“General Hospital? Days of Our Lives?” I guessed.
“A new one. It’s called Tomorrow Ever After. The characters are so real, Lucille, they’re practically like family. I just love that show.” She put her hands on her hips and studied me. “You know, child, you lost too much weight while you were over there in France. How much do you weigh now, anyway?”
“I don’t actually know. I’m okay, though.”
“Can’t be more than a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet,” she said. “You need to put some weight on, Lucille. I think there’s one blueberry muffin left from this morning’s delivery. Better’n those cross-ants you got in France, too. Hampton Weaver wanted it when he was here earlier, but Lordy, that man must be close to three hundred pounds and lookin’ like a doublewide trailer, so I said, ‘Hamp, you put that muffin back and you get yourself on a diet, you hear me?’ So you take it, now, and you eat it. On me.”
Stiletto heels clacking like castanets on the wooden floor, she crossed the room. The blueberry muffin sat, on its own, in the glass cabinet where she kept the fresh bakery items she ordered every day. She wrapped it in a piece of white paper and handed it to me. “Now eat that.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She picked up a dish towel and polished imaginary fingerprints off the glass cabinet. “I heard that new winemaker of yours is over seeing Bobby Noland right now, trying to get him to speed up the investigation into poor ol’ Fitz’s death so you all can get back inside your winery.”
I coughed on a piece of muffin. “Mmmm.”
She eyed me. “So it’s true, then?”
I swallowed. “I don’t really know where he is right now. Where did you hear that?”
She stopped polishing and touched her hand to the back of her hair. “Why, from him. ’Course he didn’t actually say that’s where he was heading, but I know the receptionist over to the sheriff’s office. He’d called there a little while ago.”
“You still know everything about everybody, don’t you, Thelma?”
“Oh, I keep my oar in, Lucille. It’s what keeps me so young. People are so interesting, you know? And, of course, I just plumb love the socialism of my job.”
“I can see that.”
“He left here a few minutes ago,” she continued. “Nice-looking young fellow, except I wish he’d take off that jewelry. Worries me when a man wears a necklace and bracelet. Didn’t waste any time getting himself a girlfriend since he got here though, did he?”
“I beg your pardon?”
She smiled sweetly. “That dancer.”
“What dancer?”
“The one takes most of her clothes off.”
I stared at her. “Are we still talking about Quinn Santori? Our winemaker?”
“Who else?” She resumed polishing. “She works at Mom’s Place.”
“That night club on the way to Bluemont?” The joke about that particular strip joint was that all the men who went there told their wives or girlfriends they were going to “Mom’s,” which saved a lot of grief and questioning—until everyone wised up about their real whereabouts. “How did he meet her?”
“How do you think?”
“Oh.” He’d said he was headed over to Bluemont the other day when he took all our leftover food to the soup kitchen. He was probably going over to Mom’s for a little lunchtime…refreshment.
“She’s right pretty.” Thelma said. “’Course I’ve only seen her with her clothes on. She’s about your age, Lucille. I think at her place of work she goes by ‘Angel.’ Just one name, like some of those rock stars. Her real name is Angela Stetson.”
“Angela Stetson? I went to high school with her! She was really quiet. I don’t think I ever heard her say two words.”
Thelma arched her eyebrows, which was not a good idea since they disappeared under her orange fringe of curls. “Still waters, Lucille. Still waters.” She looked sly. “So what do you think about that?”
I’d finished my muffin and crumpled the white paper in my hands. “I think it’s his business who he sees. And hers. Do you have any batteries?”
“’Course I do. They’re over in hardware. What size do you need?”
“For a flashlight. D, I think.”
“Hardware” was all of half a row, just behind camping items, fishing lures, and ammunition. The other half of the row was seeds and greeting cards. You could get anything at Thelma’s, if you didn’t mind the lack of variety. We walked over to hardware.
“Here they are.” She handed me a package of batteries. “As long as we’re on the subject, what’s all this I hear about you and Gregory Knight? Is he trying to start a fire with you again, Lucille? And him sleeping with your sister, too. That boy has no shame. A regular Casablanca, he is, a real two-timer.”
Some government ought to hire this woman for serious under-cover work. Where had she heard that? “I don’t know what you heard but there is absolutely nothing going on between Greg and me.”
“Is that so? Well, let me tell you, my sources are the horse’s mouths themselves. I spoke to Gregory when he was in here this morning after getting off work at the radio station. He went redder ’n a tomato when I asked him. If that isn’t an admission of guilt, I don’t know what is.” She clacked over to the cash register leaving me to trail behind her while she rang up my sale in silence. Then she added her denouement. “I have it on good authority that last night he was seen in the throes of passion, kissing you for all the world to see.”
“Oh gosh, Thelma, it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“I knew it! You’re redder ’n a tomato, too, Lucille. You stay away from that boy.” She wagged a finger in my face. “He’s too dang good-looking for his own health and he knows it. I don’t like a person takes advantage of another. It isn’t right.”
“No, ma’am.” I started to move away from the cash register. “Thanks for the batteries and the muffin.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I know you’re looking out for me and I appreciate it. Really.”
“Well. ’Course I am.” Her voice softened and she seemed somewhat mollified. “But there is one more thing.”
“Yes?”
She put her hands on her hips and thought for a moment. “There’s something you need to know, child. I’ve been debating whether or not I ought to keep it a secret, but you know me. I believe it’s best if you just let it all hang out.”
“I know that.”
“You believe in the power of spirits, don’t you, Lucille?”
“As in alcohol? You mean wine?”
“I do not mean alcohol. I mean spirits. You know, communicating with…” She paused and looked significantly at me. “The Great Beyond.”
It wasn’t too hard to see where she was going with this. Years ago Thelma used to see a psychic over in Delaplane who happened to correctly predict that she would soon meet a tall stranger who had just come into a large sum of money and would ask her to marry him. She met the guy, all right. It’s possible he’s still doing time at some correctional facility in North Carolina for armed robbery.
“I believe in life after death,” I said carefully.
“Now, honey, I’m going to tell you something and I don’t want you to be too upset.”
“Okay.”
She clasped her hands together and leaned toward me. “I can’t be too specifical about details,” she said, lowering her voice, “but I have it on good authority that your mother is absolutely committed, I mean committed, to your hanging on to the house and the vineyard.” She straightened up and put her hands on her hips again. “What do you think?”
What horse’s mouth told her that? “How do you know this?”
“Oh, the spirits often use me as their medium. I have excellent psychedelic powers. Your mother told me herself when she paid me a little visit.”