Dying to Dink (Your Fault): A Tucson Valley Retirement Community Cozy Mystery by Marcy Blesy

Author:Marcy Blesy [Blesy, Marcy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Marcy A. Blesy, LLC
Published: 2024-04-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

I text Keaton while we are sitting at picnic tables in a giant covered pavilion that provides relief from the intense sun. There are few shade trees in this part of Arizona, at least not in the old fairgrounds. It’s surprisingly hot for February, and I’m cursing myself for forgetting my sunglasses. I’m tempted to buy myself a pair at the mobile pickleball store that’s set up inside the entrance to The Pickleball Palace which is hocking everything from paddles to cutesy shoes, bags, water bottles, stickers, notepads, and sunglasses with pickleball being the dominant theme. Who doesn’t need a pair of socks with pickleballs or even with pickles?

“How’s Keaton?” Safia asks, reading over my shoulder.

“Oh, he’s good. He’s at a brewery in between baseball games. Spring training,” I say in case she doesn’t understand baseball.

“I know, Rosi. Don’t be silly. I was the star catcher on my college softball team back in the day.” She throws her head back and laughs. “No one could get a runner called out faster than me. They called me Savage Saf.”

“Wow! I didn’t know they had women’s softball in college in the—”

“Rosi! I am not that old! Women’s college softball has been a sanctioned NCAA sport for decades!”

“Where did you go to college?” asks Frank, just as surprised to discover that Safia had been a college softball player.

“Harvard.”

Brenda drops the fork she’d been using to eat her potato salad. “You went to Harvard?”

Safia smiles smugly as she looks at each of us assembled around the large picnic table, knowing that she has the full attention of each of us. “I’m a woman with many secrets, aren’t I?” Then she takes a giant bite of her ham and cheese sandwich while crumbs fall all over her lap.

Frank and George return to the strategy session for their next game. Having not yet lost, they are guaranteed to play tomorrow. Brenda and Jan, also winners in their bracket for the second time, will join them on the courts in their own game. Safia and Paula, like Mom and me, have each lost one game, so whatever happens next will determine if our tournament play will end or continue. Regardless, we’re here until tomorrow afternoon when the winners in each bracket will be announced. Now that we’ve won one game—kind of—I can relax a little and enjoy whatever happens next. Mom seems equally satisfied with our current status.

“What do you think he’s doing?” Paula asks, pointing to Reggie—in another navy blue tracksuit—who is moving swiftly between tables passing out papers.

“He looks like a teacher passing back his students’ spelling tests,” says Jan.

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Funny, Jan,” the friends reply.

We are eagerly awaiting his arrival when Reggie gets to our table. “Hello, everyone. Are you having a good time out there on the courts?” he asks. His sunglasses cover his eyes, the kind that reflect on the outside, not allowing you to see even a hint of the wearer’s own eyes. It’s shady.

“Having a grand time,” says Mom.

“Simply marvelous,” says Safia.

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