I slept in the next morning, exhausted from our little trip. Grandma Dean came in around nine and asked me if I wanted to head to Stan’s apartment. She said Greta had just called her and said they were all on their way over there.
I declined. That was a reunion I didn’t want to be a part of.
I stayed in bed a little longer until I got a text from Les, asking if I wanted to meet him at the coffee shop downtown in an hour. I jumped at the chance to get breakfast.
I barely messed with my hair, just pulled it into a pony tail. I put on a thin layer of mascara and slid on some lip gloss—two things I never would’ve done had Grandma Dean not started to have an influence on me.
An hour later, I was sitting at a table, sipping a vanilla bean frappe. A huge cinnamon bun dripping with caramel sauce sat in front of me, waiting to be devoured. Somehow I had managed to beat Les there, but I was okay with that. I enjoyed the few quiet minutes when it was just me and my pastry.
As I stared at it, praying for the forgiveness of the gluttonous crime I was about to commit, Les sat at the table. He held a coffee in one hand, a hot apple tart in the other, and his notebook tucked under his arm.
“Sorry, I’m a little late,” he said, sitting down. “I had my car looked at this morning. I think it’s leaking gas. The appointment took a little longer than I thought.”
“No problem,” I said through a mouthful of deliciousness.
Les laughed. “Is it that good?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes yes in delight.
Les cut into his apple tart. “I heard you went on a little trip.”
“How do you know about that?” I asked, surprised.
He shrugged. “Small town.”
Inwardly, I laughed. Most likely he had a poem in his notebook about how, from his spot in a tree, he saw me leave the house with a suitcase. That should probably have creeped me out, but for some reason, it didn’t.
“We went to this cute little town called Fairhope. You would love it!”
“I’ve been there!” he said excitedly. “My grandparents lived about twenty miles away in Mobile and we would go to Fairhope when we visited.”
I sighed. “I would love to live there. It was so charming.”
“It’s expensive,” he sighed. “At least the housing is. My parents thought about moving there a couple of years ago, or at least having a second house so they could be close to Mammie.”
“That’s what you call your grandma?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Les blushed. “Mammie and Pappie.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. I think it’s cute!”
We sat in silence for a minute, enjoying our breakfast, when Les spoke up again. “So, I didn’t tell you this the other day because I didn’t want you to laugh, but I’m taking a couple classes at the local community college. One of them is a writing class.”
“Why would I laugh? I think that’s great!” I said, encouraging him. “Like poetry?”
“Yeah, it’s mostly been reading some famous poems and going over structure and things like that. But we’ve worked a little bit on our own poems. The instructor said he wanted to have a little poetry reading. I was wondering if you wanted to come. It’s nothing serious or anything, just something we’re doing in class. It’s next Wednesday at three.”
“I’d love to come!” I was really proud of Les. Not only was he going to read his poetry out loud, but he felt comfortable enough to invite someone to listen to it
“What other classes are you taking?” I asked.
His cheeks turned red and he suddenly became interested in the crumbs left by the previous occupant of our table.
“Come on!” I said, leaning across the table and lightly punching him in the arm. “Tell me!”
He laughed and looked up at me. “Okay,” he said. “But don’t tease me too much about it.”
Since I had my mouth full with another bite of my cinnamon bun, I made the “cross my heart” sign across my chest.
“Floral arranging,” he finally said.
I couldn’t stop my eyes from popping wide open, but I did manage to not laugh and spit my pastry all over the table.
“What made you decide to take that class?” I asked as soon as I regained my composure.
His cheeks turned red again. “I heard it was a great way to meet women.”
Now I couldn’t hold back my laughter. “Are you serious?” I asked. “You’re taking that class to pick up chicks?”
He let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, but everyone in there is over fifty and they all have to rush home afterward because it’s an evening class and apparently older women go to bed earlier.”
“I could’ve told you that,” I laughed. I looked at him sitting across the table and was touched by how open he was being with me. “You’re that lonely, huh?” I asked, fully understanding the feeling.
He shrugged. “It’s hard to meet women, especially when you’re a little…awkward.”
“You’re not awkward,” I lied. “You’re sweet and charming.” That part was true.
Les smiled and took a sip of his coffee, then pointed to my frappe. “No coffee for you?” he asked.
“Honestly, I hate coffee,” I confided. “I drink it every once in a while, but I think it tastes like dirt.”
Les laughed. “If you hate it so much, why do you drink it at all?”
I shrugged. Why did I drink it?
Les seemed nervous all of a sudden and he fidgeted with his napkin. “I wrote you a poem,” he finally said. “Would you like to read it?”
“Of course!” I said, moving my plate out of the way.
He fumbled with the pages in his notebook before he found what he was looking for and handed it over.
My Gem
Your beauty is like a solar eclipse,
I want to stare at you until your image is burned into my soul.
Your hair is so wild, falling around your face.
Like autumn leaves twirling in the breeze.
Looking into your eyes is like looking into a telescope.
At millions of twinkling stars in the galaxy.
You are a precious gem that I’ve spent my whole life mining for.
I want to keep you safe in a treasure box, known only as my heart.
“Wow,” I said slowly, not sure how to react.
“You don’t like it.” He took the notebook from me and folded the front cover back in place.
“No, I love it! It’s just that…” How could I say this without hurting his feelings? “I really like you, as a friend.” Wow, those were words I had never spoken before. I sat there, a little proud of myself for not jumping into the arms of any man who showed an interest. But then it hit me—why didn’t I have feelings for him?
I looked over at Les, sitting across the table, his head down and his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He was very nice to me and he was so easy to talk to. I’d married guys for less than that. In just the few times we had gotten together, I had shared more things with him than I had with anyone else. When I was around him, I felt like I was truly myself. So why wouldn’t I even consider dating him? Suddenly, I felt confused and guilty.
Before I had a chance to say anything else, the door to the coffee shop opened and Joe walked in, followed by several of his hunky firemen friends. They were all dressed the same, dark blue pants with a tight dark blue t-shirt with the Peace Pointe fire department logo over their chest. As soon as he saw me, he came over to say hi.
“Hey!” he said as he approached our table. He leaned down and kissed me on the forehead, which I thought was strange—almost like he was marking his territory. “What are you up to?” He looked over at Les and nodded a hello. “Who’s your friend?” he asked when he turned back to me.
“This is Les,” I said, suddenly nervous. “We’re just sitting here, chatting.”
Joe acted a little strange, then he pointed to his friends. “I better get back over there. Just wanted to say hi.” He looked at Le
s and nodded again. “Nice to meet ya, Les.”
“You too,” Les said quietly.
“Oh hey,” Joe said before he walked away. “Are you busy tonight? I thought we could go out for dinner.”
I stammered for a minute before I finally said yes.
“Great,” he said, all smiles. “I’ll text you later then and we can work out the details.”
He walked away and Les and I sat there for a minute in awkward silence.
“So,” I finally said, trying to move on from the uncomfortable moment. “Do you know what you’re going to read at your poetry reading? Or are you going to write something new?”
Les didn’t seem like he was in the mood to talk anymore. “I’m not sure,” he finally said.
All of a sudden, Joe reappeared. He put a coffee on the table in front of me. “I know how much you love your coffee,” he said, his white teeth standing out against his tan skin. “Thought I’d get you one for the road.”
“Thanks,” I said, pulling it close to me. “You know I can’t live without it.”
Joe smiled and walked to his table and I glanced toward Les. He was practically glaring at me.
“What?” I said defensively.
Les picked up his notebook and tucked it back under his arm. “I’ll see you later,” he said as he picked up his own coffee. Then he looked me in the eyes and his face softened. “It’s okay to be yourself, you know. You’re pretty great. People might just like the real you better than the fake you. I know I do.”
His words stunned me and cut me deep. No one had ever called me out like that before. It was like he had looked into my eyes and saw the real me—the one that I barely even knew anymore.
The sounds of the coffee shop faded away for a minute while I sat there, feeling exposed. At that moment, I realized for the first time that I became whatever a man wanted, while the real me retreated somewhere deep inside, afraid to let others see who she really was—except when I was around Les. The sounds of the shop—the laughter, the silverware scraping against plates, the sound of chairs being slid across the floor to accommodate another friend across the room—all came crashing back. I looked around and realized Les was gone. My eyes flickered to Joe’s table and my face grew warm when I realized he had been staring at me. His face seemed twisted in concern and I felt like he was seeing me, the real me, for the first time. And I was sure he didn’t like it.
14
I pulled up in front of Grandma Dean’s apartment and felt sick to my stomach after my conversation with Les. I made my way up to the door, the coffee from Joe still warm in my hand.
I pulled the top off and poured the dark liquid in the bushes, watching as it splashed onto a white flower. It soaked one of the petals and left it looking dark and wilted. I could relate.
With a deep sigh, I walked into the quiet apartment and threw my bag on the table. The curtains were still drawn in the living room, giving the space a quiet, comfortable feel. I didn’t know if it was the carbs, the dark apartment or the depression, but I suddenly felt like I needed a nap.
I had just made it to the hallway when the front door flew open and five angry Grannies spilled in.
“I’m about to have a full on come-apart!” Greta yelled, in tears.
Irene slammed the door. “You just wait until I get my hands on her! I’ll wring her tiny little turkey neck!”
“What happened?” I asked, forgetting all about my own troubles.
“Wanda Turnbough is what happened!” Greta yelled, taking a tissue from Hattie. “Thank you, dear. I’m so upset. I just can’t believe she would do something like that.”
Virginia sat at the table and leaned across toward Greta. “She said she didn’t do it,” she said softly. “Maybe we should give her the benefit of the doubt.”
Greta huffed. “She can’t pee down my back and tell me it’s raining! I know she’s the one who turned me in!”
“What happened?” I repeated again, this time a little louder.
Instead of trying to answer me over the shouting, Grandma Dean walked across the room to me. “Wanda…or possibly someone else…”
“Oh,” Greta seethed, “it was definitely Wanda!”
Grandma continued, “Someone turned Greta in. It’s one of the rules here—no kids under eighteen are allowed to live here.”
“She was just staying until she found a place of her own.” Greta sobbed. “It would’ve been a couple of weeks at the most. Now she has to be out in twenty-four hours!”
The Grannies patted Greta’s arm and tried to comfort her.
“So, what’s going to happen to them?” I asked the group. “Where are Sydnie and Lily going to go?”
Virginia spoke up first. “Stan is going to rent her a house. He’s putting in some calls now. I bet you she’ll have a place before Lily’s bedtime.”
Greta sobbed again. It was becoming clear this wasn’t really about Sydnie and her daughter.
“You’ll be able to go over and see them whenever you want,” Virginia soothed.
Greta sniffed. “I know. It was just nice to have someone else there. I don’t have grandkids close by and it was so nice to have a little one running around. She even let me read her bedtime stories.” Greta blew her nose. “I can’t tell you the last time I had a little one in my arms.”
“I know how you feel,” Virginia said sadly. The Grannies became silent and my heart hurt for them. They were most likely imagining when their own children were that age, chasing them around with ease. And now here they were, seemingly forgotten. Even I had been guilty of that.
“Well,” Irene said, pulling everyone out of their thoughts. “You’ll always have Hattie to take care of. She’s practically a child.”
“It’s true,” Hattie said with a laugh. “I’ve regressed quite well. I’m not to the toddler stage yet, but I’m getting pretty close to kindergarten.”
Hattie’s words lightened the mood and we got a laugh at her expense, partly because it was funny and partly because it was true.
Grandma’s phone buzzed. “It’s Stan,” she said, reading the text. “He has a house lined up for Sydnie on Harper Street. She can move in tomorrow.”
We all looked at Greta, bracing ourselves for her reaction. She sniffed then shrugged a little. “At least it’s a nice neighborhood.”
“And it’s not far from here,” Virginia said brightly. “We can stop by and see the little thing whenever we want.”
Greta sat up straight in her chair. “We have a lot to do then! We have to get them all set up over there. The poor things have nothing!”
The Grannies were immediately in a buzz, discussing who would give what.
“I have some old plates and silverware she can have,” Hattie said, leaning toward Grandma Dean, who was writing things down. “And I might have some extra sheets and towels.”
“I have some pots and pans I can give her,” Greta said. “And Lily loved the quilt she slept on last night. She can have that.”
Grandma went around the room and made a list of what everyone would donate. She sat back and looked it over. “That takes care of the basics. Nikki and I will run over to my antique shop in the morning and get her set up with some furniture. This will at least get her started, but you know Stan will probably be buying her all new things.”
Grandma’s words reminded everyone of Sydnie’s intentions.
“So how did the little reunion go?” I asked. “How was Stan around Lily?”
“There wasn’t a dry eye in the house,” Hattie said, shaking her head. “It was the sweetest thing.”
“I nearly drowned in my own tears when Sydnie walked Lily over to Stan and said, ‘This is your daddy’.” Virginia’s eyes filled with tears just thinking about it. “The poor guy could barely get any words out.”
“Well,” Grandma Dean said with a sigh. “I’m glad that little family is back together, though I think we all have our concerns about Sydnie.”
The Grannies nodded in agreement.
/> “But, that leads us back to square one with our investigation. We’re not any closer to figuring out who killed Artie and who’s out to get Stan than we were on the day those two walked in my door asking for help.”
“I hate to be the one to bring this up again, but Greta showed me the picture she took of the contract with Les’s name on it—the one you found on Larry’s desk.”
Grandma looked irritated. “Nikki, you need to let that go.”
“You guys need to see the picture,” I said firmly. “Greta, show them.”
She pulled out her phone and slid her finger through the dozens of pictures she had already taken of Lily. “Here,” she finally said, passing the phone to Grandma Dean.
At first, Grandma didn’t see it, but when she did, her expression changed. “Well, that’s interesting.”
She passed the phone around so everyone could see the matching contract under Les’s.
“Why is Edna’s husband’s name on that contract?” Virginia asked. “They can’t afford to put up condos. She’s worked at the library for years and he retired from the city at least ten years ago. I’m sure they are financially comfortable, but they wouldn’t be able to put up that kind of money.”
“I agree,” Grandma Dean said. “Something is very suspicious about this. We need to figure out a way to talk to Larry about this without him knowing we were in his house and saw it.”
A heavy knock at the door startled us all. “Who could that be?” Irene asked.
“Well, it wouldn’t be Stan,” Hattie said. “He’s still holed up in my apartment. The poor man makes me keep the curtains drawn. It’s darker than the inside of a cow at my place! And he has me check every ten minutes to make sure the policeman is still watching the door. He’s about driving me nuts!”
Grandma peered through the peep hole, then turned to us and whispered, “It’s Detective Owen.”
The Grannies did a quick fluff of their hair and Hattie quickly applied a few coats of a deep red lipstick. She was pressing her lips together and throwing the tube back in her purse when Owen walked in.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said sternly. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Glock Grannies Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1 - 3 Page 19
