Marriage Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story (A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery) (11 page)

“You mean Nancy posted a profile, too?” Actually, the more I thought about it, this behavior was much more characteristic of Nancy than Mary Alice.

“Of course she did,” Mary Alice said. “This was her idea, but she didn’t want to try it alone. So we both did it.

“It’s not easy to write a profile of yourself, Carol,” Mary Alice continued. “First you have to come up with a catchy user name, something to catch a browser’s attention. Then you have to write a banner headline that describes yourself a little more. And then comes a short personal profile. It’s sort of like writing a resume, but a lot shorter and punchier. The site only allows a maximum of a hundred words. And then you have to post a photo of yourself. Do you think the one I picked is a good one?”

I was reeling. This was so uncharacteristic of my shy, proper friend. “I don’t know how to react to this, Mary Alice,” I said.

“I hoped you’d be proud of me,” Mary Alice retorted. “This is a big step for me, and I’m glad Nancy talked me into it. I’ve been a widow for over twenty years, and I’ve been alone ever since. And I’m not working regular hours at the hospital anymore, so I don’t have the chance to interact with other people as much. You don’t know what that’s like, Carol – to be lonely.”

I realized this was the second time this morning that Mary Alice had told me she was lonely. I needed to support her, not criticize her.

I covered her hands with my own and gave them a squeeze. “I’m sorry I reacted the way I did,” I said. “I want you to be happy. I guess I’ve been too preoccupied with my own problems to notice what you’ve been going through. When did you register and post this information? Have there been any responses?”

“We just did this yesterday,” Mary Alice admitted. “But I have to confess, I’ve become obsessed with checking the site to see if anyone is interested. So far, there’ve been no responses. But the website suggests waiting at least a week, and then, if no one has responded, rewriting the profile. I’m thinking positive thoughts. We’ll see.”

“I hope you get lots of responses, and meet some really nice men,” I said. “And if you need someone to play the ‘father’ role, and check someone out before a date, I’ll loan you Jim. He’s had lots of experience intimidating Jenny’s dates, and he’s good at it.”

Mary Alice laughed. “I don’t think I need a father figure at my age, but you never know. I’ll keep your offer in mind!”

Chapter 14

No use crying over spilled milk or straying husbands.

As soon the Steamship Authority fast ferry left the dock in Hyannis, bound for Nantucket, I could feel my grumpiness start to evaporate.

And boy, was I ever grumpy. I hadn’t slept in my clothes the night before, but I felt like I had. My face and hands felt grimy. To tell the truth, my whole body felt grimy. I needed another shower, and a long nap.

I make no apologies for my grumpy mood, either. Just you try getting up in the dark, taking an cool shower (Jim had turned down the hot water the night before – he always worries about something going wrong with our utilities when we’re away for a few days), swallowing a quick breakfast, and piling into the car for the trek northward from Connecticut to Cape Cod, Massachusetts, on that hellish, traffic-clogged highway known as I-95.

I envied Lucy and Ethel, snug in their crates at Mary Alice’s. Talk about a dog’s life.

We made it in 3 hours and 55 minutes, mostly because we drove through Providence, Rhode Island – a frequent traffic bottleneck – when most of the commuters were probably still in bed.

Parking in Hyannis was a breeze, thanks to Mark and Jenny, who had reserved a spot for us in a lot near the ferry terminal, and prepaid so we could just park and go. We even had time for a cup of terrible coffee before we boarded the ferry.

Jim immediately became engrossed in reading the
Boston Globe
, but I was too excited to concentrate on anything but checking and rechecking my watch and gazing out the window for the first sight of my favorite island.

“Mark and Jenny were smart to take the plane over to Nantucket, Jim,” I said to my husband. “Even though this is the fast ferry, it seems to be taking forever for us to get there. We should have taken the plane with them.”

Jim lowered his paper to look directly at me. “I seem to remember that we discussed taking the plane, Carol. But you were nervous about being on such a small one. That’s why we booked the fast ferry.”

I couldn’t argue with the guy, because he was right. I do have a fear of tight spaces. And self-service elevators. And…oh, never mind.

He gave my hand a squeeze and passed me a section of the paper. “Here, read something. It’ll help pass the time.”

“I’m too wound up to concentrate,” I said. “But thanks. I’m going to take a walk around the deck. I doubt it’ll be a long walk, because that wind is really sharp.”

I zipped up my coat, grabbed my purse (I never leave my purse unguarded in a public place – my whole life is in my purse!), and headed for the door. In my haste to get outside to see if there was even a hazy distant view of the island through the morning fog, I tripped over a briefcase some bozo had left in the aisle by his seat. Fortunately, I landed on my well-padded posterior, so I didn’t hurt myself. Unfortunately, the entire contents of my purse went flying all over the floor of the ferry.

The jerk who was responsible for my fall – who’d left his seat to get something at the snack bar – rushed toward me.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching out his hand to help me up. “I shouldn’t have left my briefcase…Carol, is that you?” Good grief. It was Bob Green.

I was so shocked to see him that I didn’t know what to say. If you’ve known me for a while, you appreciate how rare that is.

So I ignored his outstretched hand and concentrated on picking up the debris from my purse, which was scattered around the center aisle of the boat and under a few seats. What I wanted to say to him was, “Yes, Bob, it’s Carol, your wife’s very best friend. I was the maid of honor in your wedding, remember? You big jerk.”

What I really said was, “Can you help me find my lipstick, Bob? It’s called Desert Rose. It’s in a gold case, and I think it rolled under your seat.”

Bob obediently got to his knees and began the search for my lipstick, which was really in my hand. And I pulled myself up so I was standing over him. That way, I felt like I was more in control of the situation.

Pretty clever, huh?

“So, Bob,” I said to his backside, “are you going to Nantucket to meet Tiffani? I think you both have a lot of nerve, having a lovers’ tryst at the same time we’re all going to be there making decisions about Mark and Jenny’s wedding. Talk about being insensitive.”

Bob scrambled to his feet and started to talk, but I didn’t let him. “It’s a good thing Nancy didn’t come with us,” I said. “But I suppose that wouldn’t make any difference to you. Just as long as you and Tiffani were together.”

I glared at him, daring him to respond.

“Oh, that’s right, I remember now,” I continued. “Nancy couldn’t come with us because she has a date this weekend.” I didn’t know if that was technically true, but it sounded good and shocked the heck out of Bob.

“Nancy has a date?” he asked. “With who?”

“It’s with
whom
, Bob,” I countered. “And I don’t know his name. She’s had quite a few dates recently.” Take that, you twerp.

“And anyway, what are you doing here? Can’t you let your girlfriend out of your sight for even one weekend?”

Bob colored slightly. “I’m sorry, Carol. I didn’t know that Tiffani was going to be working with your family this weekend. I know you think I’m a big jerk, a cad, whatever, but I’m not completely insensitive. Tiffani spends a lot of time planning weddings on Nantucket, and I thought it would be fun to surprise her. She doesn’t know I’m coming. Now I know what a really bad idea this is.”

I wasn’t about to let him off the hook that quickly. “Well, you can always stay on the ferry and make the return trip to Hyannis,” I said. “In fact, I think that’s what you should do.”

And with that as my parting shot, I grabbed my purse and headed for the outside deck, which I had all to myself, not counting the seagulls. So I was free to mutter and complain and share things with the birds that I usually reserve for Lucy and Ethel’s ears.

“I’m not going to let this ruin our trip,” I declared to one large bird who had swooped particularly close to the railing where I was standing. “But I’m betting that if Bob does decide to stay on Nantucket, he might be in for a surprise. Maybe the lovely Tiffani won’t be as glad to see him as he thinks she will.”

Little did I know how true that was.

Chapter 15

Life’s always better when I’m wearing my tiara.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” I said to Jenny, giving my daughter and her fiancé big hugs. “What time did your plane get in? Have you seen Tiffani yet? How far is the Grey Gull Inn from the ferry dock? Is it close enough to walk to?”

Jim rolled his eyes at Mark before Jenny had a chance to respond. “Your mother-in-law-to-be is always full of questions, and rarely gives anyone a chance to respond to one before going on to the next one.”

“I think that’s one of my most endearing traits,” I countered. “I’m a very curious person.” And I gave him a peck on the cheek to show that I wasn’t offended. Because I knew that he was kidding. At least, I thought he was.

“The Grey Gull Inn is about five blocks from here,” Jenny said. “It’s a great location. Tiffani was right. Come on, let’s go.” She grabbed my tote bag. “The guys are already half a block ahead of us.”

And we were off, dodging the crowds, and passing shops I was dying to check out.

My daughter, sensing my mood, laughed and said, “Don’t worry, Mom. You’ll have plenty of time for shopping while we’re here. And Nantucket Cottage Hospital even has a thrift shop we can check out. It’ll be closing for the season soon, so everything’s half price. I know you’ll love that.”

I was having trouble keeping up with Jim’s long stride and Jenny and Mark’s youth on the treacherous Nantucket cobblestones. But I’d be darned if I’d admit it, even if I was getting a stitch in my right side from the rapid pace they’d set.

“I didn’t realize some of these blocks were so long on Nantucket,” I said, stopping to give myself a short break and catch my breath.

“We’re almost there, Mom,” Jenny promised, slowing down her stride to match my own.

I can do it. I can do it. Puff puff puff. Look down so you don’t trip on the cobblestones, Carol.

“We’re here!” squealed Jenny, grabbing my hand as we rounded another corner. “What do you think?”

Oh, my gosh. It was love at first sight for me. The Grey Gull Inn was even more charming in person than it had looked on line. In fact, except for the “friendship” staircase at the building’s main entrance, typical of many antique Nantucket houses (they were built very close to the street, in case you didn’t know that), the inn was a larger version of my own antique colonial house. And it’s no secret how much I love my house.

The inn was grey – naturally – with white shutters, reminding me of a joke I’d heard years ago about a Nantucket native giving directions to a particularly annoying tourist: “Take a right at the grey house with the white trim.” Most Nantucket houses, especially in town, are grey with white trim!