THE EISENHOWER CENTER is a place of homage, not so much to Ike as it is to the men and women who served in the military during World War II. The Villages’ residents who fought in the war had donated many of the pictures and memorabilia that were prominently displayed. It was a place, J.D. thought, that would make veterans feel at home.
Judy had driven them over in her golf cart, and they were directed to a room near the front door that could accommodate the dozen or so women who usually showed up for the meetings. J.D. was introduced to several of the women who welcomed her to the club. They were interested in why she was in The Villages and if she planned to move there permanently.
J.D. told them the shortened version of the story of her life in the Army and in Miami and the woes of her divorce. It seemed to satisfy everyone’s curiosity. Ruth made her way through the crowd and welcomed J.D. “Glad you could make it,” she said. “Let’s find a seat.”
The women were gathered in a small seating area that consisted of two sofas and several chairs. J.D. and Ruth took an empty sofa and another woman joined them, with J.D. sitting in the middle. Ruth introduced the newcomer as Kelly Gilbert.
“Nice to meet you, Jade,” Kelly said. “Where’re you from?” Like in much of Florida, that was an icebreaker question. The state is a place for newcomers. In 1980, the population was something over nine million people. Today, it tops twenty-one million. Everybody is from somewhere else and the ritual inquiry into a person’s antecedents is not considered rude.
“I grew up in Miami, but I’m an Army officer and have lived all over the world. Most recently, in Miami again. I’ve been stationed there for the past three years.”
“That sounds exciting. What brings you to The Villages?”
“Judy Ferguson is my aunt and I needed to get out of Miami for a while. She invited me to come stay with her. I had some leave time built up, so I took her up on her offer.”
“And how are you enjoying our little community?”
J.D. laughed. “Love it, but I wouldn’t call it little anymore. Have you been here long?”
“My husband died, and I moved here about three years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you. The loss gets easier, and I’ve found a new life. My first husband died years ago. He was killed when a dump truck blew a stop sign and killed him. I got a settlement from the accident and a couple of years later married a lawyer from home. He’d never been married before and it turned out to be a really good marriage. Better than my first one. He sold everything and we moved to Orlando to live out our lives in the sun. Two years later, he had a heart attack and died. He left me everything he owned, which, as it turned out, wasn’t a lot. But it was enough to take care of me for the rest of my life. I sold out, moved here, bought a pink golf cart, and settled in with my dog, Mugsy.”
“Did you know Ruth’s friend, the author?”
“No. I’ve heard Ruth talk about her, but I never had the pleasure of meeting her. She wrote a great book, though.”
The woman who’d been introduced earlier to J.D. as the president of the club stood and said, “Okay, ladies. Let’s talk about this book. Who’s first?”
After the book discussion, punch and cookies were served. J.D. had enjoyed hearing the women’s different observations about the story. They were all positive. J.D. had bought and read Beholden as soon as she learned that her aunt Esther had written it. It was a good book, intricately plotted and sprinkled with sharp dialogue and bits of humor. She also found a digital copy of one of Lathom’s earlier books and thought it was awful. A little digging turned up the fact that both books Lathom had previously written were self-published. She wasn’t surprised that no self-respecting publisher would put them on the market. A lot of self-published books were wonderful pieces of work, and some even became best sellers. Lathom’s was definitely not one of those.
J.D. had restrained herself and did not take part in the discussion of Beholden. She was afraid she might slip up and reveal a deeper interest in the book than her assumed personality, Jade Conway, would have. She’d also told some of the women she’d met in the store earlier that day that she hadn’t read the book. She sat quietly, her cop’s eye trained on the women of the club, one of whom might be the killer.
J.D. was sipping her punch and nibbling at an oatmeal raison cookie as she talked with Ruth. “I enjoyed the discussion,” she said. “I’m going to read the book this week.”
“I think you’ll like it,” Ruth said.
“Tell me some more about the author. I’ve never met one.”
Ruth laughed. “I’ve met a number of them over the years, but trust me when I say they’re nothing special. Except for Liv. I met her when we worked at a library and we became friends. Over the last few years, after my husband and I moved here, I saw a lot less of her, but we stayed in contact with phone calls, emails, and regular visits. I knew she was working on a book, but she’d never talk about it other than to say it was a mystery. She sent me an advance reader’s copy, what they call an ARC, several months before it was published, and I was blown away at how good it was.”
“She never shared the manuscript with you?”
“No. She kept that all to herself.”
“I did know one author,” J.D. said, “but he wasn’t very good, and I never think of him as a writer. As far as I know, he never published anything. He was an intelligence officer I served with in Germany. Very bright, but couldn’t write worth a flip. He inundated me with his manuscripts though.” She laughed. “He’d write a couple of pages and bring them to me at the office. I never screwed up the courage to tell him he needed to pursue another hobby.”
“Liv never did that. She kept it all to herself until the book was ready to be published. She’d written two other books before this one. The books weren’t very successful, but she had fun writing them and she found an agent who proved to be worthwhile when Liv wrote Beholden. He got it to the right publisher and negotiated a top-dollar deal for her.”
“Do you write, Ruth?”
“Not really. Like a lot of our ladies, I scribble, but I don’t think anybody will ever publish my work.” She laughed. “I certainly wouldn’t.”
“Judy told me that a lot of you write and share your work with the others. Sort of a critique group.”
“Yes, but my writing is so bad I don’t even share it with my friends. The members usually write short stories of about three or four pages. They bring it in and we talk about it. Some of the work is pretty good, but some is just horrible. We all try to be kind in our criticisms.”
“Is anybody working on a book?”
“If they are, I’ve never seen it. I’ve got to run. Are you coming to our next meetng?”
“I hope so. Thanks for inviting me tonight.”
J.D. had noted Ruth’s quick exit when she had asked her if anyone was working on a novel. She hoped she hadn’t spooked the woman. Sometimes a fairly innocuous question bites too close to the bone and puts the person to whom it’s directed on guard. She’d have to be careful with this lady.
Judy Ferguson was standing across the room chatting with Kelly Gilbert. J.D. joined them. “Did you enjoy the discussion, Jade?” Kelly asked.
“I did. I can’t wait to read the book.”
“Have you read it, Judy?” Kelly asked.
“Yes. It’s a first-rate book.”
“Kelly,” J.D. said. “Do you know Ruth well?”
Kelly frowned. “Not well, and I don’t really trust her.”
“Why not?”
“She has a way of talking about people behind their backs, if you know what I mean. She gossips a lot.”
“What about her husband?”
“Never met him. I think he plays a lot of golf.”
“Keeps him away from her, I guess,” Judy said.
“You don’t like her either,” J.D. said.
“She’s all right, I guess,” Judy said. “I need to learn to keep my mouth shut. I’m going for more punch. I’ll be ready to leave whenever you are, Jade.”
“Kelly, do you know if anyone in the club is writing a book?”
“No. That doesn’t mean nobody’s working on one, but I’ve never heard anything about it.”
“It was nice meeting you, Kelly. Guess I better catch up with Judy. She’s my ride tonight.”
In the cart on the way home, Judy said, “Sorry for that slip about Ruth. Knowing what you told me about her just makes me want to rip her eyes out.”
“No harm, Judy. I doubt Kelly even paid attention to your comments.”
“Yeah, but if they get back to Ruth, she might begin to wonder if I know something I shouldn’t. I’ll be careful. Promise.”