A Murder in Mohair (4 page)

She and Dana had dismounted at the harbor and were now rolling their cycles along the sidewalk on Main Street.

“Too bad the shop isn't open. I'm sure Maggie would be up for taking a break with us,” Dana said. “Should we call her?”

“I think she's spending the day with Charles on his sailboat. Besides, the less she knows these days about an ongoing police investigation, the better. She's sworn off amateur sleuthing. She claims. Or did she say snooping?” Lucy couldn't remember. “It's a touchy subject with Charles.”

“I guess his feelings are more important to her now. I think that's nice.” Dana smiled.

“I do, too,” Lucy said, though she was fairly certain Maggie's curiosity about such matters would persist, even if it did cause friction in her romance.

As they locked up their bikes in front of the Schooner, Lucy spotted Suzanne sitting at a booth near the window. Once they were inside, she noticed that Edie was not at her usual post, behind the big old brass cash register, posed like a bouffant Buddha, watching over her kingdom.

Suzanne waved wildly, as if bidding farewell from the deck of an ocean liner. “Lucy! Dana! Over here!”

Dana slipped into the seat next to Suzanne and kissed her cheek hello. “Good work, Suzanne. You grabbed a good table.”

Good for people watching, Lucy knew she meant. One of the major perks of a visit to the town's favorite café.

Lucy sat across from them and picked up her menu.

“Wow. Look at you two in your spiffy biking outfits. You both look so cute in those little pants. I'd pay good money to fit into a pair that weren't meant as control-top underwear. Did you ride very long? It's so hot out there.”

“Just to the beach and back. We did about ten or twelve miles?” They'd set out early, but it had been hot on the way back. Lucy was grateful for the glass of ice water that suddenly appeared, with the help of a very efficient busboy.

“
Only
ten miles? Excuse me.” Suzanne shrugged. “What do you call a long ride? From here to Cape Cod?”

Lucy laughed. “That would be a trek,” she conceded. But ten miles on a bike was not a long ride at all. Suzanne obviously didn't get out pedaling much.

“There is a great bike trail on the Cape now, on the path of an old railroad track,” Lucy told her. “It's very smoothly paved and goes all the way from Brewster to Provincetown.”

“I tried a stretch last summer. It is great. Most of it is shady and flat. We have to go out there together sometime . . . but not on that bike, I hope. You'd be in bed for a month.” Dana took a long drink of water, too, and stared at Lucy over the top of the glass.

“What's wrong with your bike, Lucy?” Suzanne sounded concerned. “It is broken?”

“It's old and clunky and the gears don't work. Otherwise, it's perfect.” Lucy glanced at Dana. “I can't help it if some people around here are cycle snobs.”

“My bike is lighter and you don't need to kill yourself riding uphill,” Dana explained. “That's all I'm trying to say.”

“And it has about three hundred more gears than mine . . . and it was handcrafted in Italy. You forgot that part,” Lucy reminded her.

Dana shrugged, trying not to smile. “Okay, you got me. But I didn't pick it out. Jack and the boys are the cycle snobs, I guess. They bought it for me as a surprise.” When Lucy didn't answer she added, “I think they got a good discount. I can find out the name of the store for you.”

Suzanne glanced from one friend to the other, following the debate as she perused the open menu.

Lucy sat back and opened her menu, too. “That's all right. Matt's buying me a bike for my birthday. A really good one. Custom fit.” She was not usually the type to brag, but Dana's teasing had struck a nerve.

“Wow, that's a nice gift. Very thoughtful.” Dana was clearly impressed. “You should have told me, I wouldn't have gone on about it.”

Suzanne put her menu down and just stared. Lucy knew her wide-eyed expression had nothing to do with bicycles.

“A bike?
Really?
What are you . . . nine years old? How about he custom-fits a diamond ring to the third finger on your left hand? Did that suggestion ever come up?”

“A good bike costs almost as much,” Dana said quietly.

“And I don't even like diamonds,” Lucy reminded Suzanne.

“That is so not the point and you both know it. How about a ruby? A sapphire? An emerald? Precious gems, a symbol of eternal, precious love. Sorry, honey—a bike just doesn't cut it. Even a super-duper nice one from Italy.”

Lucy sat back, totally put on the spot. Suzanne could be outrageously outspoken at times, but this had to be one of her all-time over-the-top moments.

Before Lucy could reply, Dana jumped in. “Suzanne . . . what a thing to say. Where are your boundaries? It's absolutely none of our business.”

“Thank you, Dana,” Lucy said quietly, completely forgiving her now for having a better bicycle.

Suzanne rolled her eyes. “Okay . . . bad dog, Suzanne. Hit me on the nose with a rolled-up menu or something. It's fine. I just have one tiny question, Lucy. And I ask this as a dear friend. . . . You can't deny that you must think about it. Or don't you want to marry Matt after all?”

“Objection! Leading the witness,” Dana said, in a courtroom voice.

Suzanne sighed. “For goodness' sakes, we're just trying to have a little conversation here, Dana. Get a grip.”

She stared at Lucy again, leaning across the table and speaking in a much softer tone. “If you don't want to answer me, it's fine. No worries. But we are your closest friends in the world. If you don't tell us, who can you tell? And of course you know, I only share because I care.”

Lucy sighed. She glanced from Suzanne to Dana, who now gestured with a fingertip over her lips, as if she were zipping up her mouth.

“Guys, calm down. You don't need to come to blows. Truth be told . . . yes, I do want to marry Matt. I do think about it. A little,” she admitted. “And I think Matt does, too. We just haven't had time to talk it all out yet.”

Suzanne was obviously encouraged. “All right. That sounds good. For now. But you can't wait for him to initiate ‘the conversation,' Lucy. Men never want to do that.”

“That's not true, Suzanne,” Dana quietly contradicted.

Suzanne glanced at her. “Not on your planet, maybe. But here on Earth, we all know men are from Mars, and women are from Venus. Or did you miss that memo?”

Lucy sighed. She'd never read that book and now wondered if she ought to.

“To tell the truth, I was hoping he'd do that. Or just propose or something? If I have to persuade or pressure someone into marrying me, what's the point? That's no fun at all.”

Suzanne shrugged. “I didn't say it would be fun. But at least you'll know what page of the romance novel he's on.”

“I know what you're trying to say, Lucy,” Dana cut in. “But there is a difference between drawing a line in the sand, and owning and airing your feelings. If this issue is bothering you. Then again, if it's not, maybe you don't need to have that conversation right now. Or ever. Maybe you and Matt could live together happy as clams forever, without taking the conventional path of marriage, et cetera.”

Suzanne sighed. “Of course it's bothering her. Of course she expects marriage,
et cetera
. And by that I think you mean babies? Why else would she be riding her bicycle all over town like a maniac?”

“I just want to get into better shape. I bought a special dress for my birthday,” Lucy insisted. “It has nothing to do with Matt. Or our relationship.”

Lucy truly believed that. Yet, protesting so passionately to her friends gave her pause to wonder. Was she really upset about this question?

“Okay. Have it your way. I had my say.” Suzanne raised her hands in surrender. “But to borrow a phrase from Dana's playbook, ‘I think you need to process this conversation.' ”

Dana laughed. “Is that what I say?” She smiled at Lucy and shrugged. “Suzanne's right. We both shared our thoughts. Enough said.”

“Fine with me.” Lucy didn't need to talk about this anymore, either. Did she really have to corner Matt and pressure him?

Whine, persuade, set out her logical points like a politician hoping for his vote?

She was definitely not that woman . . . and never would be. If that's what it was going to take, they very well might end up spending the next twenty years or so happily unmarried, et cetera.

The truth was, she'd always imagined that one day, when she least expected it, he would pop the question in some extremely original and adorable manner—surprise her with a ring in her morning cup of coffee? Or a glass of champagne? Or maybe it would appear as she unwound a ball of yarn? The way romantic actors always do in the movies.

“Maybe I just have to make him watch more chick flicks with me, and he'll get the idea,” Lucy suggested to her pals.

“Maybe.” Dana was studying the menu now and glanced at her over the top. “Our Netflix queue is filed with documentaries—Jack's favorite. The rise and fall of rock bands, mainly. Oh, and the Nixon era. Ask me anything about Watergate. I'm your gal.”

“Ugh . . . talk about a mood killer.” Suzanne shivered. “Kevin's not so bad. I can get him to snuggle up with a good chick flick from time to time, or even some
Downton Abbey
. Those smoochy movies will definitely give Matt ideas. But not the kind you need right now,” Suzanne advised knowingly.

The waitress arrived to take their order. Lucy was grateful for the break in conversation.

She glanced out the window. The prime people-watching perch was paying off. Lucy noticed a familiar face approaching and about to enter the diner: Nora Gordon, Edie's niece. She did look much better than the last time Lucy had seen her, about a month or so ago. She'd cut her hair and dyed it a lighter color. She was talking and smiling in an animated way, and her orange and white striped T-shirt was positively cheerful.

Nora was walking down the street with another woman, whom Lucy didn't recognize. But when they came into the Schooner, Lucy knew the identity of Nora's friend, too. The pair paused a moment, looked around for an empty table, then headed for the far side of the diner.

“Don't all look at once—but Nora Gordon, Edie's niece just walked in, and the woman with her is a psychic medium, Cassandra Waters. At least, she claims to be,” Lucy added in a hushed tone.

“A psychic?” Dana seemed amused. “Who told you that?”

“Edie. She was at Maggie's shop yesterday morning, and started talking about Nora. How she'd been so depressed after she lost her son, and the only thing that's helped her so far is visiting this psychic.”

“I've heard of her. My boss brought her advertising cards into the office.” Suzanne pulled the paper off a straw and stirred up her iced coffee. “He hired the psychic for a party. He said she was very good.”

“Very
entertaining,
you mean,” Dana clarified. “Saying she was ‘good' would infer that she could really predict things.”

Suzanne shrugged. “I don't know. I wasn't invited. But I have to admit, I do believe that some people have some sort of sixth sense. I'm not saying everybody who hangs out a fortune-teller shingle is for real. But there are some weird and unexplainable things going on in the universe, ladies. Grandma Bella, for instance, would have dreams about people in the family that really came true.” Suzanne shrugged. “You never know, right?”

Dana tilted her head. “I don't count out psychic abilities or events entirely, either,” she said. “For one thing, I've had too many patients tell me about intuitive feelings that come true. Or even prescient dreams. Carl Jung believed in extrasensory perception, synchronicity, and a collective unconscious that connects everyone. He studied and wrote about those topics extensively.”

“Yes, I've heard that.” Lucy took another sip of water. She was listening to her friends, of course, but also watching Cassandra Waters and Nora.

“I did not understand half of what you just said, Dana. But I
think
you sort of agreed with me.” Suzanne looked pleased by this small victory.

“I do. But I also agree, most people who sell themselves as psychics—and I do mean sell—are total fakers, merely expert at reading people by appearance and body language and their reactions to certain key questions.”

The food arrived: a yogurt and fruit parfait for Dana, a breakfast burrito for Suzanne, and for Lucy, an egg white omelet with mushrooms, a slice of tomato, and sprig of parsley. She forced a smile and dug into her dish, reminding herself of how lean and mean she was going to look on her birthday.

“I could practically claim to be a psychic myself. I have to practice all those techniques in my practice,” Dana added.

Suzanne tucked extra napkins into the neckline of her hot pink tank top. “I never thought of it that way. A new career for you, Dana, in your retirement years.”

Dana laughed. “You never know.”

“Let me test your powers . . . will this burrito give me heartburn? I have a lot of houses to show today.”

Dana closed her eyes and theatrically pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Then turned to look at Suzanne. “The spirits say . . . save half for lunch.”

“Good call,” Lucy agreed, around a bite of omelet that was actually quite tasty. “But that's just common sense.”

Before Suzanne could reply, another voice cut into the conversation. “Hey, ladies, how are you doing? Need anything? Ketchup, napkins . . . more coffee?”

Edie had snuck up on her big white shoes, a stack of menus tucked under one arm and a coffee canister in hand.

“It's all good, Edie,” Lucy replied. “How are you? How's your angina?”