CHAPTER 13
The morning didn’t end up as quiet as I’d expected. Rain or no rain, four different regulars brought in bikes for repairs or tune-ups. Orlean worked away in her area. We sold lights and tire patches and a pink bike with training wheels. A disappointed family of five returned their rentals, saying they’d hoped for one more day of riding. Busy was good for the bottom line. It only surprised me on such a stormy day.
At eleven we finally had a break on the retail side. I hit the ladies’ room, then headed over to where Derrick was straightening a shelf.
“Derr, Mom said you were going to tell Cokey last night about Kendall’s mom dying. How did she take it?”
“I thought she was going to be more upset. Instead my little girl showed a ton of empathy, Mac. I’m so proud of her. She drew a picture for Kendall, made me promise to deliver it today, and said we had to help take care of her friend.”
“That’s seriously sweet of her. I’m glad.”
He pulled an envelope from under the counter and drew out a sheet of paper. “Check it out.”
Cokey’s picture showed two big smiling balloon heads with legs and hands sticking out from each. One head had yellow hair and the other brown, and the two girls were holding hands. Cokey had signed it with her beginner capital letters, including the E facing backwards.
“I love it. Are you going to drop it off?”
“I guess. I’m not sure I want to see Phil.”
“Why not?”
“He’s kind of a prickly guy.” Lines deepened between his brows. He slid the drawing back into the envelope.
“Abo Reba told me he’d insulted Annette in public,” I said.
“Yep.” Derrick grimaced. “That said, I promised Cokey. I’ll put it in their mailbox. I probably won’t even see him.”
“I need to run an errand if you think you can do without me here. Want me to drop off the envelope?”
His face lit up. “That’d be great. Thanks, sis.”
“And tell you what. I’ll bring back lunch for the three of us from the Lobstah Shack. I want to give Tulia the support.”
“She’s already open for business?”
“Yes. She stopped in this morning and said they told her she could open. And she seemed to want to.”
“Lunch sounds great. Hey, how did book group go last night? Did anyone have any insights?”
I filled him in on what Norland had said. “And Gin told me Annette was violently allergic to shellfish.”
“So what did she die from? Was she poisoned? Maybe she had a heart attack, and somebody wanted to make it look like Tulia killed her.”
I stared at him. “I hadn’t thought of her dying of natural causes. How awful. Or . . . what if shellfish poisoned her somehow?”
“I wonder if she had any other allergies.”
“I don’t know. Seafood and tree nuts are, like, the only allergies I don’t have.” Bee stings, pet dander, dust mites, mold, pollens, penicillin—all of them plagued me, some worse than others.
“Believe me, I know, Mackie. When we were young, you had to have all those pillow and mattress covers, and the cleaning people were extra attentive to your room.”
“Plus, you never got that dog you wanted. Sorry, bro.” I smiled up at him.
“I survived just fine.” The door blew in a couple more customers. “Why don’t you get going before we have a noon rush?”
“Perfect.”
Derrick greeted the customers. “Let me know how I can help you.”
“Orlean,” I called in to her, “I’m bringing back lunch for all of us.”
She raised a greasy, blue-gloved thumb in response. Too bad I couldn’t give a thumbs up response to my investigative efforts on Tulia’s behalf. Not yet, anyway.