As for managing the aftermath of Richard’s drinking spree? Faye called that Jeremiah’s job. She was so angry at both men that she dropped them off at the hotel lobby, parked the car, then used the back entrance so that she could get to the privacy of her hotel room without looking at them. But when she finally reached the door to her room, she paused at the door for a moment and turned away. Her new roommate, Yvonna, was sitting in there with Stephanie and Ayesha. She didn’t want to be part of their conversation, not until they were thoroughly tired of talking about Richard’s behavior. They should reach that point in…oh…four or five hours.
She turned away from the door and went back to the concrete staircase that had brought her to it. Checking to make sure that she wasn’t sitting on a tarry bit of old, chewed bubble gum, she settled herself on a handy stair and pulled out her phone. It told her that the barbecue debacle had only seemed to take up the whole afternoon. It also told her that she had no missed calls.
Halfway to the motel from Armand’s, she’d remembered that she hadn’t talked to her husband in twenty-four hours. When she was away from home, her habit was to call every night at bedtime, and he really deserved to hear from her more often than that now, considering that she was surrounded by a murder investigation. Well, at bedtime the night before, she’d been having an uncomfortable conversation with the man running that investigation, so calling Joe had slipped her mind.
The fact that she’d neglected to let her husband know that she’d survived a full day without falling prey to Frida’s killer was not the thing most disturbing for Faye at that moment. She was far more disturbed to realize that Joe, a practical man who didn’t pick fights over things like forgotten phone calls, hadn’t just pulled his phone out of his pocket and called her when she failed to check in.
But what did his failure to call her really mean? She was reasonably sure that it did not mean, “Go ahead and get murdered. See if I care.”
If she had to guess, she’d say it meant, “I can’t think of anything nice to say to you and I don’t want to argue.”
She studied her phone’s face for a moment, looking at the photo of Joe and the children that she used for wallpaper. If she put a video call through, she’d be able to see his face and she needed that badly. But she would also be able to see his fear and his anger, so she opted for an audio call instead.
It went straight to voice mail, which was no surprise. Joe always spent summer Saturday afternoons at the beach with his children and it would never occur to him to take his cell phone and let it interfere with the fun. Subconsciously, or mostly subconsciously, she had known this when she picked up the phone, so the call had been strategic. She’d reached out an olive branch without actually having to talk to her angry husband. The next move was up to him. Score one for the wife.
Still holding the phone and refusing to admit it was because she was hoping Joe would dial her right back and say, “I took the phone to the beach in case you called,” she stared at a large stain on her pants leg.
Peach pie. It was definitely peach pie. She wanted to lick her pants leg, just to get one last taste of Armand’s peach pie, which had been so good that she’d wanted to kiss him. She’d also intended to buy another piece to save for Kali, because she wanted to fatten the little girl up. And also because she was pretty sure that Armand would rather have her money than a kiss from a married woman with no plans to stray. Instead of giving him that money, she’d spent the next hour trying not to let Richard vomit on her, totally forgetting to buy Kali a piece of pie.
She was already planning to check in on Kali that afternoon. Should she go get the little girl and take her to supper at Armand’s Rib Palace? No, not when the little girl’s late mother had worked there. That would have been too weird.
Fortunately, she knew of another Memphis ritual that Kali had surely never experienced. There was no place in the world like The Peabody Hotel for a special afternoon with a child. Faye had taken her own kids to The Peabody’s Orlando branch for afternoon tea and some time with its famous in-house ducks, and it had been magical. How much better must the duck parade be here in Memphis, at the original Peabody with its Jazz Age opulence?
She looked at her watch. If she left now, she could spend a little time visiting with Laneer before taking Kali downtown. Should she do it?
Her phone told her that the Peabody didn’t serve tea on Sundays, making it a full week before she and Kali would have another chance to enjoy cream scones and cookies if they didn’t go that day. Faye decided to yield to impulse. But she’d have to hurry.
Here was a chance to sweep Kali far, far away from her problems to a place where children had tea parties and communed with live ducks, and Faye could think of no downside to that plan. As quickly as that, Faye made her decision and picked up her phone. First, she used it to make a reservation for tea. Then she dialed Laneer’s number.
“Can I borrow Kali for a while this afternoon? Yeah? Fabulous. I’ll see you in
