Free Set Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries) by T'Gracie Reese, Joe Reese

of chair scraping and “oh don’t bother I’m fine—ing” and   “no no it’s all right—ing,” Hope was seated and pouring coffee into her own cup.
    “Are you sure you won’t stay and eat with us, May Belle?” she asked.
    “I can’t, Hope,” replied May Belle, who had somehow gotten over her panic and had time to both return to the kitchen and bring the salad bowl.
    “Husband calls, I know.”
    “Yes he does. And big ole’ teenage boy, too. Now—salad’s out, you’ve got silverware, and plates and dressing—anything else?”
    “No, we’re fine!   Now you get back home and take care of your family.”
    “I will.   Good night you two.”
    “Good night.”
    “Good night.”
    And, save for a fish plopping near the pier, and a water bird yowling mournfully as it skimmed its way over the bayou current, Nina and Hope were alone.
    On her own back porch, Hope no longer seemed to feel the need of looking up and out from under something. She did on the other hand seem to feel an equally pressing need to avoid being heard by something; and so she leaned forward, making the legs of the table scrape against the hardwood porch floors, while, her grinning face poised directly above a serving bowl filled with what appeared to be Bleu Cheese dressing, she paused.
    For one second.   Two seconds.
    Listen, listen…
    Three seconds.   Four seconds…
    …then the secret.
    “July 6.”
    The grin only broadened, while Nina pondered her response to this communication, this number, this enigma.
    She could not bring herself to be so stupid as to ask something like, “So what’s happening on July 6, Hope?”
    Clearly she was supposed to have known the burning question, whose answer was “July 6.”
    It was like one of those game shows, in which the contestant, having been told the answer, is to guess the question.
    But for the life of her she couldn’t think of any she could have asked, the answer to which would have been ‘July 6,’ except the question, “What day comes two days after the fourth of July?”
    Which she did not want to ask.
    And so she simply waited.
    The grin only broadened.
    We will be, she told herself, here all night.
    Then a stroke of brilliance hit her and she said:
    “So that’s the big day, is it?”
    Hope exploded in joy.
    “Yes! Yes, I’ve only learned of it today! July 6, Tuesday afternoon, at 8:00 p.m.!”
    The dazzle of the brilliant idea seemed to have faded a bit by now, but why not ride things as far as possible?
    “So then—things will start happening.”        
    Another explosion of joy.
    “Yes!   Yes!”
    But how long could she keep this going? How long could she avoid saying, “So what things will begin happening, Hope?”
    “Do you think you’ll be ready by then?”
    The grin disappeared, there replaced it an expression of pure panic, and finally an atmosphere of calm and resignation.
    “Yes. Yes, I believe everything will be done. When Helen and her husband arrive, her room will be ready for them.   All of the workmen have assured me of that.”
    Thank God!
    Hope and her husband were arriving on July 6, at 8 p.m..
    Now maybe they could eat.

    They did so, with Hope chattering on about this and that, all subjects fair game and relevant as long as they were Helen and her famous actor husband. Nina got a few words in here and there, mostly about the splendor of the cucumber salad and about how she had always loved cucumber salads and about how her mother had made wonderful cucumber salads and about how much Frank had loved cucumber salads and of course it was all lies, lies, lies, but there wasn’t much else to talk about.
    So she munched, and listened, and nodded, while the sun set over the bayou, and the shadows lengthened, and every now and then a gray log with one yellow eye floated by, indicating that it was either a very special log indeed or an alligator.
    Finally:
    “Nina, I wanted to ask you something. It’s a bit of a difficult subject; somewhat