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Maureen could not believe that she’d just melted into a puddle of tears in front of an audience at supper. And now she had a case of the hiccups like a frog.
At home she usually stood in the bathroom with the door closed and the water running to cry so no one would see or hear her. She would die if her younger sister knew all her weaknesses. And she had this itchy feeling someone was out to get her. She could come up with no other reason that would cause people to get sick on her TV show. Someone could have poisoned the food. At least nobody had died. What a ghastly thought. She knew the network and advertisers would drop her show for sure. They wanted no part of a scandal.
She gathered her napkin and dabbed under her eyes, which must be swollen and red. She was glad no one in the hotel had recognized her.
Several minutes later, a waitress arrived with their food.
Amanda’s hand reached out to pour ketchup onto her plate. “Yummy.” Her hand dove into the fries. She dragged one into the pool of ketchup, shoved it into her mouth, and chomped and then ate another. “Their ketchup tastes weird.”
A few minutes later, a man wearing a cheap sports jacket strode to their table carrying a camera and took her picture. “I thought that was you,” he said. “What brings you to the Isle of Skye, Mrs. Cook? Gathering recipes for Scottish delicacies?”
Maureen decided to play dumb. Which was what she felt like right now. “You must have me mixed up with someone else. Hick.” She covered her mouth, then hiccupped again.
“I don’t think so.” He smirked. “I know who you are. This will make a great story for the Gazette.” His smile widened, exposing buckteeth. “And maybe get picked up by the Times in London.”
Maureen was surprised Denny didn’t step in to protect her. But before she knew it, he had snapped pictures of Amanda and Lydia too. Lydia looked away but too late.
“What brings the marvelous Maureen Cook to the Isle of Skye?” he asked Maureen, who glared back at him.
“Now listen up, buddy,” Denny finally said. “We will not tolerate this intrusion.” She raised her hand. “Waiter, this man is bothering us.”
People at nearby tables—a dozen or so—swiveled their seats to see what the commotion was all about. A waiter hustled to their table and ushered the reporter out of the dining room. The waiter came back and said, “I am so sorry, madam. If I’d known you were a celebrity, I would have seated you in the back where no one could bother you.” He paused, his gaze lingering on Maureen. “Unless you like sitting where people can see you. Please do let us know your preferences.”
“Too late now.” Maureen shushed him away with her hands.
Amanda scowled at her mother. “You always have to be the center of attention, don’t you, Mom?” Amanda said. “I hope he got a good picture of me, and that it ends up in the New York Times. Wouldn’t that be the coolest ever?” Amanda chomped into her burger.
Maureen turned to Lydia and said, “I’m sorry you had to be bothered with this.”
“It’s okay.” Lydia combed her fingers through her short hair. “I can’t imagine people reading the paper back home at Walmart or at the donut shop would recognize me dressed this way.”
Molly swooped over to the table and spoke to Maureen. “We’re so very sorry you were inconvenienced.”
“Not your fault.” Maureen hiccupped three more times. She only got hiccups when she was stressed. Her mind tumbled back to an embarrassing day on the set when they had to stop recording for an hour until her hiccups subsided. And then she recalled their parents’ memorial service. She had been beyond stressed but had managed to hold her emotions at bay. No use crying when Denny was sobbing enough for two. In truth Maureen had been devastated, in a pit from which she might never emerge.
“I don’t feel so good, Mommy.” Fries filled Amanda’s mouth. “My stomach.”
Maureen wrapped her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “Darling, will you be okay?” Maureen was relieved to focus her attention on Amanda.
Amanda swallowed her mouthful. “I’m going to barf.”
“No, you’re not, sweetie,” Denny said. “Probably just gobbling down your fries too fast on an empty stomach.”
“Easy for you to say.” Maureen never appreciated her sister’s butting in. “Since when do you know so much? She might’ve eaten something bad at the airport.” Maureen was inundated with anxiety. Had someone followed her here and poisoned the food? Was someone trying to harm her daughter and ruin her career or was she turning paranoid as Denny would say. Maureen assured herself that the television network carried insurance but her daughter—drama queen though she might be—was her number one concern. No amount of money could cover that loss should it occur.
She remembered the chilling call from the police telling her that her parents might have died in a car accident. Could she, please, come and identify the bodies and collect their belongings? “There must be some mistake” was all she could say. In a panic, she’d tried to reach James, but he didn’t answer his phone. Nor did he return her texts.
In the end, brave Denny drove to the coroner’s office to identify them and pick up their personal affects—rings, watches, jewelry. Maureen couldn’t bear to go. Denny would probably never let her forget her cowardice.
After they’d finished their meal, a waitress spoke to the table at large. “May I serve you dessert?”
“Maybe we all need to turn in,” Maureen said. “I don’t want to expand into a blimp on this trip.” She’d practically starved herself this last month in a fruitless effort to lose ten pounds but wouldn’t mention that fact to Denny, who continued to be slim no matter what she ate. Of course, Denny ran for thirty minutes every morning and went to a gym while Maureen led a sedentary life in comparison.
“I’ll have a crème Brulé, please,” Denny said.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t serve that.” The waitress handed her a small menu. “Perhaps you’ll find something in here.”
Denny perused the menu. “Okay, I’ll try the sticky toffee pudding. The description sounds delish.” She turned to Maureen and said, “When in Rome, right?”
Amanda’s face twisted as if she were in agony. “I’m not in Rome, and I want an ice cream sundae.”
“Vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce?” The waitress sent her a grin. “We can fix that for you right away.” She removed Amanda’s dirty plate.
“Wait just a minute, young lady,” Maureen said to Amanda. “I thought you were sick.”
“I changed my mind.” She spoked to the waitress. “With whipped cream and a few maraschino cherries on top.”
“Certainly, miss.” She turned her attention to Maureen. “Anything for you, madame?”
Much as Maureen longed for something sweet, she wagged her head. “I’d better not.”