Double Shot (29 page)
I sat motionless and blinked at the cat.
Louise cleared her throat. “Now then,” she said, all business-like. “Tell me your exact travel plans.”
I was so stunned I actually did so.
Snowflake was still staring at me as I hung up the phone . “Wilson is going to kill me,” I told her.
The cat did not argue.
***
“Oh now, Honeybunch, you and Wilson just go on and have a grand time,” Mother said. “I don’t want you to worry about me even for one minute, do you hear?”
My mother might not have the lungs of Louise Urko, and she definitely needed the aid of the telephone, but I heard her loud and clear. I again cringed at the cat and wondered why I had ever chosen to answer my phone that day.
“No, Mother,” I argued as I arranged a stack of shorts into suitcase number two. “I cannot go off and have this grand time you’re insisting on, knowing you’ll be alone for Christmas. Why aren’t you going to Danny’s? Wasn’t that the plan?”
The fact is, I had never, in all my fifty-two years, spent a Christmas away from my mother. So when Wilson and I planned our Hawaiian vacation, I took pains to be sure she could visit my brother Danny and his family for the holiday. But, as Mother was now informing me, Danny’s wife Capers had decided otherwise.
“Capers says she needs a vacation, too,” Mother explained. “They’re taking the twins to Saint Martin for the holiday.”
“And they just informed you of this today?” I gave up on packing and plopped down on the bed.
“Oh, Jessie, please don’t be mad at me.”
I hastened to tell my mother that I most certainly was not angry with her, but with my hapless brother and his inconsiderate wife, who lives to make my life difficult. Of course, Capers wouldn’t tolerate me, Jessica Hewitt, enjoying a fun-filled tropical vacation if she couldn’t do so herself. So of course, she made these last minute plans. And of course, she thought nothing of leaving my eighty-two-year-old mother in the lurch.
“The Live Oaks is planning a very nice Christmas party for us residents,” Mother was saying. “I’m sure it will be lovely.”
She was putting up a brave front, but I knew she wasn’t looking forward to spending Christmas without any family, even if she did have lots of friends at The Live Oaks Center for Retirement Living.
I pursed my lips and made an executive decision. “You’ll come with us,” I said. I ignored Snowflake’s shocked expression and headed toward my desk.
Mother started protesting, but I was already getting online to see about her plane tickets on such short notice. While she repeated over and over that she wouldn’t dream of interfering in my vacation, I played with the internet and made her reservations. The Hawaiian gods were smiling on me—there was even space available at the resort where Wilson and I were staying.
Interrupting a rather involved description of the elaborate Christmas Eve dinner The Live Oaks was promising, I gave my mother her flight information. I had gotten her on the early morning flight from her home in Columbia, South Carolina to Atlanta.
“Wilson and I will meet you at the Atlanta airport,” I said. “And from there, the three of us can fly together.” I tapped on the keyboard some more. “Believe it or not, they even had a last minute cancellation at the place we’re staying. Soooo,” I hit the enter key, “I’ve just booked you a bungalow at The Wakilulani Garden Resort. Wilson keeps calling it the Wacky Gardens. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
“Jessica Hewitt!” she scolded. “You are not listening to me. I will not be ruining your vacation with that darling beau of yours. I will not be a third wheel, so you just cancel those reservations this minute!”
“Non-refundable,” I argued. “And besides, you won’t be a third wheel, but a fourth. Louise Urko is meeting us there, too.”
Mother skipped a beat. “Geez Louise is coming?” she asked, her tone considerably brighter. “Well then, I’d better start packing, hadn’t I? What should I bring, Jessie?”
I told her to remember a bathing suit and hung up.
Snowflake was watching me. “Wilson is going to kill me,” I said quietly.
Once again, the cat did not argue.
***
“You’re gonna kill me,” Wilson informed me the second he made it through the door of my condo. He’s a big guy, but even he was struggling with everything he was lugging. He turned around and gestured to the bottle of champagne he had tucked under one elbow, and I grabbed it before it fell.
“Hopefully that will keep you in a good mood, despite my news,” he said as he set down his luggage and the huge cat carrier he was holding. He bent over to open the door and glanced up. “Ready?”
“Of course we’re ready.” I offered an encouraging nod to my cat. “We’re looking forward to seeing our new friends, aren’t we, Snowflake?”
She yowled and jumped to the top of the refrigerator.
Okay, so maybe not. But Wally was banging his skinny black body into the door of the cage, and Wilson did the honors anyway. Out Wally popped, and right behind him came Wilson’s other cat, an enormous calico named Bernice.
She took a moment to glower at Snowflake, yawned dramatically, and found a corner of my couch for her next nap. Meanwhile, Wally had located a jingle-bell ball under the coffee table and started flicking it across the floor and going for the chase.
Wilson sat down with Bernice. “You still think this will work, right?”
I sure did hope so. I poured the champagne and reviewed our cat-care plans. My downstairs neighbor and good friend Candy Poppe had volunteered to look after our pets while we were away. So far, so good. But her offer rested on all three cats staying at my place for the week. And what if Wally and Bernice didn’t like my place? Or what if Snowflake wasn’t the most gracious hostess?
With the what-ifs in mind, we’d been practicing for days, and Wilson had been bringing his cats over for play dates. Thus far, no one had actually played together. But then again, no one had started fighting either. I decided to take that as a positive sign.
“Our cats are not going to kill each other,” I reassured everyone. I took a seat beside Wilson and handed him a glass. “But you may kill me.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, umm, Louise called this afternoon,” I began in the breeziest voice I could muster. “She’s very excited about my new book.”
“Isn’t Geez Louise always excited?” He clicked my glass. “To Hawaii.”
“In fact,” I continued, undeterred, “she became so enthused with the tropical paradise theme Adele Nightingale is planning, that you’ll never guess what she’s decided to do.” I tilted my head and waited for him to guess.
His face dropped. “You’re kidding, right?”
I grimaced. “She’s meeting us in Hawaii! Please don’t kill me.” I grimaced again and kept going. “Louise has no family at all, Wilson. She considers me her family. And it is Christmas. And she wants to help me with my book. And—” I stopped and tried to think of more excuses. “And, umm—” Nothing more was coming to me, but when I hazarded a glance sideways, Wilson was actually grinning. Indeed, he seemed altogether disinclined to kill me.
“Are you feeling well?” I asked and then repeated that Geez Louise Urko would be joining us on our vacation. “She pulled a few strings and booked herself a last minute bungalow at the Wakilulani Gardens and everything.”
He kept grinning.
I eyed him suspiciously. “What exactly is the bad news you have for me?”
***
Whatever it was, Wilson’s news would have to wait—Bernice was on the move. She hopped down from the couch, yawned expansively, and in typical Bernice-fashion, sauntered past several cat toys, ignored Wally’s invitation to play, and found the food dish. Snowflake’s food dish. Wilson and Snowflake were on it in a flash.
While Snowflake scolded her guest, Wilson spoke to me. “This will be the issue while we’re gone.” He pointed to Bernice, who was involved in an intense stare-down with my cat. “It’s the reason she’s so fat. She steals food. She eats Wally’s all the time.”
I shifted my gaze to Wally. But he had discovered one of Snowflake’s catnip mice and was completely unconcerned about the food-dish showdown. I shrugged and reminded everyone Candy had been apprised of Bernice’s dietary regimen. “She promises to make sure everyone eats only the food allotted to them.”
“Good luck, Candy,” Wilson mumbled. He picked up Bernice—no easy feat—and returned to the couch.
“Your bad news?” I asked.
He cleared his throat. “You know Chris?”
I blinked twice. “No,” I said. “I do not know Chris. Your son refuses to meet me, remember?”
“Well, he’s changed his mind. He’s tagging along.”
“With us!?” I jumped and would have spilled my champagne if Wilson hadn’t caught the glass.
“The ski trip to Vermont with his buddies fell through,” he explained and quickly put the glass back in my hand. “His roommate Larry broke his leg.”
“Excuse me?” I shook my head in dismay. “That’s what happens while one is skiing, not before.”
“Maybe. But Larry was cramming on his way to his chemistry final and wasn’t watching where he was going. Bumped into a brick wall and fell backwards down a flight of stairs.”
I groaned and took a gulp of my beverage.
Perhaps I should mention that Christopher Rye is a junior at the University of North Carolina. And yes, I had never met the guy. This, despite the fact that I had been dating his father for months, and despite the fact that Chapel Hill is quite close to Clarence, where Wilson and I live. Apparently Chris chose to hate me, sight unseen.
“Larry will be fine,” Wilson was saying. “But it ruins the ski trip. Chris sounded pretty disappointed.”
“So you asked him to join us.”
“He’s meeting us at the Atlanta airport. I can’t stand the idea of him being alone for the holidays, Jessie. The kid’s pretty independent, but.” He caught my eye. “You okay with this?”
I considered the news. “Maybe. But I thought he hated me?”
“Well,” Wilson sang. “Maybe he’s changed his mind.”
“Maybe? Chris has never even given me a chance.”
“So here’s your chance. What do you say, Jessie?”
I had to say I was quite curious to meet the Rye offspring. “Who knows?” I said. “Maybe I’ll win him over, and he’ll tell me all your deep dark secrets.” I raised an eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you’d like to do that yourself?”
Wilson kept his gaze steady and said nothing.
I sighed dramatically. “Okay, so Chris is unlikely to tell me anything of any use,” I grumbled. “But will he at least be civil to me?”
“Absolutely. But I doubt we’ll see much of him. I booked him his own bungalow at the Wacky Gardens. And if I know my son, he’ll spend the week surfing and chasing bikinis.”
Thinking the matter settled, he leaned back and relaxed. But that would just not do.
“Umm, Wilson?” I said soothingly. “Going back to the idea—your idea—that no one should be alone for the holidays? There’s one more teensy reason you may want to kill me.”
He blinked at the index finger I was holding up. “What’s that?”
“My mother.”
“Your mother, what?”
“She’s coming with us!” I blurted out and quickly dived into the whole spiel about Danny, and Capers, and the twins, and Saint Martin.
But Wilson stopped me before I had gotten very far. “Tessie Hewitt goes Hawaiian.” He offered one of his signature grins. “This, I have got to see.”
I reached out and squeezed his hand. “Mother is right about you, you know?”
“She thinks I’m darling.”
Testimony to our whimsical and flexible natures, we toasted our impending vacation and vowed to have a fantastic time, despite the three odd balls who were tagging along, and the three odd cats we were leaving behind.
It was only later that night, as I was tossing one last bathing suit into my suitcase, that a thought occurred to me.
I shooed Snowflake away as she tried to join the bathing suit and spoke to Wilson. “I wonder why the Wakilulani Gardens had so many last minute cancellations during the holiday week. I mean, isn’t it interesting that everyone got their own private bungalow? On such short notice?”
Wilson looked up from pushing Bernice out of his suitcase. “Interesting,” he agreed.
“Downright wacky,” I said and closed my suitcase.
Still curious? Learn more about Jessie and her creator Cindy Blackburn at
www.cueballmysteries.com
. Cindy also writes a blog. Read her altogether embarrassing and exceedingly awful poetry at
cueballmysteries.com/blog
Book 1:
Playing With Poison
Pool shark Jessie Hewitt usually knows where the balls will fall and how the game will end. But when a body lands on her couch, and the cute cop in her kitchen accuses her of murder, even Jessie isn’t sure what will happen next. Playing With Poison is a cozy mystery with a lot of humor, a little romance, and far too much champagne.
Acknowledgements
I could not have written Double Shot without gobs of help from gobs of people. Thanks to everyone who offered me their support, encouragement, and time. I am bound to forget someone, but here goes: Jean Everett, Anne Saunders, Sharon Politi, Jane Bishop, Joanna Innes, Bob Spearman, Kathy Powell, Megan Beardsley, Betsy Blackburn, Martha Twombly, Karen Phillips, Shari Stauch, Teddy Stockwell, Sean Scapellatto, Carol Peters and my friends at the LRWA. Special super-duper mega thanks to my husband John Blackburn, my technical guru extraordinaire and my hero.
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