Currently, the house was residence to the members of the Cocoon Club and had been dubbed Senior Central by others in town. Home to ten senior citizens, including Alice, it had, quite by accident, also become something of a social hot spot. Especially during the Saturday-evening Mexican Train tournaments. Not to be confused with the once-a-month Bunco Babes group, which met at the Flutterby Inn, or the weekly bingo games rumored to be moving to the newly built youth center to allow for larger numbers. Then there were the bocce ball challenges Oscar Bedemeyer and Harvey Mills held most Sunday mornings. With detailed schedules and event planning, the Butterfly Harbor seniors had it going on. It exhausted Frankie just thinking about it.
Frankie’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and without missing a step, she pulled it out, glanced at the screen and smiled.
“Good news?” Alice asked as she gripped the railing to continue up the ramp.
“Bud’s en route to the station. Mrs. Willingham forgot to fill her bronchitis prescription last week, so he ran it over to her. He doesn’t have any idea about tomorrow night.”
“Going to be the best retirement–slash–going-away party anyone in this town’s ever seen.” Alice beamed. “Shame to see him go, but life goes on.”
“Yes, ma’am, it does.” Frankie walked beside Alice, trying not to let her sadness about the older woman’s quickly advancing Parkinson’s drag her down. The tremors were getting worse, and Frankie could see Alice’s legs shaking with each step. But there was little that dimmed the determination in the woman’s bright blue eyes.
“I’ll just sit here on the porch while you get my groceries.” Alice was heading for the rocking chair before Frankie could argue. “I do hope I got the right salsa. I know Elliot says he wanted the spicy, but between you and me, the man shouldn’t go within ten feet of a jalapeño.”
“It’ll be our secret,” Frankie laughed and jogged back to the car. When she returned, she found Alice dozing in the chair, and, rather than waking her up, Frankie went directly inside.
“Special delivery!” she announced as she walked past Oscar, Marty and Eloise setting up ancient folding tables and chairs, to the kitchen beyond the staircase fully equipped with a motorized lift chair. The wood floors were bare of any rugs that would be considered tripping hazards. Family photographs from each of the residents took up nearly every inch of flower-papered wall space. The eclectic collection of pictures warmed her heart every time she walked past them. “Hi, Delilah. Myra.” Frankie dropped the three reusable grocery sacks onto the center island and looked suspiciously at the decanter on the counter. “Someone making their famous rum punch?”
“Maybe.” Myra’s sharp chin went up, and her tangerine-colored hair glinted against the overhead lights. “We’re of legal age.”
Frankie cast a disapproving glance before walking over and popping off the lid. Her eyes watered instantly. “Wooo, Myra. You were not stingy with the rum.”
“Too much?” Delilah, her partner in crime, sauntered over and inhaled. “Ah. Smells exactly like my youth. Did I ever tell you about the time I met Castro—”
“Only about fifty times,” Myra muttered. “More simple syrup, you think?” she asked Frankie.
“Maybe a bit.” Frankie could have used the concoction as paint stripper back at the firehouse. “Alice is on the porch. I think the trip wore her out.”
“Poor thing isn’t sleeping well.” Delilah clicked her tongue as she unloaded the groceries. “I offered to do the shopping for tonight, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Thank you for taking her, Frankie.”
“You’re welcome.” Unease tightened in her stomach. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep answering these calls, though.”
“What? Why ever not?” Myra blinked her overmascaraed eyes at Frankie before dumping not one but two cups of sugar into the saucepan on the stove.
“Well, we have a new chief, remember. And he’s a bit more by the book than Bud or I am.”
“Surely he’ll understand you go where you’re needed.”
“Technically, we go where there’s an emergency.” Frankie had been dreading this conversation ever since she’d learned she’d been passed over for the job. People were used to relying on her, especially this group of people. She hated the idea of having to let any of them down. “And helping you all with your errands doesn’t exactly constitute one.”
“That’s why you’ve got that contraption of yours, isn’t it? An emergency comes up, you hop to. You always have.” Delilah’s wrinkles multiplied exponentially when she frowned.