SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club #4) - Christie Ridgway Page 0,17
her mother helping Grandpop into a chair while Grandmom stood ready with another and holding a pillow.
“Eugene Hill, sit down, prop up your foot, and we’ll put an ice pack on it. Should we call the paramedics? The doctor?”
Harper moved in to steady her grandfather as he lowered onto the seat. “What happened?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Grandpop grumbled. “I just need a short rest.”
Grandmom was attempting to lift his long leg. “On the pillow. Ice. I can call the nurse hotline, Eugene—”
“I don’t need the nurse hotline, Mary,” Harper’s grandfather said. “Rebecca, tell your mother to stop fussing.”
“Stop fussing, Mom,” Rebecca said obediently. “Dad, get your foot up. Here’s the ice.”
Harper tried again. “What happened?”
Her mom glanced at Grandpop. “Your grandfather got it into his mind-—”
“Rebecca.” Grandpop looked at his daughter. “We don’t need to bother Harper with that.”
“Bother me with what?” she demanded. “What is going on?”
Grandmom put her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “We’re family, Eugene.”
“And I have to go,” Sophie said, with a wave for all. “Take care of yourself Mr. Hill.”
“Sophie, let’s meet up later, okay?”
The small blonde blew her a kiss. “We will.”
When her friend disappeared, Harper propped her hands on her hips and faced her relatives. “Okay, come clean here, Hill family.”
And funny, how nice that sounded.
It didn’t take long to get the story. One of their farming neighbors had told Grandpop earlier that day that he suspected thieves were creeping in under the cover of night with picking poles and clippers and stealing avocados.
“They’ll hit us next,” said Grandpop darkly. “I need to be out with the trees tonight.”
“No,” Mom and Grandmom said together.
“You don’t see well in the dark,” Grandmom added. “Why do you think you just tripped and sprained your ankle?”
“That’s a damn gopher’s fault,” Grandpop said. “I have 20/20 vision.”
“In the daylight,” Grandmom said. “At night—”
“I’ll take over guard duty,” Harper said, to prevent more arguing. “That way Grandpop can rest easy and rest his sprained ankle too.”
“It’s not sprained,” her grandfather said. “It’s just twisted.”
Her grandmother began fussing over him again, putting on a kettle for tea then pouring him a brandy. Harper’s mom grabbed her at the elbow and towed her toward the pantry, then pushed her inside.
“We have Oreos?” Harper said, glancing around. “And Nilla wafers?”
“If I make you a care package of them right now, will you pretend to guard the avocados overnight? I’d do it, but I want to keep an eye on Dad and Mom too. She’s working herself into a state.”
Harper clutched her mom’s forearm. “Isn’t it just a twisted ankle?”
“He’s not getting any younger.”
“I wish you’d stop saying that,” Harper whispered. Then she cleared her throat. “And of course I’ll guard the avocados tonight.”
“Pretend to guard them,” Rebecca corrected. “If I truly was worried about thieves I’d call in Mike.”
Mike was their foreman who was married with five kids. She’d been told his evenings were full and his nights rarely uninterrupted by a crying baby or thirsty toddler.
“Aren’t you worried about the avocados, Mom?”
“Jerome Cochran—you remember our neighbor—let’s just say he’s a little paranoid.”
“Oh?”
Her mom swiped the air with her hand. “It’s too long to explain.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
Rebecca’s lips pursed. “Go out for a couple of hours? Long enough for your grandfather to finish that brandy. Along with the ibuprofen, he should be asleep by eleven. Come back at eleven fifteen, eleven thirty, and in the morning we can assure him that you averted the crisis.”
“I’ll be a hero,” Harper said with a smile, thinking how good it would feel to give Grandpop peace of mind. He’s not getting any younger.
“Pack up those cookies, Mom.”
Mad sat with poker buddy, Rafael “Raf” Rodriguez, at the roll-up windows of the Fun & Games brew pub, the moneymaking baby of their other friend Cooper. They were kicked back with beers, overlooking the comings and goings on Sawyer Beach’s Main Street. Several of the businesses remained open—a couple of restaurants, another bar, Harry’s for those who needed coffee and pastries—but it was heading toward nine o’clock so the kid from the hardware store was sweeping the sidewalk outside the entrance and Gifts for Girlfriends, the trendy boutique owned by another friend, was dimming its lights.
“Nice night,” Raf said.
A salty breeze set the market lights crisscrossing the street swinging, the cool waft a welcome addition to the unusually warm evening. “Yeah, nice,” Mad agreed, feeling nothing was nice at all.
Raf gestured toward him with his glass. “Been hearing a lot of talk about