Whiskey Beach Part 37

"She's going to stick needles in people?"

"She's studying how to. She likes taking care of people. Even the jewelry she makes is to help you feel better, happier."

He had questions. A lot of them. And considered how to ask without moving it toward cross-examination mode. "She's managed that variety in a short amount of time. She hasn't lived here that long."

"Going on three years, from Springfield. You should ask her about that sometime."

"About what?"

"About Springfield." Eyebrow c.o.c.ked, Maureen nipped into a nacho. "And what you'd like to know."

"So, what do you think about the Red Sox's chances this year?"

Maureen gave her husband a gimlet eye as she picked up her gla.s.s of red. "More subtle than just telling me to shut up."

"I thought so. n.o.body I like talking baseball with better than your grandmother."

"She's a fan," Eli said.

"She can reel off stats like n.o.body else. You know I get into Boston every couple weeks. Do you think she'd be up for a visit?"

"I think she'd like it."

"Mike coaches Little League," Maureen explained. "Hester's a non-official a.s.sistant coach."

"She loves watching the kids play." As the band took a break, Mike caught Abra's attention, circled his finger in the air for another round. "I hope she gets back for at least part of the season."

"We weren't sure she was going to make it."

"Oh, Eli." Maureen closed her hand over his.

He'd never said that out loud, he realized. Not to anyone. He wasn't sure why it had come out now, except he had all these new images of his grandmother in his mind, images he'd missed. Yoga and Little League and pencil sketches in a bar.

"The first few days ... She's had two surgeries on her arm. Her elbow just ... shattered. Then her hip, and the ribs and head trauma. Every day, touch and go. Then when I saw her yesterday-" Had it only been yesterday? "She's up and using a cane because walkers are for old ladies."

"That sounds like her," Maureen concurred.

"She lost so much weight in the hospital, and now she's filling out again. She looks stronger. She'd like to see you," he said to Mike. "She'd like you to see her when she's doing so much better."

"I'll make a point of it. Are you telling her about the break-in?"

"Not yet anyway. There's not a lot to tell. And I'm wondering how many times whoever was in there last night has been in there before. If he was there the night she fell."

As Eli lifted his beer to drain it, he caught the look Mike and Maureen exchanged.

"What?"

"That's exactly what I said when we heard about the digging." Maureen gave Mike an elbow poke. "Didn't I?"

"She did."

"And he said I read too many mystery novels, which is impossible. You can never read too many books, any kind."

"I'll really drink to that." Still Eli just turned his gla.s.s in circles as he studied Maureen. "But why did you think it?"

"Hester's ... I hate using 'spry,' because people use that for old people, and it's almost insulting. But she is. Plus, I bet you've never seen her in a yoga cla.s.s."

"No, I haven't." And wasn't sure his mind could take it.

"She's got great balance. She can hold a tree pose, and Warrior Three, and ... What I'm saying is she's not wobbly or shaky. Not that she couldn't have fallen. Kids fall downstairs. But it just didn't seem like Hester."

"She doesn't remember," Eli commented. "Not the fall or even getting out of bed."

"That's not unexpected, right, not after hitting her head that way. But now we know you've had somebody sneaking into the house who's crazy enough to dig in the bas.e.m.e.nt, I wondered about it. And whoever it was who broke in put some bruises on Abra. If she hadn't fought back, known what to do, he could've hurt her more. If he'd do that, he might've scared Hester or he might've even pushed her."

"Round two!" Abra carried the tray to the table. "Uh-oh, solemn faces."

"We were just talking about Hester, and the break-in last night. I wish you'd stay with us for a couple nights," Maureen fretted.

"He broke into Bluff House, not Laughing Gull."

"But if he thought you could identify him-"

"Don't make me agree with Mike."

"I do not read too many mysteries. I read your short stories," she told Eli. "They were great."

"Now you leave me no choice but to get this round."

Abra laughed, gave him the tab. She ran a hand casually over his hair, left it on his shoulder.

Maureen gave Mike a light kick under the table.

"Maybe Eli could come talk to our book club, Abra."

"No." He felt panic lodge in his throat, gulped some beer to loosen it. "I'm still writing the book."

"You're a writer. We've never had a real writer at book club."

"We had Natalie Gerson," Abra reminded her.

"Oh, come on. Self-published poetry. Free verse. Terrible self-published free-verse poetry. I wanted to stab myself in the eye before that night was over."

"I wanted to stab Natalie in the eye. I'm taking five," Abra decided, and leaned a hip on the table.

"Here, sit down." Eli started to rise, but she just nudged him down again. "No, I'm good. Eli never talks about his book. If I were writing a book I'd talk about it all the time, to everyone. People would start to avoid me, so I'd seek out complete strangers and talk about it until they, too, avoided me."

"Is that all it takes?"