Ricky’s malaise. Unfortunately, my dinner companions were less mobile, so they bore the full impact of the assault, their screams and cries attracting the attention of the entire boat.
I regarded them in disbelief. Ugh. They could kiss those clothes good-bye. I couldn’t even read their nametags anymore.
As the scene escalated into a full-blown shouting match, I realized that even though I’d failed to trick them into coughing up any new details about Charlotte’s death, I’d learned two intriguing facts: first, that Pete Finnegan had benefited hugely from the death of a fellow student fifty years ago, and second, if Ricky Hennessy had been able to throw a football half as far as he could hurl, he could have gone pro.
Six
We were loitering in the lobby along with other guests who were reading the schedule on the whiteboard, bugging the front desk clerk for brochures, and queuing up at the elevator. “Skin’s still there,” I said, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and giving her an affectionate hug. “But I think ‘piquant’ is restaurant code for hot. Like, ‘Yeow, my mouth is on fire’ hot.”
“No kiddin’?”
“I’m surprised Tilly didn’t interpret for you.”
“We got split up, so she ate with George and I ate with a fella named Peewee. Awful nice young man. He’s one of them reunion folks. He don’t live in Maine no more though. He lives in Arizona in one a them retirement communities.” She scanned the lobby. “That’s him over there by the front desk, gettin’ hit on by Bernice.”
I found Bernice locked in conversation with a guy who probably had to duck his head when he passed through most doorways—a big bear of a man with shaggy white hair and a jacket that wouldn’t zip over his stomach. I laughed aloud. “I see him, but I can’t believe his name is Peewee.”
“He grew.”
“Why is Bernice hitting on him? Is she on the prowl for husband number two?”
“
A lightbulb slowly brightened over my head. “My dinner companions mentioned that all you guys had been pestering them about Facebook. ‘Accosted’ was the word one of them used. So why the frantic push to collect more online friends?”
“You can’t never have enough, dear.” She whipped out her phone and fingered the touchscreen. “What’s their names? Maybe I don’t got ’em yet.”
“You don’t. They’re not interested in sharing their personal information with strangers from Iowa.”
“But I wouldn’t be no stranger if we was friends.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Okay, what’s this really about?”
She peeked at me over the tops of her wire-rims, her eyes sheepish, her voice resigned. “It’s on account’ve Bernice. She’s been so obnoxious braggin’ about how many Facebook friends she’s got that the rest of us decided to one-up her. So it’s kinda turned into a competition.”
I regarded her sternly. “That’s why you’re pestering the other guests? You’re trying to sign up more friends than Bernice on Facebook?”
She nodded contritely. “Yup.”
I gave her confession a moment’s thought. “I like it! So how are you doing so far?”
She snapped back into action like a brand new rubber band. “We got a lot a catchin’ up to do, but we been gainin’ on her.” She quickly consulted her screen. “I got forty-eight friends so far. Tilly’s got fifty-two. George has thirty-five.”
“And how many does Bernice have?”
She swept her forefinger across her screen. “Six hundred eighty.”
“WHAT?”
“Ain’t that somethin’? Bernice don’t got no friends except me, and sometimes even I’m on the fence, so how’d she come up with six hundred?” Her phone chimed. “Oh, boy. Incomin’ text message.” She read the screen. “It’s from Margi. She says everyone’s starvin’, so we’re gonna get some dessert. You wanna join us, dear?”
Even though I hadn’t gotten beyond the Chinese vegetable soup course, I wasn’t ready to face any more food this evening, not with Ricky Hennessy’s command performance still so fresh in my mind. “I’m looking forward to a long soak in a hot bath, and then I’m going to hit the sack.” I looked beyond the lobby proper to the French doors of the dining room. “Is the hotel dining room open for dessert?”
“Just a sec.” She typed my question and sent it off, then stayed focused on the screen as she waited patiently for a reply. “Margi’s good about gettin’ right back to me.”
“Where is she?”
“Right behind you.”
I turned around to find Margi standing by the revolving door, less than ten feet away, typing a message into her phone.
“She says the dinin’ room’s closed, so we gotta go someplace else.” Nana’s phone chimed again. “We’re s’posed to meet by the front door in two minutes.”
I glanced around the room. “That shouldn’t be too hard, considering you’re all standing within ten feet of the door already.”
“It’s nice to have a little cushion, dear. Takes some of the pressure off.”
As I ushered Nana toward the front entrance, Jackie pushed her way through the revolving door and swooped into the lobby like a rock star in search of an entourage, heels clacking and eyes gleaming.
“Well, would you look at that,” said Nana. “It’s that nice girl what you was married to.”
“Mrs. S!” cried Jackie, smothering her in a rib-crushing hug that pushed her wirerims off her nose and flattened her hair. “I waved to you at dinner.” She readjusted Nana’s glasses and fluffed her hair. “But you had your back to me, so you probably didn’t see me. So what did you think of the meal? Pretty awesome Asian fusion, huh?”
Nana gave her teeth a thoughtful suck. “Osmond said the rubber in the soup was a bit salty. Margi ate one a them slices a toast with the onions and said it bit back. And Bernice said cat food woulda tasted better. Don’t know if she was talkin’ about canned or dry.”
“But the Bang Bang Chicken, Mrs. S. Wasn’t it the best?”
“It burned the skin off my tongue.”
“Mine too!”
“And I don’t got no feelin’ in my lips.”
“Me either!”
“So what’d you like about it so much?”
Jackie paused, looking suddenly bewildered. “That it burned the skin off my tongue and left me with no feeling in my lips. I thought that’s what made it so good.”
Nana peered up at her, smiling indulgently. “You’re very tall, aren’t you, dear?”
“What did you do with Beth Ann?” I inquired when “lookalike Emily” failed to follow Jackie through the door.
Jackie tittered excitedly. “If all goes according to plan, she should be negotiating with the people from Maine right now.”
“About what?” asked Nana.
She bowed her head and cupped her hand over her mouth, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Our dinner companions expressed a keen interest in seeing the Red Light District at night, so they’ve offered Dietger a really big tip to take them on an unauthorized field trip. Beth Ann and I are trying to get in on the action.”
