The Diva Says Cheesecake!

Does one still use stationery with one’s monogram on it? Or has that gone out of style?

Old-Fashioned in Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia

At best, monograms are now considered quaint. You may date yourself if you persist in using them.

Anyone could have them, I reminded myself. But the fact that they were so easily accessible by say, a big brother, was almost too convenient. Jo was too young to have written that letter. She was smart and observant, but even if she had discovered something about her father and his restaurant, I was one hundred percent certain she would have gone to her mom or asked her father about it. A laptop sat on her desk and connected to a printer. Still, it hadn’t been the letter of a child. Spencer had to be Worried in Old Town. He had changed things around and used feminine stationery in an effort to disguise his true identity.

Jo stood before me, backpack in hand. “I’m ready to go.”

We walked down the stairs and through the foyer. But when I opened the door, Coach stood on the stoop.

“We’re just leaving,” said Jo.

“Is your mom home?” asked Coach.

“No, she’s at the hospital with Pierce. I’m running late.” She stood her ground. The two of us effectively blocked him from entering.

“Whoa. Just a second. Is something wrong with Bobbie Sue?” asked Coach.

“Mommy is fine, but Pierce is sick.” She looked at me. “And I’m not calling him uncle anymore.”

“Where’s Spencer?” he asked.

I was about to respond but Jo beat me to it. “They’re all at the hospital. I have to go. You’re holding me up!”

She pushed past him. I walked out and pulled the door closed behind me.

Jo shot me a worried look.

I held out my hand for the key and locked the door. “Sorry, Coach. Just bad timing. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No. I came over to see if I could be of help.”

“I’m sure Jo will tell Bobbie Sue you were here.”

I walked to my car. Jo was already throwing her pack in the back.

We slid into our seats and closed the doors. Jo whispered to me, “What if Mommy and Spencer lose their keys? They won’t be able to get in.”

Coach still stood by the front door. He waved to us and slowly walked toward his car as if he were at a loss and didn’t know what to do.

I turned on the ignition and pulled into the street. “It’s all right. As soon as I drop you off, I’ll come back and hide the key in the birdhouse. Okay?”

That seemed to placate her. She launched into a full description of Esme’s family, including the elderly grandmother who lived with them and told the girls ghost stories.

In an effort to be super conscientious about delivering someone else’s child to ballet, I parked the car and went inside with Jo. Besides, Jo was a little spitfire. I thought it wise to deliver her directly into the hands of her ballet teacher.

That done, I waved to her and left. But when I was on the sidewalk, I noticed the drugstore on the corner and strolled over to it. A little bell on the door clanged when I opened it and Sharon Beady appeared from the back.

“Hi, Sophie. What can I help you with today?”

“Do you carry creams for runners? For their aching muscles?”

“Sure do.”

I followed her to an aisle with a huge assortment. “Do you put them on before you run or after?”

“Well, since the only running I’ve ever done was to be first in line at Ben and Jerry’s, I really don’t know.”

They had at least fifty different kinds in tubes and jars. “Do they all have menthol?” I asked.

“I believe most of them do. It warms the area where it’s applied. She picked up a jar and read the label. “It says right here, Fast acting pain relief for cramping, tough workouts, and muscle strain. It doesn’t say when to use it, but it also acts as a decongestant. That’s the menthol. I might have to try this on the arthritis in my left knee.”

Her knee? Of course! Runners often had bad knees, didn’t they? And one would rub the cream on with one’s hands. Had that happened to Pierce? Was it possible that he had a reaction to something in his pain relief cream?

She’d been so nice that I felt obligated to buy a jar. And she had given me a possible clue to Pierce’s odd medical situation. Maybe Mars would want the pain relief cream, though I couldn’t ever remember him reeking of menthol. I returned to my car and drove back to Bobbie Sue’s house.

I parked on the street and looked around for Coach’s car. I didn’t see it anywhere. He was probably at the hospital by now. Looking around furtively, lest anyone catch me, I opened the bottom of the birdhouse, slid the key in and closed it.

That done, I looked around and spied Pierce’s Jeep in the Bodoin’s driveway. The roof was off as usual. He’d left his running shoes in the back of the car, maybe that was also where he stashed his pain cream.

But I didn’t want to touch it. If it had caused that blistering and his collapse, the last thing I wanted was to experience the same misery. I retrieved a box of tissues from my car and pulled out two wads at least an inch thick each. Thusly armed, I strode over to Pierce’s Jeep and peered in the back. Sure enough, a bag lay there. Not a fancy gym bag but a simple bag with handles, the kind I took to the grocery store. Protecting my hands with the wads of tissues, I grasped the handles and peered inside. And there it was—pain cream in a plastic jar.

Feeling triumphant, I carefully carried it to my car and deposited it in the back. Then I drove to the hospital.

It was a long shot, for sure. But if there was even a chance that he had a reaction to the cream, I had to bring it to the doctors. Holding the handles with the thick bundles of tissues again, I returned to the floor where Pierce lay suffering. I went straight to the nurses’ station and asked for his doctor.

Fortunately, he was nearby. I explained what I was thinking about the blisters on his knees and his palms. I held out the bag to him and separated the handles so he could see inside. “I found this in his car.”

The doctor didn’t laugh at me. He politely took the bag, also careful to grip it with the thick wads of tissues. “I can’t say I hold out much hope, but I don’t have anything else to go on.” He thanked me and walked away.

I headed for Pierce’s room. I hadn’t thought it would be possible for him to look worse, but he did. He was shaking. His face was the washed-out shade of someone who felt very cold. A nurse came in and deftly swapped his blankets for cozy, warm ones, straight from the heater.

His eyes were closed. I wasn’t sure if he was asleep or under the effects of a medicine to keep him sedated.

On my way out, I peeked in the waiting room to see if Spencer was still there. Luckily, he was talking with Coach and Bobbie Sue.

“Sophie!” Bobbie Sue said in surprise. “What are you doing here? Is Jo all right?”

“She’s fine. I helped her put her hair up and made sure she packed a bag in case she stays over with Esme tonight. Then I delivered her to her ballet class.” And then I explained my theory about the blisters and a possible reaction to muscle cream. “I found some in the back of Pierce’s Jeep and brought it over to be tested.”

Bobbie Sue stared at me in silence, but her breath came faster, and she paled. “You went to the house?”

“I hope you don’t mind. Jo knew where the key was, and she was desperate to put on her costume.”

“Of course. Silly me. I should have known Jo would want her costume. Thanks for taking her to get it.”

Coach snorted. “I use muscle pain cream all the time. I’ve never had a problem.”

I edged closer to him and tried to look casual while unobtrusively sniffing in his direction. He reeked of heavily applied aftershave.

Bobbie Sue shot him a look of daggers. “Ignore him. Thank you, Sophie. That was very thoughtful of you.” She gazed at her son. “You two better get going. I’ll keep an eye on Pierce.” She smiled at me. “Coach has agreed to take Spencer fishing now that Pierce can’t go.”

I blinked at her, smelling a rat. Spencer harbored a lot of resentment toward his biological dad, but would he really take off on a vacation when Pierce was deathly ill and the man who had treated him like a son had just died? And what had happened to the Bobbie Sue who had struggled and scraped by when Pierce left her in the lurch all those years ago? I could understand being compassionate to someone in need, but she had been quite bitter. “Could I have a quick word with Spencer before he goes?”

Bobbie Sue twitched. “About what? You can’t believe anything Jo said.”

I tried to make light of it. “Jo is darling. I did hear a lot about Esme’s grandmother.”

This was an interesting change. Why did I have the feeling that Bobbie Sue was hiding something? And Spencer, who had to be Worried in Old Town, knew what it was. It might even be what had concerned him sufficiently to write to me in the first place. But I couldn’t ask him about being Worried in Old Town in front of Bobbie Sue. He would just deny it.

“Go on, you two,” she said. “You want to set up camp in daylight and you’ll need to stop for provisions on the way.”

I desperately wanted to talk with Spencer, but I could tell Mama Bear wasn’t going to let me near him.

I left, wondering what Bobbie Sue was hiding, and if Pierce would make it. I hoped so. Spencer didn’t need to lose two dads in one week. I drove home, parked in my garage, and took a careful look around my backyard before dashing to the house.

I hung my purse in the closet and walked into the kitchen, thinking about the person who had attacked me the night before. When someone tapped on the window of my kitchen door, I screamed. I couldn’t help it. My attacker had left me on edge.

Bernie gazed in the window at me. I was still angry with him, but I opened the door.

He held out a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Chocolate iced, my favorite kind.

I took the box, and he came in.

“Thank you.”

“Fresh from the shop. They’re probably still warm.”

If I hadn’t been so mad at him, I might have cried. Not because of the Krispy Kremes, but because he had driven out of town to get them fresh. It wasn’t a long trip, but he had taken the time to do it.

I could see his eyes studying the tiny mark on my neck.

“I’m so sorry.” Bernie reached out and clutched me like we were parting forever. “This is all my fault,” he whispered. “No one should ever have held a knife against your neck.”

He drew back, his face a wretched wreck of sadness.

“It’s not your fault at all,” I said firmly.

“You would never have been attacked if you weren’t helping me.”

“You don’t know that. But I am angry with you.”

His eyes opened wide. “Maybe I should make you a cuppa while you try one of your fresh-from-the-bakery doughnuts?”

He hustled over to the stove and put the kettle on. “What have I done now?”

“You lied to me!”