Frame Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 5) by Joe Reese, T Gracie Reese Page A
Authors: Joe Reese, T Gracie Reese
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had sat.
The gulls, released from their spells, continued on across and up into the inky night sky.
“That––that simply couldn’t happen!”
“It did.”
“Who…”
“Rebecca.”
“That chicken! That, that…”
“Margot,” said Nina, quietly, “remember you’re not Penelope.”
“I can when I want to be!”
“No. It doesn’t become you. You curse like I paint.”
Margot glared at her:
“ Never say such a thing to me again!”
Nina shrugged.
They sat for a time.
Nina poured more wine.
Carol drank hers and attempted to smile:
“Thank you. Thank both of you. It’s the first time I can remember smiling for several days.”
“Why,” asked Margot, “did you not tell me before, child?”
“I guess I just didn’t feel like talking about it on the phone. And I wasn’t sure you’d want me to come down here, if you knew I’d been fired.”
“How ridiculous! Of course we’d have wanted you to come! But the question is now, what to do about your firing?”
“I’m not sure there’s anything to do about it.”
“There has to be! I know I’ve been gone for more than a year, but I still have some influence. There are still certain measures I can take.”
“Like writing a letter?”
Margot shook her head:
“I was thinking more in terms of murdering Rebecca Simpson.”
“You could do that?”
“Oh heavens, yes! Or Nina could. We’ve had several murders here in Bay St. Lucy in the past year. And Nina always seems to be able to solve them.”
“I don’t commit them though,” said Nina, thoughtfully.
“Yes, but you could if you put your mind to it! And then it would be much easier to solve them.”
“I think,” said Nina, “that we’re getting drunk now. It certainly sounds like we’re getting drunk.”
“We’ve each,” said Margot, “had a glass and a half of wine.”
“But it’s strong wine.”
“Carol––Carol, this is simply incomprehensible. What reasons did the woman give?”
“Factual errors in my presentations. Poor scholarship.”
“Oh, pooh! You bring to life an entire world of paintings, and she’s worried about whether something happened in 1871 or 1872?”
“That seems to be the case.”
“And what about the director?”
“Powerless, apparently. Rebecca has been working behind the scenes for months. Apparently several members of the Board are on her side.”
Silence for a time.
Finally Furl asked:
“Rrrgggghhh? Reeghhh? Arg?”
It was the question that had to be asked, of course. Nina herself would have waited to ask it, but she knew Furl to be both impetuous and undiplomatic, and so she was not surprised that he had blurted it out.
The summer air translated it as diplomatically as possible, but it still came wafting over the table harsh and crimson in the Mississippi breeze:
“So what are you going to do now?”
The question that always seems to be coming up in life, usually dead on the heels of what had only moments earlier appeared absolutely certain about what we were going to do now.
And Carol Walker looked it straight in the eye, shook her head, and gave a perfectly clear answer, which was:
“I don’t know.”
Furl, seemingly satisfied, padded off the deck and into the living room.
Carol continued, trying to hold back tears, and succeeding partially.
The sobs were a different matter, and so the next few sentences came out sounding in English the way the earlier questions by Furl had come out in cat.
“I have––a little money.”
Margot shook her head:
“I know you’ve always lived in a thrifty way, Carol. You don’t do the things a good many young people do. Eat or drink. Things like that.”
“No.”
“But given what they paid you, you could not have saved much.”
A shake of the head.
Then:
“I don’t think I’m going to get hired as a docent again. Not after what they’ll say about me.”
“Teaching?”
“Maybe. But not until the fall, and then only as an adjunct. There’s a little
The gulls, released from their spells, continued on across and up into the inky night sky.
“That––that simply couldn’t happen!”
“It did.”
“Who…”
“Rebecca.”
“That chicken! That, that…”
“Margot,” said Nina, quietly, “remember you’re not Penelope.”
“I can when I want to be!”
“No. It doesn’t become you. You curse like I paint.”
Margot glared at her:
“ Never say such a thing to me again!”
Nina shrugged.
They sat for a time.
Nina poured more wine.
Carol drank hers and attempted to smile:
“Thank you. Thank both of you. It’s the first time I can remember smiling for several days.”
“Why,” asked Margot, “did you not tell me before, child?”
“I guess I just didn’t feel like talking about it on the phone. And I wasn’t sure you’d want me to come down here, if you knew I’d been fired.”
“How ridiculous! Of course we’d have wanted you to come! But the question is now, what to do about your firing?”
“I’m not sure there’s anything to do about it.”
“There has to be! I know I’ve been gone for more than a year, but I still have some influence. There are still certain measures I can take.”
“Like writing a letter?”
Margot shook her head:
“I was thinking more in terms of murdering Rebecca Simpson.”
“You could do that?”
“Oh heavens, yes! Or Nina could. We’ve had several murders here in Bay St. Lucy in the past year. And Nina always seems to be able to solve them.”
“I don’t commit them though,” said Nina, thoughtfully.
“Yes, but you could if you put your mind to it! And then it would be much easier to solve them.”
“I think,” said Nina, “that we’re getting drunk now. It certainly sounds like we’re getting drunk.”
“We’ve each,” said Margot, “had a glass and a half of wine.”
“But it’s strong wine.”
“Carol––Carol, this is simply incomprehensible. What reasons did the woman give?”
“Factual errors in my presentations. Poor scholarship.”
“Oh, pooh! You bring to life an entire world of paintings, and she’s worried about whether something happened in 1871 or 1872?”
“That seems to be the case.”
“And what about the director?”
“Powerless, apparently. Rebecca has been working behind the scenes for months. Apparently several members of the Board are on her side.”
Silence for a time.
Finally Furl asked:
“Rrrgggghhh? Reeghhh? Arg?”
It was the question that had to be asked, of course. Nina herself would have waited to ask it, but she knew Furl to be both impetuous and undiplomatic, and so she was not surprised that he had blurted it out.
The summer air translated it as diplomatically as possible, but it still came wafting over the table harsh and crimson in the Mississippi breeze:
“So what are you going to do now?”
The question that always seems to be coming up in life, usually dead on the heels of what had only moments earlier appeared absolutely certain about what we were going to do now.
And Carol Walker looked it straight in the eye, shook her head, and gave a perfectly clear answer, which was:
“I don’t know.”
Furl, seemingly satisfied, padded off the deck and into the living room.
Carol continued, trying to hold back tears, and succeeding partially.
The sobs were a different matter, and so the next few sentences came out sounding in English the way the earlier questions by Furl had come out in cat.
“I have––a little money.”
Margot shook her head:
“I know you’ve always lived in a thrifty way, Carol. You don’t do the things a good many young people do. Eat or drink. Things like that.”
“No.”
“But given what they paid you, you could not have saved much.”
A shake of the head.
Then:
“I don’t think I’m going to get hired as a docent again. Not after what they’ll say about me.”
“Teaching?”
“Maybe. But not until the fall, and then only as an adjunct. There’s a little
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