Diane Davidson - The Grilling Season

Frances swept a dark mass of frizzy hair off her forehead. “Know what, Goldy? You need a hobby.”

I said glumly, “Cooking used to be my hobby.”

“Naw, you need something else. It is like you’re being punished, you’re so obsessed with this case. You need to get some distance.”

I grabbed a box for the dirty breakfast dishes. “What would you suggest, Frances, doll collecting?”

She burst out laughing and jumped off the counter. “Now you’re punishing me.”

It took a solid hour to clean up after the breakfast. By the time I finished, I felt as drained as the empty silver coffee urn. But the breakfast had been a success. When the doors opened for the hordes waiting to get into the doll show, I was glad I could slip out the side exit and avoid the stampede. I hustled to my van. A phone call to the McCrackens wouldn’t do. I stepped on the gas and headed toward the country club. I wanted to see Patricia in person.

She was pushing Tyler the Terrible on their swing set constructed on the sloping backyard beyond the driveway, scene of the infamous roller hockey game. For a moment I stood watching them, unobserved. It had been a long time since I’d seen Patricia look happy. Her face was relaxed, her arm movements enthusiastic and graceful. She and Tyler were wearing matching navy sweatsuits. With each tug on the ropes she cooed to her son, a blond little fellow whose round face and squeals of laughter showed he was loving every minute. I almost hated interrupting them. On the other hand, unlike Patricia, my son was estranged from me, and I had information to gather before Arch and I could be reconciled.

“Howdy!” I called, and stepped carefully down the embankment. “I was in the neighborhood! Thought I’d stop by!”

Patricia smiled unenthusiastically and allowed the swing rope to go slack, which caused Tyler no end of grief.

“Keep swinging,” I told her, once I was beside her. “Don’t disappoint him.”

Obediently, she started pushing again, but less energetically, so that Tyler again squawked.

“Do you want me to do it?” I suggested. “I felt bad about not being able to talk to you yesterday when you called. So I just thought I’d come by. Sort of for an update.”

She brightened and moved aside so that I could push Tyler, who gave me only one command: “Really hard, okay? Really hard.”

“Okey-doke,” I agreed, and gave him a good push as Patricia flopped onto the grass, watching us. Tyler squealed with delight. “Hey, buddy!” I called to him as he lofted up over the hill. “I’m a swing pusher from way back! I’m the queen of the swing pushers!” I gave him another vigorous shove and he yelped happily.

“Be careful,” Patricia cautioned. “One of the reasons I’m here is that I want you to be careful,” I said in a normal voice so as not to frighten Tyler. “John Richard is out on bail. And now he’s disappeared.”

She lifted her pale eyebrows. “I took tae kwon do before I got pregnant and after I got out of the hospital. Have a red belt, black stripe, now. I can take care of myself. What’s the other reason you’re here?”

“Well, I was just thinking about John Richard’s finances.”

She wrinkled her rabbitlike nose. “He had to auction the condo just… what? In the last ten days.”

“But why auction it at all? See, he hadn’t gotten news about his bonus yet – “

Patricia perked up. “Bonus? Did he not get a bonus from ACHMO?”

“Apparently not.”

Patricia’s grin was wide. “I may be able to use that in my suit.”

“Anyway, I’m just wondering…” I gasped from the exertion, but Tyler crowed with delight. “You said you’d give me the details at the hockey party, but everything got so crazy…”

She smiled wickedly. “Oh, I do know why he had to auction the condo, Goldy. My husband said it was almost as if I’d planned it, so I could make Korman miserable.”

I inadvertently stopped pushing and the swing knocked me in the abdomen. I recovered, but Tyler howled. I pushed again, a tad more moderately. “Why did he have to auction off his condo?”

She squinted at me. Keeping track of Tyler’s trajectory so I wouldn’t get whacked again, I couldn’t return her look. “Because of his legal bills. Have you ever been sued?” When I shook my head, she said, “You’re looking at ten thousand just to get started. At least fifty thou to keep your lawyer going. Sure, he had malpractice insurance, but it didn’t cover everything, not by a long shot. He just didn’t have the cash he needed.” She plucked a piece of grass from her pants. “I was so happy when they auctioned off that condo, you can’t imagine.” She chuckled, then stood and brushed the rest of the grass from her pants. She walked over to spell me with the swing pushing. “Goldy, listen. I may wish I were God,” she said very deliberately. “Unfortunately, I’m not. But let me tell you. John Richard Korman hasn’t begun to suffer for what he did to me. And he won’t be able to escape, no matter how hard he tries.”

As if in agreement, Tyler emitted an earsplitting yowl. I fled.

I called Macguire from the cellular once I’d roared out of Patricia’s driveway. To my astonishment, he answered on the first ring.

“Goldilocks’ Catering!” He brightly launched into my official greeting. “Where Everything Is Just Right! Whaddayawant?”

“Macguire! Please don’t say ‘whaddayawant?’ to potential clients. It sounds unprofessional.”

“Oh, Goldy! Sorry! No problem. Listen, I’m chopping all these vegetables. They look good, too! Think you should slip a little chlorophyll into the filling?”

“No,” I said firmly. “Listen, did Arch call?”

“No, but that therapist’s office called you back and said everyone’s on vacation. You want a therapist for Arch, you’re going to have to use a referral to someone in Denver.”

Great, I thought. First, of course, I’d have to convince Arch to come home.

“Also,” Macguire went on, “Mrs. Druckman called. She’s taking Todd and Arch down to the Natural History Museum. Oh, and Marla called, too. She was on her way to Denver to see ReeAnn, wanted you to come have lunch with her, just so you could relax! But it’s too late now, she’s gone.”

“That’s okay, I’ll come home.”

“No, don’t! Let me finish what I’ve got going here. If you come home, you’ll just mope around about Arch. You should go out for lunch! How about Aspen Meadow Barbecue? My buddies and I think it’s great. Plus, you’ve got that dinner tonight, you might as well get some food now! Have a bowl of chili and a beer! Relax and leave the chopping to me!”

“Macguire – “

“Oh, oh, scrrk, scrrk” – he started making fake squishing noises-“you’re breaking up, you know, it’s those scrrk scrrk cellular phones scrrk!” And he disconnected.

“Macguire,” I said to the dead phone, “I’ve seen you do this trick before.” But I smiled anyway and dutifully headed the van in the direction of Aspen Meadow Barbecue, famed creekside hangout of construction workers, truck drivers, wannabe cowboys, and assorted tough guys, all of whom had the single-minded intention of getting completely smashed at lunch. An outdoor dining area separated the hard-drinking crowd inside from tourists and the occasional brave group of ladies coming for a luncheon get-together on the water. The last time Marla and I had eaten there, she’d told me that the de rigueur item for the crowd inside was extra hot chili consumed with shots of tequila.

But Marla wasn’t with me today, I remembered. I sighed. Did I really want to have lunch out alone? Macguire was doing the prep for the dinner tonight, and I could use a break. Across the street from Aspen Meadow Barbecue was a banner draped across the wooden sign of Aspen Meadow Nursery. It advertised a perennial-and-bush sale. I thought of Frances’s admonition: You need a hobby. Well, maybe I’d go scope out the shrubs before braving the rough lunch crowd at Aspen Meadow Barbecue.