Page 82 of Playing With Fire

Lives well lived in spite of the burden they carried. And enough grace to reach out to others without judgement.

There was a flurry of murmured farewells.

Ricky knew that this was not over for any of them. Would never be over.

“You keep in touch now Ricky. And we mean to see your folks as often as we can.”

Ricky smiled politely. Molly’s eyes turned serious.

“I mean it, son. We are all family now. And we aim to keep it that way.”

***

There’s nothing quite like a cronut and a double strength cappuccino with extra chocolate for smoothing over an awkward moment, and that’s what Ricky was depending on when he steered Jodi towards Bean & Co.

Alma, who had somehow wangled a visit to Jodi’s apartment Sunday morning after early church, clung to Jodi’s hand and chatted brightly about how she and Gramps had almost fooled that mean Bonnie Browning.

Ricky threw Jodi a sideways glance. She was a little pink, though he couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment at the exposure of their sneaky maneuvers at the retirement village or awkwardness about his quick departure last night.

Molly’s words still echoed in his head.

We are all family now. And we aim to keep it that way.

The hiss of coffee machines and the babble of conversation hit them as soon as Ricky pushed open the heavy glass door, followed by a wave of warm, cinnamon-scented air and the fusty smell of damp jackets, scarves, beanies, and gloves.

Jodi and Alma squeezed into a corner table and Ricky joined the queue at the counter. Minutes later the waiter arrived with a tray laden with what Ricky hoped was an appropriate amount of comfort food and caffeine.

Jodi inhaled, humming with pleasure. Her stiff shoulders relaxed a little.

“Yummmm...someone should bottle that smell.” She nibbled sticky pastry. Ricky watched, mesmerized as her tongue captured a sugary crumb from her upper lip.

Her gaze narrowed.

He chose a cronut hastily and stared at it as though seeking a higher meaning. “Mmmmm.”

“So, Ricky, did you find anything interesting? That you can share with us mere civilians.” Not surprisingly, her eyes held a polite reserve.

Ricky took his time tearing off a chunk of pastry.

His normally calm brain, so versed in compartmentalizing, was buzzing with images and emotions. Sharing the secret which he had been carrying for so long had been...well, cathartic, he supposed—but now Ricky felt a sudden and alarming urge to download the whole mess to Jodi.

Right now, right here. With Alma cocking an inquisitive ear, and a good chunk of Temple Mountain’s coffee-drinking social-media savants within elbowing distance.

Yes, he wanted to say. I went searching for the truth and I found it.

But Lioba deserved a better, more private space.

He looked up. Jodi was watching him, her expression unreadable.

Ricky forced a smile.

“Interesting? Not really. Stuff you would find in anyone’s shed. Garden junk, sporting junk, camping junk.” He shot Alma a wary glance. “Looks like the same MO. Which is kinda suspicious. Who eats pizza in a garden shed? And those matchbooks? Might as well have a sign saying ‘clue’.”

Alma looked up. “MO. That’s what they say on CSI. It means the way someone does the murder, like with an axe or poison.”

Ricky blinked. “That’s correct, Miss Scarlett. And none of it is evidence. Merely speculation.”

Alma looked puzzled. “That’s not my name. And what’s speculation?” She continued with her methodical dissection of a cronut.

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