“Where
did you say we were going?” Lydia had
barely closed the passenger side door and belted herself in before she grabbed
the rearview mirror and adjusted it to frame her lower face.
“I
didn’t say. Yet. And I’m going to need that mirror.” Della felt a hot rush of blood to her face,
so she took a long breath and tried to think about that intriguing book she had
glanced at while waiting for Mr. Webster to come out of the attic with the
Castleton Dolly Madison dessert plate the day of the murder. Or death, if it wasn’t a murder. A bizarre title that promised to explain
the mysteries of the universe.
Everything is vibrating. Yes, the
theory of relativity is outdated and now we have strings and vibrations and…
what was the word?
But
the diversion didn’t silence the pawing sounds coming from her friend’s purse
as Lydia searched for her lipstick.
Della couldn’t bring herself to look over and check if it was just
lipstick lacking or the whole masterpiece, the beautiful masque. The jealousy was unwelcome. I have a right to be upset. I’m not the selfish one here. And I would never get in someone else’s car
and just take over the driver’s rearview to apply make-up!
“Sorry. I was on the phone with Jake and then I had
to feed Hadley and Zelda and—”
“It’s
okay. Look, I’ll fill you in and you can
let me know when you’re done.” Della had
softened at the mention of the feral kittens.
“How are the babies?”
“I
think they’re going to make it. Zelda is
still a bit thin and Hadley is skittish, but they’re on solid food now. I don’t know if I can part with them, but I really
do need to find homes.” Lydia
paused. She had made the transformation
from girlfriend to friend. But the work
of art was in progress and must be completed.
The eye liner came out of the handbag.
“Well,
that’s good to hear,” Della said. I
will not be guilted into taking on two more cats! “So to fill you in. We’re going to upper Cantrelle to talk to
Tabby’s niece and to some of the others on Parish Road 15. You’re the one who said we needed to do that,
remember? That they may know something
about the deal Sandra was trying to make to sell the old Gautreaux mansion?”
“Yes. I want to know who lives in the house right
across from the turn-off to Sandra’s.
You said it was an old lady?”
Lydia was becoming even more beautiful with the application of mascara.
“She’s
in her nineties, but still lives on her own and still drives,” said Della as
she wondered how many women put their lipstick on before doing their eyes. Was there a reason? Della wanted to know but couldn’t bear to
divert the conversation now that she had it back on the mysterious death of the
stranger at Tabby’s Kitchen last week.
Would their sleuthing pull up anything worthwhile? As Lydia returned the crème blush to her
make-up bag, and Della took back the rearview mirror and tried to put it back
the way it had been, a heavy silence descended on the women. Della felt a slight queasiness and wondered
how the two of them would be able to spot anything nefarious behind them on the
route.
and later, in another dimension...
Lydia: Well?
How’d we do?
Della: Not sure.
I can’t see her anymore. She
faded out. Last I saw she was looking up
whether it’s ‘passenger side’ or passenger-side.’ Or ‘passenger’s side.’ At least that’s an easier problem to solve than
whether the punctuation marks go inside or outside the apostrophes and quotes.
Lydia: Whatever.
That’s HER problem. And remember
she decided I’m a French teacher and not an English professor. Dieu merci! So... if I’m not needed for the time being
I’ll just go home and get ready for Jake.
He just texted he’s leaving the hospital.
Della: Yes. Well. I can’t tell you when you might be called
back. I’ll have to wait till I can see
her and right now she’s got the news on.
Lydia: Have you figured out what year it is?
Della: No, it fades in and out, just as she does. There’s some sort of virus spreading over the
planet and they all have to stay indoors and wear masks when they absolutely
must go outside.
Lydia: I did not sign up for this!! You told me this woman was attempting to
write a cozy mystery set some time in the recent past. I hate science fiction and you know it! I don’t need to know where she is now, just
get me out of this woman’s mind! I have
a whole life to live. I’m going to be so
happy if I ever get out of here! What’s
wrong? Why are you biting your lip? What do you know that I don’t know? Is it about Jake? Don’t look away!
Della: I’m so sorry Lyddie. Don’t cry.
I’ll make us some tea. We can go
to Tabby’s for scones. Won’t that be
nice?
Lydia: Don’t condescend to me Della
Francis! I am a real character, even if I don’t have a last name.
Della: Of course you are real. I can tell you this. Might make you feel better. I’ve seen some notes for the next story in
the series, and YOU are the main character.
In other words, you’ll have to solve the murder, uh, and I hope you
don’t mind, but Jake will not be in the rest of the series.
Lydia: (!!!!!)
What am I missing? 
