Moss Hysteria (12 page)

“That's so kind of you to say,” I said, while my brain was whispering,
Franny?

Francesca poked him in his soft belly. “Don't tease, Alfie. I did too tell you how pretty my daughter-in-law is.” She looked at us, smiling radiantly. “Alfie loves to tease me.”

Amazing. Francesca's infamous Italian temper usually made teasing a no-no.

“This is our favorite restaurant,” Alfie said, draping an arm around Francesca's shoulders. “We actually met here, one of those
Our eyes met across the room
moments. I keep saying fate brought us together, don't I, Franny?”

Seriously,
Franny
?

He squeezed her shoulder and she laughed like a little squeak toy and dipped her head, fluttering her eyelashes at him. I'd never seen her look so girlish. I had to smile with them as they whispered together and laughed, sharing a private moment.

The real waiter appeared and before anyone could wave him away, Marco said, “I think we're ready to order. Abby, ready?”

I glanced at him. Marco didn't look or sound happy. “I'm ready.”

Francesca leaned close to Alfie and said, “Abby is hungry,” as though excusing Marco's terseness.

“Oh,” Alfie said, looking startled as he picked up his menu. “Well, then I'll just have the lasagna.” He handed the menu to the waiter then said to Francesca, “But no one makes lasagna like you do, Honey Bun.”

As Francesca gave her order, I whispered to Marco, “Are you okay?”

“Let's just get this over with.”

Once our server had gone, Marco gave Alfie a penetrating stare. “What do you do, Alfred?”

Alfie shrugged and said with a smile, “Not much, to tell you the truth. I retired a few years back and my goal now is to enjoy life.” Gazing at Francesca with puppy dog eyes, he said, “Your mom is helping me accomplish that goal.”

“Really.” Marco crossed his arms over his shirt. “And how does that work exactly?”

M
arco's question was followed by a strained silence. A server came by to freshen our water and I caught him giving us puzzled glances. Then Francesca calmly unrolled Alfie's napkin and shook it out before placing it on his lap. “Alfie and I share a passion for art and musical theater.”

“Sounds exciting.” Marco turned toward Alfie again. “Have the two of you gone to any art galleries or seen any musicals?”

“No,” Francesca answered, narrowing her eyes at her son, “but we're going up to Chicago next Sunday to see
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
.”

“Now, that is one heck of a play,” Alfie said. “I saw it years ago when Donny Osmond starred in it. I loved it so much, in fact, I went back two more times. I can't wait to share that experience with your mom.”

“Have you ever been married?” Marco asked.

“Yes, I have.”

“Any children?”

“Nope.” Alfie paused as two servers delivered our salads. “But I sure am enjoying getting to know Franny's grandbabies. What a delight they are. That little Christopher is as smart as a whip and, boy, can he put on a show. I keep telling him he ought to be on the stage—and there's one leaving in an hour.” Alfie laughed at his own joke and Francesca laughed with him. It was so corny, even I chuckled.

“I just remembered another musical we've got to see, Franny,” Alfie said. “
Paint Your Wagon.
What a great musical that is. Funny lines, clever lyrics . . . and then there's
Phantom of the Opera.
A true classic.”

He continued his discourse about his favorite musicals while we ate our salads. He finally ran out of stories about the time our entrees arrived.

“Everybody's food looks
dee-lish
,” Alfie said, scanning the table.

“What did you do before you retired?” Marco asked, cutting into his chicken.

“Oh, boy,” Alfie said, loosening his tie. “That's a story for another day. I don't want to bore everyone on such a nice evening. I'll bet that's not how you feel, Marco. It must be exciting to track down suspects and pinpoint the guilty parties.”

“There's nothing exciting about sitting in a car or at a computer for hours at a time,” Marco said stiffly.

Francesca gave Marco a warning glare.

“We do a lot of surveillance,” I said, feeling sorry for Alfie. “That can be really boring. But you're right. When we finally catch our man—or woman—there's nothing like that feeling of justice being done. My favorite part is interviewing suspects. It's like playing a game of chess, and Marco is a genius at it.”

“Is that right?” Alfie turned an admiring gaze on my stone-faced hubby. “You mentioned you spend a lot of time at the computer. Do you use search engines to find your perps? Do you have certain Web sites that are your go-to places for information?”

“I have my methods,” Marco replied.

“I'll bet you can find just about anything on anybody on the Internet these days, can't you?” Alfie waited a moment for him to reply, and when he didn't, turned to me. “I hear you're awesome at making flower arrangements. Franny said you won a trophy.”

“Right,” I answered. “The woman I bought the shop from won the trophy two years ago and then I won it last year.”

“She'll win it again,” Francesca said to Alfie. “She's very talented.”

“Thank you, Francesca.” I didn't have the heart to tell her I wouldn't be entering this year.

“So tell me,” Marco said, swirling his wine, “where do you live?”

“Gosh.” Alfie glanced around the room. “What direction are we facing? Where's north?”

“That way,” Marco said, pointing toward the front.

“Then about an hour that way,” Alfie said with a smile.

“Alfie has a retirement cottage on a lake,” Francesca said, smiling at him, “and one of these days he's going to take me up there to see it.” Then she turned to Marco and asked in an accusing tone, “Why?”

“It's okay, Franny,” Alfie said gently, patting her hand. “He's just being a good son. He's concerned about his mom.”

She smiled at Alfie and then turned toward Marco again, and though her voice stayed sweet, her eyes were flashing fire. “You don't need to be concerned about me, Marco. I'm not senile yet.”

“I care for your mom a lot, Marco,” Alfie added. “I'm sure I'd react the same way if my mom sprang her boyfriend on me.”

He was calling himself her boyfriend. I knew that wouldn't sit well with Marco, so I said quickly, “Anyone having dessert this evening?”

“Nothing for me,
bella
,” Francesca said. “Actually I think it's time for us to go, Alfie. I feel a headache coming on.” She gave Marco a pointed look as she lifted her hand to signal the waiter. “But you stay and enjoy the rest of your dinners.”

“Two boxes and the check, please,” she told our server.

“Now, Franny,” Alfie said, reaching for his wallet, “let me get this one.”

“Put your money away,” she ordered. “I invited my children here to celebrate my happiness. And now I'm paying for it.”

He slid his hand out of his pant pocket.

As soon as Francesca signed the bill, they said good night and left, no handshakes or cheek kissing involved. I drained my wineglass while Marco just sat there tapping his fork on the table, deep in thought.

“Marco, I know you can't help worrying about your mom, but I think she's in good hands. Alfie seems likable—a little goofy, but he obviously adores her.”

“He called her Franny. No one calls her Franny.”

“He said ‘perp,' too. Are you going to shoot him for it?”

“A headache? My mom doesn't get headaches.”

“I believe she was referring to you, sweetie.”

“Something's not right, Abby. I can feel it.” He put down his fork. “Are you ready to go?”

“Not before you tell me what your problem is.”

“You already know what my problem is. I don't trust
Alfie
or whatever his real name is. You know how you get bad vibes about people? Well, he gave me bad vibes.”

“He didn't give me any. Alfie seemed like an ordinary, kind of nerdy guy who adores your mom. I think you're being overprotective because this is the first time in our experience that she's dated. I know how much you admired your dad, but he's been deceased a very long time. Maybe it's time your mom spread her wings.”

“That man wouldn't answer my questions, Abby, about what he did for a living or where he lives.”

“That man has a name, and your mom told us where he lives.”

“
On a lake
is not an answer.
An hour that way
is not an answer. Tugging on his tie
is
an answer. He evaded my questions. And why was he so interested in how I search for people? That really raised my suspicions.”

“You need to trust your mom a little more, Marco. She got along fine with your dad without your help.”

“That man is nothing like my dad, Ab. Nothing. My dad was a strong, proud man who wasn't ashamed to admit where he worked or lived. Did you see how Alfie caved in when Mom gave orders? My dad wouldn't have done that.”

“So he would have argued with her?”

“That's how they operated, Abby. They argued. They were two passionate people who voiced their feelings. This guy is a wimp. She doesn't like wimpy men.”

“Maybe you should let your mom decide what kind of man she likes.”

“Maybe she
is
getting senile.”

“Stop it. You know she's not.”

“She's not making wise decisions, either. How do we know he's not a stalker or a gigolo who marries women for their money? Or a bigamist or drug dealer?” He finished his wine in one gulp. “Let's go. I have to take care of a few things at the bar.”

“You have to go back tonight? I thought you took the evening off.”

For the first time that evening, the tiniest flicker of a grin played at the corner of his mouth. And then it dawned on me. “Marco, tell me you're not going to investigate Alfie. Your mom will kill you.”

He put his napkin on the table and stood up. “Let's get out of here.”

As I motioned for the waiter, Marco said, “Mom already paid.”

“I know, but there's half a bottle of Chianti left. I'm not leaving that behind.”

Marco sat and put his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands, thinking.

No doubt about it, Alfred Donnerson was about to be the subject of Marco's personal investigation.

Sunday

After a chilly, rainy morning, the afternoon turned sunny and warm, so we took Seedy to the park for exercise. As we strolled along the path that circled the park, I said, “Did you notice how my mom avoided answering me after church today when I asked her what she's working on?”

“She answered you. She's working on the next book in her children's mystery series.”

“She wouldn't look me in the eye, Marco. We both know what that means. And she didn't come into the shop at all last week. Rosa said they're working on a project together, but she wouldn't say what it was, so once again I'm the outsider.”

Marco merely said, “Hmm,” and then tossed a stick for Seedy.

It wasn't his normal reaction. Something was on his mind, but I knew not to press him. He would talk about it when he was ready.

In the meantime, the sun was shining, the air was fresh, Seedy was happy, and I was determined to put all of my worries and frustrations aside so I could enjoy a nice afternoon with my husband. As we ambled along, I inhaled deeply and let out my breath with a
whoosh
, completely in the moment.

In my blissful state of oneness with the Universe, I sat down beside Marco on a cedar bench to watch Seedy romp with a friendly pup. Marco rested his arms along the back of the bench and said out of nowhere, “Donnerson has been divorced four times.”

It took me a moment to remember who Donnerson was.

“Four times, Abby. Four women couldn't stand him.”

“It seems more surprising that Alfie's been
married
four times. And honestly, Marco, it could've been the other way around. Maybe he couldn't stand them.”

“Does that make it better?”

“Isn't it possible he just never found his soul mate?”

Seedy loped up with a tennis ball in her mouth that she'd found somewhere, so I tossed it for her. “Go get it, Seedy!”

“He has five stepchildren from the last three marriages.”

“Okay. And?”

“He lied. He said he had no children. I'll bet my mom doesn't know that.”

“If she doesn't, it's because Alfie doesn't think the time is right to tell her. There's no reason to hide stepchildren from her. I still think your mom is savvy enough to know if Alfie isn't the one. Let that relationship develop or fall apart on its own.”

Seedy returned with the ball, so Marco got up to toss it for her. “Let's walk down to the pond. I want to see the pump.”

He'd changed the subject because he wasn't inclined to change his mind. I had a feeling it would come to a showdown between Marco and Francesca, and I didn't want to be there when that happened.

We couldn't find the pump until Marco went back to the house and got a pair of rubber boots so he could wade into the water to cut through the moss and the thick cattails that rimmed the north end of the pond. I stood on the mossy shoreline with Seedy, who kept tugging at her leash, wanting to go with him.

The pump was a cast-iron device that looked like a large spigot on the head of a thick pipe. “It's working,” Marco said. As he turned toward me his boot struck something and he nearly tripped. Reaching into the water, he pulled out a two-foot shovel. Seedy barked and wagged her tail, thinking he'd found a toy.

“Hello, you two!”

I turned to see Theda walking toward us, a hooded white cardigan draped over her shoulders. “Enjoying the beautiful afternoon, I see. What did you find there, Marco?”

As he waded out of the water, he held up the dripping two-foot-long wooden tool with a black handle and a shiny metal shovel.

“That looks like my garden spade,” Theda said. “How did it end up in the pond?”

I knew by Marco's expression he was wondering the same thing. “When did you lose it?”

“Oh, dear. Sometime this month. I used it to dig out the moss that was growing in the mulch around my lilac bushes. When I went to look for it in the garage last week it wasn't there.” She took the shovel from Marco and turned it around. “It's in remarkably good shape, isn't it?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Marco said.

Theda studied it a moment longer, her eyebrows drawing together. “I'm assuming it's mine, anyway. Where else would it have come from?”