“Boy, Bizzy”—Georgie shakes her head—“this makes the café look like a greasy truck stop in the middle of nowhere. No wonder vacancies are up. Our guests have headed for bluer pastures.”
Emmie nudges me with her elbow. “There she is! She’s seated at the bar. What’s our cover?”
The music picks up, and Georgie begins to clap wildly.
“Conga line!” She grabs ahold of a stranger, and soon an entire human chain is linked to her as they run around the dance floor screaming cha cha cha at the top of their lungs. Every eye in the place is on them, including that of Marigold's.
The brunette does a double take my way, and I waste no time heading in her direction.
“Bizzy?” Her mouth falls open with a dull laugh. “What are you doing all the way out here? I didn’t leave anything behind, did I?”
“Just a ghost,” I say, falling into the seat next to her, and Emmie takes the one next to me.
“Our crazy friend is here for the entertainment,” Emmie says, ticking her head toward the dance floor where those poor kittens are being jostled to the rhythm of Georgie’s happy hip tossing.
Marigold belts out a laugh. “Well, at least she knows how to live it up. I’ll tell you right now, that’s exactly what I hope to be doing at her age. Let’s just hope I don’t break a hip doing it.”
I nod. “Let’s hope Georgie doesn’t break a hip doing it. So I heard about the ghost incident.” I cringe as I say it. “That’s pretty scary. I’m sorry you had that experience. And I wish I had a reasonable explanation. The only thing I can think of is maybe one of the shutters outside of the windows came loose?”
“Nope.” She shakes her head emphatically as she takes a sip from her fruity drink. “The window was physically rising and falling. I’m telling you I couldn’t believe it myself.” She shudders just thinking about it.
Marigold is dressed in a black sequin blouse that catches the light every now and again and has a small matching clutch with her that probably costs more than my car. I’ve never been one to spend big money on purses, but it sure doesn’t stop me from admiring them.
The bartender comes by, and both Emmie and I order a virgin strawberry daiquiri.
Georgie swings by with that howling line of humanity behind her and dumps the kittens into my lap.
She bumps her hip to mine. “If the kittens can’t take the heat, they must take a seat!” She kicks out her hip and cha cha chas her way clear across the room in seconds as the crowd snakes along with her.
Marigold shakes her head at the sight. “I can see why she likes it here. She’s Ms. Popular.” Her expression melts as she spots the blue-eyed cuties in my lap. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, you sweethearts are so cute you should be illegal. Come here,” she says, plucking one out of my lap and Emmie takes another. “What are you going to do with them, Bizzy?”
“I’m sure I’ll find a good home for them, but until then they’ll continue to stay with me. My pets love them. How about you? In the market for a kitten or three?”
She tosses a glance to the ceiling. “I wish. But as soon as I saw them, I knew I couldn’t get near them. I’m highly allergic.” She makes a face at the one she’s holding. “And that’s exactly why I need to give you right back.” She hands the little cutie pie my way and almost instantly her eyes are watering, and it looks as if she’s been sobbing.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, quickly handing the tiny furry tots to Emmie. “I didn’t realize you were so allergic. I hope Fish didn’t bother you back at the inn. Fish is my cat, the one that sits at the reception counter.”
She waves it off. “She didn’t bother me at all. I’m fine as long as I’m not snuggling with them. And as you just witnessed, sometimes I can’t help myself.” She snatches up the small square of a napkin under her drink and quickly blows her nose, and Emmie kicks me.
You’d better speed this up, Bizzy, or she’s going to have to leave now that we’ve ignited her allergies. The next thing you know, she’ll have a headache.
I straighten at the thought because, of course, Emmie is right.
“Marigold?” I lean her way. “How well did you know Flint Butler?”
She blinks hard at the mention of his name. “Well enough to know he was a two-timer. Can you believe that sleaze put the moves on me?”
“No,” I say, mostly in disbelief, although seeing that he was already two-timing Ember with my own sister, this news shouldn’t surprise me.
“Yes,” she muses. “He’s as slimy as they come. I guess his profession is well-suited to him. My mother always said don’t trust a politician. She wanted me to marry well, but was wise enough to offer up a few caveats.” She giggles while toasting us with her drink.
Emmie leans in. “She sounds wise.”
“She was.” Marigold takes a long breath. “She passed last year, and the only family I have now is Warner.” Her eyes close a moment too long. And God knows he won’t be here for long. I’m going to be alone. She sags in her seat as she looks out at the dance floor. With nothing but conga lines in my future. And why is that woman wearing a quilt?
I shoot a quick look to Georgie. “Marigold, have you ever heard Flint or Ember mention anyone by the
