Chapter Fifteen

It took three days to digest twenty-five bite-size candies. Libby learned this fact the hard way, but by Friday morning her appetite was back in full swing. On her way to work, she noticed Sean’s truck at the Coffee Stop and pulled in. Greeted by the smell of dark roast and blueberry scones, she joined him on the line.

“I see the candy hangover wore off.” Sean smiled. “Back on solid food yet?”

“Yes, thank you.” Libby placed her order. “Got a minute to join me, or are you off to hammer something?”

They sat at a small table by the front door. Outside, the Main Street window displays were morphing from Halloween to Christmas. “Has Mom told you about our latest screaming match?” Libby asked.

Sean frowned. “No, must have been a whopper though, if she’s still keeping it under wraps. She usually bitches about you every chance she gets.”

“Odd.” She sipped her coffee. “I thought by now for sure she would tell you what a wretched and ungrateful child I am.”

“That’s old news,” he teased. “But you may be onto something, Mom’s never quiet this long. Are you sure you didn’t kill her?”

“She was alive, and fuming, when I left.” Libby broke off a piece of scone and wondered what force of nature kept Mae silent.

“I know you’re going to tell me anyway, but let me go ahead and sound like I care.” He took the lid off his coffee and sipped. “What was the fight about?”

Libby recapped the conversation with Uncle Will, and her subsequent argument with Mae. Sean listened, not one bit surprised by the information.

“Well, at least I know what possessed you to eat your body weight in sweets,” he said. “You know Mom, she likes to keep things private, and she probably does not want us to remember Gram as anything less than the wild woman we knew.”

“Why? It doesn’t make any sense?” She bit hard into her scone and chewed away frustration. “Shouldn’t we know all the facts? Even if she didn’t want us to worry, we still have a right to know; it’s our medical history too. The risks are the same for us.”

“Come on, Lib, Mom rarely makes sense. She never talks about her life before we moved to Rhyme. I think the accident with Dad scared the crap out of her—she just wants to leave it all in the past. Maybe she lumps what happened to Gram in with it. It was pretty much around the same time. “

He looked down at his watch and quickly finished his coffee. “I have to get moving; I’ve got drywall going up on a condominium project. Would it help if I call Mom later and try and smooth things over?”

“God, no, I’ll never hear the end of it if you do. She’s probably already called Uncle Will and ripped him to shreds for telling me about Grandma. Let’s just give her a few days to cool off.”

“Good plan.”

Sean pulled away and Libby checked the clock on her dashboard—fifteen minutes before work, she dug out her phone and called Kevin’s job.

His proper business voice answered. “Kevin McGinn.”

“Libby O’Rourke.”

“Glad we cleared that up.”

“What’s eating you?” she said.

“Quarter end.” He raised his voice to a dramatic level. “Unfortunately, I work with buffoons who do not recognize the term ‘deadline.’”

Libby laughed. Aside from being a dictator, Kevin was highly respected in his office. “I see you still have your people skills finely tuned.”

“So, what’s up?” he asked.

“Has Mom called you? In particular to gripe about me?”

“Oh crap, am I going to have to deal with one of your famous cat fights to top off my already glorious day?”

“No, Captain Empathy, she’s just ticked off at me because Uncle Will told me some things about Grandma Shannon; things that Mom, in her infinite wisdom, decided were not important enough to share with us.” Libby explained the situation as Kevin listened intently.

“Is this something we need to keep an eye on Mom for?” Kevin asked. “Like is she going to start wearing her bra on the outside or something?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.” Libby answered. “I’ll find out more next week after the second appointment with Dr. Rashan. I’ll give you a ring after and fill you in on what I find out.”

“Okay, sounds like a plan,” He paused to clear his throat. “Lib, I know I get wrapped up in my own shit a lot of the time, but don’t leave me out of this, all right? You and Jesus, I mean Sean, take up most the slack with Mom. I want to help.”

Touched, Libby responded. “I promise I’ll keep you in the loop, and for the love of God, keep Suzanne at arm’s length. Mom’s still hung up on the damned puppy cake.”

Kevin laughed. “Yeah, I can do that. It’s been a cold few weeks in my house since that fiasco. The sofa bed ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I can imagine.” Libby grinned and started her car. “I’ll talk to you soon, got to get to work.”

“See you later, and say hello to Delinquent Dolores for me.” Kevin said. “I had such a twisted crush on her when I was ten.”

“You are a sick, sick man, little brother,” Libby teased. “I’ll be in touch after Mom’s appointment.”

Libby pulled into the library parking lot and spotted Dolores. Her body was oddly positioned beside the overnight drop slot.

“Dolores,” Libby called on approach. “Is everything okay?”

“No, everything is most certainly not okay!” Dolores shouted. On closer look, Libby saw Dolores’s arm wedged in the slot.

“Are you stuck?”

Dolores nodded, and Libby asked, “Care to tell me what happened?”

“Some awful children stuffed the slot with garbage again. I was able to clean most of the trash out from the inside, but there was a pop can I needed to grab from out here. When I tried to dislodge it, my watch stuck on something. Can you go in and see what I’m held up on?”

Libby went inside. At the drop slot feed, Dolores’ disembodied hand protruded from the wall like a B horror movie special effect. She moved books aside for a better look and heard conversation coming from outside. Dom was teasing Dolores.

“How the hell did you do that?” Dom laughed.

“Mind your own business, Dominic,” Dolores fired back. “Go away and wait for Book Club to start. Not that you ever read the books—I know you only come for Ruth Liebowitz’s oatmeal cookies, and nothing more.”

Libby chuckled to herself as she eavesdropped on their banter.

“You know nothing, woman,” Dom answered. “I always read the book, and Ruth coincidentally just happens to make a delicious cookie. Maybe you could take a lesson or two from her; seems to me you could use a little more sweetness in your life.”

“I’m a wonderful baker Dominic Genovese—I need no lessons from the likes of Ruth, and no advice from you—thank you very much.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes it’s so.”

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“I said prove it. I’m making my famous lasagna for our Retired Officer’s dinner next Wednesday, and we still need a dessert. None of us bakes. It’s considered sissy work. Come to dinner with me, bring your best baked treat, and let me be the judge of your talents.”

Oh, this is getting good. Libby snickered.

“My time is accounted for on Wednesday,” Dolores stammered. “I work until eight o’clock—”

“Dolores,” Libby interrupted through the drop slot. “I’m trying to get you undone in here, and I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

“Hey there, Libby!” Dom shouted through the opening.

“Hi Dom.” Libby said. “I can cover for you Wednesday, Dolores. Make Dom your pineapple upside-down cake. It is sin on a plate, Dom. The guys will love it!”

Dom smiled at a still-captive Dolores. “I like pineapple.”

Jaw clenched, Dolores said, “Thank you Libby, how nice of you to offer to help.” Obviously displeased, she jiggled her arm. “Have you managed to find the problem in there, or will you need to call for reinforcements?”

Libby unhooked Dolores’ watch from a loose screw. “That should do it. Pull back gently.”

Arm free, Dolores readjusted the clasp on her watch and turned her attention to Dominic. Every bit the stuffy librarian, she said, “Very well, I’ll go with you to your police person dinner. You may meet me here. What time shall I be ready?”

“Dinner’s at seven o’clock, I’ll swing by and get you at six-thirty.”

“I’ll follow you in my own car,” she snipped. “That way I can leave early if you decide to stay late and indulge with your friends. What is the attire?”

“By attire, you mean clothes, right?”

“I see your Word-A-Day Calendar is paying off in spades,” Dolores scolded. “Of course I mean clothes.”

“There’s no need to get testy,” he said. “The attire is informal. Don’t get all gussied up or anything. It’s a bunch of guys and their wives having a pleasant meal together. You’ll like it. May even loosen you up a little.”

“I do not require loosening,” Dolores huffed.

“I beg to differ.” Dom left her for Book Club and first crack at Ruth’s cookies.

Dolores walked to the circulation desk, slid into her seat and fired up the computer.

Libby, unable to resist the opportunity to rib her, sat down alongside. “So,” she whispered, “you have hot a date with Dom on Wednesday?”

“I have no such thing.” Dolores continued to click away at the keyboard. “I’m accompanying Dominic to a respectable dinner with his fellow officers. I see none of the romantic connotations you are implying.”

Libby could not resist. “Dolores and Dominic up in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!”

“I can fire you, Mrs. O’Rourke.” Dolores blushed.