seventeen

Francine drove around the courthouse in Danville trying to find a place to park.

“How is Alice holding up after this morning?” she asked Joy.

“Could be better. I’ve had to order Marcy to stop asking her about her bucket list.”

Francine found a spot next to a truck on the east side of the courthouse and pulled in. “I’ve never quite figured out why she’s so secretive about her top item. Doesn’t she know we can’t help her make it happen if she won’t tell us what it is?”

“I may know a little bit more about that than you. She says we can’t help her. She says it would take a miracle. You know that cross around her neck? There’s a Biblical verse on it that is all about the miracle she wants. I’ve asked her to tell me what the verse is or let me see it, but she won’t. If we could get that cross off her, we could figure it out.”

“She was wearing it the night we were supposed to go skinny-dipping, so I don’t think it’s going to come off without divine intervention or a lot of liquor. And we both know Alice hardly drinks.”

Francine and Joy had settled on lunch at the Courthouse Grounds, a comfortable little coffee shop on the square in downtown Danville that the Bridge Club frequented. Mary Ruth said the owners had managed that tricky balance of making the place feel intimate but welcoming. Whether it was your first time or you were a regular, she said, you always felt welcome in their elegant little café.

But that was not how Francine felt this time. This time when they walked in the door, everyone stopped talking and looked at them. Like we’re celebrities.

Joy smiled magnanimously. Francine reddened.

“Just head for the empty table in the back and act like normal,” Joy whispered.

Francine felt she was on a runway, not an aisle. She tried to look as inconspicuous as possible as she made her way past the round, antique Queen Anne tables. Every seat of the first six was occupied, every eye was upon her. Moving purposefully toward the back, she didn’t think about Joy behind her when she made a sudden decision to stop at the self-serve coffee area. Joy collided with her just as Francine picked up a coffee mug. The mug sailed into the kitchen and hit one of the owners on the hand. He’d just picked up a plate of food but let it loose in surprise. The plate shattered when it hit the kitchen floor, sending egg salad all over his pants.

“I’m really sorry,” Francine said, struggling to keep the table upright. Joy grabbed a coffee urn before it tipped over.

“It’s quite all right,” said the owner, recovering quickly. “I’d always wondered how these pants might look in yellow.” He grabbed a napkin and scraped the egg salad off.

Francine and Joy attempted to reassemble the coffee table’s contents. “That was close,” Francine whispered. “Good thing we averted that disaster.”

Joy looked out over the sea of cell phones taking their pictures. “I think it still might be a disaster. Our graceful photos might be all over Facebook in a matter of minutes.”

The owner saw what Joy saw, helped them with the table and got them seated.

“I’m so sorry,” Francine said. “I’ll pay for that sandwich you dropped.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “It’s just a sandwich. Let me get you both coffee. I’ll be back with the menus.”

It took a while, but conversation in the restaurant resumed its normal hushed tone. Francine breathed a sigh of relief. The owner brought them coffee and menus. The two women hurriedly ordered.

Rather than make conversation, Francine cast casual glances at the other patrons to see if they were being watched. Every time she looked up, someone averted their eyes. The place was mostly women. She heard male lawyers preferred Frank’s Place, an Italian restaurant with a liquor license on the other side of the Royal movie theater from the Courthouse Grounds, but she’d never been there at lunch.

“I think we’re okay,” she told Joy. “No one has their cell phones in hand.”

“That’s because they already uploaded their photos to Facebook and Twitter while we were ordering. I saw it out of the corner of my eye.”

Francine sighed. She wouldn’t have guessed the people who were lunching there would be the types. They were divided between the professionally dressed, probably lawyers from the courthouse, and the older “ladies who lunched.” But it wasn’t the first time she she’d been wrong about things like that.

Joy whispered, “I wonder if this is what Robert Pattinson faces every day. In a way, it’s kind of exciting, isn’t it?”

“More awkward than exciting,” she said, pretending to know who Robert Pattinson was. She tried to imagine how much more of this they were in for if they couldn’t persuade Joy to rein in her publicist. “I don’t generally read celebrity magazines unless I’m in the beauty shop, but I see a lot of bad things caused by paparazzi. Are you sure you’re not getting in over your head?”

“By hiring Marcy? I don’t understand why everyone is so resistant to getting their moment in the spotlight.” Joy blew on her coffee and then took a drink. “I’ve always wanted to be glamorous. When I was young I fantasized I’d grow up to be a Grace Kelly to someone’s Cary Grant. Instead I became a skinny Carol Channing who thought she’d married Rock Hudson’s on-screen double only to find out she had married Rock Hudson’s in-bedroom double.”

Francine winced. A long time ago, shortly after Joy had moved into the neighborhood and become part of the Summer Ridge Bridge Club, her husband had left her for another man. With much therapy and their support, not to mention a big divorce settlement, they thought Joy had come through okay. Now Francine had her doubts. “This isn’t a latent attempt to show Bruno up, is it?”

Joy gave a wry smile. “Well, not really. Although I hope he noticed I did a great job handling the GMA segment. He demeaned my role as a secretary at Lilly Endowment. That’d show him.”

The owner returned with their food. As he slid the plates in front of them, Francine remembered how large the sandwiches were. She’d have to carry half of hers home.

Just about the time she figured out how to broach the subject again of Joy’s sudden need for attention, Joy finished the remaining coffee. She looked in her mug. “Empty already.” She got up and went to the coffee station.

Francine picked up her spoon and sampled the chicken corn chowder that had come with her turkey sandwich. It was wonderful; just the right amount of creaminess without feeling heavy. She had a big spoonful in her mouth when someone asked, “Can I sit here with you?”

She looked up. Darla Baggesen, Homeowners’ Association Nazi, stood in front of her holding a mug. Francine tried to finish the bite, but Darla didn’t wait for an answer. She set her mug at the empty space between Francine and Joy.

“Thanks,” she said. She pulled out her chair to sit. The tables were so close that she nearly bumped the woman at the next table. “It’s crowded in here,” she told Francine. “Good thing I’m thin.” She placed her napkin on her lap. “So, not to bring up an unpleasant subject or anything, but how are you faring since the Good Morning America fiasco this morning?”

“We’re doing okay,” Francine responded coolly. “I don’t think we violated any homeowners’ tenants today. I know you were watching from your balcony. Who was in your group?” She had thought about not mentioning the balcony since it wasn’t good to be on Darla’s bad side. But she guessed the Bridge Club had already crossed that line.

Darla batted her eyes, seemingly taken aback. She sported long lashes so mascara-laden Francine was afraid they might stick together if she closed them for too long. “Some people from the neighborhood. Maybe a few visitors from the local media. It was better having them on my balcony than camped out on Alice’s lawn, which would have been a violation.”

“I’m hopeful we can put this episode behind us now.”

“You can hope, but I wouldn’t bet on it after Good Morning America. I think we’re going to have to get used to having the ‘skinny-dipping grandma’ celebrities in our subdivision. Rumor has it the Visit Hendricks County bureau wants you to do a calendar.”

How did that rumor start? “We would never do something like that.”

“You say that now, but wait till you’re in People magazine.” She looked around to see Joy returning from the coffee station. “I heard Joy’s publicist is working on them,” she said quickly. “Maybe you’ll get your own reality show on TLC.”

Joy shifted her food so she was seated on the other side of Francine from Darla. She faked a smile. “Hi, Darla.”

The owner came by and dropped off Darla’s food, a spinach quiche with fruit cup she had apparently ordered when she arrived.

Joy picked at the chicken salad in her spinach wrap but then put the fork down. “I’m too excited to eat,” she said. She drank more coffee.

Francine addressed the elephant in the room. “What are you doing here in Danville, Darla?”

She sighed. “I’ve been at the courthouse. More paperwork on the divorce. Sara turned sixteen last week. Legally, she can now decide who she wants to live with. My ex is trying to get her to move in. It’s all a ploy so he can stop sending me support payments. It’s not like I need that money for myself, you know. It’s all about Sara’s racing.”

Joy dabbed her mouth with her napkin and sounded polite when she asked, “How’s her season going?”

“It would be going better if I could get her to focus more on her driving and less on boys.” She laughed, but not convincingly. Francine suspected there was some truth behind it. “Seriously, though, she’s doing well. Of course, if we had more money it would help. Racing is expensive.”

“I thought your ex-husband was Sara’s mechanic.”

“He is, but I’d rather have his money than him. Vince is not very good. Everything he does—well, I’ve always had to make a list and check it twice. Santa Claus should hire me for seasonal help. What do you know about this luncheon Mary Ruth is having tomorrow? I got a voicemail about it.”

Though no one cared for Darla, Francine knew was best to rally her behind the idea. “Mary Ruth’s trying to get some racing clients for her catering business, so this is really about that. But since we’ve all been a little shaken over a murder taking place in the neighborhood, Charlotte is arranging for the police to talk to us about a neighborhood watch program.”

“Plus, it’ll be good for everyone to hear the truth about how we found Friederich,” Joy added, “and Alice is anxious to dispel the rumor that we go skinny-dipping all the time.”

Darla pursed her cherry-red lips. “Good old Holy Alice. I daresay the tourism people won’t be happy to hear that, though.” She leaned in. “You mentioned the police will be there. Will they tell us what they know about the case?”

Joy shrugged. “You know how the police are …”

“… but I’m sure they’ll tell us whatever they can,” Francine said. She didn’t want to lose any support Darla might give them.

“As President of the Homeowners Association, I suppose I should be there. And Mary Ruth’s food is delicious. I just hope the police will be open with us.”

“You know a lot of people in the racing business,” Joy said. “A good word from you would really help her.”

“I guess I do know a lot of people,” she said. “Is she licensed to cater at Lucas Oil Raceway?”

“She is, but she hasn’t got a single job lined up for SpeedFest.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Francine hated herself for thinking that Darla’s altruism would come with a price tag. How cynical I’ve become. She tried to remember that Darla was a good mother. Despite the divorce and her snide comments about her ex-husband’s effectiveness as a mechanic, she had found ways to work with Sara’s father. Francine had a thought. “Does Sara know Jake Maehler?”

“Of course they know each other! Sara is a huge fan. And mark my words, she’ll be the next big thing from Brownsburg after Jake. Why do you ask?”

“Friederich was Jake’s mentor for so many years. I just wondered how he’s doing.”

“Oh, that.” Darla picked at the last bit of fruit in her cup.

She’s dying to spill some gossip, Francine thought.

“Jake’s doing fine,” Darla said eventually. “Sara said she asked Jake what he was going to do about a mechanic for the SpeedFest Race. He said he thought his own skills were enough to make it work, if he had to. But she said she was certain Jake was looking for another mechanic.”

“He hasn’t got much time left.”

“Not much at all.” She pulled out her cell phone. “Speaking of time, I should check in with Sara.” She used the touch screen on her phone. “Hmmm. Listen, I need to get moving. Thanks for letting me sit with you.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yes, definitely.” Darla picked up her purse. Francine noted that it was a Coach brand. Must be taking her ex to the cleaners.

The center aisle at the Courthouse Grounds was narrow, so Darla could not hurry despite her declaration. She also wasn’t exactly thin (again despite her declaration), more like strong and in shape, and she definitely had hips. They swayed from side to side in a Mae West kind of way as she made her way out.

“She knows how to make an exit, doesn’t she?” Francine said. “We should make ours now. We’ll pale in comparison.”

“I don’t know. We’re becoming famous as the skinny-dipping grandmas. We should show them what we’re made of.”

Francine rolled her eyes. She gathered up her leftovers and her purse. “Let me go first. You can show them whatever you want.”