The feeling was quite mutual. Ethel, Mavis, and Opal were Violet’s closest confidantes, and she unburdened herself to them often. Like now, when Ethel, Mavis, and Opal stood in a cluster around Violet’s cupcake truck as she prepared for Tuesday night bingo, the busiest night on Turtle Beach’s weekly social calendar.
“You didn’t tell Joe that you’d actually been inside Sam’s office, did you?” Mavis held onto her aluminum walker with one hand and pressed the other hand to her heart. Nibbles, her tiny teacup Chihuahua, sat trembling on a blanket in the walker’s wire basket.
“No, are you kidding?” Violet carefully piped icing onto a vanilla cupcake. “I told him I’d heard about the framed article in Sam’s office from Griff Martin.”
She paused to examine her handiwork. So far, she’d decorated three dozen cupcakes with bingo letter and number combinations. B4, I19, N33 and the like. She’d pretty much covered B, I, and N. Now to start on G and O.
Bingo night was scheduled to begin in less than fifteen minutes. The first half hour was always reserved for early birds. But by seven o’clock, just about everyone on the island would pack into the lobby of the senior center, tourists and locals alike. Tuesday night bingo had been a Turtle Beach summer tradition since Violet was a little girl. She could still remember sitting between Josh and Joe, stamping her bingo cards with her hot-pink sponge-tipped dauber, holding her breath when she only had one square left. Bingo nights meant RC Colas and MoonPies. Breezy dresses and sunburned shoulders. The whole town cheering every time someone yelled Bingo! at the top of their lungs.
The only things about bingo night that had changed over the years were the snacks. A few years ago, Violet had volunteered to run the concessions stand for her senior friends. She’d replaced the MoonPies with homemade cupcakes, changing the flavors from week to week and giving them silly names like Lucky Streak Strawberry Shortcake, Gimme a Bingo Brown Butter Fudge, and the ever popular I Never Win this Game Gooey Gumdrop. And now, two years later, she was running her own cupcake truck business, all thanks to bingo night.
Violet still ran the concession stand every Tuesday, which meant she needed to get started carrying her cupcakes inside. Tonight’s featured flavor was Beach Blanket Bingo Bavarian Cream. Sure to be a big hit with the over-seventy crowd.
“Did Joe believe you?” Opal shook her head. “His Interrogator Face is so good. I don’t know how you didn’t crack.”
“I managed,” Violet said. She’d seen Josh and Joe play police officers enough times as kids not to be intimidated by Joe’s most commanding facial expression. All she had to do was think about the time he’d accidentally handcuffed himself to the railing on the outdoor deck when he was nine years old, wearing nothing but his Star Wars underpants.
Note to self: remind Joe of Star Wars underpants episode the next time he pokes fun at me for repetitively falling for faux lost dog scenario.
“I think he bought it, but I’m not totally sure. I told him I couldn’t stick around to discuss it because I had cupcakes to bake.” She held up G51 and I18. “Can I offer you ladies a freebie before the crowds descend?”
“Oh, we couldn’t possibly,” Mavis said.
“Speak for yourself.” Ethel inched her walker closer to the window of the cupcake truck and held out a hand. “Don’t mind Mavis, Vi. The only reason she doesn’t want one is because she’s watching her figure.”
Opal waggled her eyebrows and reached for I18. “You mean Larry is watching her figure.”
“What?” Violet propped her elbows on the tiny counter of her cupcake truck’s window and peered down at Mavis blushing fiercely below. “Mavis! Do you have something going on with Larry Sims?”
She probably should have seen this coming. Mavis’s happy baby yoga pose had seemed extra happy ever since the quiet older man with the rotating collection of knit cardigans had moved into the senior center three weeks ago.
“Absolutely not. Don’t be ridiculous.” Mavis squared her narrow shoulders. “We have nothing in common. The man barely leaves his room. He’s practically a recluse.”
“Have you tried luring him out?” Violet asked. “Maybe invite him to join us in the lobby tonight. Everyone on the island loves bingo.”
Opal shook her head. “It’s hopeless. He’d have to miss Jeopardy!, and he’s apparently a big fan. When it’s on, everyone in the building can hear him screaming out the answers from behind his closed door.”
Violet offered Mavis a hopeful smile. “He sounds really intelligent.”
Nibbles sighed dramatically, turned three circles, and collapsed into a minuscule pile on her blanket.
“Maybe so, but as I said, I’m not the least bit interested in him. He has a cat.” Mavis shuddered in feline-induced horror. “A fluffy gray Persian.”
“I see.” Violet nodded.
No wonder her tiny dog seemed to have a mammoth-sized opinion on Mavis’s potential beau. It was the age-old dilemma—could a dog person ever be truly happy with a cat person?
Violet glanced at Sprinkles lounging on the back window seat of the Airstream in the area she always kept cordoned off with a pet gate so her Dalmatian could accompany her to work every day. Sprinkles was a handful…even for a true dog person. Violet knew this about her Dalmatian. Tossing a cat into the mix would only end in frustration.
Still, it didn’t take Alex Trebek-level genius to see that Mavis might be harboring a secret crush on Larry Sims, fluffy gray Persian or not.
“Speaking of romance…” Opal cleared her throat. The three older women all exchanged knowing glances. “We wanted to talk to you about your fire marshal.”
A burst of laughter exploded from Violet’s mouth. “Ha. Good one.”
They were joking, weren’t they? Opal, Mavis, and Ethel probably knew more about the feud between the police and fire departments than Violet did. They’d been around back when it started, which meant they were fully aware of its seriousness.
They’d also taken turns holding Violet’s hand last year after her humiliating breakup with Emmett. Since then, every time a fireman looked her way, her friends threatened him with bodily injury. Her brothers had started referring to the trio of older ladies as “the OG Charlie’s Angels.”
They didn’t seem to be laughing along with her right now, though, which definitely seemed odd. “Wait. You’re not seriously suggesting there’s anything remotely romantic between me and Sam Nash, are you?”
No one said a word.
“And he’s hardly my fire marshal.” Violet waved her hands and a dollop of frosting flew from the tip of her pastry bag, landing conveniently on Sprinkles’s snout. The Dalmatian licked it away with a swipe of her tongue.