The Grandmother Plot

by Caroline B. Cooney

  Maude had had to sit there while people said her “husband” was kind and thoughtful, visiting so often, caring so much. She would have tried to explain. No, no, he’s somebody else! Save me!

  Poor, poor Maude, surrounded by the indulgent smiles of strangers who controlled her. How many months of despair had she suffered before she drowned in dementia and no longer remembered her own complaint?

  Freddy didn’t want to know this stuff, think about this stuff, or follow up on this stuff. He wanted glass, which was pure. He wanted the degenerate art of pipes. Nothing Freddy ever made was going to be as degenerate as Virginia and Bobby.

  “Your grandmother usually sat with Maude for meals. Maybe Kenneth didn’t even bother to hide the pill he was crushing and adding to Maude’s food. Maybe that’s what she saw and that’s why she said he was a meany beany. Anyway, Maude was a tough old bird. She didn’t die and Virginia got sick of waiting.”

  Was Virginia really that crafty? It was possible. After all, she had gotten Freddy to hold the murder weapon. Maybe she was evil. It was equally possible that Virginia had slipped way too far down the dementia slope.

  But whatever the truth about Virginia’s soul, Maude had known the woman who pressed that cloth down over her face and closed strong fingers on her throat.

  Not enough that her beloved husband died.

  Not enough that she sank into dementia.

  Not enough that she failed to convince anybody that “Kenneth” was a fake.

  Her own cousin tried to kill her, and her cousin’s wife pulled it off, and she knew.

  “I drove your car over,” said somebody, handing Freddy his own keys. “So you can leave whenever you want.”

  It was Shawn.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  But it was not Gordon Clary who was hurt, nor the policeman, nor Laura.

  Blood spurted out of Closet Guy. He pawed at himself, and his knees gave way. He tried and failed to grip the kitchen counter. His huge body went down slowly, like some great tree.

  “Hey!” said Ponytail urgently. “Hey, not you. It wasn’t supposed to be you.” The pieces of his face came back together, and he was just a scared kid who needed protein instead of drugs.

  This is what drugs are, thought Laura. Crazy awful things with crazy awful endings.

  The policeman, who was probably just a local constable and whose experience probably consisted of shoplifters, speeders, and high school graffiti vandals, pressed his hand on the kitchen counter for leverage, vaulted over the Closet, landed on Ponytail, knocked away the weapon, and flipped Ponytail like a hamburger on a grill to cuff him.

  Gordon Clary whipped out a real handkerchief and pressed it down on the gushing hole in Closet Guy. Shock had changed Closet’s face. He looked far younger and rather handsome. Laura gave Gordon some dish towels because the handkerchief was already drenched. I wronged you, Gordon. Your tempos are excellent.

  “Sorry,” whispered the Closet. “My sister’s kid. I’m supposed to straighten him out. Guess I didn’t.”

  All the world is caring for family, thought Laura. Even the bad guys. Except if you’re taking care of your family and saving lives, aren’t you a good guy?

  A second officer sprinted into the kitchen and called for backup and an ambulance. “You’re not gonna die,” he comforted Closet Guy. “It’s in your side, probably missed vital organs. Ambulance barn is only two blocks away. They’ll be here right away, and we’ll get you fixed up.”

  “You saved us,” she said to Closet Guy. “You saved all three of us.”

  The second constable didn’t agree or didn’t care. “Let’s us go in the front room,” he said to Laura and Gordon. “They’re gonna need all this kitchen space to get a stretcher in, and it isn’t going to be easy getting a guy this big on a stretcher at all, let alone maneuver it out of here. You got some tight spaces going on.” He took Laura’s arm.

  Laura felt weirdly like a hostess, as if she should say goodbye to Closet Guy, maybe add, “I’ll tell Freddy you called.” Again she said, so that it would be on record, “He stepped up so we wouldn’t get shot. He saved us.” She picked up her cell phone, knowing they wouldn’t let her back in the kitchen and she would need her phone, need its company and maybe even have to read a digital book instead of a real one if this went on for hours.

  In the parlor, Laura sank down on the little sofa. Gordon sat beside her. Laura looked at the phone in her hand. It was Closet Guy’s.

  “So what happened here anyway?” asked the constable. He looked sixteen to Laura. “This sure isn’t what we expected.”

  “What did you expect?” asked Gordon severely. “Were you following those two men? Shouldn’t you have been more careful about traipsing in?”

  “We sure should’ve. But that’s not why we were here.”

  Everything the police need is in this phone, thought Laura. Closet Guy’s name. Whether he’s good at Candy Crush or reads the Wall Street Journal. His sister’s name, the one worried about her druggie kid. And definitely, everything about Freddy.

  “See, Mrs. Maple’s daughter, Lindsay, called the station and asked us to do a house check. She’d had an upsetting call from her mother, couldn’t reach her mother after trying for a while, and was afraid Mrs. Maple was going to hurt herself. A relative worries about suicide, the police come right over. It’s routine.” He smiled at Laura. “We were picturing some sad, lonely old lady, and I hadn’t finished my coffee yet so I stayed in the car while my partner went in to talk to her, and when I heard gunfire, I figured it was her, trying to kill herself. I sure wasn’t thinking that she was a tough little broad holding off home invaders.”

  Laura was no tough little broad. She had cowered. It was Gordon Clary who had been brave, and Closet Guy who had been bravest.

  What would Closet have done if she had continued to say nothing about Freddy?

  Or was that moot? Maybe all that mattered was what really happened. And what really happened was Closet saved Laura, Gordon, and a policeman. He offered himself.

  Greater love hath no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friends.

  Laura was weeping again.

  “It’s the shock,” said the constable comfortingly. “Don’t be scared. They’re both in custody and we’re here. It’s over now.”

  When there was no time to think, consider, or plan for the future, Closet Guy did the right thing, thought Laura. It will always count. And back when I had time to think, when I had years to think, I did the wrong thing. That will always count too.

  “You must have seen that there were three vehicles in the drive,” said Gordon disapprovingly.

  The young constable shrugged. “I guess we figured that the daughter also called relatives, friends, neighbors, whatever, to check on the mom, and they got here before us.”

  It sank in. Lindsay had called.

  I’ve had my cell turned off, thought Laura. She couldn’t reach me. She cared enough to call the police. Closet saved our lives, but Lindsay also saved our lives.

  “She’s on her way, your daughter,” the cop said. “I guess she was right to worry.”

  Lights flashed everywhere as the cars of volunteer firemen and ambulance crew filled the rest of the drive and pulled up on the grass. People poured in, calling instructions. Crew trotted through the front door pushing a big metal gurney down to the kitchen.

  Lindsay is on her way. I needed her. And she’s coming.

  Laura’s fingers were wrapped around a cell phone, but it wasn’t hers. I can’t use this one instead, she thought. I don’t even know Lindsay’s number; I just press the contact. “If you could do something for me,” she said, “I would be so grateful. My handbag is on the kitchen counter.”

  “I’ll get it,” said Gordon immediately.

  “No. You two stay out of the kitchen,” said the constable. “I’ll get it for
you, Mrs. Maple.” He jogged out, jogged back, handed her the large sagging bag, and said, “Do you know who those two men are? And why they chose your house?”

  It was puzzling. Laura had found Freddy easily enough. Why hadn’t these guys?

  Maybe they were stupid. Or they’d already been to Freddy’s grandmother’s house and he wasn’t home. Maybe Laura was a last resort. Or maybe, she thought, it’s all about leverage. They need him for something. Maybe thought he’d obey them in order to save me.

  And Freddy would. He was that kind of person.

  This shooting, this home invasion, would become a long-term event. There would be a trial, unless these two pled guilty to whatever charges there were. But whatever happened to Closet and Ponytail, Laura would be asked many questions by many officials.

  Laura’s handbag was on her lap. Its many zippered divisions were unzipped because she could never remember what she stashed where. She slid the Closet’s phone inside a pocket and closed it up. She dried her cheeks on her sleeve, took out her own cell phone, turned it on, and called Lindsay.

  “Mom!” shrieked Lindsay. “Are you all right? How could you do that to me? You scared me to pieces! I’m still an hour away. Is somebody with you? I need to know somebody is with you.”

  “My friend Gordon is with me. But I need you.” Her voice broke. “Lindsay, I need you so.”

  “What’s going on?” Lindsay demanded.

  “A home invasion. You foiled it. One person was shot but the ambulance is here and he’ll probably be all right. I’m safe.”

  “What? Mother, be serious!”

  “I am. Lindsay, I love you. Now talk to the police officer, okay? Because I’m still shaky. And drive carefully. Don’t speed.”

  Chapter Forty

  Shawn was wearing a suit. His pale-blue shirt had an oxford collar with stiff points and buttonholes, and he was wearing a tie. Freddy had never seen Shawn dressed like that. Wouldn’t have thought Shawn owned spiffy clothes like that.

  Shawn was standing with the cops. He was not their prisoner. He was their colleague. Freddy knew absolutely that Shawn was sending him a message through those bright, eager cop eyes. But what was the message? Freddy was forced to break his silence. “I thought you were in jail in Norwich.”

  “Sort of. I was in uniform when Auburn cornered me. Do you know her? She’s got a dress shop in Middletown. I let down my guard, and next thing I know, she’s got a knife the size of a city block she’s going to use on my dog if I don’t do what she says. So I tell her I’ll do anything, just let Snap go. Snap doesn’t even try to bite, the one time it would be useful. It turns out that Auburn’s a dealer, and she wants me on her team, because—well, I think this is it; the whole thing’s a little muddy—I think they needed a dirty cop.”

  Gary Leperov had been telling the truth? He and Doc hadn’t threatened Snap? It was Auburn all along? I’m your goddamn friend, Gary had said irritably. Could that be true?

  How had Shawn ended up with Auburn at all, let alone in Norwich? Norwich was nowhere near Middletown. It was across the Connecticut River and north, where it felt like another state.

  “But I was in uniform, see, and I have a body camera. So everything that happens in front of me is on video.”

  Auburn was cooked. She hadn’t just made a mistake; she’d made it with a cop, when she knew he was a cop. Dealing must be like anything else: you needed to learn step by step or you’d get your fingers caught in the lathe.

  Would Auburn really have sliced the dog’s paws off? Freddy doubted it, if only because she seemed too fastidious for all that blood. On the other hand, she’d been holding a machete.

  But why take Snap from the Way Back? Maybe Auburn figured if it worked with Shawn, it would work with Freddy. She was probably right, but what could she need Freddy for?

  Maybe nothing. Auburn was a carnivore. She liked victims.

  Why had she driven to his house that night? Had she come to accomplish something and then decided against it? Had she been reconnoitering? Did he even have Snap yet when she and her Cube drove on the grass?

  He needed to cut back on his weed intake. His short-term memory was going. He was dizzy from facts and guesses spinning like hot glass out of control. He put a hand out to steady himself on the edge of a desk and remembered just in time not to touch anything. When he looked at Shawn again, the bright message was still there, still impossible to read.

  And then Freddy thought, Auburn didn’t need to look for a dirty cop. Shawn’s already dirty. He buys herb for me and maybe for other guys. I bet he buys from her.

  If the cops had arrested Auburn, she was probably out again, because she would have a serious criminal lawyer, not an old jowly dude who was friends with George Burnworth. Would she give Shawn up? Probably not. Auburn would muscle through without yielding. And she’d still have her dirty cop.

  The room where they were standing had no windows, but it faced another room that did have a window to the parking lot and the road beyond. It was getting dark out. Streetlamps had come on.

  It’s still the same day, thought Freddy, even though I can’t remember which one.

  Another cop, very casual, like it didn’t matter, said, “How do you and Shawn here know each other, Freddy?”

  Shawn needs me out of here. He handed me my car keys so I’ll drive away. He wants to stay a cop and wear a uniform and have a body camera so he can entrap everybody. Or maybe he wants his suit and tie so he can be a detective. Then he’d be a super useful dirty cop.

  Freddy shrugged like the simple-minded stoner he was. “He went to high school with my sisters. Small towns. You kind of know everybody.” Except I don’t know them at all, he thought. I am the worst judge of character there is.

  He wondered about Shawn’s character. How long had Shawn let his mother suffer before he told her he wasn’t in jail, hadn’t been in trouble to start with, because the video of him in Norwich had cleared him, not convicted him?

  “Let me fill you in,” said Wayne Ames, “on what’s happening to your friend Laura Maple. Home invasion. Couple of thugs attacked Mrs. Maple.”

  Thugs? Doc and Skinny? No!

  Freddy held his car keys so tightly they imprinted on his palm. “What do you mean—attacked? Is she hurt?”

  “My understanding is that she’ll be fine.”

  Who could be fine after Doc and Skinny slapped you around? Who could be fine, knowing your friend Freddy started it and could have prevented it and didn’t bother? “What hospital is she in? I have to go see her.”

  “I just told you she didn’t get hurt. One of the mutts got shot by his own partner. He’s headed for the hospital; the other one’s at the state trooper barracks in Westbrook.”

  They were armed, he thought. Doc shot Skinny. How could that happen? Doc wouldn’t shoot. It’s like the whole point of martial arts. You use your body.

  “We thought you could identify them for us,” said Wayne Ames.

  You have Doc and Skinny in custody. Doc is a felon. You identified him already. This is just more cop lying to get me talking.

  Wayne Ames held out a tablet with a photograph of Doc lying on a stretcher looking so defeated and young that Freddy almost didn’t recognize him. Doc was the one who’d been shot?

  Ames slid his finger across the screen and brought up a photograph of Skinny, looking frightened and even thinner and about sixteen.

  Freddy shook his head, meaning, Can’t help with the photographs. “You’re sure Mrs. Maple is okay?”

  Ames nodded.

  “And the guy who got shot? How bad is it?”

  “Actually, it was kind of heroic,” said Shawn. “The big guy jumped in front of Mrs. Maple and some other people to protect them. So he’s a mutt, but he saved lives.”

  Making Doc a good bad guy. Or maybe a good good guy, because once you saved a life, wasn’t that y
our category?

  Freddy felt like a dementia patient. Everything was foggy and nothing added up. He was completely sure of only one thing. He had to get out of here. “You guys seem to have everything under control. I gotta check on my grandmother and Mrs. Maple.”

  He could still visit his grandmother! He was not going to jail! He was free.

  And Shawn—he wasn’t in jail. But he wasn’t free either if Auburn ended up owning him.

  Freddy’s stuff lay on a table. Nobody stopped him, so Freddy dropped his penknife and change into his pockets. When he held his phone in his hand again, it was as comforting as a friend.

  “We’ll talk in the morning,” said Wayne Ames. “Your house? That good for you?”

  Freddy had a lawyer now, in a cool brick building, and if he had to talk with cops, it would be in his lawyer’s office. Freddy couldn’t remember the guy’s name. He looked it up on his phone. “We’ll meet there,” he said to the detective. “That good for you?”

  Ames was irritated, which was nice; anything Freddy could do to annoy a cop was nice. He removed the kennel receipt from his wallet, handed it to Shawn, and walked out.

  Nobody stopped him.

  Nobody followed him.

  Totally amazing.

  It was the worst kind of fall weather. Bleak, raw, cold. The half-bare trees were ugly and the street was scruffy. But Freddy was free, which meant that all weather, all trees, and all sidewalks were beautiful. He spotted the Avalon and walked over, his thoughts breaking like glass on pavement.

  God, he prayed, take care of Mapes. Take care of Doc. Be easy on Kenneth. He did visit Maude all the time. Although I guess he actually visited in order to shorten her life. Well, I don’t really know that, and I don’t know about Virginia either. And what they did to Maude won’t ever be okay. So whatever. Use your judgment.

  Freddy sucked in damp, cold air, glad not to be a judge on earth or in heaven and sick thinking about the judgment Mapes rightly would pass on him.

  He hunted around the front seat and didn’t turn up any cigarettes.