Granny Gets Fancy

by Harper Lin

  Fleming took a step back, shocked. Octavian let out a little laugh.

  “Yes, that’s the reaction I got from Gwendolyn II but ten times bigger. She turned pale and then got angry. Oh, she tried to hide it, but she couldn’t. She must have heard things along those lines a hundred times, and she still can’t control her reaction. Her daughter revealed even more. She said she had never known her father. That set off an alarm in my head.”

  It did in mine too. “James Garfield was the father. That’s why he moved here, to be with her. That’s why he took a photo of her. But he took it from a distance. Gwendolyn II wouldn’t let him see his daughter.”

  “Why should she?” Fleming yelled. “That useless old drunk got her pregnant and left her. Even back then he was a drunk, and Gwendolyn’s parents disapproved of him. They didn’t want him in the family. And when he got her pregnant, he decided that his freedom was more important than responsibility and took off. Never sent money to help support the child either. Not that they needed it, but he should have been a man and offered. Then he shows up twenty-eight years later wanting to make amends? Gwendolyn was furious. It’s better her daughter never knew her father than meet up with him.”

  “So you learned all about him from the woman you want to marry and killed him,” I said as Octavian helped me up. What a gentleman. Octavian, not Fleming.

  Fleming took another step back. “She didn’t know a thing.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Penny Price said.

  “Neither do I,” Albert said. “No way.”

  Fleming straightened, obviously trying to get the rational part of his mind to gain dominance over the drug-induced emotions.

  “You got me,” he said in a calm voice. “But you’ll never get her.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I replied.

  Fourteen

  Grimal didn’t want me present for the questioning of Gwendolyn II. She was a major figure in town, and she had brought along one of Cheerville’s prize attorneys.

  Not Fleming. That particular prize attorney was in custody, awaiting a court date. Grimal held him on cocaine possession since he had some more in his pocket when the police arrested him. It was kept in a plastic vial identical to the one I found in the toilet. There was also the confession to murder he had made in front of four witnesses, although now, his lawyer was trying to wriggle out of it, claiming it was made under duress. It didn’t matter. The police were gathering more than enough to convict him. His internet search history showed extensive research on Garfield, plus Chief Running Horse told police that Fleming had approached him at a bar one night, asking all sorts of questions about the victim. A couple of country club members said the same.

  The prosecuting attorney felt confident Fleming would go to jail for first-degree murder.

  I wished I felt the same confidence about Gwendolyn II. She came into the police station as cool as a cucumber. Unless they had been dumb enough to send each other emails or text messages about the murder, it would be tricky proving collusion.

  Neither Gwendolyn II nor Fleming struck me as dumb.

  Especially not the heiress. She was as cunning and ruthless as Fleming, minus the substance abuse. She’d been verbally sparring with Grimal for an hour now and had him on the ropes.

  I stood in the observation room, looking through the one-way mirror and listening via the intercom to Grimal interrogating Gwendolyn II. He had gotten nowhere. My arm was in a sling thanks to a fractured elbow. My wrist and back didn’t feel too hot either. I had told my son and daughter-in-law that I had fallen, which was true enough. Now they were getting all fussy over me about “my fall.” The way they said it made it sound like I had gotten to a certain stage of life where falls were common and potentially dangerous.

  If they only knew.

  Gwendolyn II’s tactic so far had been to throw her boyfriend under the bus. She said that Fleming was prone to snorting cocaine, and that sent him into rages. She further said that she often felt frightened around him. I had to admit she almost had me going for a while. It all sounded so convincing, if heartless. Would she really point the finger at Fleming when he could so easily turn on her? But on second thought, perhaps it wasn’t such a risky move. He had maintained throughout his initial questioning that she knew nothing about it. Obviously, he loved her enough that he didn’t want to incriminate her. If he changed his tune now, it would look like he was taking revenge on her for her statements to the police, and any decent lawyer could call all that into question.

  Gwendolyn II gave some background on her and James Garfield’s relationship. They had met when they were in their early twenties. He was a promising young man fresh out of law school who had been snapped up by a big legal firm. She was working in her mother’s company and would eventually inherit it. They had fallen passionately in love, despite her parents’ disapproval over Garfield’s already heavy drinking. Gwendolyn II admitted that she, too, had been a bit of a partier in those days.

  Then she discovered she was pregnant. During one of their drunken nights of passion, they had forgotten to use protection. She decided to keep the baby.

  “I could never have an abortion,” she said passionately. “Every life is sacred.”

  I didn’t believe she thought that for a second, but she did put on a fine act.

  Garfield took off as soon as she told him they were going to have a baby, getting a job in Cincinnati and never looking back. For a time, she pined for him, then she grew to resent him and later—bless her noble heart—forgave him.

  But she didn’t want him back. On two occasions, she hired private detectives to find out what he was up to, and the reports that he was drinking as much as ever convinced her she had made the right decision in putting the relationship behind her. She never told her daughter anything about her father.

  And then suddenly, a few months ago, he called.

  “I was so shocked I nearly dropped the phone,” she said. “He called the office, which is a listed number, using the name of one of my business associates he must have learned about somehow. When he revealed who he really was, I couldn’t speak. I just listened as he went on and on about how he had never forgiven himself for leaving me. He claimed to have stopped drinking. He said he wanted to try again, that I was the one love of his life. He had never married, never had any other children, and now he was moving to Cheerville so he could be near his daughter. He didn’t ask permission. He simply decided to waltz back into our lives as if he had only been gone for an hour to the supermarket.”

  That all rang true. Garfield’s move did seem to have been rather sudden and unplanned. She went on.

  “I finally got my voice back and told him I didn’t want him to come, but he kept pleading. He wouldn’t listen. I told him in no uncertain terms that he would not see me, and he would not see my daughter. He begged, cried, saying he had changed. Finally, I hung up on him.

  “Then I heard through the grapevine that he had bought a house here in Cheerville. When he called again, I told him what I said before, but he kept insisting that we meet. At last, I relented.”

  “Where did you meet and when?” Grimal asked.

  “We met in private, in Cheerville Municipal Park. I wanted to meet somewhere out of sight to avoid any scandal.”

  “Did you go with anyone?”

  “Yes, my chauffeur, Antoine. He’s a black belt, you see. As much of a security man as a driver. I didn’t know what to expect.”

  “And what happened on this first meeting?”

  “He showed up sober, which surprised me, but he looked a mess. Red nose, bloated figure, nothing like the dashing young man I had fallen in love with all those years ago. He talked and talked and talked about how he had changed his life for the better, but I didn’t believe it. He was obviously still drinking. Oh, he had managed to not drink that morning, but James had always been a functional alcoholic. That’s not good enough for me. I don’t want a man who leaves his responsibilities and gets plastered every nigh
t.”

  “Did he ask to see your daughter?”

  “He did. Of course I said no. He begged, though. He pestered me so much I agreed to meet with him again. In fact, I met with him a total of three times. I have to admit I had grown curious. He managed to stay sober all three times, so I began to wonder if he really did want to change. I felt sorry for him. I never wanted him to come to harm.”

  I didn’t believe that for a second. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. The problem was, Grimal had two left feet.

  “Did Rob Fleming know about this? Did he say anything to you?” our esteemed police chief asked.

  “He was furious. Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have told him James had come to town. I told Rob not to confront him, to leave it alone, and I’d convince James to go away. I thought I had calmed Rob down.”

  She wiped a fake tear from her eye. I’d seen Saharan sand dunes wetter than those cheeks.

  “So you met with James Garfield in Cheerville Municipal Park all three times?” Grimal asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And your chauffeur can corroborate this?”

  “Yes. Yes. He can.”

  “Can you give me the times you met with James Garfield?”

  She nodded and gave precise dates and times, and my job was done. One of the meetings happened at the exact same time that Garfield was in the Cheerville Historical Society, with a signature and a neutral eyewitness to prove it.

  I smiled and walked out of the observation room. There was nothing more I needed to hear. I would have a meeting with Grimal after Gwendolyn had gone and have him go over to the historical society and collect the ledger as evidence.

  It was all over for her.

  I would like to have said I felt triumphant. Justice had been served, after all, but as I walked out of the police station, I had a bitter taste in my mouth.

  A man had tried to make good after a wasted life, had finally gathered the strength to turn over a new leaf, and he’d been stabbed in the back for it. Stabbed in the back by a man who had been motivated by love or greed or a mixture of both. It didn’t really matter which. A cocaine addict had thought himself more deserving of happiness than a drunk, and he made the drunk die on the floor of a public restroom. And the woman they had fought over lied calmly to the police, stabbing the murderer in the back just as effectively.

  The three were a property developer, a lawyer, and a businesswoman, respectable members of the community who ran historical societies and gave money to children’s charities.

  I’d met a lot of different types of criminal in my life—drug kingpins, arms dealers, corrupt politicians, homicidal maniacs—and no one had earned my contempt more than these petty rich people who would rather kill than see their desires interfered with.

  Octavian sat in the waiting room at the front of the police station. He’d assigned himself my personal chauffeur until my arm was better and I could drive again.

  The poor dear had been sitting there for hours.

  He put his book down and looked at me.

  “How did it go?” he asked.

  “We got her.”

  He nodded. “Good.” He knew enough not to smile. This was no great victory, only justice.

  He stood. I was in his arms almost before he had a chance to open them.

  “Tell me something good about the world,” I said into his chest.

  “The country club has agreed to keep mum about your involvement. They’re not speaking to the press at all.”

  “More rich people protecting themselves. I said I wanted to hear something good.”

  “I’m helping Albert apply to business school.”

  I pulled a little away and looked up at him. “Really?”

  “He wants to start his own chain of medical marijuana shops.”

  “Good Lord.”

  Octavian smiled. “One step at a time. Once he hits the books, he’ll realize he can’t smoke and study at the same time. A couple of years of not smoking and maybe his interest will settle on something else.”

  “Maybe your new contacts at the country club can find him something,” I said as he escorted me out the door.

  “Oh, I’m not going there again. There’s nowhere I can go to the bathroom in safety.”

  “Stop being a wiseass and take me out to lunch.”

  “By all means, pretty lady.”

  He offered his elbow, and I took it.

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  About the Author

  Harper Lin is a USA TODAY bestselling cozy mystery author. When she's not reading or writing mysteries, she loves going to yoga classes, hiking, and hanging out with her family and friends.

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  A Note From Harper

  Thank you so much for reading Granny Gets Fancy. If you were entertained by the book, please recommend it to friends and family who would enjoy it too. I would also really appreciate it if you could write a book review to help spread the word.

  If you like this series, you might also enjoy my other series:

  • The Cape Bay Cafe Mysteries (ongoing series): When Fran moves back to her idyllic beach town to take over the family café, she also develops a knack for solving bizarre murders. Each book includes dessert recipes.

  • The Wonder Cats Mysteries (ongoing series): three witches and their magical cats solve paranormal murder cases in the mystical town of Wonder Falls.

  • The Pink Cupcake Mysteries (ongoing series): A new divorcée sells delicious cupcakes from a pink food truck, to the chagrin of her ex-husband. Each book includes cupcake recipes.

  • The Patisserie Mysteries (9 books): An heiress to a famous French patisserie chain takes over the family business, while using her status as a Parisian socialite to solve murders in high society. Each book includes French pastry recipes.

  • The Emma Wild Mysteries (4 books): a special holiday cozy series about a famous singer returning to her small Canadian town. Each book includes holiday dessert recipes.

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