Case of the Sugar Cream Shooting

by Jessica Lansberry

  "Do you have any coffee or perhaps some tea?" Genevieve asked, practically screeching as she picked up little nicknacks that Beatrice's husband had collected from his world travels. Her loud tenor only served to wake up Buzz, who himself started screeching and squawking, as if in competition with the neighbor.

  "Um, certainly. I have some left-over coffee cake from the catering gig—" Beatrice wasn't going to offer her the muffins she made yesterday. Those didn't deserve to be wasted on the rude and arrogant.

  "That would be fine," Genevieve cut her off with a flick of her wrist as she turned from Beatrice and headed to the dining room.

  Once in the room, she glided toward the dining table, swept her hand under her long flowing skirt and sat ever so elegantly at the table.

  One thing that Beatrice really hated to admit was that, despite how annoying she could be, Genevieve really knew how to dress. She was always impeccably outfitted, wearing the latest styles and trends that seemed to flatter her body without showing off her age. And although she was the same age as Beatrice, she looked a good ten years younger. Her hair was long and blonde, her skin was tight and constantly tanned, and she wore a wickedly playful smile that she used to manipulate men and torture women.

  "I suppose you heard what happened last night," Genevieve continued once she was comfortably seated.

  "And what is that?" asked Beatrice as she poured a mug of coffee from the automatic coffee machine. She could make better coffee of course, but once again she didn't see the point in wasting her best press. "Sugar?"

  "Stevia please, I'm trying to lose weight." She finished this with a soft chuckle and a flick of her hair. All the while looking fabulous and the very definition of someone who didn't need to lose weight.

  Beatrice rolled her eyes as she grabbed the packets of Stevia and set it down, along with a small piece of coffee cake. It was still nice cake of course. Beatrice didn't make sub-par sweets.

  "You haven't had any pest problems lately, have you?" asked the woman as she picked delicately at the cake with her long fingers.

  As if by divine magic, Beatrice spotted something scuttle across the floor right behind Genevieve at the exact time that she asked the question. She could have even sworn that the mouse stopped by the ankles of the drama queen and winked at her as if mocking them both. As much as Beatrice had to admit that that last part was her imagination, she couldn't deny that she had indeed seen a mouse. She was infested.

  As luck would have it, Genevieve didn't notice the sassy mouse, choosing instead to stop picking at the cake and bite right into it. "This is just what I need. You are hands-down the best baker in town," she said, letting off a very intense moan of pleasure. As much as Beatrice loved having her baking complemented, she thought that was a little much.

  "So, you were saying about last night?"

  "Oh, goodness, there was another break in. Can you believe it? I tried to tell people. No one took me seriously, but I told them it was only a matter of time before those burglaries reach our side of town." It was a Genevieve story all over. She had a flair for making everything seem far more serious than it actually was. A combination of eye bulging and gasping with just the right amount of operatic bravado.

  "I guess you were right," said Beatrice, trying to sound as uninterested as possible. She hated that Genevieve was right, and didn't much feel like giving her the benefit of that right now.

  It was at this moment that her grandson stepped from out of his room, right behind where Genevieve was seated. He was only half awake, taking his time as he opened the door. Luckily he had managed to not make a sound.

  "Well, it's just dangerous, that's what it is," Genevieve continued, too full of herself to notice the young man standing behind her.

  Beatrice made eye contact with him, shaking her head in an indication for him to stop. He looked confused at first and was about to step further into the dining room and make himself known when she gave him a more serious look; one that said, turn around and go back to your room. Seeing that she wasn't messing around, he stopped and backed into the bedroom, shutting the door.

  Right now, with Genevieve ranting and raving about break-ins, the last thing she needed was for her grandson to get in on the mix. She knew the woman and knew that she would find some way to blame him, for no other reason than it would give her something to do. And failing that, she would probably start flirting with the young man. Beatrice had seen her do it before and knew that, even with Beatrice in the room, she wouldn't hold back.

  "Is someone here?" asked Genevieve, suddenly noticing that Beatrice wasn't paying attention. If there was one thing that Genevieve hated, it was not being the center of attention.

  She was about to turn and look herself when Beatrice stood up and pressed her hand against the woman's shoulder so she would remain where she was.. "Have another piece of cake," she said, hurrying into the kitchen while keeping an eye on the guest bedroom.

  "I shouldn't but... if you insist. Honestly, Beatrice, I don't know why you don't expand your bakery into franchises all over the city."

  "Well, that cost money that I don't have right now, but you never know what the future holds," Beatrice said, cutting her another piece. She was sick of having this conversation, to be honest. It was her dream to own a franchise, but that wasn't just something that people did on a whim. It was easy enough to say that it should be done, as people always pointed out to her, but doing it was another matter.

  "I really wish that you would be more active in our Neighborhood Watch program. You and Miss Stella and Ms. Sophie would be such an asset since you don't have husbands or families, so much time on your hands." She said it with a matter-of-factness as if there was no room for argument.

  Beatrice was really starting to get annoyed by this woman presuming things about her life. She didn't want to get into how much work it was running the catering and bakery by herself, nor her volunteer work that she was constantly doing. To Genevieve that wouldn't make a difference as it didn't impact her directly.

  She was just waiting now for Genevieve to bring up her other favorite topic, that being Beatrice's love life. Every time that they were together, Genevieve somehow found a way to work it into the conversation. And it was never done in a way that would help Beatrice, as in offering her advice, it was done as an act of malice, essentially laughing in her face. So, maybe Beatrice didn't have a romantic life so to speak of, but that was her choice.

  There was one exception to this, which she didn't like to count. The local police detective, Detective Rogers, had been endlessly pursuing her for a while now. At first, it was kind of cute, but now it was bordering on annoying. It wasn't that there wasn't anything wrong with him. He was handsome and kind. But he was a former student of hers, and on top of that, she wasn't quite ready to date again after her husband's passing two years ago. This was a fact that he totally ignored, despite how many times she reminded him.

  "That's kind of you to think of us," said Beatrice, keeping her composure. "Maybe in the future." The best way to deal with Genevieve wasn't to say no. That never worked. Instead one had to delicately postpone the answer. It was a way of having your cake and eating it too.

  "Well, I—" but her words were cut off by the loud sound sirens, screaming down the road. A second later a handful of police cars rocketed past the window, roaring down the road.

  Beatrice lived in a small retirement community which was pretty quiet most of the time. The most exciting thing that happened around there was a broken sprinkler system. To see that many police in that much of a hurry was a little disconcerting.

  And of course, Genevieve was already in snoop mode. Beatrice didn't even see her move, but before she knew it, the neighborhood busy-body was at the window, peeking through the curtains. "Oh, my goodness," she gasped as she threw her hand over her mouth.

  "What is it?" asked Beatrice, unable to help her curiosity as she walked toward the window.

  But the woman was too slow to answer. A second late
r there was a loud bang on the door. And then another.

  Beatrice ignored the gasps of the drama queen as she hurried across to the door, looking through the peephole. Two unannounced visitors in one day, how did she get so lucky?

  It was a statement that she would be eating a second later as the image through the peephole came into vision.

  It was the cops.

  3

  May I come in?" asked Detective Rogers as he leaned in the doorway. He was a tall, imposing figure, standing well over six foot with big broad shoulders. If it wasn't for a young life dotted with controversy, he probably would have gone on to be a professional football player. He had shaved his mustache off which, despite how much Beatrice hated to admit, helped to unearth a very naturally attractive, boyishly, good-looking man.

  She suddenly became very aware of how she must look right now too. In her nightgown, with her hair held back by a headband and eyes that were still waking up. She made a silent pact there and then to never answer the door again unless she was suitably dressed. You just never knew who you were going to see.

  "Of course," Beatrice offered, inviting him and the other officer inside. She hadn't even noticed the other officer at first, because he shrunk in behind Detective Rogers. "Is there something the matter?"

  "I'll say," he said looking around as he ran his hand through his thick, slightly graying hair. "Have you noticed anything suspicious around here lately?" Somehow though, the gray hair only made him look more refined; the very definition of aging gracefully.

  "Here?" asked Beatrice swallowing as she blocked his view of the broken window in the kitchen. It wasn't that she suspected her grandson, not in the least. But just because she didn't doesn't mean that nobody else would.

  "That's what I was just asking her," said Genevieve. "I run the neighborhood watch in this area; my name is Genevieve." She extended her hand flirtatiously, back up and arched as if she were suggesting he should kiss the back of it. Beatrice held back a groan, as she watched the performance. It was time for the Genevieve show. "I've been reading all about these burglaries in the area."

  "A pleasure," Detective Rogers said, not taking her hand as he continued to stroll through the living room. "I'm afraid it's a little bit more than just a burglary now."

  "What do you mean?" asked Beatrice, suddenly curious. She had made sure to step around the Detective and have him follow her so that his back was to the window.

  "Murder," Detective Rogers said, his back still to the broken window.

  "Murder?" repeated Genevieve, gasping as she did. "In our neighborhood?" She practically threw herself at the detective as she ran up to him, grabbing him by the arm in a panic.

  "Looks like it. I just wanted to check on you to see if you're all right and to see if you'd seen anything suspicious." Try as he might, there was no hiding the empathy in Detective Rogers voice as he asked the question. It was actually a little touching. He had been pursuing Beatrice for a little while now and although she was convinced that sooner or later he would get bored, acts like this continued to surprise her.

  "Nothing particularly," said Beatrice, trying her best to act natural. It was a relief that the detective had come here for personal means, and not because he suspected anything might be amiss. But even so, that didn't mean that she was all of a sudden going to expose her grandson.

  "I want you to take extra precautions at least until we find out who this person is." Beatrice hadn't noticed but Genevieve was still gripping Detective Rogers by the arm, her body pressed up to his. What she did notice though was the way that he pulled his arm from her grasp as he asked the question, stepping away from the drama queen and closer to Beatrice.

  "Oh, I will," Beatrice said, trying to hide her smile. Although she told herself she had no interest in the younger detective, it didn't mean that she wasn't allowed to be flattered by it.

  "Of course, we could talk about this more over dinner," he said with a wink. And there it was. Every time that he even began to show some sort of reservation toward her, some of that gentleman streak that she knew he possessed, he went and ruined the whole thing.

  "I think I'm good but thanks for the concern," she said shortly, stepping back and away from the large detective. Doing so she almost walked right into the other officer in the room who she had completely forgotten about. True to his form, he didn’t say a word, rather he just stepped around her and nodded. How odd.

  "Is there any idea of who might have done this?" asked Genevieve, her arms crossed now. Beatrice smirked to herself, knowing full well that she was in a bad mood following the so obvious rejection.

  "We do have a preliminary sketch based on some eyewitness accounts of who neighbors saw sneaking around."

  "Can we see it?" asked Genevieve suddenly. Her eyes burst open wide from anticipation. There she was, the Genevieve that Beatrice knew and did not love. Beatrice knew that she would be salivating at the very prospect of being the first to see a sketch. Just something else to embellish and brag about.

  Detective Rogers signaled to the silent officer who Beatrice only just now noticed held a large pad in his right hand. Wordlessly, the officer flipped through the pad until he found what he was looking for. "My he does look dangerous," Genevieve said, holding her hand to her mouth as she gazed at the picture

  "May I see that please?" asked Beatrice. She reached into her nightgown pocket and pulled out her glasses, which she put on; very aware of how old and silly she must look. But that wasn't the concern right now. The concern was the deep set eyes staring back at her from the drawing. Not to mention the square jaw and cleft chin.

  It was her grandson. There was no doubt about that.

  4

  Is it safe to come out yet?" Her grandson's voice called from behind the closed door.

  "You have a lot of explaining to do, young man," said Beatrice placing her hands on her hips, glaring at him as the door slowly opened, and he stepped out. His eyes downcast, hands in his pockets, he did his best at acting the victim.

  After Beatrice had seen the sketch, she had had to use every ounce of self-control she had to keep a cool face. Not only were there two police officers in the room, trained to smell deception, but there was also Genevieve. That woman was like a bloodhound when it came to picking up on the possibilities of drama. If she got even the slightest whiff that something might be up, then she wouldn’t stop digging until she learned the truth.

  Luckily, Beatrice had all but kept her cool and, with no other reasons to be there, the officers said goodbye and left – not before Rogers got in a quick, flirtatious grin. One which she rebuffed with equal tenacity.

  It took Beatrice a little longer to dispose of Genevieve who for some reason was insistent on hanging around. But finally, after finishing off her third slice of cake, she too left in a bit of a rush, throwing her hands up suddenly and screaming that she had somewhere to be. Not that Beatrice cared, however. She was finally alone. Now it was time to deal with her grandson.

  "I didn't do nothing," he said, kicking at the ground as he made his way to the living room. His hands were shoved into his dirty blue jeans as he said it and Beatrice scrunched up her nose at thoughts of how unkempt he was. She'd have to wash those pants later.

  "I didn't do anything, and I'll be the judge of that. Sit down," she said, pointing to the couch.

  "Do you have any idea why they are looking for you?" Beatrice did her best to act like she was in control of the situation, but inside she was freaking out. With the sudden addition of murder, this whole thing had suddenly become very serious. Even if her grandson wasn't involved, the wrong people thought he was. She had been down this road before and knew how hard it was to come back from.

  He sat down and sighed. "I'm telling you. I didn't do anything, anything. I was just ..."

  "I'm going to call your mom right this instant." Beatrice didn't want to call his mother. In fact, that was the last person she felt like talking to. She just hoped that the threat might scare some sense
into him.

  "Go ahead," he said, shrugging while wiping his nose in his equally as dirty black t-shirt; the whole time refusing to meet her eyes. "She's not around anyway."

  Beatrice stopped short. 'What do you mean she's not around? Where is she?"

  "Beats me. Probably off on a cruise with her boyfriend."

  Beatrice could feel herself getting angry as her grandson said this. It was just so... it was just so typical of her. Her daughter had always been selfish, even when she was a little girl. Beatrice had convinced herself that she would grow out of it when she got older, but it seemed that that wasn't the case. It was one of the many reasons that they didn't talk much anymore.

  “What boyfriend? You mean she leaves you all alone, unattended?" Beatrice asked, already knowing that that was exactly what her daughter would do.

  He sniffed, wiping his nose with his sleeve again. As tough as he was, it was clear he felt like crying. There was something more there than simply being left alone. Beatrice was sure that it had something to do with why he had appeared out of nowhere all of a sudden. She had to find out what it was.

  "She kind of kicked me out a few weeks ago," he said as she sat down by his side, resting her hand on his leg in comfort. He tried to pass the statement off as a non-sequitur. But Beatrice could hear the pain in his voice.

  "What?" Beatrice blurted, more shocked than anything.

  "Haven't been doing too good in school, and—"

  "Well... doing well in school and why didn't you call me?" Beatrice couldn't believe what she was hearing. First, it was the fact that her daughter, her own flesh and blood, had kicked her son out of home. And second, it was that he hadn't felt like he could call his grandmother for help. That was what hurt the most. Sure she wasn't as close to him as she would have liked to have been, but she still felt like they were close enough that he could have at least rung.

  "I didn't want to bother you. I stayed with a few friends for awhile. I was hoping just to get into your place and not wake you. That's why I tried to get in from the window, but it broke and ..."