Granny Gets Fancy

by Harper Lin

  We ordered. Once the coast was clear, he leaned in and said, “I haven’t seen him.”

  His eyes weren’t bloodshot, and he spoke clearly. He seemed a far cry from the stoner we had spoken to at Dips n’ Donuts.

  “Are you sober?” I asked, unable to keep a note of surprise out of my voice.

  “Of course he’s sober,” Octavian said. “He’s got an important job to do.”

  Albert smiled at him. “Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  He moved on.

  “Might be getting somewhere with that underachiever,” Octavian said.

  “At least for today.”

  “Yes. If we catch the murderer, he’ll probably celebrate by smoking an entire shipment from Mexico.”

  We continued to scan the room. As it filled, that task became increasingly difficult. People gathered in groups between the tables, laughing and joking and generally obscuring the view. One annoying group stopped right between us and the doorway. They were barely in the room! It was like those people who walk into the supermarket right in front of you and stop just inside the front door and stare around them, blocking the way. Didn’t these people know I was trying to find a murderer?

  A moment later, I did find someone, but it wasn’t Rob Fleming.

  It was the woman in the photograph next to James Garfield’s bed.

  She was unmistakable, a blond woman in her late twenties, dressed to the nines in an expensive turquoise dress. She even had on the same diamond necklace and ring she had worn in Garfield’s photograph. Accompanying her was a woman in her fifties who was just as well dressed and with equally rich jewelry. She was obviously the girl’s mother. The family resemblance was visible even through the older woman’s facelift and chin tuck.

  They came in alone, greeting a few people as they passed our table. Several of the men made a point of coming over. The older woman and her daughter got similar attention. I suspected the mother was a widow with heaps of money and the daughter one of the more eligible single women in town. The way the men interacted with her, that diamond ring did not symbolize an engagement.

  I nudged Octavian and pointed them out.

  “That’s the girl in the picture I told you about,” I whispered. Still no one had sat at our table, but it was best to stay cautious.

  “She’s got at least twenty thousand dollars in jewelry on. Her mother has about the same.”

  I blinked. He had made that assessment with barely a glance.

  He saw my reaction and chuckled. “When you hang out with rich people all your career, you learn to read the symbols. You have to show off your wealth in a communicable way in order to show where you are in the hierarchy.”

  “And how did you do that?” I asked.

  He pulled up his sleeve and showed me a beautiful gold watch. “A vintage Rolex from 1926. There’s a shop in London that specializes in vintage Rolexes, some reaching the high five figures. That combined with a tailored suit, and the business connections came pouring in.”

  “Well la-di-da.”

  “So what’s our next move?”

  I shrugged. “Introduce ourselves. You’re the newest member of the country club, after all.”

  “The direct approach. I like it.”

  We made our way over to the women. Octavian expertly navigated through the small crowd of admiring men encircling the two ladies. As down-to-earth as that man could be, he really was in his element in this crowd. I followed in his wake.

  “Hello,” he said, extending a hand to the younger woman. “I’m Octavian. I just joined the country club a couple of days ago, and I wanted to come over and tell you that that is a stunning necklace. My late wife had one just like it.”

  “Oh, why thank you. My name is Gwendolyn,” the girl said in a tone that showed she was accustomed to receiving compliments. Her eyes turned to me.

  “This is my friend Barbara,” Octavian said. What, I had been demoted to friend? His reasons became apparent a moment later when he turned to the older woman. “And this must be your daughter.”

  That provoked a tittering from the two ladies and a raised eyebrow from me. He stole that line from a movie. I couldn’t remember which movie off the top of my head, but flirtation didn’t have to be original to be effective.

  And it sure was effective.

  The older woman slid over to him and placed her hand in his. He duly kissed it, right on a giant ruby ring that, while smaller than the one Penny Price wore, was far more tasteful and probably more expensive.

  “I’m Gwendolyn.”

  Octavian cocked his head. “I thought your mother was named Gwendolyn.”

  “She’s my daughter, you charming man, and she’s Gwendolyn III. I’m Gwendolyn II, and my mother was simply Gwendolyn.”

  Octavian raised an eyebrow. “You’re carrying your given names down through the generations?”

  “Why should only men get to do that? It was my mother who created the family fortune with a chain of boutiques, and she passed it along to me. My daughter will inherit in due time. She’s already proving to be an excellent manager.”

  Well, well, well. Not only was the mystery woman in Garfield’s photo a prize catch, but she was also a member of a dynasty. This was getting better and better.

  Someone cleared his throat beside me—Albert.

  “I’ve set your drinks on your table, ma’am,” he said, looking significantly toward our table.

  I followed his gaze and saw why he had interrupted us.

  Rob Fleming stood just a few feet away from my seat, talking with another man.

  I moved off from the circle a bit. Albert followed.

  “You sure that’s him?” I whispered.

  “Yep.”

  “You sure you’re sober?”

  “Yep.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. Octavian was still chatting with Gwendolyn II, while Gwendolyn III was talking with a young admirer. A lot of them were circling around like fruit flies.

  Just as I was about to head over to Rob Fleming and think of an excuse to speak with him, he wiped his nose with the back of his finger and headed toward us.

  Wiped his nose. Cocaine users did that a lot. And he wiped it with his left hand. The autopsy had said the murderer had been left-handed.

  He went straight up to Gwendolyn II, passing me without a glance. I moved back into the circle and stood beside Octavian.

  Fleming’s appearance made Gwendolyn II’s eyes light up, and a genuine smile spread across her lips.

  “Darling!” she said, placing a kiss right on his mouth.

  “How are you, my love?” Fleming asked.

  “Much better now that you’re here. Rob, I’d like you to meet Octavian and Barbara. They just joined.”

  There followed a superficial conversation during which I studied everyone’s body language. Fleming and Gwendolyn II had hooked arms and stood so close their sides were touching. Fleming was polite to us but obviously uninterested. Gwendolyn III took time out of chatting with her young admirers to chat happily with Fleming. Everyone seemed at ease. Gwendolyn II might have been a good catch, but I didn’t sense Fleming was courting her entirely for that reason. Her wealth might have been a bonus, but that wasn’t his prime motive. No, this was a family in the making.

  So what had happened to the older woman’s husband, the father of Gwendolyn III? Dead? Divorced? He was obviously out of the picture, and I couldn’t ask while lover boy was around.

  Fleming coughed. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back in just a minute.” He headed for the door. I was about to follow when I saw Albert trailing him. If Fleming was heading to the bathroom for another snort, it would be better if Albert went. The last thing I needed was to gain a reputation as the old lady who hung out in the country club men’s room.

  Then I thought again. If Albert snuck in there, he could get himself in trouble or even killed. Octavian was still chatting to the two Gwendolyns. Apparently, he hadn’t put two and two together and de
cided to follow our main suspect.

  Good. I didn’t want him getting stabbed at the urinal. That would be a very sticky end, to say the least.

  I walked away without saying anything, hoping to leave unnoticed. Octavian was putting on the charm, and Gwendolyn II was obviously interested in whatever he was saying. Gwendolyn III had turned away to speak with a new suitor. If I slipped away unobtrusively, no one would even know I had left.

  Wrong. As I moved away, I caught Gwendolyn II glancing at me. A flicker of suspicion passed over her features. Her brow furrowed a little, quite a trick when you’d had a facelift. I didn’t know you could furrow your brow after one of those.

  Even worse, she saw me looking at her. Our eyes met for the briefest of instances.

  I gave her an awkward smile and moved off.

  “Keep that charm coming, Octavian,” I said under my breath. Maybe he could keep her occupied and out of the way.

  I trailed Albert out the door and down the hall. I couldn’t see Rob Fleming because he was too far ahead, but Albert seemed to have him in sight. I sped up, my ankles hurting a bit. I clutched my purse, which had my 9mm hidden inside. I hoped I could clear all this up without gunplay.

  The crowd cleared up, and I spotted Fleming. He had been stopped by some businessman who was eagerly talking to him about something. Albert stopped and busied himself, rearranging a floral display on a side table. I took the opportunity to move closer to Fleming while keeping behind him.

  As I drew close, I heard the man who had stopped Fleming say, “So I think those stocks will turn a tidy profit.”

  “Sounds good,” Fleming said with a nod. “That will put me in a good position.”

  “Wedding bells at last?”

  Fleming smiled. “Looks like.”

  Wedding bells with whom? Gwendolyn II? There seemed to be chemistry there.

  Fleming nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to hit the head before the lunch starts.”

  “Of course,” the other man said, moving off.

  I got close behind Fleming and followed. I had no fear of him noticing me. The man was walking with purpose, focused entirely on the drug he needed to take. I’d lost track of Albert in the crowd, but that didn’t matter. I would handle this from here.

  Fleming’s hands were fidgeting, and his left hand kept straying to the side pocket of his blazer. His pace increased. This man didn’t need the bathroom for any normal business.

  He rounded the corner down the short hallway leading to the bathroom. For the moment, we were alone. Without looking back, he entered the men’s room.

  The ladies’ room was just across the hallway. I glanced either way. No one was in sight. I forced myself to count to ten to give Fleming enough time to get into one of the stalls before I opened the door. When I did, I saw no one at the urinals but heard a telltale sniffing coming from one of the stalls.

  Just then, Penny Price, of all people, came out of the ladies’ room.

  “Barbara, you silly goose! That’s the wrong bathroom! This is becoming a bad habit with you!”

  Good. Lord.

  She caught me standing with the men’s room door open. I heard a rattle inside, and one of the stalls opened. Rob Fleming poked his head out and looked right at me.

  Thirteen

  His eyes lit up, and I knew instantly that he had heard about the nosy old lady who had gone into the men’s room to check out the murder.

  The murder he had committed.

  I knew that for sure now, because he struggled to maintain a calm demeanor while looking at me with a murderous rage.

  Quite the emotion, murderous rage. I’d had it directed at me more times than I cared to count.

  Luckily for me, he probably didn’t have a knife on him, and a witness was standing right there.

  “Barbara!” that witness said. “Close the door. You’re embarrassing yourself!”

  “And you’re endangering me,” I muttered.

  Fortune favored the bold. I stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, figuring that Penny Price wouldn’t follow. The squawk she let out made it sound like she was right on top of me, though.

  “You murdered James Garfield,” I said, stepping forward and unzipping my handbag.

  Rob Fleming’s face did some impressive contortions. His first reaction was shock and fear, followed quickly by confusion over how I could know what I knew then by one of the best poker faces I’d seen in the business.

  “You’re crazy. Get out of here.”

  A knock came at the door.

  “Barbara? What are you doing?” Penny Price called out.

  “You tried to ply Garfield with wine, and when that didn’t work, you watched as he drank his orange juice and then hid here in a stall until he had to relieve himself. On the way here, you stole a steak knife and used that to kill him. You were hyped up on cocaine, and so all it took was a single hard stab in the back.”

  More confusion showed on Fleming’s face, followed by rage.

  The cocaine had hit his brain.

  If I had been thinking straight, I would not have faced down a murderer who had just snorted a controlled substance.

  If he had been thinking straight, he would not have done what he did next.

  He should have shouted that a crazy woman had broken into the bathroom. From an outsider’s point of view, the situation did not appear in my favor.

  But he didn’t do that. Instead, he rushed me.

  I got my gun out just in time. Fleming screeched to a halt a couple of feet from me, arms splayed out. I stepped to one side to get out of his reach. I tilted my head back so I could see the sights better. These days, I needed my reading glasses to see them properly, not that I had the time to take them out with him looming over me.

  “How did you know so much about Garfield?” I demanded. “From what I heard, you never even met the man. So why did you want to kill him?”

  Fleming’s face contorted with rage. The cocaine was coursing through his veins now, hyping him up. I could see fear and anger battling inside him.

  Just then, Albert saw fit to walk in. He really had bad timing. Why couldn’t that young fellow learn to leave a woman alone when she was in the men’s room doing some serious business?

  “Whoa!” he said. “Looks like—”

  Fleming grabbed Albert and threw him right at me. I managed to move the gun to one side so I didn’t shoot the poor fellow as he crashed into me and sent us both to the floor.

  Sharp pain lanced through my arm as I landed elbow first, then thudded through my entire body as the rest of me hit the floor. The gun skittered across the tiles.

  Albert tried scrambling to his feet, only to get a right hook to the jaw that sent him down again. I rolled over and tried crawling for the gun.

  “Tried” being the key word. My elbow felt like it was broken or at least fractured, and the fall had also put out my back. I didn’t have back problems. It was one of the few parts of me that didn’t hurt sometimes. Thank you, Rob Fleming, for making me a little bit older.

  Not too old to trip him up as he went for the gun.

  Tripping someone was an easy thing to do, even when you were prone on a bathroom floor with only one good arm. It just took timing. As he ran past, I grabbed at his ankle as he put his entire weight on it to bring his other foot forward.

  The result was a satisfying face-plant on the bathroom floor and a sharp pain in my wrist. Great. Was I really going to have two bad arms?

  It appeared so. I grabbed the gun and fumbled it, dropping it back on the floor.

  Fleming, hyped up on drugs and rage, batted my hand away and reached for my gun, only to get a business card flicked right in his eye.

  He cried out, and his hand went to his eye instead of the gun. Another business card hit him in the other eye. It came in fast and hit point first.

  It couldn’t have done any real damage, but it certainly must have hurt and blinded him for a second.
>
  Long enough for me to get ahold of my gun.

  When Fleming next got his eyes open, he was staring down the barrel of a 9mm.

  No amount of cocaine was going to keep that from being a scary proposition.

  “Is that you back there, Penny?” I asked without taking my eyes off Fleming. I didn’t dare.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s quite the trick with the cards.”

  “I have plenty of tricks up my sleeve. Mind telling me what’s going on?”

  “This dude murdered a dude,” Albert said, struggling to his feet.

  “Prove it,” Fleming snarled.

  I paused. That might be difficult. After all, we had no physical evidence, nothing to directly link Fleming to Garfield. As for the drink he sent over to Garfield’s table, he could merely say that he was offering the new member some wine. That was hardly evidence for murder. If we were lucky, he had some more cocaine in his pocket, and we could bust him for that. Then again, he could have me charged with assault. I was the one who barged in on him and pulled a gun.

  Fleming gave me a wicked grin. He had thought of all this and probably lots more. He was a prominent lawyer, after all.

  He let out a mocking laugh and sprang to his feet. I kept my gun on him, but with my other arm still in excruciating pain, I couldn’t get up myself.

  “Just as I thought. You’re just some meddlesome old hag who thinks she’s a detective. You and some dumbass kid and some nouveau riche wench with bad TV commercials. Some detectives! You have nothing.”

  “Yes we do,” Octavian said.

  I supposed he had dramatically appeared at the door at that moment. Too bad I had to cover Fleming and missed it. I did so love a man who made a dramatic entrance.

  “What do you mean?” Fleming said, a little less confident than before. Something in Octavian’s tone brooked no opposition.

  “I was talking with Gwendolyn II and III, working on a hunch. I had asked around and found out Gwendolyn II is single, so that got me thinking about her ex. Gwendolyn II doesn’t wear a wedding band like many widows do, like Barbara and I do. Divorce? That was my next hunch. So I got to talking to them and told Gwendolyn III that since she’s such a lovely girl, her father must be very proud of her.”