Page 132 of The Oscar Escape
“How do you know me, ma’am? What’s happening?”
Ms. Tipsy Teacup peered at her wrist like she was checking the time, but she wasn’t wearing a watch. “What’s happening? Why,doll, it’s wine o’clock at the Denver Cemetery. And you’re right on time.”
Chapter25
ARIA
Aria couldn’t take her eyes off the pastel-pink senior citizen with a teacup full of booze.
Meeting up with a drunk gal in a floppy hat who was old enough to be her grandmother sure as hell wasn’t a twist she’d expected. Then again, neither was stealing a delivery truck. In any case, it was safe to say there was absolutely nothing ordinary about the day.
“Wine o’clock?” Aria repeated, needing to make sure she’d heard the woman in pink correctly.
“Wine o’clock,Aria,” the sassy senior echoed before taking another sip. “Collect your things and follow me.”
How did this random woman know her name?
She tossed another glance at her parents’ headstones. “Did you send this lady?” she asked under her breath as she gathered the case, bonbons, and her notebook.
“It’s technically wine-spritzer o’clock,” the woman corrected, prancing across the lawn. “I’m nearly eighty-five years young. I was quite a good time back in the day. If my Anthony was still with us, he’d agree heartily. He’d say, ‘My Agatha can keep up with the best of them.’ Nowadays, the girls and I have to dial it back. You know, so we’re not pushing daisies anytime soon, like our beloved husbands. Hence, the spritzer part. But wine o’clock has a zippier ring to it, don’t you think, doll?”
Doll?
That was the second time the gal had dropped the term of endearment. Why did it sound familiar?
Aria didn’t have a second to process the thought. With her arms loaded, she could barely keep up with the fast-talking and fast-walking senior citizen. She followed the woman past the juniper hedge and spied a card table with four folding chairs—the kind people used for picnics or camping. Two of the seats were empty, and the other pair was occupied by a white-haired woman in a fuzzy blue sweater and another older gal with a jaunty camel-colored beret atop her auburn hair. Both women held teacups and were engrossed in conversation.
“Girls,” the woman in pink called. “Here we are, and we’ve got bonbons.”
The women halted their chitchat, lifted their cups, and clinked them together.
Aria took in the bottles of white wine and cans of club soda.
Was day drinking at cemeteries a thing?
“Sit, sit, sit,” the woman in pink said, settling into her seat.
Sit, sit, sit.
Aria peered at the empty chair as the woman’s words transported her to Havenmatch Island.
“It’s a chair, doll. It doesn’t bite.”
Aria eyed the woman. “Did you bring it for me?”
How the heck would three old ladies she’d never met be expecting her?
“It was supposed to be for our friend Lois, but she couldn’t make it. Hip replacement, poor thing. She’s tied up in physical therapy,” the woman in the fuzzy blue sweater explained as she topped off her teacup with wine. “Here, I’ll make you a spritzer.”
Aria set her notebook and the box of bonbons on the table. She rested the violin case against the chair leg, then sat with the violin and bow on her lap. “I might have to work, so I should pass on the wine part.”
Work—otherwise known as showing up to perform at the concert that would determine the trajectory of her career. Not to mention, the final numbers regarding her double-platinum status should be available around the time she was supposed to take the stage. No biggie. Just her family’s legacy on the line.
“I’d love a teacup of club soda,” she blurted, swiping a dainty cup from the center of the table while trying to ignore what was on the line.
“Club soda, it is,” Ms. Fuzzy Blue chimed. She cracked open a mini can of carbonated water and poured it into the cup.
The redhead in the camel beret hiccuped and plucked a chocolate from the box.
