Maisie Fezziwig 01-Hickory Dickory Dead

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  I thought if I took some time off, cared for myself for once, somehow I’d be able to sleep again. And I did, at first. It just wasn’t the kind of sleep a person welcomed. While Maddie talked about dreams of passionate rendezvous with seductive men she created with her imagination, my dreams were infested with flashes, scenes from my past, things I didn’t want to remember, things I tried to forget. All the pain, hurt, and agony rolled up into one hellacious nightmare after another.

  I couldn’t escape sleep and survive, so as an alternative, I learned to live on very little of it. I watched every single episode of The Sopranos followed by every single episode of Sex and the City. I lectured Carrie Bradshaw on her relationships that weaved in and out of her life like a revolving door. I talked to the television screen even though it never talked back, and ignored the growing number of voicemails on my phone.

  A few weeks ago, a balled-up fist had almost dented my front door. The persistent pounding was meant to get my attention. My house was under contract, so at first I assumed the soon-to-be new owners had dropped by for their third impromptu visit in a month. Imagine my surprise when the obnoxious noisemaker turned out to be my pint-sized spitfire of a grandmother. At the age of eighty-three, she still managed to pull off a pair of skinny jeans and a white fitted V-neck top, which matched nicely with her short, cropped hair.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be in—”

  Before I’d finished, she blew past me like I hadn’t uttered a word. The door slammed shut behind her. Upon hearing her voice, my westie, Lord Berkeley, who I’d nicknamed Boo, rounded the corner at warp speed. Gran bent down, and Boo leapt into her arms. She cracked a smile—for him, not for me—and stroked his fur for a few moments before sending him on his way.

  She positioned her hands on her hips and eyeballed me, wagging a crooked pointer finger in front of my face. Not a good sign. My body tensed, bracing itself for what was about to come next.

  “What in the hell is wrong with you?”

  Unsure of what response to give, I gave nothing, electing to respect my elder. It made no difference. She wasn’t swayed. Her finger was in such close proximity to my face, it tickled the tip of my nose. I sneezed. She frowned.

  “Well?” she continued. “Say something. Anything. Don’t just stand there.”

  “Nice to see you too, Gran.”

  The words I’d voiced sounded like more of a question than a statement, aggravating her even more.

  “When’s the last time you accepted a job? When’s the last time you returned a phone call?” She sized up my attire. “When’s the last time you bathed?”

  At least she didn’t mince words.

  “I showered this morning.”

  “And yet, you haven’t changed out of your pajamas, I see.”

  They weren’t pajamas. Pajamas were sweats, flannels, thermals even, but I knew better than to enter into a debate with her over what was considered night attire and what wasn’t.

  She shook her head. “What would your grandfather say if he could see you now?”

  I was sure he could see me now. Just because he’d passed on into some kind of invisible hemisphere, didn’t mean he wasn’t around in one form or another. At times it was almost like I could feel him with me, standing there by my side, like if I swept a hand through the air, I’d feel him, touch him somehow. That he’d become real again, if only for a moment.

  “Why are you here?” I asked. “I thought you were off seeing the world.”

  “I was ... I am. I will be once I get you sorted out.”

  I leaned against the wall, distanced myself from her judgmental finger. “There’s nothing to sort out.”

  “Are you going to tell me what’s got you living like a recluse, or do I have to pry it from your bony, underfed body?”

  “Somehow I feel like you wouldn’t be standing in front of me if you didn’t already know, and there’s only one person who could have tipped you off.”

  “If you’re hinting at your friend Madison, then yes. She called me. And then I made an effort to reach you. I called five times to be exact.”

  I shook my head. “I haven’t had any calls from you. I would have answered.”

  “I was out of the country, dear. You wouldn’t have identified the number.”

  Gran was the only person I knew who had yet to embrace the invention of the cell phone. After watching a news program on electromagnetic radiation, she never used her dishwasher again. Or the microwave. A cell phone? Forget about it.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “If I knew you were calling, I would have answered. I swear.”

  “I’m not here for an apology. I’m here to help you out of this ... whatever is happening with you lately.” She ran a hand through my brown mane. “You’ve gone and lopped your hair off. When did that happen?”

  “Six months ago, I guess.”

  “I like it. It suits you. You need to get your sassy attitude back to match this sassy pixie cut of yours.”

  She scrounged around my pantry until she found a single packet of no-name coffee I’d snagged from a prior hotel stay. She brewed it. We sat.

  “You were your grandfather’s favorite, you know.”

  I knew. My sister had been my grandmother’s favorite. I knew that too.

  “He loved all his grandchildren, but you, Sloane...you were different.”

  “I always thought he was disappointed I didn’t join the bureau like he did.”

  She circled her hand around the coffee mug. “Nonsense. He knew you well enough to know the FBI wouldn’t suit you.” She tapped the edge of the mug with the tip of her finger. “You’ve never done well with authority.”

  I supposed it was the nicest way she could think of to say it. A compliment, even, though it didn’t sound like one.

  She leaned over, fiddled around the inside of the ostrich Prada handbag next to her, pulled out a navy blue leather book about the size of a pack of cigarettes. I craned my head toward the bag, glanced inside. “What are you packing these days?”

  “This little gem.”

  She dug back inside the bag, handed me what looked like a child’s toy. It was far from it. “Nine mil?”

  “Beretta, yes. It’s small, but it gets the job done.”

  “You say it like you’ve used it before.”

  The telling grin on her face made me uneasy.

  “Only at the shooting range, right?” I asked.

  She swatted the air, changed the subject. “The sign outside your house says there’s a sale pending. Why have you decided to sell this place?”

  I hesitated, unsure of how much I wanted to say. Best to keep it simple. “Too many memories.”

  “Bad ones?”

  “Bad enough to make me feel suffocated if I stay.”

  She took a sip of coffee, screwed up her face like she’d just swallowed a mouthful of pickle juice. I handed her a canister of sugar substitute I kept for occasions such as this one. She dumped about a quarter cup into the mug.

  “Running won’t solve your problems,” she stated.

  “I’m not ... running. I’m starting over. Clean slate. New life.”

  She went for taste-test number two on the coffee, this time rejecting it all together by scraping the bottom of the mug across the tabletop to get it away from her. “I see. Where will you go?”

  I shrugged.

  “I figured by the time I sold my place, I’d have it all figured out. I didn’t realize it would sell so fast.”

  She leaned in.

  “You mean to tell me my methodical, ever-so-organized granddaughter doesn’t have a plan yet? Never thought I’d see the day.”

  “I can’t be here anymore, Gran. People around me ... they’re always in danger. Some have even died.”

  “So all of this, the hiding, is about your job?”

  “It’s about a lot of things. I ended a relationship several months ago. I lost a friend on the last case I worked—my ex-boyfriend’s
brother. Sometimes I wonder—”

  “If it’s your fault?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you think your grandfather saved everyone? You can’t, Sloane, no matter how noble your efforts. You lost someone on the last case you worked. You also rescued a woman on the brink of death. Your friend didn’t die in vain. He died in the line of duty. There’s no shame in that.”

  Saving one life didn’t make me feel any better about losing another.

  “It’s just ... I can’t unsee all the things I’ve seen. I don’t know how to get my past out of my head. It’s hard.”

  “Who told you it would be easy? Think of the people you have saved, the cold cases you’ve solved on your own. Those cases would be nothing more than a heap of unsolved files rotting in some box were it not for you.”

  “For every life I’ve saved, someone else died because I was too late, too slow, too stubborn, too—”

  She folded her hand inside mine. “You have a gift, a kind of intuition others don’t have, and right now, you’re wasting it. You talk about what you do like none of it matters. This isn’t like you. I’ve never seen you back down from a challenge.”

  “I’m not backing down. I’m—”

  “Avoiding. Everyone and everything.”

  She liberated my hand long enough to plop the navy book down on the table in front of me. It made a slapping sound against the wood.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Your grandfather’s journal.”

  “I didn’t know he kept one.”

  “It’s not what you think, a memoir of some kind, a story of his life. It’s much different.” She stabbed the book’s cover with her pointer finger. “This is what he did when his insomnia got the better of him. Your grandfather lost far more lives than you ever will. It troubled him, and yet, he never gave up. He wouldn’t want you to either.”

  “I’m not giving up. I’m taking a break.”

  “Suppressing yourself like this—you may as well give up. You were destined for greatness, my dear. Even when you were young I could see the fire in you. I’d never seen a child quite so driven. As long as I’m kicking around this Earth, I won’t allow you to throw it all away.”

  I ran the pads of my fingers against the book, caressing the soft, pebbly grain. An odor of seasoned leather and men’s aftershave wafted through the air, and for a brief moment I flashed back, saw myself sitting on my grandfather’s lap, begging him to tell me a story. Not the kind of story most kids want to hear, the fairy tale with the predictable, happy ending. Grandfather’s stories were different. They were real, not make-believe. Intriguing. They created visions in my head that helped shape my own destiny. “What’s in the book? His cases?”

  “Read it and find out.”

  I opened it.

  She reached over, smacked it closed. “Not now. Later.”

  “Why later? You just said to read it.”

  She stood, slid her chair back under the table. “Pack some things.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’m leaving, and you’re coming with me. I’ve made the necessary arrangements. Maddie will see to the dog while we’re away.”

  Away.

  It sounded so ... far.

  It was.

  I spent the next two weeks exfoliating my feet into delicate grains of fine, white sand while I watched the remaining moments of twilight fade into a coral horizon. I filled my lungs with salty, sea air, closed my eyes, and paired my breathing with the rise and fall of each cresting wave. Even if for the briefest of moments, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time—complete and utter peace.

  I returned to Park City renewed. I signed over my house, put my things in storage, and drove to Wyoming, where I currently festered. It was the first time I’d felt this uneasy since Gran whisked me to the Big Island. Somewhere inside me, I couldn’t shake the feeling I had.

  Something was wrong.

  Something was very wrong.

  CHAPTER 3

  A ray of light danced into the room like a siren begging me to wake. Where was I, and how did I end up here? I glanced around. A knotty pine dresser with resin antler drawer pulls rested a few feet in front of the bed against a log wall.

  Cade’s house. Right. Now I remember.

  I’d embraced sleep sometime before dawn, not for long, an hour, maybe two. I checked the room for a clock. There wasn’t one, and I wasn’t keen about rising just yet. The mattress I relaxed on was topped with a four-inch memory foam, the perfect temptation to stay right where I was for an undetermined amount of time.

  A pungent, meaty aroma emanated through the one-inch slit beneath the bedroom door. At first I pegged it as steak. After inhaling a subsequent whiff, I abandoned the theory, thinking it was some kind of wild game.

  Someone tapped on the other side of my door. “You up yet?”

  “I’m awake.”

  Cade entered the room, grinned. “I made breakfast.”

  “Smells like ... meat of some kind?”

  “Elk steak.”

  His grin expanded for a moment then dissipated. “Somethin’ wrong?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d never eaten elk or any other kind of wild animal before. I explained this, but not wanting to disappoint him, I offered to try it, with a side of eggs to break up the flavor if the taste didn’t suit me.

  My comment about the eggs on the side got lost in translation, and minutes later, I was greeted at the table by an elk steak omelet. Cade stood beside me, waiting for me to take a bite. I stabbed a piece, stuck it in my mouth, and swallowed. Avoiding the chewing part seemed like an optimal choice under the circumstances. I reached for the apple juice in front of me and half-smiled. “It’s ... different.”

  “How’d you know? You didn’t leave it in your mouth long enough.”

  The jig was up.

  “I’m not used to this kind of food.”

  Cade’s daughter Shelby sauntered into the room wearing a black-and-white-striped crop top, a black leather skirt, and Chuck Taylors in a shade that made me crave an Orange Julius. The skirt looked like it was the exact length needed to pass the principal’s tape measure inspection at school, and not a centimeter more. Her navel showed. Her neon-orange bra straps did too. She’d just started her senior year in high school, and as such, she probably assured herself such a display would garner attention. And she’d be right, except at that moment it was garnering the wrong kind.

  Cade crossed his arms in front of him, didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Shelby tilted her chin just enough to notice the infraction he was gawking at. She yanked the shirt lower. It didn’t budge. She tried again, got the same result. She patted Cade on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Dad. Breathe.”

  Her amateur charm had no effect.

  “You’ll change your shirt,” he said.

  “Dad, I can’t—”

  “Now.”

  She snatched a piece of chopped elk off a plate, popped it into her mouth, and winked at me. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the flavor eventually.”

  I wasn’t thrilled. I popped another piece of scrambled elk into my mouth anyway. This time, I even chewed.

  “Well?” Cade asked.

  It was coarse, tenderer than I imagined, and while it wasn’t my favorite meat, it wasn’t the worst I’d tasted either. “Not bad.”

  Shelby reentered the room, a messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Shirt number two was only a couple inches longer than the first one, but it looked like she’d get away with it.

  “I’m off,” she said. “School starts in ten. You two behave yourselves now.”

  She picked a piece of bread out of the toaster, slapped on a dollop of cherry jam, and bit down, swiping a finger across her face to catch the red sauce before it leaked onto her chin.

  “Aren’t you going to wear a sweater or something?” I asked. “Looks like it’s cold out today.”

  She giggled. “You’re funny.”

  I didn’t perceive
why. When I was young, unlike the other girls in school, those willing to freeze their asses off in order to flaunt their slim, trim physiques, I’d always preferred a warmer, more practical approach. Of course, it may have had something to do with my grandfather drilling into my brain that no man ever bought a cow when free milk was being offered. Not that I’d ever thought of myself as a cow, or a woman available to the highest bidder.

  “Wear a sweater,” Cade called after Shelby.

  “Fine, Dad.” she yelled back.

  She pivoted and left the room.

  Once she was out of sight, a generous portion of laughter I’d been concealing poured out.

  “What’s so funny?” Cade asked.

  “You know she’s just going to change back into the first shirt she was wearing once she gets to school, right?”

  Confusion coated his face. “Whadd’ya mean? She changed like I asked.”

  “Go into her room. See if you can find the first shirt she had on.” I tugged a bill from my back pocket, snapped it in front of me. “Ten bucks says you can’t.”

  “And what do I get if I win?”

  I winked. “You won’t.”

  “You’re not helpin’.”

  “Of course I am. I’m offering you the truth.”

  Determined to prove me wrong, he went to her room. A fair amount of jostling ensued, followed by a few verbal expletives, followed by him exiting the room sans the shirt. Red-faced and out of breath, he said, “How’d you know?”

  “I was her age once. It may have been a long time ago, but still.”

  He whipped around, started down the hall.

  “Where you headed?” I asked.

  “To improve her wardrobe.”

  Cade disappeared. In his absence, I scraped the omelet down the garbage disposal. He returned with an armful of what appeared to be his T-shirts. “Let’s see how she feels when this is all she has to wear for the next two—”