Gourdfellas (10 page)

A twitch played along Elizabeth’s upper lip. She looked away, took several slow, deep breaths, folded a paper napkin in half and then in half again. “Okay, you want me to be honest? I don’t know if I can just, as you call it, accept our differences, I truly don’t. Best I can say is that I’ll try to set them aside tonight. More than that?” She shrugged. “I really don’t know.”

Now it was up to Susan. Her freckles seemed to dance across her face as she scrunched her forehead. When she nodded, she still wasn’t smiling. “Okay, I can deal with that. Like they say in those twelve-step programs, one day at a time. Well, I guess this is one poker game at a time. Melissa, it was your deal, right?”

Before Melissa could answer, I said, “I’m really glad the air got cleared a little but there’s one more thing I want to talk about before we play. I need some help figuring out this whole Marjorie thing.”

Nora stood up, bustling about with glasses and the wine bottle. “See? Great minds do think alike. We thought we’d do a little brainstorming before the game. Everybody up for this?”

An emphatic chorus of yeses followed.

“Great. So—no censoring, anything goes,” I said as Nora set a nearly full glass of Cabernet in front of me.

“No alligatoring,” Melissa said. “You know, snapping your jaws to say something negative when anyone puts an idea out there.”

“Quantity counts. Keep the ideas coming,” Susan said, scooping up three baby carrots. With delicate precision, she started eating them one by one, as though they were tiny logs being fed into a chipper. She started giggling, and Nora and Melissa laughed with her. Elizabeth looked away.

“Otherwise, we’ll be spinning our wheels.” Nora peered over her raised wineglass at me. “And we can’t do that when Lili needs our help.”

Everyone stared at me for a long, silent moment.

Being the center of attention was fine with me, as long as I was the one who sought the spotlight. Having it thrust on me was harder. I’d been loathe to admit that I needed help ever since childhood, because it meant . . . what? I wasn’t sure. I don’t have a problem acknowledging that I’m not perfect, that I don’t have answers to every question, that other people really do have expertise, training, and life experience that I don’t have. So, why should it be so hard to accept help from a group of women I considered my friends?

I’d thought about this so many times, and the answer had always been the same.

If I needed help, that meant I couldn’t manage my life on my own. If I couldn’t manage my life on my own, my safety depended on the whims and moods of other people. The first part was certainly true. My life was full, rich, and complex, and some situations required knowledge I didn’t have. That’s why plumbers and pharmacists and mortgage brokers were sometimes necessary. But those were the people I paid to help me. If they let me down, I’d just call another one.

The yellow pages didn’t have a category called “Friends.”

If I had to leave my beating heart in someone else’s care for a while, I’d trust my friend Karen with it, no questions asked. I almost felt the same about Nora. I probably should have about the others, but I wasn’t quite there yet. I could sit here and wonder until I turned mauve, or—

A rush of energy and a desire to plunge ahead rose up so suddenly I didn’t have a chance to question it, or to quell it.

“Marjorie Mellon was murdered,” I said. “She was shot in the back of the head. Her body was found half a mile from my house. The rifle that fired the shot that killed her was stashed in my attic. Those are the facts.”

“Not all of them.” Susan had scribbled down everything I’d said, and now she looked up from her paper. “She made a public statement that she was in favor of the casino. And she called for other people who wanted it to join her in a consortium to find ways to support it.”

“So, who was against the casino? Most of us.” Nora avoided Susan’s gaze and took a sip of her wine. “And Connie Lovett.”

“And Seth Selinsky,” I said quietly. “And Trisha Stern. And at least a hundred others.”

“The real question,” said practical Nora, “is what do we do now? I mean, how can we get useful information?”

We exchanged shrugs and sheepish glances as we waited for a spark to ignite a bonfire of great ideas.

“In New York after September 11th, the slogan was ‘See something, say something.’ I always thought it was kind of lame,” I admitted, “but it makes sense in this situation. We keep our eyes and ears open, maybe ask a couple of discreet questions—
discreetly
—and then follow up if something strikes us as odd.”

“So,” Melissa said, “what’s odd?”

Odd, in Brooklyn, consisted of asking a total stranger to watch your bag while you went to the restroom. Here in Walden Corners, nobody would look twice if you left your car unlocked, but they’d roll their eyes if a neighbor suddenly decided to paint the gazebo purple. The discussion continued with example after example, each one stretching the envelope a little more, until Nora said, “Odd in this group is stopping the jokes and getting down to business. We’re trying to help Lili here. No more fun allowed.”

Everyone laughed, of course. I realized that the most likely outcome of all this activity was that we’d feel a little more like we were in control. As though we might contribute to discovering the truth, thereby saving me from wrongful prosecution, even if all we found was crumbs. Another corner of my mind was sure that with so many smart, resourceful friends working toward the same end, I’d be suspicion-free in short order.

“So, would you say that Nathaniel Bartle going to Poughkeepsie and coming back with a generator and two wooden crates is odd?” Susan shook her head. “He’s always been the totally PC do-the-right-thing activist, the last one I’d figure for a survivalist. Maybe he’s thinking that the casino is going to bring the cowboys into town, to fight off the very Indians . . . I mean, Native Americans, he’s trying to help.”

Nora nodded. “And what about Trisha Stern? I’ve seen her walking her land and hanging mirrors in trees and carrying bowls of burning stuff that make thick, black smoke. She’s had this glazed look in her eye ever since the meetings started. Maybe she’s getting in touch with a higher power, or maybe she’s gone off the deep end.”

“I’m sorry to say this, but wasn’t Seth pretty adamant that the casino would cost him business?” Elizabeth glanced at me and then looked away. “He’s been so distracted lately, he hardly even remembers to say hello if you bump into him. Melissa, you have any ideas?”

Melissa shuddered, as though she’d been awakened from a bad dream. “Sorry, I was just thinking about my Aunt Bernie. She loved puzzles—she was so sharp she would have made sense of all this. It’s not fair, it’s just not fair. We were so optimistic about the new treatment, we thought we had all the time in the world. Now I can’t stand that I put off stopping by at her house that last week.”

Connie and her doctor had been so sure she’d be feeling better by now. I could barely imagine how it must feel to watch someone you considered a second mother not respond to treatment. I reached out to close my hand over Melissa’s. “It sucks, you’re right. I’m so sorry.”

Melissa squeezed my hand and smiled. “Enough of that. Look, Lili was right. Maybe just being conscious of odd behavior is a good place to start. For now, I think, we’ll have to settle for being observers.”

“And poker players,” Nora said. “Who has the next highest card? Oops, looks like my jack of clubs is it.”

The others looked at her meaningfully. I nodded, ready for her to scoop up the cards on the table and start the deal.

“So I get to say this part. It’s not just the suspect thing, Lili. We’re all a little worried about you. You’re under a lot of stress right now, and it shows. We’re here to help however we can—run errands, come over and take care of house stuff. Even stay with your brother for a couple of hours to give you a break.”

Susan, her eyes twinkling, looked at Melissa and nodded. “From the look on your face, I’d say that you’ll be the first volunteer, right?”

“Okay, enough of that, you guys.” Melissa’s voice had dropped to a whisper as she pointed to the hall, in the direction in which Neil had disappeared. “Neil Marino is cute and charming and he’s eleven years younger than I am, so back off.”

She passed me the bowl of vegetables. “And, yes, I’d be happy to come over to let you run errands or whatever. But you have to do something, too. You have to promise to take us up on these offers. You’ve been looking so tired lately. I know I’m not a doctor, but maybe you should think about getting something that would help you sleep.”

I laughed. “Warm milk and a clear conscience. And valerian. Mr. Trent gave me some. It’s supposed to be Nature’s sleeping pill or something. I’ll be all right, once Michele Castro decides to leave me alone. Listen, I don’t know how else to say this, but thanks.”

“No thanks yet. We haven’t done anything. Good intentions won’t take the place of good ideas.” Elizabeth snatched a celery stalk from the vegetable tray and looked at it as though it had stepped out of a Martian spaceship. “Whatever happened to chips and dip? I think one way to find out who murdered Marjorie is for all of us to go to her funeral on Wednesday. And we need to get more active in the whole casino thing.”

“Well, of course. I was planning to go to the service anyway. And to all the casino meetings.” Nora’s face brightened. “But now we’ll have a focus. We’ll talk to people, get them to open up and maybe reveal something. There’s a meeting next week at the Lovetts’ barn. The posters have been plastered all over town. ‘If you want to keep our town small and friendly yada yada. . . .’ Some of us should go. Nobody would think twice about that.”

My heart thudded. The only one whose presence at that meeting would raise suspicion was Susan. Before I could figure out how to say anything, Susan laughed and then pointed her finger at each of us around the table.

“I’m the only one who can go to the
other
meeting,” she said, grinning. “You’ll have to trust me to be your eyes and ears and bring you back a full report. If any of the rest of you went to the Lovetts, nobody would say a word because you’ve already stood up and been counted. Against. All of you. What you might not know is that there’s talk of a supporters’ meeting at Nathaniel’s bowling alley. It’s closed on Tuesdays and that’s when it’s scheduled. You want me to go?”

Nora was the first to break the silence. “Of course. That’s perfect. It’ll be harder for you to cover a lot of ground because you’re only one person, but you’re right, Susan. You’re the only one who can go to Nathaniel’s.”

“I’ll take good notes. Everyone takes notes at these things, except mine will be a little different.” She slipped the cards back into the deck, shuffled, and then fanned the cards out in the middle of the table. “Okay, now this is for real. High card deals.”

I placed my hand atop the cards and waited until everyone looked at me. I was the only one smiling. “Aha, see? You only like it when you know what the script is. You engineered this whole conversation. But you forgot that I don’t take orders very well. So before we play, I get to say something too.”

They all sat closer to the edge of their chairs. If I could have, I would have scooped them into a group hug, the way my friends used to in fifth grade in Brooklyn.

What, I wondered, was stopping me?

“Okay, everyone stand up,” I ordered. Nora, Susan, and Melissa pushed their chairs back and came to where I was standing in the middle of the room. My eyes met Elizabeth’s, and I saw a challenge that six months earlier might have ruined the moment for me. But I knew enough now to reach for her hand and tug her to her feet. I raised my arms to start the circle, and Susan grabbed me on one side and Nora on the other. Melissa and then Elizabeth joined the huddle.

“Now, get closer. Closer.” I waited until our noses were practically touching. “Okay, now everyone repeat after me. One for all and all for—”

“Lili!” Nora shouted. “We shall prevail. Just think of us as your enforcers.”

“My Gourdfellas, only this time we’re on the right side of the law.”

I felt like a winner without ever seeing what cards I’d been dealt.

Trisha Stern might have been the most cheerful person I’d ever met. Luckily, it was a bearable cheerfulness, because it seemed to come from a genuinely optimistic view of the world. With her short, wispy hair and blue eyes that crinkled when she smiled, she looked like an elf sent to lead my brother to a hidden treasure.

“You are so lucky it wasn’t your femur,” she said as she coaxed Neil to raise his leg a little higher. “Would have taken longer, might have been harder on the weight bearing. And you’re in such good shape, too. You just have to work a little harder for the next eight weeks, keep your upper body strength—no, don’t point your toes, flex—and get some cardio in, you’ll be okay.”

Sweating with the strain, Neil finally dropped his leg and swabbed his face with a towel. “Were you this hard on the girls?” he asked, grinning.

“Harder. And the New York Liberty complained less.” She handed him the water bottle. “All right, sixty seconds of rest. Then we’ll work those lats.”

In just a week, Neil had made remarkable progress. He was especially pleased that his right leg, which he insisted was a little skinnier than his left when he arrived, was already starting to regain its muscle. He started his upper body workout, lifting the hand weights he’d brought from home. Sweat popped out first on his face and then on his torso as he went through his reps. I waved as I headed for the gourd studio, relieved that Trisha had turned out to be more than competent. Forty minutes gave me just enough time to finish staining one of the pieces I wanted to show at the Welburn Gourd Festival in June.

Neil and I had settled into a pleasant routine, and life would have been good and comfortable except for the sword of suspicion hanging over my head. We ate breakfast and lunch whenever and wherever the spirit moved us, but dinner was served at seven o’clock at the table, television off. We’d fallen happily into the routine of our mother’s house. Its virtues, against which we complained when we were children, were apparent to us now.