I grinned. “Maybe you should get a computer and set up one of those matchmaking sites. You’d probably make a fortune.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, I don’t care for computers.”
“I’m right with ya, sister. As far as I’m concerned they’re totally unnecessary.”
“Oh, no, dear, they’re absolutely necessary. One day they’ll be all that’s left of us.”
I said, “Huh?”
She smiled. “When I was a little girl, in the field behind our house my daddy had an old apple orchard—well, that’s what he called it—it was really only about ten trees or so, but he was extremely proud of it, and we always had a nice crop of fresh apples. Every spring, just when the ground was starting to warm up, he’d take his old Louisville Slugger out there and bang away at all those tree trunks. He’d give each one of ’em at least ten good whacks. I remember asking my mother what in tarnation he was doing out there hitting those trees with a baseball bat, and she said, ‘He’s telling those trees their time is up!’”
She poured us both another cup of tea. “Well, I know what you’re thinking, but my daddy wasn’t crazy. He was just giving those apple trees a good scare. If you bonk the base of an apple tree with a baseball bat, its little apple tree brain thinks the end is nigh, so it puts all its energy into making as many apples as possible—every last one of them chock-full of seeds, filled with every blessed piece of information that old tree can think of. And when it’s dead and gone, somebody can plant one of those seeds and make a whole brand-new tree just exactly like the original. Believe me, there’s nothing a living thing wants more than to keep on living.”
“Cora, what the heck does that have to do with computers?”
“Well a computer is nothing but an apple seed.”
“Huh?”
“It’s the seed of Planet Earth, which is just a big living, breathing organism, if you ask me, and Mother Nature is busy loading it up with all the information in the world, all our books and languages and genetic codes and songs and religions, putting it all on a computer chip that keeps getting smaller and smaller and smaller. And then one day, when the earth is all used up and gone, some alien from outer space will be flying along and find that chip and take it home. All they’ll have to do is figure out the right soil to grow it in, and then there you go—they’ll re-create our whole world.”
She took a sip of her tea and winked at me over the rim of her cup.
I said, “Cora, that is hands down the looniest idea you’ve ever had. You better not go around saying that to too many people or they’ll lock you up in a funny farm.”
Her eyes sparkled. “That’s what they said to Galileo.”
I had to admit, what with global warming and oil drilling and ocean pollution, if the earth is a living thing, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it felt like somebody was beating it to death with a baseball bat, but Cora had already moved on to another subject.
“Sweetheart, there’s something else we need to talk about.”
I got a little nervous. There was a look in her eye that I’d never seen before.
She propped her elbows up on the table and folded her hands together. “Now, I told Kate Spencer that when I’m gone she can have my bread machine.”
I sighed. “Oh, come on. I do not want to talk about this.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to, Dixie. Now, Kate Spencer is a perfectly nice woman, but she can barely boil an egg, and she’s dumb as a box of flip-flops. And the woman’s ten years older than me anyway, so I don’t know where she got it in her fool head that she’ll still be here after I’m gone. So if something should happen, I want you to come straight here first thing. I want you to pack up that bread machine and take it home with you.”
“Cora—”
She held up one hand to stop me. “Now, I don’t want to hear it. You can give it to your brother if you want, but somebody has to make that bread when I’m gone or you’ll go jump off that bridge, and I don’t want that hanging over my head for all eternity. And another thing—I’m gonna hide my bread recipe in a shoebox under the bed. I want you to take that, too, and guard it with your life.”
“Alright already,” I said. “Let’s change the subject.” I slid Guidry’s letter closer to her. “What about this?”
“What about it?”
“Tell me what I should do.”
She looked out at the bay, and her eyes softened. There was a congregation of yachts and sailboats anchored in the middle of the marina, and the water was glittering and gleaming in the sun like a big bowl of emeralds. As she took another sip of tea, a mischievous smile spread across her face, and her cheeks fractured into a million tiny, fine lines.
She said, “You should damn well grow up is what you should do.”
23
There had been another quick afternoon thunderstorm, which seemed to have cheered up the Caesar weed and spike sedge growing through the cracks in the redbrick drive at the Silverthorn Mansion. They looked a good foot taller than they’d been on my first visit, and the big marble fountain in the center of the courtyard was filled to the brim with fresh rainwater. As I walked by, a bright green frog pulled itself up onto the fountain’s rim and eyed me with unveiled contempt.
I looked at my watch. Perfect timing. Mrs. Silverthorn had asked, well, more demanded, that I arrive at four o’clock. I made my way up the cracked steps of the front entrance and was steeling myself for Janet’s down-in-the-dumps greeting when she opened the door and stepped out. She seemed genuinely startled to find me there, but before I could say anything, Mr. Silverthorn stepped out behind her.
I could swear they were both wearing the exact same clothes they’d worn on my first visit to the mansion. Standing there together, they looked like the couple in that American Gothic oil painting, except instead of a pitchfork, Mr. Silverthorn was holding an old, rusty flashlight with a handle almost as long as a French baguette. Unlike Janet, he seemed genuinely pleased to see me. “Ah! Miss Hemingway, fancy meeting you here.”
I shook his hand and glanced at Janet. There was something markedly different about her—dark circles under bloodshot eyes with lines of worry across her forehead. She was listing slightly to one side, as if it took every ounce of strength she had just to stay on her feet.
Mr. Silverthorn cleared his throat and said, “Janet, won’t you please let Mrs. Silverthorn know that her guest is waiting downstairs.”
Janet nodded sullenly and disappeared inside, leaving the door open behind her.
He leaned in and whispered, “I gather you’re here to file a report on Cosmo.”
I gulped. This whole time I’d been operating under the assumption that my search for Cosmo was strictly undercover. “Umm, I…”
He winked. “Not to worry. Mrs. Silverthorn can’t keep a secret to save her life. She spilled the beans after the detective was here yesterday afternoon. I understand you’ve had a very productive week.”
“Well, I think I may have some good news.”
His face brightened. “Oh? Did you find our fugitive feline?”
“No, unfortunately, but it’s possible someone else did. You know the butcher shop two doors down?”
“Yes, of course, that’s one of our buildings.”
“Oh, right. Well, the butcher told me someone found an orange cat in the alley a couple of days ago.”
“Oh, good news, indeed.”
“Yeah, except the problem is it might not have been Cosmo. The main reason I went in the bookstore yesterday was I thought I saw something move inside, and then I noticed a cat print…”
His face fell. “Yes, the detective told us all about it. How ghastly for you. Luckily I managed to persuade the detective to omit the more unsettling details when she spoke to my wife, and I’d prefer you do the same. It would only worry her more.”