Her lips tightened and she slapped a pat of butter on a bit of bread. “Well, Frazier’s the man who ruined my granddaughter’s life, isn’t he? Don’t think I’m saying Marilee hasn’t made the best of it, because she has. But that’s all water over the dam now, isn’t it?”
The words lay on the table along with the bread and butter and tea. I could pick them up and learn something very personal about Marilee that she probably didn’t want known, or I could mind my own business and stay ignorant.
I said, “I don’t know about that, Cora. To tell the truth, I never understood what that meant, water over the dam, under the bridge, whatever.”
“Well, it’s just too late, isn’t it? What’s done is done, and you can’t go back and undo it, can you?”
“I guess not. Uh, Cora, would you mind telling me how Marilee knew Harrison Frazier?”
“Well, yes, I would mind, dear. That’s personal and private business of Marilee’s, and I don’t go around telling my granddaughter’s personal and private business, now do I? Have some more tea.”
“No thanks. Can you tell me where she is? I really think I should contact her.”
“No, can’t tell you that, either. But here’s what I’ll do: If she calls me—and she usually does call when she’s off on one of these trips—I’ll tell her you want to talk to her. How’s that?”
“Cora, the Sheriff’s Department would like to know where she is. It isn’t just me.”
“Well, I’ll tell them the same thing I told you. I don’t know, and even if I did, I wouldn’t say, because that’s Marilee’s private business.”
“But you’re not worried about her?”
“Oh my, no. Marilee can take care of herself. I’ll say that for her, she can take care of herself.” She waved her arm toward the glass wall as she said that, presumably to indicate the vastness of the visible blue sky as a symbol of how well Marilee could take care of herself.
I said, “Marilee left the number of Shuga Reasnor to call in case of an emergency. Do you know Ms. Reasnor?”
“Oh my, yes, I’ve known her since she was a little bitty thing, only her name wasn’t Shuga then, it was Peggy Lee. Her mother was a fool for Peggy Lee, so that’s what she named her little girl. Poor little thing, that’s about the only thing her mother ever gave her. Her daddy wasn’t much better. Drunks, both of them. If I hadn’t fed Peggy, I think she might have flat starved to death. She’s done all right for herself, though. Last time I saw her, she looked like Miss Gotrocks herself.”
“You saw her lately?”
“No, it was several months ago. Marilee had picked up my heart pills at the drugstore and forgot to bring them to me before she left town, so Peggy Lee brought them to me. I told her she looked like a movie star. Between you and me, though, I don’t think that’s her own hair.”
“So she had a key to Marilee’s house?”
“Oh my, yes. Those two have always been in and out of each other’s house like it was their own.”
“Cora, did you know Marilee had her locks changed? I had to stop by and pick up a new key before she left.”
“Is that a fact? Well, no, I didn’t know that. But then, I wouldn’t, because I don’t have a key myself. The only time I go over there is when Marilee comes and gets me, so why would I?”
I was stumped. So far as I knew, Marilee hadn’t broken any laws or done anything wrong. If her grandmother didn’t want to say where she’d gone, she wasn’t obligated to do so. Furthermore, I was a pet-sitter, not a criminal investigator. I had already stepped over a line by coming here, and if I went any further, I would be getting into serious unethical territory.
I stood up. “I’d better go,” I said. “If Marilee calls, I’d appreciate it if you’d ask her to contact me. I’ve put her cat in a day-care center until the house is released, and I’d like to discuss that with her.”
“I’m sure whatever you’ve done is just fine.”
“Would you like me to put the tea things away before I go?”
“Well, if you don’t mind, dear, yes, I would. Things get heavier when you’re old.”
I set the teapot and mugs and plates on the tray and carried them around to the kitchen counter. The refrigerator door had notes attached by magnets, and there were several snapshots of a pretty dark-haired young woman.
I called, “Are these photos of Marilee when she was young?”
Through the open space above the bar, I saw Cora’s face close like a flower pulling its petals inward. She looked much older, and infinitely sadder.
“No, dear, those are not of Marilee.”
Her voice held such finality that I knew I had violated some unspoken rule by asking.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Oh, of course you did, but it’s all right. I’m not angry. I just can’t discuss what it isn’t my business to discuss, now can I?”
I reminded myself that I had no right to ask questions, and said my goodbyes, leaving her hunched over the little round table.
Downstairs in the lobby, I veered behind a couple of elegantly dressed women standing in front of the blinking activities display.
“Excuse me,” I said, “my grandmother is thinking about buying an apartment here. Could you tell me how you like living here?”
They turned and started talking at once, the gist of which was that the chef in the dining room put out a fabulous Sunday brunch, that there were always classes and workshops and outings planned, and that everybody who lived there was interesting. They could have done commercials for the place.
I nodded toward the blinking display. “I noticed that Dr. Coffey is going to do a talk about bypass surgery. Does he do that often?”
They sobered and nodded. “Yes, he does,” said one. “I suppose he’s operated on so many of the people living here that he needs to let us know that it’s available for us.”
I looked toward a tanned silver-haired couple striding out the door carrying tennis rackets. “Everybody looks awfully healthy. He can’t do that many bypasses.”
One woman fingered a string of cultured pearls at her throat and said, “Looks can be deceiving. Several people have been active one day and in the hospital the next. It’s really alarming.”
The other woman said, “Like Mary Kane. She had a big party for Sunday brunch, and that night she went into a diabetic coma. She just insisted on eating those cherry blintzes, and why not? She was eighty-five years old and she’d lived with diabetes for years and years. She knew what she could do and what she couldn’t do, but I guess that time she overdid it. Two days later Dr. Coffey did a triple bypass on her.”
I waited for the end of the story, and when neither of them volunteered it, I said, “And was it a success?”
“She never woke up. They had to transfer her to a hospital in St. Pete, and she was there for three months before she finally died. Dr. Coffey said she was just too frail to survive. Poor thing, and she never even knew she had anything wrong with her heart. All she knew about was her diabetes.”
“Almost the same thing happened to Mr. Folsom, remember? He seemed fine too, just complained of emphysema from smoking before he knew better. And then, boom, Dr. Coffey found four of his arteries blocked and had to do bypass surgery on him. He didn’t wake up, either, but he didn’t suffer as long as Mary did. He passed away just a few days after the surgery.”
They both fixed me with eyes frightened and resigned, while little warning bells went off in my head.