Nine Nights on the Windy Tree

by Martha Miller

  “I was supposed to close on the property Monday,” Edith Latch said softly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now.”

  “You sold the store?” Bertha remembered Grandma saying something in the grocery store. What was it? Something about a shopping mall and backward mortgages.

  “The store and my house. Jasper helped me get a nice little place in the north side high-rise,” said Edith. “Maybe the fire won’t matter. They probably would have pulled the place down anyway.”

  Bertha wanted to know more, but they were both drenched. She touched Edith Latch’s arm and pointed to the corner. “See my Jeep over there? It’s unlocked.”

  “Do you think I should lock my house?” Edith asked.

  “I’ll do it for you,” Bertha said. “You need to get out of this rain.”

  “House keys are on the hook inside,” said Edith. “On the right. There are several keys. You won’t know which is what. Bring all of them.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Toni Matulis was carrying the second box to Grandma’s porch when Bertha came up beside her with her great-grandmother’s quilt. “I want to get some towels and blankets from inside. Can I use your flashlight?” Bertha asked.

  Toni nodded and thrust her left hip toward her.

  Bertha slid the flashlight from Toni’s belt and said over her shoulder, “Try to get Grandma headed toward my Jeep.”

  Bertha made her way through the kitchen to where a back porch had been converted to a bathroom fifty years ago. She grabbed a stack of clean towels, and in a wardrobe in the room that had once been her own, she found two thin blankets. On her way out the front door, she grabbed Grandma’s umbrella.

  Bertha was glad to have the flashlight. She might never have found Edith’s keys without it. She stared at the hooks for a minute, and then she swung the beam around the living room. The furniture was cluttered with boxes. Edith had been packing. Bertha couldn’t imagine the neighborhood with Edith Latch gone. Grandma would be truly alone. Bertha shoved several keys into her pockets, pressed the front door lock, and pulled it shut.

  Toni had Grandma and the walker into the Jeep. Considering Grandma’s feelings about most white women, Bertha assumed this sudden burst of cooperation had more to do with Joe‑Jo’s sweet rolls than Grandma’s desire to please Toni Matulis. Bertha’s shoulders ached as she climbed into the Jeep and passed one towel to Grandma and another to Edith Latch, who was wedged in the backseat next to Grandma’s walker.

  Bertha climbed into the Jeep and started the engine. She turned to Toni Matulis, who stood by the driver’s door holding up a five-dollar bill. “Get these ladies something to warm them up. I’ll be along in a couple of minutes.”

  “Thanks,” Bertha said, “but I got money.”

  Toni smiled. She pushed the uniform hat to the back of her head. The Jeep was high, and she was looking slightly upward at Bertha. She said, “You seem to be having a rough weekend, Bertha Brannon.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Bertha said, remembering the day she’d spent with Rhonda Green’s children.

  “I’d be glad to listen, if you need to talk.”

  “Thanks.” It seemed like she’d been thanking Toni Matulis all night. “I want to take care of my grandma, then get cleaned up and get some rest.”

  “Of course, but maybe later. Here’s my number in case we don’t get a chance to talk.” Toni held out a white business card.

  Bertha reached for the card and their fingers touched. She gave Toni an uncertain look, cocking her head. And that’s when it happened. An observer would have missed it, but Bertha didn’t. Toni Matulis met her eyes and looked at her for a second too long.

  “See you at Joe‑Jo’s,” said Bertha, blushing as she put the Jeep in gear and slowly backed up.

  “Now, don’t you worry about your buyer,” Grandma said to Edith Latch as they swung around the fire truck and turned down the first open side street. “If Jasper won’t talk to them, I know Bertha would be glad to help you. She’s an attorney, you know.”

  Bertha looked in the rear-view mirror. The moving shadow of a streetlight passed across Edith Latch’s face. There were fresh tears in her eyes. She blew her nose on a towel. Bertha reached for one of the clean ones on the dashboard and blew her own nose. It made a sooty mark on Grandma’s yellow floral design.

  “Don’t cry, Edith,” Grandma said. She reached across the seat and nudged Bertha. “It’s gonna be all right. Ain’t it, Bertha?”

  “Of course it is,” Bertha heard herself saying in spite of her doubts. “Who is your buyer anyway, Mrs. Latch?”

  “It’s a city developer,” Edith said softly. “You ever hear of Morescki and Sons?”

  Bertha drove through a stop sign, but Grandma and Edith Latch didn’t seem to notice.

  Chapter Ten

  Joe Jones’s butcher apron was clean and stark white. His dark-brown face was rutted with age, and he had a gold tooth that showed when he smiled. He was a small man with white hair in his eyebrows and mustache. He always wore a white chef’s hat, and Bertha wasn’t sure what the top of his head looked like. He made a fuss over Grandma and Mrs. Latch when they came in, quickly escorting them to the best table. He brought a pot of coffee, sat it down, and then listened while Grandma told him about the fire. Mrs. Latch went to find the pay phone while a young man from a group in the back stepped behind the counter, got a fresh pot of coffee, and made the rounds refilling empty cups.

  “This neighborhood sure gone downhill,” Joe said when Grandma finished her story.

  “They say they’re fixin’ it up, and look what happens.” Grandma brought the coffee mug to her lips, tested it, then set it down and added more sugar.

  Joe Jones shook his head slowly. “You never know. You never know.”

  Bertha was tired and hungry. Grandma said she’d wait for the police lady before she ordered, but Bertha asked Joe to make her a plate of fried eggs and a double order of bacon. She drank the first cup of coffee and refilled it.

  Bertha watched rain bead on the front window, only half listening to the conversation. She noticed that Edith Latch, who now sat wrapped in one of Grandma’s old blankets, was shivering. The diner was cool. Edith had stood in the rain longer than any of them. Bertha saw the police car pull up in front. Pop Wilson got out, put his hat on, and came toward the door. Bertha craned her neck, looking for Toni Matulis, who wasn’t far behind.

  When the two officers approached the table, Grandma, who hadn’t forgotten Toni’s offer, said to Joe, “I’m having one of them grilled sweet rolls. You want one, Edith?”

  Bertha looked at Edith again. Her skin was pale, and her thin lips had a bluish cast. She held onto her mug with both hands, warming them.

  “Jasper’s coming for me,” she said. “I don’t think I have time for a sweet roll.”

  “Won’t take a minute, Mrs. Latch,” said Joe Jones.

  Pop Wilson pulled up a chair next to the shivering woman. You doing okay, Edith?” he asked.

  “I’m cold,” said Edith. “And I’m worried and tired.”

  “That a bad combination.” Grandma placed her hand over Edith’s. “Why, your fingers are like icicles.” She turned to Joe and said, “Shut down that damn air conditioner before she turns blue all over!”

  “Mrs. Latch, Mrs. Brannon,” said Pop, “Officer Matulis is going to take your statement. She can write real fast, so tell her everything you saw and heard. Answer her questions.” He looked at Bertha and said, “Can I see you alone for a minute?”

  Bertha stood and followed him to the horseshoe counter, slid onto a stool next to him, and waited. He pulled a small spiral tablet out of his uniform pocket and started paging through it.

  Finally Bertha asked, “Can I take Grandma home?”

  “I don’t see how you’d keep her away,” Pop said. “Power is back on by now. Set her up with a window fan. Get the smoke out. Then both of you get a good night’s sleep.”

  Bertha nodded. “I probably ough
t to stay with her.” She traced her finger in grains of sugar that were spilled on the counter and watched Joe Jones slice Grandma’s sweet roll, butter it generously, and lay it on the hot grill. The butter sizzled. She could smell hot cinnamon and melting icing. Bertha was very tired. She thought about Rhonda Green and her children. She’d have to get back there tomorrow. The sitter could only stay until noon, and as far as she knew, Bertha had to pick Rhonda up and bring her home.

  Pop Wilson looked across the room and then back at Bertha. “I’ve known you a long time, young lady,” he said. “I know your family. I know your neighbors. I remember when you were a little girl with six pigtails and no front teeth. I always thought we were friends.”

  Bertha studied him. “We are friends.”

  “Between you and me, then. You involved in something shady?”

  “Me?” Bertha said a little too loud.

  “Sh‑h.” Pop hushed her.

  “How can you ask that?” she said in a loud whisper.

  “All this trouble.” Pop spread his hands. “Seems to have a common denominator.”

  “Yes, it does,” said Bertha. “But I don’t think we’re seeing the same denominator. As far as I know, I’ve done nothing that would result in a murder and arson. And you know I wouldn’t do anything to put my grandma in danger.”

  Pop held up both hands. “Now, don’t get mad at me, Bertha. I know you had some trouble a couple of years ago. Those things have a way of coming back and haunting you. Sometimes people slip up.”

  Bertha got angry—extremely angry. “I haven’t been using,” she said slowly and deliberately. “You can drop me if you want. I’m clean.”

  Pop met her eyes, his expression solemn. At length he sighed and said, “Okay. I had to ask.”

  The door opened behind Pop Wilson, and Bertha watched two men come in out of the rain. She recognized one. She’d bought crack from him several times. He looked a little rough, like he was using the stuff himself. She couldn’t remember his name, though once she’d known it as well as her own. She still had his phone number at home somewhere. He walked past her, looking away. Of course, he wouldn’t speak to her while she was sitting with a uniformed policeman.

  Sometimes Bertha let herself forget how bad her old life had been. She exhaled heavily and said to Pop Wilson, “I’m clean, okay?”

  “Without waiting to be excused, she stood, left him sit there, and went back to the table, where her bacon and eggs were waiting.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Grandma asked.

  “You don’t miss a thing, do you?” Bertha tried to avoid the question. She shoved a piece of bacon in her mouth and picked up a fork.

  Grandma stopped cutting her sweet roll and looked at Bertha uncertainly.

  Suddenly Jasper Latch was beside his mother. Bertha hadn’t noticed him come in and was surprised. He’d gained more weight since she’d last seen him, and his hairline had receded. What was left of his black, curly hair was wet and uncombed. He wore a striped pajama top under a khaki jacket. She could see a mat of dark hair on his chest.

  Jasper was a year older than Bertha and had been ahead of her in school until the sixth grade, when they held him back. He’d never been too bright but did well enough these days managing a big supermarket over on the west end of town. When they were children, they’d played games in back of Grandma’s garage—you show me yours, I’ll show you mine. In high school Jasper was a jock. He had a talent for football. He could have had a scholarship, but he got married instead. He and Bertha had a crush on the same cheerleader, the only black girl on the squad. Jasper got her pregnant and married her, and his father died without forgiving him. Jasper was on his third wife now, a curvy blonde fifteen years his junior.

  He nodded at Bertha and then turned to his mother, who was crying. “Now, Mom,” he said, embracing her. “It was an old building. Needed to come down anyway. I’m sure it won’t matter. I’ll take care of it.”

  Edith mumbled something into his shoulder.

  “No. No,” he said. “You’re not going back there tonight. You’re coming home with me. If the police need to know more, they can talk to you tomorrow. We can go over there and get what you need in the morning. I don’t want you living there alone. Not even for a day.” He stroked her iron-gray hair. “Hush now. It’s going to be fine.”

  Toni Matulis extended her hand. “I’m Officer Matulis, Mr. Latch. We’re done here. You can take your mother home.”

  Jasper ignored her and looked at Pop Wilson, who had approached the table. “What the hell did you bring my mother here for?” His tone was firm. “She’s soaked to the skin and in her housecoat, for Christ sakes.”

  “Just trying to get her out of the rain, Jasper. Get her warmed up. She refused to go to the hospital. I think you ought to have a doctor look at her, though,” Pop said in an unruffled tone.

  Bertha watched Toni Matulis, a smile frozen on her face, sit back and let Pop handle Jasper.

  “I locked up the house for your mother,” Bertha said, digging in her pocket. She reached across the table and set several keys in front of Jasper.

  He stood, gathered the keys, and said, “Come on, Mom. I got the car outside.”

  Edith Latch rose slowly and slid the blanket off her shoulders.

  “You keep that, Edith,” Grandma said. “I was going to throw it out anyway. Take it with you.”

  Edith nodded and smiled weakly, then turned and took Jasper’s arm. He led her toward the door.

  Grandma touched Bertha’s hand. “Gonna be mighty lonely without Edith Latch next door.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I know it will,” Bertha said.

  She looked at Toni Matulis, who was reading the shorthand scribbles on her note pad. Her coffee cup was sitting on the table next to her uniform hat that was beaded with rain. Her hair was up, like last night. Long red strands had fallen down around her face in the same soft and messy way. Her cup was still full, and the coffee was probably getting cold.

  Last night seemed years away. The memory of finding Joe Morescki’s body in her office seemed almost unreal. Bertha hadn’t realized she was staring until Toni looked up, met her eyes, and smiled.

  “If you’re done, we’ll be going,” Bertha said, recovering.

  “I have all I need for now,” said Toni. “Can I help you with the walker or anything?”

  “I can manage,” Grandma said. “Thank you for the sweet roll. I don’t get to come here as often as I used to.” Grandma scooted the walker in position and pulled herself up. Bertha moved a chair out of her way, and they headed at a snail’s pace toward the door.

  *

  The rain had stopped and the night air was sultry. Bertha drove the Jeep slowly through the dark streets. Even the busy streets weren’t lit in this neighborhood.

  “Grandma,” she said after a few minutes. “Remember this morning when you said you’d talked to someone about a shopping mall and a mortgage?”

  “Did I say that? Well, it’s true.”

  “Who talked to you?”

  Grandma shrugged. “A realtor, I guess. I was out in the yard scattering leftover corn bread for the birds. A man walked around Latch’s grocery store, waved, and then come over to talk to me. Friendly sort.”

  “Do you remember his name?”

  Grandma thought for a minute. “No.”

  “Think about it. It might be important.”

  “What you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Try, okay?”

  Grandma looked at the road ahead intently and was quiet for the rest of the ride home. There were yellow strips of tape around the corner lot, and Bertha had to drive around a barricade to get to Grandma’s driveway. She thought Grandma had been quietly considering her question, but when she pulled in the driveway, she realized the old woman had fallen asleep.

  Bertha turned on the window fan in the kitchen to pull air through the house and helped Grandma, who was groggy, into a dry nightgown. Bertha cleaned herself up as much as possibl
e with soap and a washrag, pulled off her smoky-smelling clothes, and left them in a heap on the floor. She slid between the worn sheets in her old room, naked. The springs still squeaked in the same spots.

  Bertha lay awake for a long time; she’d had too much coffee and too much excitement. She remembered Friday afternoon before this whole thing started. All she’d wanted was to get home and out of her court clothes. If she’d left a few minutes earlier she’d have missed Sally Morescki; then maybe the murder would have happened somewhere else. If she’d gotten back to her office sooner that evening, she might have walked in on a murder. That gave her an uncomfortable chill. She thought about the day. Rhonda Green. Jerome and Miguel. She’d have to get back over there tomorrow. She thought about Colleen, felt a pang, and then made her mind move on. She tried to remember the conversation with Madame Soccoro. Was the tarot reader going to be any help, or had she wasted her time?

  Finally she got out of bed, put her cutoffs and T‑shirt back on, walked through the dark living room, and opened the front door as quietly as she could. Grandma’s house was cool, especially with the fan drawing the night air through.

  Bertha stepped out onto the front porch and sat on the swing. She drew her knees up and clasped her hands around them. The swing moved slowly. Her Jeep looked out of place in Grandma’s driveway. The neighbors put their cars in back as a deterrent to vandals. But tonight the neighborhood was dark and quiet. The yellow police tape around the corner seemed luminous. Someone had already boarded up a broken window on Edith’s house. It was strange to see the street beyond the lot where Latch’s store had been, strange to have the building gone. Now and then a breeze carried the charred smell toward her. She heard a dog barking down toward the Johnsons’. Another dog, a few houses farther, started answering.

  A man yelled, “Shut up!”

  After a few tentative barks the street was quiet again.

  Bertha looked toward the empty corner for a long time. A car came out of nowhere. When she turned, it was rolling directly in front of Grandma’s driveway, headlights off—a big car, maybe a Chrysler product. It almost came to a stop in front of Grandma’s house. Then it slowly and quietly rolled toward the newly empty corner. Under the streetlight Bertha could see the color was a dark green. She was surprised to see the lone driver’s silhouette looked like a woman. The license plates were too far away to see even if they hadn’t been in a shadow. Bertha tried anyway, straining her eyes until the car moved on. She waited but it didn’t come back.