DEAD AS A DODO: A BRIDIE BRYNES MYSTERY

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Saturday and Sunday

I  squirted another blast of lighter fluid over the coals in the firepit. The flames couldn’t reach high enough for the way I was feeling.

“Look. Marshmallows, Hershey bars, and graham crackers,” Callie said as she pulled open the Publix cloth tote to show me. She’d included two skewers and shook one of them at me. “En Garde.” She set the bag of goodies on one of the benches surrounding the firepit.

“You always think of everything. S’mores will be a perfect way to end this.” I hugged her, then picked up one box of hand-addressed, stamped invitations, including directions to the church, the reception, and our wedding website. “What do you think? Feed them into the fire slowly or just dump

’em?”

“Dump. It’s the best way.”

Dustin, my ex-fiancé, dumped me when he called off the wedding yesterday, three days before I mailed the invitations. It was better than being left at the altar--not much--but a little. We’d gotten engaged nearly a year ago after dating exclusively for five years. I moved into his townhouse and started the wedding planning. He’d been involved in every decision, so when he told me, “It’s too soon. I still love you and still want to marry you. Give me some time; I’ll eventually be ready,” it came as a jolt. I hoped I was doing the right thing by breaking up with him; I knew I was doing the right thing by burning all this stuff.

“Dumping awaaaay,” I said. Sparks flew in a circular column toward the stars. That would sound like I was headed on some exciting journey if this wasn’t a bonfire for my disastrous love life. I kept feeding in more invitations, place cards, menus, table signs, aisle runners, the wedding garter, and the veil. While I’d wanted to burn the dress, Callie insisted she could dye it and re-purpose it.

Once I’d unloaded everything, I slumped onto the bench, exhausted.

“Why do I feel so tired?”

Callie sat next to me. I rested my head on her shoulder, and she rubbed my back.  “Because your jerk of a boyfriend—”

“Ex-fiancé.”

“Right, your ex broke your heart. Throwing everything into a fire helps with your anger. In fact, I applaud it, but it doesn’t mend your heart. That’s going to take a little bit longer, my Birdie red-hair,” Callie said using the nickname I’d been bestowed with years ago. “Can we take a selfie in front of the fire to mark this occasion?”

Callie had documented the highlights of our friendship with selfies. She swore someday she’d make a photo book for both of us. I doubted she’d ever get around to it, but always humored her.

She held the camera high overhead and snapped a bunch.

“Thanks, Cal.”

Callie scooped up the ingredients. “Can we make some S’mores now?”

“Absolutely.”

Callie handed me a skewer and said, “I talked to my landlord about upgrading from my one-bedroom to a two-bedroom. He seemed open and was certain that a couple units were available. Want to go and check them out tomorrow?”

It felt fast to me—making a break from the townhome this quickly— even though I knew the right thing was to put distance between Dustin and me. “Sure.” I took a bite of the s’more, a string of melted marshmallow stretching from the sandwich to my mouth. “I forgot how delicious these were.”

Callie and I continued to eat, toast, and eat until my phone rang in the middle of roasting our fourth marshmallow. The screen said Mother, which is what I said to myself. She hadn’t been sympathetic when I told her the wedding was off. Mostly, she was disappointed that she wouldn’t see the rest of the family, especially Aunt Lulu.

“Do you think it would be awful to let her go to voicemail?” I asked.

Callie shrugged. “Maybe she’s feeling more supportive today.”

Immediately, it started ringing again. I wished I’d inherited some of my mother’s persistence. “Hello,” I said without any enthusiasm as I walked to put some distance between me and the fire.

“What are you doing?”

“Torching my wedding stuff.”

“And the invitations,” Callie added from her spot on the bench.

“And the invitations,” I relayed to my mother.

My mother sighed her blame-slash-disapproval sigh. I knew it well.

“Was that productive?”

“I think so. Besides, it gave Callie and me a good excuse to make s’mores.”

Another sigh. “I wasn’t calling to see how you were spending your

Saturday night. I have the best news. Jeffrey and I are taking that Around the World cruise we were talking about last year before you got engaged. We’d put it on the backburner, but decided to move it to the front since the wedding was off. They still had one of the spa suites available! How lucky is that?”

Best news? Not mine. “It sounds great, Mom.”

“Well, I was thinking maybe you’d like to move in with Mimi while we’re gone.”

“I was planning to move in with Callie…”

Mom continued as if I hadn’t responded. “She could use the help. You know how she’s getting up there in years. I worry since this cruise is so lengthy.”

“Mimi has a ton of energy, and I think she likes her independence.”

It’s true. She’s fairly independent, but who knows what might happen in the next six months. She could have a stroke or a heart attack… anything really.”

Leave it to Mom to look on the bright side. She must be feeling guilty.

“You’ve always had a wonderful relationship with her. Plus, it would be free to live there. I’m sure you could use some relief after using up your savings on the wedding.”

My savings had gone up in smoke. Literally. Mom was right that I had always loved Mimi’s company. I was closer to her than anyone else in my family. And, saving money would help, too. Timing might be an issue. “When are you leaving?”

“Three days. Isn’t that fantastic? I already mentioned this to Mimi, and she said you could move in tomorrow if you wanted. Not that you need to move in that quickly, but I thought you’d probably want to be out of Dustin’s place as soon as possible.”

Right again. I’d hoped that by the time I’d reached twenty-five, I’d be an independent adult. The wedding had made me feel that I was nearly there. Maybe I needed to move that finish line to thirty. “I’ll call Mimi tomorrow

morning. I do want to be out of the townhouse sooner rather than later.”

****

I hit the lock button on my key fob. “That’s the end of the last load.”

Callie gave me a thumbs up from the front porch. Yesterday, after the call with my mom, I explained to Callie the whole situation with the cruise, Mimi, and my savings. I thought she might be upset after trying to arrange something with her landlord, but she hugged me and said, “Cool.” Anyone who has a best friend like that should count themselves lucky.

We’d met the summer before fifth grade at a figure skating camp. I’d never been sure why my mother thought I should learn to figure skate. Our family had always lived in Florida as opposed to so many of the transplants from the north. Swimming, gymnastics, even arts and crafts would’ve made more sense.

On my first day, my mother rented a pair of skates at the rink. They were heavy, blue plastic that nearly reached my mid-calf, with two metal buckles. I wore blue jeans and a yellow sweater because my mother wanted to make sure I didn’t get too cold. The rest of the girls in the class had white leather skates with black leggings and fitted black hoodies. It was easy to tell that I didn’t belong. At the end of class, when my mother came to pick me up, the instructor called her over.

“Mrs. Byrnes,” she said, “Robin needs a pair of figure skates.” She pointed to the ones she was wearing. She lifted her foot to her waist, balancing on the other blade. “See how the blade is different, and the structure of the boot is lighter.”

My mother nodded. “Where can I find a pair?”

“The pro shop here carries Ridell, but you can find some of the other brands on-line.”

At that moment, one of the smallest girls skated over to us. She smiled widely showing off a pair of huge dimples. “Ms. Tremblay, I could bring the pair my sister wore last year. She hardly used them, and I think they would fit Robin.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you Callie, but I’m sure Mrs. Byrnes would like to select the skates.”

Callie refused to stop smiling and refused to back down. “Olivia’s were Jacksons. That way Robin can decide if she would like Ridell better.” My mother said, “That sounds like a very good idea. Thank you.” The next day Callie showed up with two figure skating duffels. Combined they were nearly bigger than her. In the locker room she handed me the pale aqua one. I unzipped it. In addition to the skates, the bag held leggings, a hoodie, and other odds and ends. “I think all of that will work for you. My sister wasn’t a fan of figure skating so someone should use all this.

Here, let me show you how to lace the skates.”

By the end of that summer, Callie and I were besties. Even though we attended different schools—Callie an expensive private one and me the public one closest to our house—we never went more than a week without seeing each other. I often thanked my lucky stars that my mother had picked the strangest choice for summer camp. I couldn’t imagine getting by without Callie at work, after work, and especially on a day like today with the move.

Mimi was in the kitchen unpacking boxes, merging my belongings into the drawers and cupboards with hers. Dressed in yoga pants and a brightly colored tunic, Mimi looked younger than her age. Her hair hung in a single plait down her back, a style she’d worn for as long as I could remember; the only thing ever changing was how it had turned from black to gray to white over the years. Her consistency was a comfort. Her house never changed either, with its metal roof and wrap-around porch. The inside was natural woods and beige, soft blues and white with a pop of another color here or there. Mimi’s style was Coastal Grandma before that was even a thing.

It felt strange that this house would be my home, if only for a little while. Not as strange as leaving Dustin’s townhouse, though. He could have made my move easier. Instead, he seated himself on my wicker rocking chair, arms crossed in front of his chest, staring at Callie and me as we moved boxes and bags to my car. At the end of it, he made me ask him to get up so that I could take the chair with me.

“I’ll call you later this week,” he said.

Please don’t, I thought, but nodded at him as if I agreed.

I stuck the key fob into the front pocket of my shorts and picked up the wicker chair to carry it to the wrap around porch. I set it near the front door, facing the driveway. I’ll find the perfect spot for you after I’ve settled in.

Callie stepped out of the house onto the porch. “This is the perfect place for you to reset. It’s so quiet compared to Kendall.”

“I worry that it might be a little too quiet for me.”

“If you need a little more noise, we can go to The Pickled Pelican after work tomorrow. Monday night karaoke.”

I giggled. Before I moved in with Dustin, Monday karaoke at The Pickled Pelican was not to be missed. In the last year, I’d turned into an old married lady, without the actual marriage or other so-called benefits. I didn’t want to go clubbing all the time like my co-workers, but karaoke with Callie was always a good time.

“Sounds good,” I said.

Callie gave me a hug and hopped into her tiny powder blue Fiat. “See you tomorrow.”

I walked into the house, feeling like a guest, and found Mimi upstairs, making up the bed in the room where I’d be staying. “Let me help you with that.”

She took the sheet and launched it into a half-balloon wave that landed perfectly centered on the bed.

First thought: She doesn’t need my help.

Second thought: I do the same thing when I set up a massage table.

It must be genetic.

I helped her finish the bed and moved two boxes to the side. “We should finish those,” she said.

“I can finish those tomorrow. You’ve already done enough.”

Mimi had such a deep reservoir of energy it was easy to forget she turned eighty-four a month ago. “Then let’s have a drink on the porch,” she said.

“Iced tea?” I asked.

“Nice try. I’d like my usual gin and tonic.”

Years ago, when I was a child, Mimi had told me she drank gin and tonic to prevent scurvy and malaria. “The lime prevents scurvy, the quinine in the tonic prevents malaria.”

“Is that true?” I’d asked.

“Of course it is. I’ve never had scurvy or malaria and you know there are swarms of mosquitos all around here.”

I’d scratched two large bites on my calves and filed the information away for future reference. I think that was the year she taught me the proper way to make them. I’d join her with a glass of only tonic and lime, which paved the way for my G&T infatuation as an adult.

Mimi sat in her usual chair while I mixed the drinks in tall glasses adding a wedge of lime to the side. The cuckoo clock she’d inherited from her mother chirped six times as I brought the drinks to the porch and set them on a small table before curling up in my wicker rocker. The front of the house faced west, giving us a wide-lens view of the sunset.

Maybe I won’t move the rocker after all. “I’d forgotten how peaceful it is here.”

Mimi lived in Homestead, a rural area in the southern part of Dade County. Technically, I guess, it was a suburb of Miami, but because the area was so sparsely populated and home to a lot of agriculture it felt more like a small town. To the east was Biscayne National Park, to the west the Everglades, and to the south were the Florida Keys. The home had been in our family for decades, going back to a time when nearly everything in Florida was rural. Her house sat on 40 acres with fruit bearing trees, a vegetable garden, a dozen hens, a rooster, a peacock and pea hen, a pair of swans, and one indoor-mostly outdoor Hemingway cat named Houdini because he regularly disappeared. Up until ten years ago she had a dairy cow but sold her when that became too much to manage.

“Last month I had another developer that wanted to buy a piece of this,” Mimi said after a lengthy sip.

“For what?”

“A strip mall.” I grimaced.

“You might make a different face if I told you how much they offered.”

“Apparently it wasn’t enough, and I trust your judgement.”

Mimi reached across to my knee and patted it. Her tanned face was etched with deep lines. Her long white braid hung over her right shoulder. “I know you do. Someday, when I’m gone, this will be yours. Then, you’ll need to make decisions about offers like that.”

I laughed. “That is a loooooong ways off. Mom will shoulder that responsibility first.”

“That’s not what my will says,” Mimi replied with a concrete tone to her voice. She drained the rest of her G&T and set the glass down on the small table between us. She curled her fingers on both hands, flexing them in and out. “My arthritis is acting up tonight. Another drink would cure it, but when I turned eighty, I started limiting myself to one.”

“Aren’t you worried about malaria? Or scurvy?”

Mimi laughed. “You still remember that.”

“I do. Listen, if you don’t want me to make you another, I can help with a quick hand massage.”

“I don’t know if that will work.”

“I do.” I ran upstairs to get a massage oil that I’d cooked up. Then back to the front porch with Mimi. “You should swap chairs with me. I’ll need something more stable.”

Mimi smiled at me and moved to the rocker. “I suppose you are going to treat me to one of your masseuse tricks.”

“Mimi, I’ve told you a million times—I am not a masseuse. I’m a certified massage therapist.” I moved her chair to face the rocker.

“Now you’ve told me a million and one.” Mimi smirked at me.

“The term masseuse can imply a sketchy reputation, if you know what

I mean.”

“I know what you mean. I’m not that old.”

I laughed. “You’ll see.”  I applied a little of the massage oil to both of my hands.

“That smells wonderful,” Mimi said.

“I made it. It’s orange and ginger. They’re both great for inflammation.” I lightly put the oil on both sides of her left hand. Her dry, elderly skin soaked it up quickly, so I added a little more.  “At the salon, this oil is warmed.” As soon as I held Mimi’s hands in mine, I could feel her good vibes of love, strength, and wisdom. I started with her pinky, giving it a little pinch and then working my way to the tip with short strokes to her knuckle. “How does that feel? Am I pressing too hard?”

“No. It’s good. You have me thinking with that comment about masseuses. Has anybody ever treated you like that?”

I stopped massaging for a minute. “Only once. The police were called, and he was banned from the spa.”

“I’m glad you don’t have to deal with that.”

“Me too.” Although I kept my answer short, sweet, and PG for Mimi, the reality of the situation was worse.  Gerald Coakley. I’d almost forgotten about him. Six months ago, he booked a massage with me. The only thing I remember from that session was how much I disliked his energy. Shortly after, he called to make another appointment. Callie told me, “You don’t have to take him.”

“I should, though, maybe he was having a bad day.”

At his second session it was clear that his bad day was maybe a bad month. The same icky energy emanated from him while I worked kinks out of his back. When he rolled over, it became clear that he was aroused. It had happened before with other clients, but the rule of thumb was to ignore it, because clients were usually embarrassed.

Not Gerald.

“There’s a fifty-dollar bonus added to your tip, if you’ll take care of that,” he said.

When I was training, they emphasized that this could happen and taught us to simply say, “I’m a licensed massage therapist. We don’t do that.” They said that most people took the hint and backed off. I parroted that phrase to Gerald.

“Aww, c’mon. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Clearly,” I mumbled. A snappy comeback was not part of my training.

“What did you say?” His tone told me he didn’t appreciate my sense of humor.

I pulled out my iPhone.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m calling 911.” This is exactly what they’d recommended to do if you had a client that refused to let it go.

He cursed a long string of words at me. I’m not sure if he used the entire alphabet, but there was definitely a B-word. He grabbed the sheet from the table and ran through the door. I massaged my temples, scalp, neck and shoulders, using self-care to stem the headache that called ahead to let me know that it was coming for a visit. It wasn’t fun to recall it. I’d rather focus on Mimi’s hands

I repeated the same pinch and short strokes working toward the tip on each finger and her thumb. I turned Mimi’s hand face down, working between each finger, and then showed the web between her thumb and finger a little extra love. I massaged her wrist.

“Make a circular motion with your wrist, like this.” I demonstrated.

After she did it, I worked on loosening up her wrist until a little more tension eased away. I flipped her hand and massaged her palm with small circular motions, starting in the middle and working outward to the sides and her wrist. Finally, I held her hand face down, my fingers interlaced with hers, stretching first and then pulling. One of her fingers gave a little pop. I gently laid that hand down on her thigh.

“Give me the other hand,” I said.

Mimi flexed the fingers on her left hand in and out. “Wow. That was a lot better than I expected.”

I felt a sense of pride knowing that I’d helped her feel better. I went through the same routine with her right hand. “Can I work on your feet?” I asked.

“Ordinarily I don’t like people to touch my feet, but if you can do that with my hands, I suppose it will be fine just this once.”

“Once is never enough,” I said.