Bike Week Blues by Mary Clay

Author:Mary Clay
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: caper, cozy, daffodils, divorced women, humor fiction, mystery, mystery humor, southern humor, womens fiction
Publisher: Mary Clay

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Chapter 12

Fran was scheduled to work at the center that afternoon, having graciously offered to fill in for me so I could spend time with my friends. Free of obligations, we elected to put on our swimsuits and sit by Fran’s pool. A large, irregular oval with a three-man Jacuzzi at one end, the enclosure was perfectly positioned to give a panoramic view of the Intercoastal Waterway.

“Doesn’t get much better than this,” Penny Sue said, dropping a copy of the Daily Journal’s Bike Week Event Supplement onto her lounge chair and touching her toes a few times.

Clad in a square-necked, black one-piece that contrasted dramatically with her light coloring, Ruthie looked like a fashion model. One of the waif types, not the full-bodied models that I liked so much who were coming into vogue. Ruthie angled her chair toward the sun and sat down with her laptop and a newspaper. “A shame Fran’s Carlo didn’t get to enjoy all of this. She’s a terrific woman and obviously loved her husband very much.”

I put my towel and cell phone on a table shaded by an umbrella and plopped down on the side of the pool. The pool was solar-heated and the water was as warm as a bath. “She’s been a wonderful friend to me.”

“I see that and promise not to make any more snide remarks about Carl,” Penny Sue said.

“The revelation that he’s a millionaire didn’t influence your decision, did it?” I needled.

“That and the fact he’s obviously brilliant and not just a nerdy flake. The genius types are always quirky. They say Einstein got lost on the Princeton campus all the time. He’d get so wrapped up in new theory or something, he’d lose his bearings. And, remember the guy in the movie, A Beautiful Mind? He taught at MIT, didn’t he?”

Ruthie scowled. “John Nash was schizophrenic—that’s a far cry from quirky.”

Penny Sue pulled her hair back. “All right, he was a nut.”

“Schizophrenia is a serious illness. It’s nothing to make fun of. You know, Jo Ruth is thinking of going into psychiatry.”

Penny Sue chuckled, “Good, we’ll have someone to treat us in our old age.” She sat down and opened her paper. “Wouldn’t y’all love to meet Uncle Enrico? I’ll bet he was a character. Had to be in the Mafia, don’t you think?”

“Probably, considering Fran said her own family didn’t ask him too many questions,” Ruthie said.

“I wonder what happened to him? Cement galoshes like they do on the Sopranos?” Penny Sue asked.

I leaned forward and splashed water on myself. “Yeah, or maybe he’s in the witness protection program. He could be in Palm Beach right now with a new identity.”

“Shoot, Enrico could be here at Bike Week. Grow a beard, shave your head, get a few tattoos and piercings—no one would be the wiser. Fran might have passed him in the supermarket a dozen times,” Penny Sue said.

“Your imagination’s running away.”

She pursed her lips and snapped the paper noisily. I dove into the pool and started swimming laps.

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