cups all-purpose flour

½ cup white sugar

½ cup softened butter

3 teaspoons baking powder

1 egg

½ cup milk

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Place first 4 ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Use a stand mixer or hand to blend the butter into the flour, sugar and baking powder until it resembles coarse breadcrumbs.

Mix in egg and milk. Cover a baking sheet with parchment paper. With a spoon or ice cream scoop drop 12 equal amounts of scone batter onto the baking sheet. Leave 2 inches between the scone batter balls to allow for spreading. Bake at 375 until the edges and tops of scones turn a golden brown.

ORANGE ICING

½ cup powdered sugar

1 teaspoon grated orange rind

½ of a large orange, juiced

Place powdered sugar in a small bowl. Add grated orange rind to sugar. Squeeze the juice from the orange half over sugar and rind mixture. Use a spoon to mix the icing together. Icing should be fairly runny. Spoon drizzle over warm scones.

Best served with a pot of Earl Grey tea and a Read 'Em and Eat
Mystery!

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