“You could ask David for the money. I mean, he has a yacht.”
“We don’t call it a yacht. That’s pretentious. We just call it a boat.”
“The point is, he’s rich. Isn’t he?”
“Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he should pay your hospital bill.”
“You had me committed against—”
“Oh please, let’s not have this conversation again.”
“And now you expect me to pay for what you did.”
“I don’t expect you to pay for it. At least not the whole thing. Did you try negotiating? They’ll probably take ten thousand.”
That’s when I realized she knew; she knew I’d gotten a reward. Obviously, she didn’t know they’d taken taxes out, but still. Nor did she know I’d had my bank account garnished. She thought I had fifteen thousand dollars and wanted me to give it to the hospital. What was wrong with her?
“I can’t give them my money. I need a car—a car that I can drive cross-country. I’ll need car insurance, a security deposit for an apartment in L.A., and I’ll need money to live on until I get a job.”
“Oh, look at you, being all responsible.”
“No thanks to you.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s fair. You’re still here, aren’t you?”
“That’s the bar? That I survived?”
She got quiet for a moment, then said, “Fine. I’ll talk to your grandmother about paying the bill for you. Does that help?”
“It does.”
If nothing else, I had the pleasure of imagining their conversation. After I solved the murder, Nana Cole would try to talk my mother into paying the bill. In the meantime, my mother would attempt to talk Nana Cole into paying the bill. Priceless.
She launched into a long explanation of David’s business, which had something to do with weather futures. That elicited a ‘huh?’ from me, so she launched into an explanation of what exactly a weather future was. It had something to do with farmers hedging their bets against bad weather.
“He’s let me pick a few,” my mother said. “I’m good at it.”
“It sounds like gambling. Why not just go to Las Vegas?”
“Life itself is a gamble. Haven’t you learned that yet?”
Had I learned that? I wasn’t sure. I certainly felt like I’d been on the losing side of a few too many bets. But—
“Oh. I have to go. David needs me. We’re shoving off. I’ll call Mother in a week or two, I promise.”
Then she hung up on me. And I’d never had the chance to tell her I had a date with a hot, a very hot, doctor. Now I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. During the conversation, I’d been angry, hurt, triumphant, insulted, manipulated, and outright confused. All of which was typical for a five-minute chat with my mother.
Before I left the village to go home, I decided I’d stop at the Conservancy and talk to Bev. If I was going on a date Saturday night, I’d need someone to babysit (grandma sit?) my Nana Cole. I wondered if they’d made up.
The Wyandot Land Conservancy office was also on Main Street; well, sort of. It was actually on the back side of an old gray house that had been split up into offices. Basically, it was a tiny room that looked out on the parking lot in the back. Also in the building was a bookstore, Village Books, and a hairdresser, Hair Flare.
I drove down the alley and squeezed the Escalade into a parking space that was much too small. I did my best not to ding the car next to me when I opened the door. I can’t say I was successful.
Ignoring that, I let myself into the Conservancy’s office. Bev Jenkins was in her late fifties, with steel gray hair and sharp features. She was not thin but not overweight. Square would be the best way to describe her.
When she looked up and saw me, she said, “Oh thank God. You’re back.”
“I’m not back. Sorry.”
