“Ma!” Marge interjected.
“Food! I was gonna say food!”
“I think it’s great,” said Scarlett. “This spaghetti is to die for, Chase. It really is.”
“Stick around a couple of days,” Gran muttered. “You might just get what you want.”
“So what’s going on with the Pink Lady?” asked Charlene, eager to change the topic of conversation. She might be a big fan of her boyfriend, but of her boyfriend’s mother, not so much. But then Gran has that effect on a lot of people.
“The Pink Lady is now safely tucked away where no one will ever think to look,” said Odelia.
“In our bedroom, behind the portrait of my gnome,” Tex volunteered.
“Dad!” Odelia cried. “You can’t tell anyone that!”
“Yeah, Tex, what’s the point of all this secrecy if you’re going to blab about it to anyone who will listen?” asked Uncle Alec with a frown.
“I’m sorry,” said Tex, his cheeks a little flushed. “We’re all friends and family here, though, right?”
“Still,” said Uncle Alec. “The walls have ears, buddy. So better keep it under wraps, okay?”
“Fine,” said Tex as he settled back in his chair and took another swig from his wine.
“Max, don’t you think it’s strange that Tex is drinking wine?” asked Dooley.
“And why is that?” I asked.
The four of us were ensconced on the porch swing, our usual spot when the family gathers together of an evening.
“Well, he’s a doctor, isn’t he? And shouldn’t doctors set a good example by not drinking and not smoking?”
“It’s just one glass of wine, Dooley,” said Harriet. “There’s no harm in that, is there?”
“He’s already on his second glass,” said Dooley, “and look, he’s pouring himself a third one!”
“So? One or two glasses won’t hurt anyone.”
“Dooley is right, though,” said Brutus as he studied the doctor closely. “This is already his third glass of wine, and yesterday he drank four during dinner, and he drank a beer while we were watching that Marvel movie together, the one about the guy who looks like a flea. He’s either called Superflea or Fleaman—not sure.”
“I really can’t tell those Marvel movies apart anymore,” said Harriet. “To me it’s just one big movie, and a very boring one. I’d much rather watch something with an actual story. Something romantic.”
And while Harriet and Brutus discussed the merits and demerits of Marvel movies, I watched Tex take a sip from his third glass of wine, then take another, bigger sip, and finally, while he thought no one was looking, drain the whole glass in one go!
“I think Tex is an alcoholic, Max,” said Dooley now, who’d watched the same spectacle unfold. “I think he’s one of those closet alcoholics, the ones nobody knows are alcoholics until it’s too late.”
“Do you really think so?” I asked as Tex grabbed hold of the bottle and poured himself a fourth glass!
“They call them functioning alcoholics, on account of the fact that they can keep functioning as if nothing is wrong, but meanwhile they’re hiding bottles of liquor all over the house and taking sips whenever they think nobody’s watching. I’ll bet that Tex has a bottle of Johnny Walker tucked away in the bottom drawer of his office, and in between two patients he takes a snifter.”
I laughed.“A snifter! Where did you pick up that word, Dooley?”
“General Hospital,” said Dooley proudly. “Doctor Franklin was a closet alcoholic, until one day he was so drunk he accidentally took out a person’s liver while he should have taken out his spleen—or was it the other way around?”
“You can’t just take out a person’s liver or spleen, Dooley,” said Harriet. “Everybody knows that.”
“Yeah, you can’t take out a spleen or liver without putting another one in its place,” said Brutus.
“Well, he took out something he shouldn’t have taken out and the person died and that’s how everyone found out he was an alcoholic. And if Tex isn’t careful, the same thing is going to happen to him.”
We all stared at Odelia’s dad now, whose face was flushed, and even his crop of white air had a pink tinge—or maybe I was simply seeing things.
“I think we need to organize an intervention,” said Brutus. “Because Dooley is right. Doctors and alcohol don’t mix. What if he accentually kills a person on his operating table?”
“Tex doesn’t operate,” I pointed out. “He’s not a surgeon.” But Brutus was right. If Tex was turning into one of those closet alcoholics, an intervention probably wasn’t a bad idea.
“First we need proof,” Brutus continued. “We can’t just go around accusing the guy of being an alcoholic. We need to dig out his bottles and show them to the others, otherwise they won’t believe us.”
“Huh,” I said. “That’s an excellent idea, Brutus.”
“Why, thank you, Max,” said our friend, looking inordinately pleased with this compliment.
“So what’s going to happen to the Pink Lady now?” Charlene was asking. The topic seemed of particular interest to her, which wasn’t that strange, since the discovery of a million-dollar diamond on her beach had stirred up quite a big ruckus in town.
“I called around,” said Uncle Alec, extensively wiping his lips and leaving red smudges on the white napkin, “and discovered that the insurance company that insured the Pink Lady is still in business. They’re sending a guy over first thing tomorrow to come and take a look at the stone. And then we’ll know more.”
“Were they happy?” asked Scarlett as she daintily lifted a single strand of spaghetti to her lips and bit off the tip, then chewed it with itty bitty movements.
“Happy? What kind of a question is that?” asked her friend. Gran had been watching the way Scarlett ate her spaghetti, and she was clearly not impressed.
“Well, I’m sure they never thought they’d recover the diamond. So the fact that the stone has been found after all those years must make them very happy.”
“They did sound pretty excited,” Uncle Alec admitted. “Well, as excited as those insurance folks ever get, of course. Sometimes I think they’re trained not to show any emotion. Either that, or their entire workforce consists of robots.”
“We’ll all know more tomorrow,” said Odelia. “We’re meeting with the insurance people. They’re bringing in an expert, isn’t that right, Uncle Alec?”
“Yeah, some kind of diamond expert who’ll make sure the stone is the real deal.”
“I just experienced the most amazing coincidence today,” said Marge as she darted a quizzical look at her husband, who was once again filling his glass—if I’d been counting right he was now on his fifth glass of wine!
“What coincidence, Mom?” asked Chase.
“Well, I was at the library, reading a book… about the Pink Lady! And not a non-fiction book either. This is a novel—a romance about a Sheikh and his wife, and how he gifted her the Pink Lady, and all the rest of the story. I’m only halfway through the book—it’s called The Sheikh’s Passion—but it’s very gripping. And then when I locked up the library, I met the book’s author! She was looking for me!”
“Oh, that’s right,” said Uncle Alec. “Dolores told me that some woman had called asking about the Pink Lady. So she sent her to the town librarian.” He rolled his eyes. “I swear to God, that woman is getting more loopy every day.”
“She’s not loopy at all, Alec,” said his girlfriend in a tone of censure. “Dolores did the right thing. Sending inquisitive people to the library is a fine practice, and one we can all learn from. In fact if more people would visit our library and read books instead of playing video games or being glued to their phones surfing social media all day and all night, the world would be a better place.”
“Hear, hear,” said Marge, and held up her hand, receiving a reciprocate high five from the Mayor.
“So what did she want, this author?” asked Scarlett, interested.