Page 130 of Mother-Daughter Murder Night

Jack suddenly noticed Lana behind her mother. “Oh, hi. Heard you’re coming with us to the drive-in tonight.”

Lana had agreed to join Beth and Jack for date night, on one condition. “We’re dressing up to celebrate, right? You’ll brush your hair?”

Jack grinned and pulled a slimy rope of seaweed off her life jacket. “We’re not heathens, you know.”

Lana spent the rest of the day directing traffic in the garage. By six that evening, she was at the front door in a new burgundy skirt suit and her dented metallic Jimmy Choos. Jack had on a pair of dark jeans with no rips in them and an old blazer of Lana’s that made her look like she’d already gotten her PhD. But Beth was the real surprise. She was a vision in a forest-green knee-length dress and black square-toed boots Lana had snapped up on a trip to a nearby Nordstrom that was shutting down. If only she’d ditch that bomber jacket.

Beth handed out new homemade earrings to everyone: miniature snail shells for Jack, coral for herself, sea glass for Lana. Lana marveled at the tiny treasures in her palm, using a finger to trace the silver wire her daughter had coiled around the pale teardrops of light.

“Oh! I have a present for you too,” Jack said. She disappeared behind the house, coming back with a redwood branch that had been sanded into an uneven staff.

“What’s this?” Lana asked.

“A big stick.” Jack grinned. “For your new office, when you find one.”

“Thank you.” Lana hefted the stick in her hands. “I’m looking at a potential sublet in the marina tomorrow. It could be the new headquarters for Lana Rubicon and Associates.”

“Associates, Ma?” Beth raised an eyebrow.

Lana smiled. “It has a nice ring to it.”

They piled into Beth’s car, and twenty minutes later, they rolled into the Hot Diggity, thoroughly surprising the owner, Lolo, who was accustomed to seeing the two younger Rubicon women in scrubs and sweats. He dropped a vat of relish on his right foot, causing him to shot-put the wiener in his left hand out the service window of the little red hut. Once his foot stopped throbbing, Lolo apologized for swearing, handed them three foot-longs with onions on the house, and offered to take their picture. Even Lana had to admit that the hot dogs were delicious.

When they got to the drive-in in Salinas, Lana talked the farmer into letting them park in the middle of the front row, in a space Beth was pretty sure the farmer reserved for his own wife. Lana opened a cooler and passed out sodas to all of them—Coke for Jack, Sprite for her and Beth. Beth looked at the Sprite bottle, confused. She’d never seen Lana drink any soda other than Diet Coke. But Lana was already mid-swig. Beth opened her own bottle and took a sip. It was some kind of sparkling wine. Not bad.

The movie was a whodunit. It might have been a good one, but Lana and Jack’s loud, premature conclusions about the murderer made it impossible for Beth to follow the story. By her second bottle of Sprite, it didn’t really matter to Beth either.

Beth looked at Lana. Her mother’s eyes were shining in the reflected light from the screen, her new suit hidden under the patchwork quilt she was sharing with Jack in the back seat. Beth didn’t know, couldn’t know, all the ways it would prove insufferable to have Monterey County’s newest land consultant living in what had once been her garage. She didn’t know the disasters would start the very next day, when she’d come home to find a massive hole punched in her roof to install skylights she hadn’t ordered. All Beth knew was that they were together, they were safe, and they were laughing. And that was enough.