Betty just gave a slight shake of her head and dismissed the question. “Now what’s this news that has you two all hyped up? I assume it has to do with that…Cotton Ramsey business and the loan Roger took out.”
Maggie waited until Frank was back, then leaned forward. “Cotton Ramsey is dead,” she said.
“Did Roger kill him?” Frank asked, horror in his cloudy eyes.
Maggie had to laugh. “No, but Artie Wylie risked his life, wore a wire, and got that man arrested. He helped the FBI close down the whole Dixie Mafia Ramsey ran.”
They both sucked in surprised breaths.
“Artie did that?” Frank asked, shaking his head. “Didn’t know he had the, um, gumption.”
“My husband had gumption and heart,” Jo Ellen said proudly. “And Roger helped orchestrate the whole thing from prison. They negotiated for Maggie to secretly keep the Destin property?—”
“And Artie made sure we had round-the-clock protection from the FBI,” Maggie added. “We didn’t even know we were in danger.”
Across the table, the older couple wore matching open jaws as Maggie and Jo detailed the whole wonderful story they’d learned from the FBI agent who’d visited the Summer House.
“I’m shocked,” Frank said when they finished. “We were protected, too?”
“And not indicted for your, uh, side business,” Maggie said, pointing playfully at him but not actually saying the word “bookie.” It seemed hurtful, and so long ago. “You’re welcome.”
He sighed as if he’d been carrying guilt and worry for all these years.
“It’s great news,” Betty agreed. “And you two”—she pointed from one to the other—“are back. How did you make up?”
“Our husbands made us promise not to speak to each other,” Maggie said. “For our own protection.”
Jo Ellen nodded. “They thought if we were in contact, it might somehow lead Cotton’s awful men to the other one. Then Roger died—far too soon—and Artie must have thought it was better for me not to talk to Maggie because her heart would break.”
“And Roger died six weeks before the FBI was going to arrange for him to get out,” Maggie said, the realization still a little tough to process. “I don’t know if he’d have survived that heart attack if he’d been home, but I like to believe I’d have been able to save him.”
“You might have,” Jo Ellen said, putting a hand on Maggie’s arm. “But it just wasn’t meant to be.”
“Anyway,” Maggie continued, “we left here in a rush last time, because I was quite perturbed to learn that you’d led my husband straight into the clutches of mobsters, Frank?—”
“Well, he?—”
She stopped him with a raised hand. “He committed other crimes,” she finished for him. “Taking a loan from a man who’d kill him and his family for non-payment was just another of them. I like to think he made up for it by helping the authorities. And Jo and I…” She smiled. “Weareback, and it feels good.”
“We’re staying in Destin for the summer,” Jo Ellen told them excitedly. “Living in the apartment above the garage in Maggie’s gorgeous beach house.”
“Oh?” Frank’s eyes lit. “That’s nice. So you’re keeping the place?”
“The kids have to decide that,” Maggie said, sliding a glance to Betty who…was falling asleep. “Are you all right?”
Betty shuddered softly and blinked. “Yes, yes. I’m taking some medication, and it just makes me so tired.”
“Medication for what?” Maggie asked.
“Oh, nothing I want to talk about.” She pushed up. “I’ll go make some coffee to perk up.”
“No, Betty.” Frank put a gentle hand on her arm. “You should take your nap.”
“When the girls are here?”
Maggie smiled at the term and pushed away from the table, giving Jo a quick look that she instantly read properly.
“We just wanted to tell you both the good news in person,” Maggie said. “You can rest easy knowing that Cotton Ramsey’s gang isn’t going to rise up and kill you in your sleep.”
