Bike Week Blues (18 page)

He chuckled. “I don’t have time to notice.
I’ll be in touch as soon as things calm down. Say hello to everyone
for me. And, tell Penny Sue to keep the .38 in her suitcase.”

Penny Sue never listened to us, I doubted
his opinion would carry any more weight.

“Pauline’s out of town,” Penny Sue groused
as she skipped down the steps from the kitchen. Chris says Pauline
leaves town every year during Bike Week. She hates the noise. We
could try going to Cassadaga, but Chris says getting a reading this
week is a long shot. Apparently, that’s a favorite spot for
bikers.” She plopped down on her chaise. “We could have our own
séance.” She looked at Ruthie expectantly.

Ruthie held up her hand. “Hey, I’m
intuitive, but I don’t do readings and I certainly don’t do
séances.”

“I was fooling about the séance part. We
could do a group meditation and consult
The Book of Answers
,
couldn’t we? I wonder if Fran has any incense to set the mood.”

“I think Fran is more the potpourri type,” I
said.

Penny Sue pouted.

“And, we’re not burning any more of that
darned sage! If you absolutely must have something, I’ll take you
to Chris’ Place. But, no sage and no smudge sticks. Scented candles
are as far as I’ll go.” I looked to Ruthie.

“Sandalwood is good for meditation and
spirituality.”

“Didn’t you tell me it was good for sex,
too?” Penny Sue said devilishly. “I have a case of it at home. A
shame I didn’t think to bring some along.”

“I’m surprised that wasn’t the first thing
in your suitcase,” I muttered.

She missed the sarcasm. “With all my new
biker duds, I was short on space. As it was, I had to pack some of
my stuff in a box. I need another of those big Hartmanns. One isn’t
enough any more.”

One of those suitcases would hold a
full-sized adult and was plenty big for anyone other than Penny
Sue. Of course, everyone didn’t buy a complete wardrobe every time
she took a trip or met a new boyfriend. “I’ll slip on some shorts
and run down to Chris’ Place. Sandalwood candles. Anything, else?”
I asked, giving Penny Sue a hard look.

“Okay, no smudge sticks. That sage
absolutely stank, didn’t it?” Penny Sue giggled. “Can you imagine
the smell when Shrewella burned it with cayenne pepper?”

“Telling her that was mean,” I said.

“You went along with me!”

“I know, and I feel bad about it. Poor old
thing might have choked to death.”

Penny Sue poked my arm. “Admit it, you don’t
like her, either.”

“She is a little persnickety.”

“Persnickety? She’s a stuck-up, old prune.
She’s the one who made all the trouble for me with the police, the
last time I was here.”

I wanted to remind Penny Sue that she’d done
a good job of making trouble for herself by waving her gun around,
but didn’t. This was one situation when it was best to let sleeping
dogs—or Southern belles—lie.

* * *

Ruthie was content
to stay by the pool
and read the newspaper. With all of the commotion, she was behind
on world events and must have felt lost. She was also probably
happy to have some peace and quiet. Ruthie was a person who
typically meditated twice a day, which was impossible with Penny
Sue, Chatterbox of the South, around.

I slipped shorts on over my swimsuit, while
Penny Sue put on a lacy, black beach cover-up. Cover-up was
something of a misnomer—see-through was more accurate. Oh, well,
it’s the beach and Bike Week, I thought—anything went.

We piled into my car and headed down Flagler
to Chris’ Place. It was evident a half million tourists were in the
area, I had to circle the block four times to find a parking space.
Luckily, my Beetle was small and maneuverable, allowing me to share
a space in front of Chris’ Place with a Harley. “Your car could
never have done this,” I gloated.

“Hmph,” Penny Sue replied as she struggled
to lever herself out of the car. Once again, I had to pull her up.
“It’s not my fault,” she complained. “You parked too close to the
sidewalk. This car is for dwarfs. It truly needs an ejector seat.
Get one next time, so real people can ride with you.”

I ignored her comment and studied the bricks
on the sidewalk. Flagler Avenue, like many restored districts, sold
commemorative bricks to help finance the street’s restoration.
While most bricks contained family names and proclamations of
undying love for people and New Smyrna Beach, two positioned in
front of the shop were standouts. The first proclaimed,
Starpeople Landing Zone!
That’s the portent Ruthie
interpreted to mean that Chris’ Place held answers for us on our
last visit. The other was a new one I’d bought, but Penny Sue had
never seen. “Look.” I pointed to a brick in front of the
window.

“
The DAFFODILS Were Here
,” she read
aloud. “I’ll be darned. When did you do that, Leigh?”

“Christmas. I was feeling lonely and ordered
it while I was here buying presents. I thought you’d get a kick out
of it.”

She gave me a hug. “That is so sweet. In
spite of everything, the last trip turned out good, don’t you
think?”

“Yeah, that’s the first and only time I’ve
been on CNN,” I said wryly.

We stood to the side as four women in biker
garb left the shop. About our age, they all wore pouch belts in
lieu of purses. “That seems to be the
in
thing,” I
observed.

“Those are so good looking. Bigger than
mine. Excuse me,” Penny Sue called, chasing after them. “I really
like your belts.”

“The fanny packs?” a slightly graying woman
asked.

“I hate that phrase, but, yes. Did you buy
them around here?”

The lady chuckled. “I know what you mean.
Doesn’t make sense, does it? You don’t wear the darned thing on
your fanny, or at least I wouldn’t.” She turned to her friends and
grinned. “I’m not sure there’s one big enough for that. Anyhoo, we
bought them at the department store over by Publix.”

“Bealls in the beachside shopping
center?”

The woman nodded.

“Thanks so much,” Penny Sue drawled.

“Where are you from?”

“Roswell, Georgia.”

“Thought so. Nice place. I lived there for
many years. Well, y’all,” she said with special emphasis, “have a
nice day.”

“You, too,” Penny Sue gushed with double the
normal drawl. As soon as they were out of earshot, she turned to me
and said in a normal voice, “Let’s go to Bealls after we get the
candles.”

Chris’ Place was packed, primarily with
pseudo-bikers like Penny Sue, judging from the new leather smell
and the Rolex on the wrist of a petite woman at the front counter.
She was making over a black and red feathery doll with a mirror for
a face. “This is the Goddess of Hot Sex,” she exclaimed to her
friends. They all crowded around her.

Penny Sue almost knocked me over to get to
the counter.

“Think I should buy this?” the woman asked
playfully.

“Why not?” one of her friends said.

For a moment I thought Penny Sue might
snatch the doll from the woman’s hands. Instead, she bent over the
case, studying the remaining goddess. “Leigh,” she hissed. I
hurried to her side. “The only one left is for Success.” She
pointed at a yellow and orange feathered doll with a round bead in
the middle of the forehead—the position of the third eye. “This
might help us find Rich, don’t you think?”

I didn’t think the doll would do a thing,
one way or another, except lighten her wallet. Still, it was
eye-catching and certainly couldn’t hurt. If nothing else, it might
work like a lucky charm to build her confidence. “It’s cute, buy
it.”

One of the sex goddess’ friends moseyed
over, eyeing the last doll.

Eyes narrowed, Penny Sue informed her,
“That’s mine. Chris,” Penny Sue called loudly, “I’ll take this
remaining goddess when you get a chance.”

Chris hurried over as soon as she finished
with her customer. “Penny Sue, it’s been a long time. How have you
been?” Chris removed the goddess from the display.

“Pretty good,” Penny Sue replied absently,
reading the instructions for the doll. “What kind of candles should
we burn with this?”

“Yellow,” Chris said.

“How about sandalwood?” I asked. “That’s
what we came for.”

“That scent is good to set a meditative
mood. Yellow is the color for success—the scent isn’t important.”
Chris led us to a candle display where she picked out a sandalwood
candle and a yellow taper.

“That’s not enough—give us four of each.”
Penny Sue turned to me. “I don’t want to come up short like we did
with the sage.”

I suppressed a grin. Penny Sue went whole
hog after everything—I was surprised she stopped with only
four.

“Anything else?” Chris asked, putting the
items on the counter.

“Do you have
The Book of
Answers
?”

Chris walked to the bookcase. “Yes, one
left.”

“I’ll take that, too.”

We stowed the stuff in the backseat and
headed for the Indian River Shopping Center. Wonder of wonders, we
found a parking space close to the side door of Bealls. A
chalkboard on the sidewalk caught Penny Sue’s eye on the way into
the clothing store.

“Cornmeal fried oysters with Florida caviar
and a spicy sauce. That sounds heavenly. Look, Mojo Marinated Pork
Chops.” She wiggled her fanny. “Just what I need, to get the ole
mojo revved up.”

Oh, boy. I wasn’t sure Fran was ready for
this.

Penny Sue took a step back and checked the
neon marquee over the entrance. “Spanish River Grill. Why haven’t
we been here before? The food sounds terrific.”

“I found out about it only a few weeks ago.
It’s a secret locals hope tourists will never discover.”

“Fran’s been so nice, let’s bring her here
for dinner tonight. My treat.”

“I’ll split it with you.”

“No, you won’t,” she barked. “This whole
thing with Rich is my doing; the least I can do is buy dinner for
the good friends who are helping me.”

I held up my hands signaling no argument.
She was getting a little cranky. Besides, she was right.

Bealls had a whole rack of bike belts, as
the sales clerk called them.

“That’s a much more civilized term. A man
must have named them fanny packs—no woman would have been so
stupid.” Penny Sue picked one up and examined it. “These are nice.
Glove leather and two pouches.” She turned it over. “Actually,
three. Look, there’s one on the inside.”

“Designed for tourists who want to keep
their money and credit cards out of sight. I guess it’s a
combination money belt and purse,” I said.

We bought four at a good price, in case
Frannie May liked the inside pouch design.

Penny Sue suddenly fanned herself. Forget
the garbage about Southern belles glistening and glowing—she was
sweating like a whore in church. “Let’s swing by the health food
store across the street. I think I’ll try that black cohosh.

“Black cohosh, Omega 3, 6, 9, and vitamin E
should take care of it,” the sales lady advised.

“Does it come in a single pill?”

“This one’s pretty close.”

Penny Sue mopped her brow. “Give me five
bottles.”

The clerk did a double take. “Five? Did you
notice the price?”

She wiped her top lip. “I don’t care, as
long it works.”

“It’s not instantaneous. It takes a while to
get in your system.”

“Well, let’s get on with it!”

Penny Sue bought a bottle of mineral water
and took three pills before we got back to the car.

“How do you feel?’ I asked.

She took a big swig of water. “Like someone
lit a blow torch under me and I’d smack anyone who got in my
way.”

Honestly, I hoped the pills kicked in fast.
Double fast. Maybe even triple fast. I started the car. “Your
testosterone—which most people don’t realize women have—is out of
balance with your estrogen. It’s the testosterone that gives so
many older women a ‘kick ass’ attitude. Your body chemistry is
essentially the same as an eighteen-year-old male.”

She looked straight ahead. “Yeah, but I’m a
lot smarter.”

Uh oh, not the time to provoke her. “I’m
talking general tendencies.”

She threw down two more pills and chased
them with a long drink of water. “One thing’s for sure—Rich is my
soul mate, and I’ll kick the butt of anyone who stands in my way,
including Vulture, and especially Red.”

I put the car in gear and checked the
rearview mirror. “Look, isn’t that Sidney going into the health
food store?”

Still swigging water, Penny Sue glanced over
her shoulder. “Yes, I believe it is.”

* * *

It was after five when we got back to
Fran’s. Bikers were everywhere—some in convoys a mile long—turning
our five mile trip into a thirty minute game of dodge ’em. Fran and
Ruthie were sipping Manhattans out by the pool when we finally
arrived. “Let me fix you one.” Fran went to the outside pool bar,
returning a moment later with two plastic glasses graced with palm
trees.

I raised my glass. “To Fran, the perfect
hostess,” I swept my arm wide, “with the most incredible view.”

Fran eyed the packages Penny Sue had dropped
on table. “A little shopping, eh?”

“Look what we’ve found.” Penny pulled out
the bike belts and passed them around. “It has a secret inside
pocket. Isn’t that neat?” The others agreed and thanked her for the
gift. A gust from the inlet blew through, toppling the bag with the
feathered goddess so its head popped out.

“Should I ask?” Ruthie said with a big eye
roll. “What in the world is that? I assume you’re not planning to
pluck a chicken for dinner.”

Penny Sue took out the doll and handed it to
Ruthie. “It’s a Magical Goddess of Success.”

Ruthie giggled as she examined the yellow
and orange feathered moppet with spindly arms and a button in place
of a third eye. Her brows drawn together in a straight line, Fran
peered over Ruthie’s shoulder. Fran took a sip of her cocktail.
“I’m Catholic. This isn’t voodoo, is it? You’re not planning to
pray to this pagan idol, are you?”