dessert showcase displayed next to the cashier. The revolving tiers of fruit-filled cobblers and whipped cream topped lemon and chocolate pies were spinning around and around, exactly how the carousel of my life felt right now.
"Let's place our order then I'll fill you in."
Our server materialized the minute our menus were set down. Her cheeks were as rosy as the apples dotting her crisp white apron. “Ladies, what will you have this bright sunny day?” she asked way too cheerfully.
Bet none of her dates drowned last night.
"I'll have two eggs lightly basted, with three slices of bacon, not undercooked but not burnt, and an English muffin, lightly buttered with butter, no margarine."
The waitress scribbled quickly to make sure she didn't miss any of my mother's precise order. You have to admire a woman who knows exactly what she wants. When she glanced at me I decided to go whole hog. “I'll have the crab benedict. Lightly sauced,” I added, with a grin.
She winked. “Yeah, right. I'll be back with a coffee refill."
Mother folded her arms against her chest. “All right, Laurel, no more delays. Tell me about last night."
I reflected back on the previous evening trying to decide where to begin. I commenced with Jeremy's arrival at my front door. I had just mentioned the high-end champagne when our server arrived with a huge tray loaded with our breakfast order. It looked like the eggs, bacon and muffins were all cooked to my mother's very specific directions. No wonder she kept coming back here for brunch.
"This Dr. Slater really seems like a catch. Perhaps I was too hasty in judging the Love Club.” She bit into her toast. “I can't believe he ordered Dom Perignon. Did you enjoy it?"
Did I ever. I nodded, the savory Bearnaise sauce dribbling down my chin.
"Did he ask you out again?” She poured some cream into her coffee, slowly stirring it while she waited for my response. I shoveled the crab benedict into my mouth, hoping she wouldn't expect an answer if my mouth was full.
"Slow down, dear. You're eating much too fast. Did Dr. Slater ask you to go out with him again?"
I swallowed a bite of crab. It was time to bite the bullet as well. “No, Jeremy didn't ask me out again. He isn't going to be available for me to go out with."
"Why not? Is he going out of town?” With the skill of a surgeon she precisely cut a piece of bacon and placed it in her mouth.
"No, Jeremy is uh, uh...” I couldn't think of anything else to say so I finished with, “dead."
Her eyes bugged out and she started choking. Ever the dutiful daughter, I grabbed her water glass and handed it to her. She swallowed a few sips, eyes contemplating me as she set the glass down. “Dead?"
I winced and nodded. She picked up her fork. The utensil hovered over her plate like a helicopter, finally landing on a bite of egg. I marveled at her calm, waiting for the barrage of questions to begin.
"Am I to assume Jeremy is the man who drowned in the river?"
"Yes, Mother.” I shared the details without a single interruption. She was either marvelously in control or totally in shock.
"Laurel, I must say I'm at a total loss for words.” In thirty-nine years, this was the first time I could recall my mother acknowledging such an event.
"Do you see any reason why it wouldn't have been an accident?"
"I can't imagine anyone intentionally pushing Jeremy in the river. It's a good thing I was in the bathroom when this occurred or I might be considered a suspect."
She sat there shaking her head. “Laurel, Laurel, Laurel."
"Mother, Mother, Mother,” I mimicked in reply.
She pursed her thin lips together. “This situation is far too serious to joke about. I hope you finally realize how foolish this Love Club idea is. Obviously they haven't screened their members. It's much too dangerous for you to go out with these strangers."
"Mother, you're making some rash assumptions. We don't know how or why Garrett was killed. And we still don't know if
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Karl Iagnemma
Celya Bowers
Jill Gregory
Aria Cunningham