ten

Marcy was short by Francine’s standards, about five foot four. Though in her forties, Marcy’s long hair hung straight and was so thoroughly black there was no question it was dyed. Her nose was large on her face and slightly hooked. She spoke with a vague New York accent that had crept into her delivery recently. Francine was aware it was new because, like it or not, Marcy had been in their lives since Friederich Guttmann’s death, and she showed no signs of going away.

“It’s a tragedy, not a fiasco,” Francine said. The coldest thing in the room was the woman’s apparent attitude toward Camille Ledfelter’s gruesome death.

“Call it what you will, it’s still an amazing opportunity for one and all. How you always find yourselves in these situations is beyond me, but it’s why I love hanging around you. Whose Sixty List item were we trying to accomplish here?”

Francine shot a worried look at Joy. “We were volunteering our time to help a worthy cause, Marcy. We were participating in a fund-raiser for a recreation and indoor aquatic center in Brownsburg.” She hoped Marcy wouldn’t find out Joy’s secret. Even though Joy was one of her best clients, Marcy believed that any publicity was good publicity. Visions of Dr. Phil analyzing Joy’s reaction to nearly naked men on nationally syndicated television while an audience smirked at her was a nightmarish possibility.

“Did I say you weren’t?” Marcy responded. “I’m just saying sometimes with your Bridge Club, you do the obvious to hide the real reason for doing something.” Marcy tugged at the tips of her leather gloves and pulled them off her hands. “What’s that smell? It’s divine.”

“Cinnamon apple coffee cake,” Joy said. “One of Mary Ruth’s recipes. I just finished baking it. I’d offer you some but I’m saving it for Bridge Club tonight.”

“Speaking of Mary Ruth, will she be here?”

“Tonight, but not before.” Joy finished checking off a wood-framed painting that was one of the auction items. “Turns out she sprained her ankle when she fell at the fund-raiser. Toby took her to the doctor today.”

Francine was sorry to hear about the ankle. She would have to give Mary Ruth a call.

Marcy scooted an auction item off a chair and settled in. She pulled an iPad out of her purse and turned it on. “Let’s get down to business. Joy, you’ve already done several segments for the local news about Camille’s murder. Any for GMA?” Marcy often used initials now instead of Good Morning America.

Like it’s become routine already, Francine thought. There was something amazing and something sad about that, all at the same time.

“I can’t do any more reports on it since I’m a witness.”

Marcy must have already written notes on her iPad, because it looked like she was updating entries as they talked. “Really? Because for the next day or two, you can probably do on-the-scene reports, even if all you’re doing is reporting the same stuff over and over again. All the stations do that kind of thing, yours included. I could see you doing this from the hospital, the Crown Room, the Police Department …”

“I gave my word to the police,” Joy said, without looking up. She continued to focus on auction items in front of her. “And anyway, another story will push it aside at any moment, given the number of shootings that come out of Indianapolis on a daily basis.”

“How about personal pieces? I can think of at least half a dozen angles to keep it in the news and you on the air.” Marcy poked at her screen. “The best one is this: the strippers themselves. I could see you doing a piece about them, how this has affected their body of work.” She laughed at her own joke.

Joy rolled her eyes. “I can’t sell it as a part of my regular feature on senior life, and I have no real reason to pitch something like that as a new story.”

“You might be able to sell it if the Bridge Club tried to help some of them through this ‘tragedy,’ to use Francine’s word. Have any of them shown signs of stress or need? What about the lead fellow? It was his aunt who died, wasn’t it?”

Anger was Francine’s immediate reaction. She bit the inside of her cheek to give herself time to think of a response. She didn’t like to use the type of language that came to mind. She spoke as emphatically as she could. “We are not going to exploit his tragedy for our gain. Camille had been like a mother to Eric.”

Marcy waved her hand dismissively. “Consider his gain for a moment. Maybe he needs the exposure. Maybe this will help take his career as a stripper to the next level.”

Francine knew more than Marcy did about Eric owning the dance troupe, his plans for the business, and the money he stood to inherit. She still didn’t think the exposure was what he needed right then.

“As a stripper,” Joy cracked, “exposure is his life. How much more does he need?”

She said it off-hand with a grin, but it took Francine by surprise. Instead of behaving like the person who had found Camille nearly dead, Joy was skirting the boundaries of good taste. Bad influence, she thought.

Marcy made a little gun with her hand and pulled the trigger in delight. “Depends on how much he wants his career to rise. I hear the competition is stiff.”

“That’s enough of that,” Francine said.

“Sometimes you have to laugh,” Marcy said, “even in a dark situation.” She scrolled down the screen looking at other ideas. “So let’s focus on you for a moment. Do you have any connection to Brownburg Parks and Recreation?”

Francine set aside the papers she was working on and planted her fists firmly on her hips. “I was there helping Mary Ruth cater the event. Alice is on vacation, so she really needed me. And not everything has to boost a career. Not Mary Ruth’s, not Joy’s, not yours.”

Marcy looked right through her like she hadn’t heard a word. “Speaking of exposure, you usually end up soaking wet on camera when things like this occur. Wasn’t there any water around when Toby Burrows took out the whole buffet line?”

“She was clutching a big slab of roast beef at the time,” Joy said, “though we don’t have a photo of that.”

“Too bad. But wasn’t the roast beef juicy? Didn’t it soak the front of her shirt?”

“I was wearing a heavy-duty apron at the time,” Francine said, her voice neutral. She hoped she was giving off an aura of being annoyed because she was certainly peeved. She needed Marcy to leave. Either that or she needed to leave.

“Perhaps Mary Ruth will be more cooperative,” Marcy said. “She knows how good exposure can lead to a stint on Food Network.”

Joy’s face brightened. “Could we do something with Toby Burrows becoming a stripper? Like, ‘stripping chef cooks naked burritos,’ or something like that?”

In spite of her best efforts to block ideas like that, Francine had to choke back a laugh. The concept was hilarious. “You’d never get Mary Ruth on board. She’s already struggling with Toby becoming a stripper. We saw that Friday night. For all we know, Toby did it for just one night. I’m not sure he really wants to be a stripper.”

Marcy continued to ignore Francine’s nay-saying. “The potential for conflict makes great drama. This is like Paula Deen bringing her boys into the Food Network fold, only they weren’t as rebellious.” She called up a keyboard on the screen and typed in a couple of notes. “How do I get in touch with him without going through Mary Ruth?”

“Good luck with that,” Joy said. “He lives in the basement at Mary Ruth’s house. I don’t see him moving out until he finishes culinary school. Unless he becomes successful as a stripper.”

“We’ll assume he will. Do you have his cell number?”

Joy shook her head. Marcy looked at Francine hopefully. Francine could feel a smug smile coming on. Finally she had something that could block Marcy from pursuing the ludicrous notion that they all needed more public attention.

But then Marcy got a bemused look on her face. “What about Charlotte? She’s a publicity hound. She even did that commercial for the local spa specializing in enemas. She was there, wasn’t she?”

“She was,” Joy said. “She was really looking forward to it.”

Francine was becoming exasperated with Joy. She tried to counter the information Joy was feeding Marcy. “But there wasn’t much to see. The dancers were saving their best for later, and only one dancer got auctioned off anyway before Toby took out the lights and the fire alarm got pulled. And do I need to remind you that Camille was murdered?”

Marcy stared off toward the ceiling like she was formulating a strategy. “I bet Charlotte was disappointed. I bet she’d love to be surprised by a personal performance.”

“No,” Francine said. “I forbid it. That is not a good plan.”

“Joy mentioned that the Bridge Club would be here tonight.” Marcy turned to Joy. “You did, didn’t you?” Her tone was halfway between teasing and asking innocently.

“You’re not invited,” Francine said.

“It’s my house,” Joy said. “You can’t forbid her to come.”

Francine pointed accusingly at Marcy. “She doesn’t even play bridge.”

“I’m hurt,” Marcy said as though wounded. “You’ve never seen me play. What’s number one on your bucket list, Francine? Maybe I should focus on helping you accomplish that.”

Francine doubted Marcy could make anything of it. “To save a life, all by myself. No help from EMTs or medics.” She thought back to when she found Camille. She had been relieved to see the emergency squad show up. Could she have done more than they did? “Not that I hope to be in critical circumstances like that ever again.”

Marcy gave her a blank look. “Commendable. I could see it as a one-note story, but nothing with legs.”

“Good.”

“Well, I know when I’m not welcome,” Marcy said. She turned her iPad off and slipped it into her purse. “I have a lot of work to do so I need to be off. Sorry I can’t stay to help.” She picked up her coat and put it on as she made her way to the front door. Joy followed to see her out. Francine went along, though she wasn’t certain if Marcy was offended or not.

Marcy paused at the door and wrapped a scarf around her neck. “Oh. Did I mention I have an appointment this afternoon with a couple of dancers from the Royal Buckingham troupe?” She winked at Francine. “Maybe I’ll mention Charlotte to them. See you all soon.”

She opened the door and exited, closing the door behind her without a look back.

Joy leaned against the wall and faced Francine. “I don’t know why you two have to be at odds. She’s been a big help to my career, one I never thought I’d have. Here I am late in life, and I’m doing something that’s fun and meaningful to me. Why can’t you appreciate that?”

“I do appreciate what she’s done for you, Joy. But for the rest of us, it’s been a mixed bag, even for Mary Ruth. She’s trying to balance her catering work, her on-again/off-again relationship with Food Network, and being a mentor to Toby. What I resent is that Marcy keeps trying to help where she’s not needed or wanted.”

“We’re all interconnected.” Joy straightened up and returned to the kitchen. “She’s mentioned that before. When one of us rises, the others do too. If you show up on Dr. Oz, by association, my stock goes up at GMA since you and the others appear occasionally in my reports.”

“That doesn’t mean I should have to be on Dr. Oz. And do you really need any more exposure? Really?”

“No, I’m happy. But Marcy knows more than we do about this stuff. Maybe it’s her way of keeping me on the air. Or Mary Ruth’s company fully booked.”

“Should I worry that she knows about Bridge Club tonight?”

Joy shrugged. “I doubt it. I think she just said it to get your goat. And anyway, the strippers are fully booked, at least the ones I talked to.”

They got back to work, but Francine couldn’t let go of Marcy’s parting comments. She had mentioned Charlotte, the Bridge Club, and the male strippers before she left. Although they were separate issues, Francine’s mind kept linking them together.

What if Marcy followed through on the threat? If it was just the four of them at Bridge Club tonight, and if Joy saw a male stripper in person and was okay with it, then all the better. Or if Joy did get sick at the sight of the stripper, wouldn’t it still be okay because at least they could eliminate that as a way of “curing” her? They could move on and try another solution. As long as it’s just us.

But she also knew it wasn’t in Marcy’s nature to let this go.