by Agatha Ball
"NO!" I said.
She squinted at me. "How many times did you blink?"
"This is absolutely ridiculous!" I said, turning away.
She pulled out her cell phone. "I think I saw two blinks. I'll call the police for you."
Nate stopped both of us. "This is ridiculous. Madison? If you are so bent on helping me clean out my house, come by. Be my guest."
She smiled like the cat who had gotten its cream. She put her phone in her purse. "See? No need to get angry. I'm just here to help."
Nate paid her no nevermind, though. He turned to me and planted a kiss on my forehead. "Paige, I love you. I have to go deal with this heartless psychopath. I'll be with you as soon as I can kick her out."
"Oh, I'll be here all week," she said, pointing her finger to one of the town's bed and breakfast hotels. "I'm staying there so that I won't lose any more time on that icky ferry. Come along, Nate! Justice must be served."
Nate squeezed my hand one last time, shook his head, and walked away.
I knew that he couldn't help it. I knew that he had much bigger problems to deal with. But, at the same time, my Granny was in the hospital, was being accused of murder, and might be going to jail until I got to the bottom of things. I had never felt so alone in my entire life.
"Hey Paige!" said Trevor, coming up beside me. He watched Madison and Nate as they started climbing the hill up to the Founders' House. Nate, hiking like it was no big deal, and Madison, teetering in her Monte Blancs.
"Is everything okay?" he asked me, reaching out to touch my shoulder.
I couldn't help it. I shied away. There was a flash of betrayal and something else in his eyes, but I just didn't know how to react to him right now.
"Paige? It's me," he said, placing his hands on his chest. "Remember? The guy you dated for a long time?"
I realized that may have been more obvious in my pulling away than I thought I had been. I sighed. "I'm sorry, Trevor," I said. "I'm just having a really bad day."
He flashed me his smile, the one that used to make me go all jelly-in-the-knees. But now just made me think about cherry jelly and how his hands had been covered in it. "Well, let me do something to help take your mind off of it."
"I'm sorry, Trevor," I said again, backing away from him. "I gotta go."
"Paige!" he said, a tinge of anger coloring his voice. "Come back here and tell me what is going on!"
But I couldn't take it any longer. I raced down the boardwalk and turned left at the ticket booth. Stan and Fred had, evidently, gotten all of the physical evidence they needed and found the missing electrical fuse, because Linda was now tucked inside instead of sitting at a table in front. She was reading a book. I stood panting in front of her window.
Finally, she looked up and acknowledged I was standing there. She put down her book and stared at me with her bored, dead eyes. "Yes?"
"Linda, do you know where Georgia lives?" I asked.
"Yes," she said again.
The silence hung between us for almost an eternity before I realized I needed to press. "Could I get the address from you?"
"No," she replied. And then she went back to her book.
I pounded on the glass. She rolled her eyes and put her book down again. "What?"
"I need to know were Georgia lived."
"That's against company policy to reveal private information to members of the public."
"Linda, we live on an island in a small community. I just need to know where she lived."
"If it is such a small community and everyone knows where everyone lives, I would suggest you ask them instead of me, because I’m not about to lose my job because I failed to follow the directives of a very simple HR policy." She pulled a string and a small Venetian blind dropped down, covering the window. As if to emphasize her point, it was followed by the sound of her noisy desk fan firing up.
I turned away, frustrated, and stalked towards the shops. I hated to involve Granny's posse in this. It was just the fodder they needed to get their gossip wheels churning, but they were the last ones to see her last night. Maybe one of them had seen something.
I stepped into Wanda's souvenir shop and busied myself as she helped a customer. When the lady finally walked out, she turned to me and said, "Paige! Did your Granny leave something here she needed you to pick up?"
"Only her liberty," I replied.
"What?" she asked, amused by my answer and unaware of the seriousness of it all.
"Stan thinks she killed Georgia and has placed her under arrest."
Wanda's jaw dropped and she just stood there, frozen in horror.
"Yep," I replied, agreeing with her wordless response.
"Oh, we need to tell the girls," she said, bustling around the shop. "We need to let them know exactly what happened and let that Stan know he is barking up the wrong tree."
"Granny's over at the clinic," I added.
"She's what?" said Wanda. She put her fist on her hip and squinted at me. "Why the heck is she at the clinic?"
"I found her passed out in the back room this morning. The nurse said she was drunk and must have lost her footing."
"She fell? Oh, I knew I should have walked her home," she said with concern. "She was a little tipsy, but didn't seem that tipsy. Your Granny knows her limits. Is she going to be okay?"
I shrugged hopelessly. "I hope so." I felt a lump rising in my throat and tried to push it back down again by focusing on anything other than the image of Granny lying in a hospital bed.
Wanda came over and wrapped me up in a big bear hug. "Now, now... don't you worry, sweetie. She'll be fine. That grandmother of yours is a force of nature. She just had a little slip. They'll probably give her an aspirin and send her home." She broke away from me and looked kindly into my eyes. "Hey. No more fretting. What do you say we go wrap her entire apartment in bubble wrap as a joke?"
I smiled bravely, but there was a knot in the pit of my stomach and it wasn't going to go away until Granny was safe at the shop.
As if she could read my mind, Wanda squeezed my hand and reiterated. "No fretting about things out of your control!"
I nodded, swallowing everything down. "You're right. Thank you."
"Best thing you can do is keep that shop running. If your granny is feeling poorly, the last thing she needs is to have to worry about the wheels falling off."
"That's the thing..." I said, glancing the direction of the shop. "Stan and Fred have closed it down to cart off stuff as evidence."
"They WHAT?" Wanda exclaimed. I thought her hair was going to catch on fire.
"Granny bought thousands of copies of Georgia's book. Stan and Fred think Granny killed Georgia because she didn't want to pay for them."
"Right. That makes perfect sense," Wanda replied, both sarcastically and aghast. "Those men are a menace to society."
"Do you have any idea what was in that book?"
"I don't," she said. "She wouldn't tell any of us. Said it would ruin a lot of reputations here in town, so of course, I was hell-bent on getting a copy. I mean, the only folks who care about reputations are dead and gone as far as I can tell. And the only folks left are old biddies like myself."
"Well, you're out of luck, because Stan and Fred are over there now, hauling out all the boxes of books as evidence."
She pursed her lips and pulled out her phone. "I'm going to text Stan right now and tell him to stop being such an idiot."
"Wait," I said, stopping her. "Before you do that. Can you tell me what time the party broke up last night?" I asked. "Something weird happened and I’m just trying to figure out the timing."
"Oh, I'd say that we rolled out of here around 9 PM," she said.
"So early?" I replied.
She laughed. "Early? Honey, I've got half a century of wrinkles that need their beauty sleep. 9 PM is a wild party in my book."
"And did Granny go straight home?" I asked. "Did anyone walk with her?"
"No, we're all grown women and this is a safe
island," said Wanda. "She was just going a couple buildings down. She stumbled out of here and that was that."
"No chance she would have gone somewhere else?" I said. "Maybe over to the Founders' Festival for a nightcap? Or maybe she met someone?"
Wanda shrugged. "She very well could have. I mean, with Jake's place all closed up, there's not many places to go late at night, but the Founders' Festival is always swinging. Maybe she met a fellow over there who kept her out late."
My phone suddenly vibrated in my pocket. I looked down and the number that came up was for the clinic. "If you'll excuse me for just a second," I said. "It's the clinic." Wanda motioned for me to take the call. "Hello?" I said. "This is Paige."
"Is this Paige Comber?" asked the nurse.
"It is! How is my grandmother doing?" I asked.
The nurse heaved a deep breath, like she had to work up her courage to tell me what was going on. "As you know, the police have contacted us about holding your Granny while they conduct an investigation."
"I know," I replied, so upset that this conversation was even happening.
"We're happy to keep her here where it is a little more comfortable. Also... well, because it appears we might also need to run a few more tests."
"What is it?" I asked, my stomach sinking.
"Paige, I know this may seem like a strange question, but have you ever known your Granny to take recreational drugs?"
"Drugs?" I repeated, looking at Wanda who emphatically shook her head 'no.' "No, My Granny has never used recreational drugs."
"We ran a few blood tests and it appears there was a powerful tranquilizer in her system, the sort that is usually used for horses."
"Someone gave my Granny a horse tranquilizer??" I replied back, horrified.
"She is going to be okay," repeated the nurse, "The biggest danger is to the heart, so we will be monitoring her to ensure her safety. But we're going to have to let the police know what we found."
"Of course," I said. "Thank you for letting me know." And then I hung up.
"What is it, honey?" asked Wanda, rubbing my shoulder with concern.
"Wanda?" I answered. "I think someone tried to kill Granny. I think someone is trying to make sure no one knows what was in that book."
Chapter Thirteen
"Now, who on earth would want to hurt your Granny?" said Wanda, horrified. "She's just the heart and soul of this community! Who would be such a monster?"
"I don't know," I replied, but then I told her the whole story about the cherry pie and the handprints on the wall and on her shirt. I left out the part about Trevor leaving streaks of red on my shirt, though. I'm not sure why I didn't want to share that detail yet. I had made such a mess of wrongfully accusing people in the past and I never wanted to make that mistake again.
Wanda shook her head. "Paige, I'm going to head down to the clinic right now to sit by your Granny until she wakes up."
"But what about your shop?" I asked.
"Never you mind about that," she replied. "I'll put a 'Gone Fishing' sign in the window and tell all the tourists to come back tomorrow."
"But this is the busiest week of the year," I protested.
"We'll figure something out," she said, patting my hand. "Maybe I'll just have to settle for cubic zirconia instead of diamonds when I buy this year's tiara. Now, you get back to your shop and tell Stan and Fred they are barking up the wrong tree. Let them know of the mess they made of all this and see if you can find a copy of that book."
I turned to walk towards the door as Wanda closed up, but then stopped. "Wanda, do you know where Georgia used to live?"
"Oh sure, honey," she replied, pointing in the general direction of the main road. "Head out like you're going to your cottage but don't turn up the hill. Keep going and you'll see it. It's an old green trailer back in the woods. I have no idea how she got a hook-up out there, but she swore she liked the solitude."
"Thank you," I said, dashing out. "Thank you for everything!"
Now, I know I should have gone back to the coffee shop, but the thing was, I knew that Stan and Fred were occupied. And if Stan and Fred were occupied, I knew there was not much danger of them interrupting me if I did a little breaking and entering. I snuck around back to get my bike, and then I headed out in the direction Wanda had pointed me to Georgia's home.
I didn't know what I would find there, but I figured there had to be something. Notes or manuscripts or maybe even a copy of the book. It was much farther than Wanda made it sound, but eventually, I came on it.
There was a dirt road, two tire tracks wide, which led to the trailer. The trailer had a green aluminum roof sticking out over a rotted wood carport. It was a single-wide vs. a double-wide. I pulled my bike up to the front and left it leaning against the railing. The whole place was wrapped in yellow, plastic "Police Line" tape. I ducked under, walked up the sagging wooden steps, and knocked on the flimsy metal screen door. No one answered, so I figured no one was there to mind if I went in and looked around.
The door was locked, but I pulled out a credit card and slid it into the jamb. Within seconds, I had it jimmied open. Security isn't such a huge thing when your walls are practically made of paper and you've got nothing to steal.
The room smelled of stale air and old, fried food. I thought that Stan and Fred must have been there to look for murder clues, but honestly, everything seemed just as Georgia had left it the morning she died. Who knows... maybe it never dawned on Stan and Fred to start their investigation by looking through her stuff.
The yellowed curtains were drawn over the windows, casting the room in a dim light. There was a ratty, oatmeal-colored recliner and a television the size of a Cadillac. The walls were hidden behind floor-to-ceiling shelves. They were filled with DVDs and books stacked three deep. There were several plants hanging from macramé holders, but from the looks of things, they had been dead long before Georgia shuffled off to the great tollbooth in the sky.
I flipped on the overhead light, but it appeared that Georgia hadn't paid her electric bill. Or maybe she ran her electricity from a generator and hadn't refilled the tank. Whatever the reason, it made me pull out my phone from my pocket and turn on my flashlight app.
I shone it around the room. It didn't reveal much. Just that she was a drab, moderately messy person who spent the majority of her free time relaxing in a velour lounger.
On the coffee table were opened bills and Soap Opera Digests and a self-help book called The Enigma. It was one of those "visualize yourself to success" bestsellers that had been all the rage a couple years ago.
I moved into the kitchen. There were a couple plates stacked in the sink. Honestly, if I didn't know what a horrible, miserable person Georgia was, I would have felt a little sad about her lonely life. I knew she had some kids and grandkids on the island, but I didn't see a trace of them anywhere – no happy family portraits, no drawings on the refrigerator, nothing.
That's when I moved into the breakfast nook and made a discovery that killed any empathy I had for the woman.
There were curtains hanging along one wall, slightly parted in the middle. It looked like they were hiding some pictures, so I decided to take a peek. I pushed back the curtain and then full-on recoiled.
In great, big, cutout letters Georgia had covered in glitter were the words: "My Dream Board." And behind them, Georgia had created a collage. She had pasted her face onto a stock photo of someone throwing a bunch of money in the air. And then she had glued her face onto some woman in a beautiful gown accepting an Academy award. Oscar in one hand, in her other she held a copy of Georgia's tell-all book. Listen, those are dreams I could understand.
But then there were pictures from wedding catalogs with Georgia's face glued onto the faces of the bride. And on the groom? She had glued pictures of Byron Edward. There were all sorts of pictures, cut out from newspapers and from old yearbooks. She glued heart stickers and cherubs all around them. It looked like the wall of a 13-year-old who is obsessed wi
th a band or a movie star. But she also had pictures of cemeteries and she had drawn Granny's name on the tombstones. There was Johnny's dad, Doyle, too. She had cut out anvils and made it look like they were dropping on his head, like Wiley E. Coyote. There was some other woman I didn't recognize. She was dressed 1980s chic with big feathered bangs and a punk rock jacket. The pictures were black and white so I couldn't tell what color her hair was other than "not dark" and Georgia had drawn little "x"s over her eyes and devil's horns and beards and mustaches.
I looked at the table. Georgia's empty cereal bowl had been left directly across from the collage. So, she would actually sit down and stare at the collage every morning when she ate? So creepy.
I snapped a picture of the whole thing with my phone.
I still hadn't found any notes, though, or copies of Georgia's book. I continued on into her bedroom. She had a bent-wicker headboard straight out of the 1970s. The bed itself was covered in a polyester comforter with blue and green roses. There were romance books all over her bedside table, stacked up on the floor along the wall, and piled up on her dresser, but no sign of the book she had written. I chewed on the inside of my lip. Should I start digging through her drawers? It felt like one thing to go snooping around a person's house, but to then thumb through their things... I took a deep breath and steeled my resolve.
I tucked my hand into my sleeve to keep from leaving fingerprints and began opening up her drawers. They were crammed with old clothes, but nothing more. Where did she keep all of her notes and paperwork? Is it possible she did everything on a computer? But there wasn’t so much as a laptop in the house. I pulled open the closet and that's when I decided it was time to stop. Sure, there were her clothes and seven neatly hung copies of her tollbooth uniform. That wasn't so strange. The strange part came from the basket full of baby dolls and the beekeeper's outfit.
I was done.
As I started to close the door, though, my light fell on an open shoebox beneath the white leg of the jumpsuit. I smiled. There's what I was looking for. Lying on top of a stack of papers was the book Georgia had written. Granny might not be well enough to tell me what was inside, but now I could find out for myself.
