Last Scene Alive

I calmed down as I shopped, the familiar ritual and the renewed attentiveness of Mignon and Miss Joe Nell combining to make me feel once again that I had a legitimate place in the world.

Hmmm. Was I just full of sour grapes at not being Top Dog? Was I way too used to having people treat me with a little deference and a little extra attention because I was well-heeled and a widow?

Just could be.

A life unexamined is not a life lived, I reminded myself, and resolved to be a little less stuffy and a lot less grudging about the excitement the filmmaking was bringing to Lawrenceton. Maybe, despite my legitimate gripes about the movie's being made at all, what I was really doing was... pouting. Hmmm, indeed.

I left with a nice bulky bag and lots of news about Amina, since Miss Joe Nell and her husband were just back from a trip to Dallas to see Hugh, Amina, and their two-year-old, Megan, who was being taught to call me Aunt Roe.

Spending money always makes me feel better, so I drove to my lunch engagement with Sally Allison with a lighter heart. Sally was waiting in the foyer of the restaurant, wearing her usual solid colors—today she sported a bronze silk blouse under a tan pants suit—and groping in her huge shoulder bag. She pulled out a phone and dialed while I watched. Holding up a finger to let me know she'd just be a minute, Sally told her adult son Perry to be sure to take his clothes by the cleaners that day. I raised my eyebrows, and Sally had the self-awareness to look a little embarrassed.

"Once a mother, always a mother," she said after she'd hung up.

"Let's get in line, unless you want to call someone else?"

"No, I'll turn it off during lunch," she said bravely, and pressed a button. "When are you going to join the twenty-first century?"

"I have a cell phone. I just don't turn it on unless I want to call someone."

"But... but... it's to use!"

"Not if I don't want to," I said.

Sally clearly loved her cell phone and, since she was a reporter, I could see that it would be a valuable tool for her. But to me, it was just a nuisance. I got too many phone calls as it was, without arranging for a way to get more.

Sally told me all about Perry's new girlfriend as we moved down the line. I got my tray from the stack, and my silverware, and ordered ice tea and beef tips over rice. I got my number and looked for a free table while Sally ordered. Beef ‘N More seemed quite crowded, and I wondered a little at that—but it was a popular place, especially with the noon business crowd.

"See, these are movie people," Sally hissed as she unloaded her tray and put her receipt faceup where the waitress could spot it when she brought our food. "Isn't this something?"

Even Sally, the toughest woman I knew, was dizzy with excitement about the damn movie. I remembered my good resolutions, and I managed not to look sour.

"Where are they all staying?"

"The Ramada out by the interstate, most of them," Sally said after she put down her little packet of sweetener and stirred the powder vigorously into her tea. "That Celia Shaw has the Honeymoon Suite. But the director—-Joel Park Brooks—is renting Pinky Zelman's house. I hope Pinky's asking a lot of money, because I bet it won't be in any great shape when he moves out." Sally looked a little pleased, as if the prospect of writing a story about the director's damage to Dr. Pincus Zelman's house was a treat Sally had in store.

Clearly, Sally was seeing stories, stories just lining up to be written. What a bonanza this was going to be for the Sentinel.

"Are you going to watch them filming?" I asked.

"Every chance I get. And they've hired me as a consultant." Sally flushed with pride.

"That makes sense. You did the best series of stories on the murders, after all." Those stories had nearly bumped Sally up to a bigger paper in a bigger city, but somehow it just hadn't happened. Now, Sally was in her late forties, and she no longer expected that someday she'd leave Lawrenceton, as far as I could tell.

"Thanks, Roe." Sally looked pensive for a moment, her square, handsome face crumpling around the eyes and mouth. "At least," she said, less cheerfully, "now I can finally finish paying all Perry's hospital bills."

"That's great." For the last few years, Perry had been doing very well, but I knew the bills for his treatment had been staggering. Sally had been whittling away at this debt. "Can we have a bill-burning, or some kind of celebration?"

"I'd love it, but it would make Perry feel bad," she said regretfully. "He hates to be reminded of the cost of all that help I gave him. As if I grudged it. It was worth every pe

"Did Perry pay for any of it?" I regretted the question as soon as it left my lips.

"No, it was my bill, and I paid it," Sally said, after a moment's hesitation. "And don't you say one word about it, Aurora. Perry's a young man; he doesn't need any burdens. He needed to put all his resources into the effort of getting well and staying well. And getting married!"

I clamped my mouth shut. After a moment, I asked Sally how her chef salad was.

And that was the way it went the rest of the meal. We stayed superficial.

In addition to Catherine's old car, there was a black Taurus parked in my driveway. The rental company must specialize in Tauruses. Tauri? Sitting on its gleaming hood was Robin Crusoe.

I got out of my car slowly, uncertain about how I felt about seeing Robin again after all these years. I'd forgotten how tall he was, at least six three. And he'd filled out quite a bit. I remembered Robin as being weedy thin when he'd lived in my mother's townhouse. His hair was as bright a red, and his mouth as quirky, and his nose was the same sharp beak. He was wearing dark glasses, which he whipped off and stuck in his pocket as I approached. He stood—and stood, and stood. I put the Great Day bag on the ground, and kept walking toward him, and he held out his arms. I walked right into them. I wrapped my own around him.

Robin said, "I didn't know if you'd throw something at me or not."

"It was a toss-up," I admitted. I leaned back to look up at his face. "I've been brooding and pouting."

He smiled down at me, and I smiled back. It was hard to resist smiling at Robin.

"How was L.A.?" I asked.

Robin's mobile face darkened and all of a sudden he seemed ten years older. "Unbelievable," he said. "I learned a lot. The thing is, I didn't want to know most of what I learned."

"You'll have to tell me all about it." I recalled his changed circumstances, his relationship with Celia Shaw. "If you have any free time, that is." I released him and stepped back.

"Will you show me your house?"

"Yes." I unlocked the door and punched in the security code. I half-expected Robin to say something about the security system, but he must have gotten accustomed to them while he lived on the West Coast.

"Catherine!" I called. "I'm here with a friend."

"Hey, Roe," she called from upstairs. "I'm just about done."

Robin looked at the bright kitchen, done in cream with orange touches, and went into the hall, admiring the built-in bookcases and the hardwood floors. The den, which was warm in dark blue and deep red, drew a compliment, and the dining room and living room got a nod. There was one smallish bedroom downstairs, and he glanced in its door.

"What's upstairs?" he asked.

"Two bedrooms and a small room Martin kept his workout stuff in," I said.

"I'm sorry, Roe," Robin said.

I kept my gaze averted. "Thanks," I said briefly. "Would you like to see the patio? We added it on after we moved in, and I wonder sometimes if it wasn't a mistake."

As I was about to open the kitchen door, the cat flap vibrated and Madeleine wriggled through. "I've never seen that fat a cat," Robin said, clearly impressed. "Is this Madeleine?"