If Catfish Had Nine Lives (Country Cooking School Mystery) (14 page)

“I . . . I know who you mean. Alicia Zavon killed her husband, right?” she said when Gram refolded the letter.

“Yes, that’s the one, but there’s a little more,” Gram said.

“Okay,” Opie said, her eyes now fully bright and alert, still not blinking.

“Elizabeth did come to Broken Rope. She was too late, because the letter never reached Alicia.”

“Oh, my! So if the letter had arrived or if Elizabeth had arrived a little earlier, then maybe Alicia wouldn’t have killed her husband?”

“It’s possible, but then other things might not have occurred either,” Gram said. “And Elizabeth never went back to her family, so it seems that the lineage was all but forgotten. Jake is working to figure out if the rest of the family eventually came to Broken Rope or not, but one of Elizabeth’s abandoned daughters was named Ophelia. It seems that you are a part of Alicia’s family tree.”

Opie stood, gasped, and put her hand to her chest.

I forced myself not to roll my eyes.

“I’m related to Alicia Zavon and I’m named after one of her granddaughters!?” Opie said, almost breathless.

“It appears so,” Gram said.

“This . . . this . . . well, it changes everything, doesn’t it?” Opie said as she moved to the space behind her two chairs and began to pace.

“Well, I don’t know,” Gram said, “but it’s very interesting.”

“No, Miz, you don’t understand.” After a couple back and forth jaunts, Opie returned to the chair and sat. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees as she continued, “I’ve always known I was somehow special to this town. I’ve always known! Now, this proves it.”

“Opie, I think you’ve always been special, too. I didn’t need this letter to prove it,” Gram said.

I held back a myriad of protests, including incredulous noises and doubtful commentary.

“Oh, Miz, you’re so sweet,” Opie said. And then she actually took the next half second to send me a disgusted and disappointed look before turning her gleeful aura back to Gram.

“It’s true, my dear,” Gram said.

I looked at Gram. Okay, maybe this wasn’t too hard on her. Maybe she was being sincere to Opie. I sure hoped I was more like her when I grew up.

“Oh my, oh my, oh my, this is such a wonderfully tragic story,” Opie said.

“Yes, it is, but it is also the distant past,” Gram said, bringing at least a little present-time reality back to the moment. “This happened a long time ago, Ophelia, and there’s nothing to be done to change it. It’s good that you know though, I think.” Gram looked quickly at Joe, who’d moved to a spot beside the lamp in between me and Gram.

I looked at him, too, and there
was
something different about him, but again I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. Was he more solid? No, not really. But I could still somehow
see
him better even with all the bright light. Was that it? I couldn’t be sure.

“Oh, yes, Miz, it’s very good that I know. I think I shall have to do something to honor the memory. No, that doesn’t sound right. Murder was involved. I think I shall have to do something to document . . . yes, that’s the word,
document
, the entire tragedy of the situation. Perhaps a statue or something. Maybe something right in the middle of town. I could stand next to it for a couple hours every day during the summer and let the tourists take pictures. I’m sure Jake can help me figure it out.”

“I’m sure he can,” Gram said.

Suddenly, whatever it was about Joe that had seemed momentarily different was gone. I couldn’t distinguish what had disappeared, making me think I’d imagined it. Maybe I was just trying too hard to see something, see apparent changes with the reading of the letters. Maybe I had also just hoped that I could feel Jerome’s touch in bright daylight.

“Oh, Miz”—Opie looked at me again, this time with less disdain—“and Betts, you two have brightened one of my darkest times. I’m ever so grateful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Gram said.

“Ya, uhm, yes, you’re welcome, Opie,” I added.

Gram stood, and I followed suit.

“We’ll be on our way, then,” Gram said as she stepped around me and exited the library. She was done.

“Betts,” Opie said as she grabbed my arm.

“Yes?” I looked at her hand on my arm.

“How’s Teddy?” she asked.

“I think he’s okay.” I squinted as I tried to read her pretty blue eyes. Did I see sincerity there? Did she really care about him? Would she be upset if she heard about the fight and the condition he was genuinely in? My hard heart softened a little, and even though I thought I’d probably regret it, I said, “Actually, Opie, he was in a fight and, well, he’s fine, and he’s going to be fine, but he got a little beat up.”

“What happened?”

“He’s still sorting out the details.”

“Oh, dear, should I . . . Oh, Betts, I want to see him, I miss him. Should I?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, Opie. Teddy doesn’t share his personal goings-on with me. I don’t know what happened between the two of you.”

“I’m too old for him, Betts. I knew he wouldn’t remain interested in me long-term. I thought it was best to break us up before I got too deep.”

Judging from the condition she was in and the mood Teddy had been in, I suspected they’d both already fallen too deep. I wanted to tell Opie to quit being so stupid. Though Teddy had a reputation, he also knew how to care about people; he truly did have feelings, too. But I didn’t think I should advise either of them regarding anything.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Opie, but he has seemed a little down in the dumps since you two broke up.”

“He has?”

“Yes,” I said. I had the urge to run. I could tell she was about to ruin our moment.

“I will call him today,” she said, as if assuring me.

I smiled as I nodded and turned to leave.

“Betts, wait,” she said as she took the steps to catch up with me.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” She smiled sincerely. “And, well, never mind.” She put a few stray pieces of my hair behind my ear. She wanted to insult my hair, but she held back.

It was the nicest she’d ever been about my hair.

I sighed deeply.

“See you later, Opie,” I said before joining Gram and Joe and the horse outside. If she only knew that she’d had a ghost from Broken Rope’s past right in her house.

At least I had that on her.

After our visit with Opie, Gram insisted on us all going back to the school. I asked her why we just couldn’t back out of Opie’s driveway, find a quiet spot, pull out the last letter, read it, and call Jake for help. Or better yet, just call him first and set up a quick meeting. Surely he would have to be of assistance again, and we still had a little prep to do at the campsite.

Gram said, “No, this is important, Betts; the culmination of so many years of Joe’s and my search, or
mission
, maybe. This all began back at the cemetery outside the cooking school; it needs to end there, too.”

“Okay,” I said, hoping she didn’t catch the forced enthusiasm in my voice.

So Gram rode with me in the Nova, Joe and the horse again following behind as we left the country, drove through Broken Rope’s small downtown, exited on the other side of town back into the country, took that curve in the state highway, and returned to the cooking school.

I had, however, called Jake over to join us. Though Gram had wanted to read the last letter in the cemetery, I knew I wouldn’t be able to clearly see it in the bright outside light so I had to ask for a small change of venue. We sat inside the school at a corner of one of the large center butcher blocks. Joe and Gram on one side. Jake and I on the other. We’d closed the blinds and turned off all the lights. I pointed out to Jake where Joe was sitting.

“How was Opie?” Jake asked.

“As expected. There might be some statue planning in your near future,” I said.

Jake thought a moment and said, “I can handle that.”

He could.

“This will be a very heady experience for Ophelia, but she’ll be all right, and even though she’ll find a way to make it all about her, the town will somehow benefit, too. She’s good at making sure everyone gets included. Eventually,” Gram said. She turned to Joe. “Are you ready for the last letter?”

“I am,” Joe said as he nodded.

“You’re completely sure?” Gram said.

“Yes.”

The shoe was most definitely on the other foot with this ghost. It took almost all I had to hold back a sigh of impatience or tell him and Gram to hurry up. Normally, I was the patient, curious, and sympathetic one, and Gram was telling the ghosts to move it along, or perhaps to just go away for a while.

It was more than plain impatience for me, though I wasn’t sure if I didn’t like Joe or didn’t trust him or didn’t . . . something. I had been sensing something was off from the beginning, but I couldn’t pinpoint anything, exactly. Whatever it was, it made me wary and suspicious and drove me a little crazy. I was usually on top of my instincts, and I didn’t like not understanding what I was feeling.

“Shall we?” Jake prompted.

“Okay, Joe, go ahead. We’re ready,” Gram said.

“Miz, whatever it is, I just want to thank you for everything. All these years . . . thank you,” Joe said.

“You, too. You’ve been a delight.”

I blinked.

“Here goes.” Joe lifted a flap on the side of the
mochila
.

“He’s reaching in the
mochila
now,” I told Jake.

“Excellent. I’m ready.” He held a pen poised over a brand-new, small notebook.

Joe reached in and pulled out a folded piece of paper. This one was off-white. But it also had dark edges, as if . . .

“Oh, no,” I said.

“What?” Jake said.

Gram had also said something similar to my “oh, no.”

“There might be something wrong with the letter,” I said to Jake. “It looks like it’s been burned, around the edges at least, and the burns seem to be spreading as we’re looking at it.”

“Not good,” Jake said.

If the piece of paper had been real, not something from the world of the dead, or the unknown, or wherever it came from, I doubted that it could be unfolded without falling apart. Not only did it look like it was burned; it was thin and flimsy. I didn’t know whether to attribute its condition to its afterlife existence or if it had simply been delicate when it was real. The blackened marks extended toward the center—more of the letter had been burned than not burned.

Joe did manage to unfold it, though he was slow, carefully holding the edges by his fingertips.

Once it was open, he placed it on the table and carefully smoothed it mostly flat. He spent a long moment looking at the paper, his concentrated focus not giving away much of anything.

I was peering at the letter, hoping something would become clear, but nothing happened quickly. I scooted off the stool and moved closer, to the spot behind Joe. He looked up and directly at Gram. I touched the paper just to see if I could feel it; I could.

“It has only a few words,” he said.

“I see the same thing,” I said, when I finally did.

“Okay, what are they?” Gram asked.

“Sure to die,” Joe said.

“The paper only says:
Sure to die
,” I said to Jake.

“Well, that’s interesting, in a scary way,” Jake said.

“That’s all it says?” Gram moved next to me.

“That’s all I can see,” Joe said.

“Me too. That’s all I see,” I said. “No, wait, what’s down at the bottom? It looks like the letters . . .
S-T-I-N.
”

“Is that in the signature spot?” Jake asked. “The spot where you’d sign off?”

“It looks like it,” I said.

“Could that be the last part of Astin’s first name?” Jake said.

“I suppose it’s very possible. You think he wrote this letter?”

“I don’t know, but it would fit with whatever seems to be going on.”

I put the letter down and looked at Joe. “Seriously, it seems more and more like you are, in fact, Astin Reagal.”

“Why? Because he might have been the person who signed this letter?” Gram said.

“Something like that,” I said.

“No, Betts, I am not Astin Reagal. I am certain of that. I am certain that my name is Joe.”

“Jake, what was Astin’s middle name?”

“I have no idea, but I can try to find it.”

“Please do. Something tells me it will be some form of Joe.”

“But didn’t you say that Joe doesn’t look a thing like Astin’s picture?” Jake said.

“I know, but there’s something about that, too. His face does strange things, like changes just a little bit for an instant and then changes back.”

“Changes enough that it could look like Astin’s if it changed only a little more?”

“Well, no, not really.”

“Betts, I am not Astin Reagal, but I bet this letter was from him,” Joe said.

“Why is it incomplete?” I asked.

“The letter?” Jake asked. “Why is the letter incomplete?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I have a hunch. Maybe we have to find Astin’s remains first, before the letter will be able to be read all the way through,” Jake said.

“Really?” I said, but then suddenly that idea somehow felt right.

“It’s not an easy search,” Gram said, “but maybe Jerome did come back for that purpose. I hope he finds Astin soon.”

Jake cocked his head as he fell into thought. “You know, maybe you’re doing exactly what you should be doing and you don’t even know it. Maybe those words wouldn’t have even appeared if Esther and Jerome hadn’t come to town. Or maybe I just need to keep researching and Jerome needs to remember where Astin’s remains are? How’s this—maybe the words on the paper will help Jerome in some weird way.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” I said. “Anything is.”

“I think we need to go with Jerome. Or you do, or Miz does, or even Joe does. I know Jerome is searching but even he might need some help. Yes, I think this is unlike any letter you’ve dealt with before, and it is the last one. There are so many other strange things happening that perhaps the letter has to behave differently this time. Perhaps it can’t tell us everything because it’s important that other things happen first. Make sense?”

I looked at Gram. “What do you think?”

“I have absolutely no idea what to think,” Gram said. “But I suppose Jake might be on to something. Searching for Astin Reagal’s remains can’t hurt, I suppose. It’s worth a shot.”

“Okay, I guess we’ll talk to Jerome next time we see him. I know he’s somewhere between here and Rolla, but I’m not sure exactly where. You know, Gram?”

“I don’t think Jerome and I ever once talked about where his property was, but I know the general area. We can look.” She checked her watch. “Not today, though. Tomorrow maybe. We’ve got fish to fry today, but tomorrow for sure.” She smiled sympathetically at Joe.

“It’s okay, Miz. It’s been a long time. I can wait a little longer.”

I wondered if he could, though. The ghosts’ visits had expiration dates. Was Joe’s visit truly destined to be short? Was he going to get so close and yet not be able to finish what he and Gram had started all those years ago? The singed and incomplete letter made me think that Joe
might
not be destined to have all the answers. But I didn’t vocalize that thought. It wouldn’t have gone over well.