No! She shook her head as that thought entered it. She had to believe her grandson. It was as simple as that. He had told her that he was innocent, and that was all she needed. Well, that and another suspect.
And that was just the problem, between her musing on the pest control man and the village drama queen, Beatrice hadn't managed to come up with any real suspects. Her grandson was the only one. That was what she was going to have to do. She was going to have to find another suspect before it was too late.
For some that might seem like a tall order, but for Beatrice, it was right up her alley. The thing about watching a lot of mysteries was that over time you came to being able to solve them. She just needed to focus.
In an attempt to do just that, Beatrice decided to go and straighten out the guest room. She was always able to think clearly when she started cleaning. It kept her mind on track and away from stray thoughts.
She was tucking in the bed sheets when she ran across her grandson's belongings, tucked underneath the pillow. It wasn't much, just a small backpack and some scrunched up clothes.
She stared at the backpack, willing herself to look away. She told herself that she wouldn't invade his privacy. She told herself that she wasn't like that.
This was a lie that she continued to tell herself as she moved the bag, accidentally spilling its contents all over the floor. It was because of that, and only because of that, that she now had no choice but to pick them up and put them all back in the bag.
But she never got that far.
Tucked in amongst his things was a card from an escort. Worse than that, the photo attached to it looked an awful lot like the few photos that she had seen of the victim. And, if that wasn't enough to confirm what Beatrice now knew to be true, on the back of the card, written in ink, where the words "Miss you, love Sasha"
She could literally feel her stomach hit the floor. This was not good.
10
Beatrice wanted answers, and she wanted them now. She had defended her grandson through thick and thin when all the evidence screamed at her not to. But still, she stuck by his side because that's what grandmothers do. But now, after finding that card and learning that she had been lied to, her grandson better have a very good explanation for what was going on.
The only problem was that he was currently locked up nice and tight. And worse than that, due to the circumstances around the case, he wasn't allowed any visitors. Only his lawyer and that was it. For any other person this may have presented a problem, but for Beatrice, it was only a small obstacle.
It began with her, Stella and Sophie that afternoon. She invited them over to help her whip up some of her famous peanut butter cookies. They were sweet and so potent and powerful that, when used correctly, could get anyone to do anything. She made them perhaps twice a years, usually around her birthday and Christmas, and that was it. But desperate times called for sweeter measures.
Then, with Sophie on one side and Stella on the other, they made their way to the police station. And this is where things got really dicey.
She couldn't afford to let Detective Rogers know that she was there, visiting her grandson. Not only would he get upset at her, but it might also hurt her grandson's case. That was why she had Sophie and Stella.
They arrived at the station when Rogers was known to be out for lunch. They knew this because they sat in the car across the road until they saw him pull out, that hungry look on his face of a man on his way to get a sandwich.
Sophie's job was simple; she was to remain in the car and beep the horn as long and loud as she could if Detective Rogers was to return early. It took a solid ten minutes of explaining, complete with diagrams and pictures, but eventually, she understood her role... well Beatrice hoped that she did.
Once inside the station, Beatrice unleashed the power of her cookies. Armed with the cookies and Stella's charm, they were able to bribe their way easily into the back cells where her grandson was. She even saved a cookie for him.
The cells themselves were a plain affair, gray stone walls, and floors with big iron bars separating the accused from the free. The cells were as cold as they looked too; somehow even without wind in the room, there was still a chilly breeze running through the open space.
"Grandma?" he squeaked in surprise, leaping up from the cold bench and rushing to the bars. "What are you doin' here?" He looked downright awful. Not only did it look like he hadn't eaten in days, but his skin was washed out, his hair was greasy, and he was still wearing the same dirty jeans and t-shirt he had been when he was arrested.
Beatrice lowered her tone. "Close the door, Stella." Stella, nodding, stepped from the room, closing the door behind her. She was to be on lookout duty. "It was the only way I could get you to come. Now we're going to get some answers out of you one way or another."
Beatrice was through playing the nice, doting grandmother role. It was time for her to put her foot down like she used to with her own daughter when she stepped out of line. It was time for her grandson to know who the boss was around here.
"Fine whatever," he said, taking a step back from the bars as he looked away from her.
"I beg your pardon?" She held out the last cookie, waving it in front of the bars like a magic wand. And, as she knew it would, it had the desired effect.
"Yes, ma'am," he said eagerly, pressing himself back up against the bars, his hand reaching out for the cookie.
Smiling to herself, "that's what I thought. Now, tell me the truth. How close were you two?" She handed him the cookie, and like a scavenger he snatched it from her hand, shoveling it into his face in one go. It was only when he had finished eating it, followed by a thorough finger licking, that he was ready to answer.
"I told you already; we were friends, nothing more. She just taught me some things. Things I was too embarrassed to talk to anyone else about."
"Spare me the details. Were you anywhere near her the night that she was murdered?" Beatrice was holding the bars with both hands now; her face pressed between them. She wanted him to say no. And more than that, she wanted to believe him.
"I ... I did see her that night, but I didn't do anything — anything to her. In fact, it was me that called the cops," he finished, crossing his arms.
"What?" She let go of the bars, more from shock than anything. She hadn't been expecting that.
He took another step back, falling onto the hard bench. "I didn't know what else to do. I didn't know how else to help her. It was too late. I knew I had to get out of there and come to the one place I knew I was safe, your place."
She was touched that he had admitted that hers was a house he knew he would be safe at. That was an admission that any grandmother would love to hear. Unfortunately, it was somewhat overshadowed by the current circumstances. He had admitted to being with her shortly before the murder. And even if he was the one who called the cops, that wouldn't be enough to clear his name.
He had gotten himself tangled up in quite the web. She wasn't sure that she was going to be able to get him out.
"Why did you call the cops?" She asked, genuinely confused. It seemed like that would be the last thing he would do. He must have known that it would only lead to his arrest.
He sighed, barely able to look at her when he said, "She'd said she'd gotten threats from some lady. Some lady that had threatened her life. I couldn't make out who and she didn't want me to call for help, but I was worried about her so when I left that night, I called the cops and used one of those voice disguises to tell them about the threats. I guess they didn't take me seriously and now, it's too late."
A lone tear spread across his face as his lips began to quiver. That tough shell that he had been so intent on putting up was starting to crumble. Beneath it all, he was just a scared kid way in over his head. Her heart bled for him, and she knew at that moment that she wouldn't rest until his name was cleared.
She wanted to say something else. She wanted to call him over so she could give him a big grandmother hug
. But she never got the chance. A second later she heard a loud, long honk coming from outside and she knew that it was time to go.
***
“Did he see you?” Beatrice asked Sophie as they drove from the police station. Beatrice was driving with Stella in the back and Sophie in the passenger seat. Sophie had asked if she could drive, but Beatrice wasn’t quite ready for that adventure.
“Who?” Sophie asked as she wound the window up and down, up and down. Her face lit up as she did as if it were the most interesting thing she had ever seen; some sort of magic even.
“Rogers,” Beatrice exclaimed, trying to keep her cool. The truth was that she was in a pretty bad mood after her visit with her grandson. It had nothing to do with him lying to her. The anger came from her own sense of worthlessness.
As a grandmother, there was nothing worse than that feeling of helplessness that she was currently experiencing. Her grandson was behind bars and there was nothing she could do about it. She wanted him home. Her home. Seeing him there, she instantly decided that when he did get out that he would be living with her from now on. She failed her daughter; she wasn’t going to fail him.
“Steve Rogers?” Sophie asked, eyes now wide with surprise. “Captain America? He’s here? Why didn’t you tell me!” She clapped her hands together in excitement.
“No, not Captain America! I meant —”
“He didn’t see us, darling. Don’t worry,” Stella said. Beatrice knew that the odds were pretty slim, they had been exceptionally sneaky after all. The last thing she wanted was a chewing out from the detective.
Stella leaned forward as she placed her hand on Beatrice’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Are you OK though? You seem tense.”
Beatrice sighed, making an effort to slow her breathing down. “I’m fine, just a little tightly wound. Sorry Sophie, for snapping,” she said, patting her friend on the leg.
Sophie took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “It’s Okay, Bea, I’d be mad if I missed seeing Captain America too… which I did. Now I am mad.” Although she didn’t sound mad. Beatrice chuckled, almost certain that the whole thing had been some sort of ploy by Sophie to lighten the mood. She really ought to give the woman more credit sometimes.
“So what now?” Asked Stella. “Did he tell you why he had a card from Sasha? And I have to say; I’m very impressed. It takes a special kind of many to tame a cougar. Your grandson must be something else.”
“Stella, please. Is now the time?” Beatrice turned the car onto the highway, having a hard time concentrating over her friend's comments about her grandson.
“Oh, sorry dear. I get carried away sometimes.”
“He said the two were just friends. That she… that she understood him or something. Whatever that meant.” This little nugget of information still hurt Beatrice, although she wasn’t going to admit that to the girls. Instead, she was going to work to make sure that she was the one that her grandson went to for help from now on, not some harlot down the street.
“Well, that’s one thing I guess. But what now? Him knowing her at all doesn’t look good if you ask me” Stella asked, making a point that Beatrice knew to be true. Whichever way they tried to spin it, the whole thing was still rather a mystery.
“I don’t know. I think, and I hate to admit it. But I think I need to speak to Detective Rogers — and no Sophie, that’s not Captain America.” Sophie had opened her mouth excitedly to speak before Beatrice cut her off. “When we get home I’ll give him a call and —”
A loud ‘POP’ suddenly exploded from outside the car. A second later and the car swerved across the road, Beatrice hanging onto the wheel, doing all she could to try and keep the thing steady. It zigged, and it zagged over the highway, which was luckily empty.
“What’s going on!” Stella screamed as she threw her hands to both sides of the car, trying to keep herself steady. But even her shrill voice couldn’t overcome the noises of the car screeching all over the road.
It was only through pure force of will and a lot of effort that Beatrice was able to get control of the car. Once she did, she was quick to get the thing off the road too, not wanting something else happen.
The three ladies sat in silence for a moment, breathing slowly and steadily as they tried to comprehend what had just happened. One moment they were driving along safe and sound and the next they were hanging on for dear life.
“Ah Bea, what was that?” Stella finally asked, her breathing heavy and labored.
“I have no idea…” Beatrice responded, truthfully. The switch from pleasant driving, to swerving all over the road was near instantaneous; too quick for her to figure out what had gone wrong. Was it a conspiracy? Had someone tried to take the three members of the Cookie Club out?
—
She had blown a tire. It was as simple as that. As the three ladies climbed from the car and made their way around the back to the rear, they instantly noticed the large beer bottle that had managed to find its way right through the tread.
What wasn’t so simple was what they were going to do about it.
“Who are you with?” Stella asked. “I’m with Amica. I was going to go with Auto Insurance, but the mechanic that works at the local Amica is more than a little hunky. I’ve actually been trying to crash my car, just to give me an excuse.”
Beatrice bit her lip as she stared down at the flat tire. What should have been a relatively straightforward situation was compounded by one small detail. “Ah, I’m not actually with anyone,” she admitted.
“What?” Stella asked in disbelief. “How are you not with… how could you not be with anyone? What if… well, what if this happens?”
Beatrice was always the prepared one of the three, and she took great pride in this fact. She was, therefore, a little more than embarrassed to admit that the reason she wasn’t insured was that it just slipped her mind. So innocently and yet so costly.
Her old car insurance had been under her husband's name, and when it expired, she just kind of forgot to renew it. She had never once needed it before, so it was, of course, typical that now was the time.
But still. She wasn’t about to admit to Stella that she had made a mistake. Lucky, Sophie provided the perfect distraction. “What is Sophie doing?” She asked, pointing towards Sophie.
Sophie was currently standing on the side of the road, stripping off her white blouse without a care in the world.
“Sophie!” Beatrice yelled out, rushing toward her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m making a flag,” Sophie responded. “For when cars come past so we can wave them down.” She pulled her blouse off, revealing a white tank top on underneath... and nothing else.
“We don’t need a flag,” Beatrice said, trying to grab at the blouse to put it back on. Only Sophie held it out of the way as she danced as if waving it in the air.
“Sure we do. How else are we going to signal for help?” And she continued to dance, waving the shirt the whole time.
To Beatrice’s relief, their prayers were answered a second later as a giant rig let off a loud beep of its own, pulling over to the side of the road; just a few feet down from where their car was parked.
“See!” Sophie beamed. “Told you it would work!”
“Thank you, Sophie. Now please put your shirt back on,” Beatrice said, rubbing her forehead in apparent pain.
The rig pulled up just a little way down the road from where their car had broken down. The three ladies approached; Beatrice in the lead, Stella just behind and Sophie even further back, slipping her shirt back on.
The driver of the rig was, of course, gorgeous in every respect. He had a square, clean-shaven jaw, light blue eyes, light hair, tanned skin and a body equally as impressive as the truck he was driving. Oh, and his smile was spectacular too. Pearly white teeth that seemed to catch the sunlight.
“You ladies need some help?” He called as he approached them.
Beatrice could just about feel Stella react beside her. It
was as if she transformed, changing into some sort of manipulative, sexually promiscuous beast. “Oh thank god you came,” Stella cooed, rushing ahead of her two friends so as to greet the truck driver first. “I thought we were goners out here.” She just about threw herself at the driver when she reached him. It was quite the sight.
“That’s OK,” he said, not looking the least bit put out by the antics of Stella. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I left three lovely ladies like yourselves stranded out here.”
“And so thoughtful,” Stella gushed, keeping a firm grip on his bicep as he approached Beatrice and Sophie.
“What seem’s to be the problem?” He asked, patently ignoring Stella as he looked at the car.
“My tire blew,” Beatrice offered as she indicated to the car.
“Ya need a phone to call your company or somethin’?” He asked, reaching into his pocket.
“I kind of have no insurance,” Beatrice admitted, mumbling the words. Even though she didn’t know the man, she still felt embarrassed to be telling him.
“Well ain’t that a trick?” He said, running his hand through his thick head of hair. “You have a spare tire?”
“Fresh out.” Now she felt really stupid. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he jumped back in his car and went on his way, there and then. And if he did that Beatrice could have hardly blamed him.
“I’ll tell ya what. I just so happen to have a spare up there in my truck. What do you say I change it over for ya? Shouldn’t take too long.”
“Oooooo what a kind gesture,” Stella cooed again. “If there’s anything we can do to repay you…” Beatrice sometimes wished that her friend had just a little bit of subtlety about her. The way she was carrying on right now, a blind man would be able to see what she had in mind.
“Truly,” Beatrice offered, trying to deflect. “If there is anything at all.” She meant it too. This driver was a literal lifesaver right now. She owed him big time.
“Naw, don’t worry about it, I’m sure you would have done the same for… do I know you?” He had managed to pry his arm from Stella’s grip, taking a step closer to Beatrice, really studying her face. “Dang I knew I did. You’re that baker ain’t ya?”
Case of the Sugar Cream Shooting Page 7
