by Maisy Morgan
Tripp slowly made his way out of the bathtub. He gave the picture back to Mary and proceeded to wash his face in the sink. After a few more deep breaths, he turned to face Mary and, as she rose up to a standing position, he gave her a heartfelt hug. Mary smiled, a little taken aback by the onset of affection. She kissed his forehead. “Is it really obvious I’ve been crying?” he asked hesitantly, his voice no longer shaky.
Mary held up two fingers, indicating an inch between them to let him know she could tell just a little. He sighed. “Whatever,” he finally said. “I guess I don’t really care if your boyfriend sees.”
“Boyfriend?” Mary questioned as Tripp made his way out of the bathroom and trotted off downstairs while looking at his phone the whole time, snickering slightly at how the word “boyfriend” had tripped her up a bit.
Mary rolled her eyes and followed him. Preston had helped himself to her coffee maker, and he greeted Tripp as he entered the kitchen. “So, everything all right? Hannah okay?” he asked, giving Mary a knowing look that was likely unspoken concern about Tripp’s swollen red eyes.
“Yeah, she’s texting me now. They did an x-ray, and the doctor said she’s fine. Just a little bruised up.”
“Poor girl,” Mary said.
“What happened anyways?” Preston asked.
Tripp laughed and plopped himself down beside Preston. “The library had us doing this game out back where we were supposed to be running in and out of obstacles, and she asked this little kid to push her. She was being kind of stupid because she decided to mess with the kid and lock up her chair’s brakes when they turned a corner. It was funny until she did it with an older kid, and he accidently flung her out of the chair. He was mortified!”
“I bet!” Preston exclaimed.
“Ms. Cindy kind of freaked out,” Tripp said. “And I could tell Hannah was trying to hide the fact that it hurt. I don’t think she wanted to go to the hospital because she was embarrassed.”
“That Hannah…” Preston said, shaking his head. “She’s got some serious spirit. She always was a little bit of a trouble maker, and I’m glad that the chair hasn’t slowed her down any.”
“I saw that she used to play soccer,” Tripp said. “There’s a picture at her dad’s clinic.”
“Soccer, dance, basketball, gymnastics,” Preston said with a laugh. “That girl was an athlete through and through.”
“Was…” Tripp said under his breath as though the word struck him wrong. He suddenly seemed very serious like he was thinking about something important. “She’s so… capable,” Tripp said at last. “I mean, she won’t let me help her with anything hardly. Her mom says she’s that way with her too.”
“That’s Hannah for you,” Preston said. “The girl has more soul than anyone I know.”
Tripp smiled. “Yeah,” Tripp said fondly. “She really does.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mary was starting to feel increasingly jittery as she woke up each morning. Two more days until her grand opening, and the case was still looming over her head as well. It was getting to be quite a lot to take on all at once, and Tripp constantly being on his phone or computer was not helping her anxiety level.
“Hurry up Tripp!” she called up to the house after loading up the last of the paintings into the car.
She had gathered some local art all with a lily pad, pond, or frog theme to hang up in her shop. She liked the idea of selling local artwork and wanted to make that initial impression during the grand opening. It had taken her a while to find local artists who had created works with such a specific theme, and one of the artists had even done a custom painting to sell in her store. It had been a lot of work, but Cindy had been able to find the right direction to go in order to locate the right artist. The last of it had finally arrived on her doorstep, so now, she was ready to get it all up on the walls.
By the time Tripp came outside, his nose still in his phone, and his laptop slung over his shoulder, Mary was anxiously tapping the steering wheel. He hopped in the passenger’s side, and Mary barely gave him time to buckle up before heading into town. “Honestly, Tripp,” Mary said under her breath. “You know the grand opening is only two days away, right? I could really use your help right now.”
He wasn’t paying any attention, and a part of her wanted to smack the kid in the back of the head. Sure enough, he was equally unhelpful the moment they arrived. He set up his laptop in a corner, leaving her indecisive nature to determine where the paintings were going to hang. She decided right away that she wasn’t going to hang anything up on the far wall with the giant chalkboard and frog and lily pad mural because she didn’t want to distract from that, and that still left several more empty walls for the artwork. She walked around with the paintings, leaning them on the walls where she thought she might hang them, moving them around and holding them up to the walls for several minutes to try to decide what would look best.
Sweet Feet had accompanied them that morning, and frankly, Mary was starting to feel like the cat was being more helpful than Tripp. At least the cat looked up at her when she asked his opinion on little things while Tripp had stuck his headphones in as soon as they had gotten there. Mary held up one of the largest paintings but realized she wanted to take a step back to decide if the wall she had selected was really where she wanted it to go. Putting the painting down and marching up to Tripp, who had started taking random pictures of Sweet Feet during his brief breaks of looking up from his computer, Mary proceeded to knock three times on the table to get his attention.
“Huh?” he questioned, removing his headphones.
“Honestly, Tripp, I could use some help from you,” Mary said, feeling rather flustered. “All you’ve done this morning is sit around listening to music, playing on your computer, and taking pictures of the cat! I know the shop isn’t exactly your responsibility, but a little help would be welcomed!”
Tripp smirked up at her and then turned his laptop around to show her what it was he had been working on. She bent down slightly to look and soon found herself sinking into the chair beside him. He had created a bunch of social media pages for the shop. He had developed the whole lot: Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and even Snapchat, and they already had followers thanks to various pictures of Sweet Feet roaming about the shop that was in progress. “You’re welcome,” he said, clearly gloating.
Mary blushed slightly, now embarrassed that she had snapped at him. “You did this for me?” she asked. “I have a hundred followers already!”
“Yup,” Tripp said “just since this morning. I’m not really an interior decorator sort, Grandma. Social media is more my thing.”
“Tripp, this is amazing,” Mary said looking at the various social media pages he had created for her. “I don’t get it. We don’t even know this many people. How did you get all of these different followers already?”
“Well, I linked all the pages together to the website you had made. Then, I had our pages like similar pages from other local business, and I did a little advertising campaign. It was just five bucks, so I went ahead and paid for it. This morning I started posting using the fan pages to other local fan pages, and they liked us back. I found a local Shop and Trade page and put up some stuff I’ve been wanting to get rid of but made it look like our business was selling the stuff to help pay for some things the shop needs, and that got a bunch of shares. I’ve also been taking pictures of Sweet Feet like crazy, and apparently, he’s already got a little bit of a reputation locally because after that cat lady died everyone had tried to find Sweet Feet but, no one could catch him. Now, all the locals think it’s awesome that someone finally found Sweet Feet because he’s been missing for a while. I added a blog page to your website and have been writing up what all you’ve been doing to get the shop ready and told the story of finding Sweet Feet in our yard, added some pictures of the dinged-up car, and people thought it was hilarious. Basically, this is what I’ve been doing since I got up this morning…social media stuff.
”
“Tripp, I don’t know what to say,” Mary said. “Thank you. I just assumed you were playing around on your computer all morning.”
“I can be helpful occasionally,” he said and stood up, stretching his back. He popped his knuckles as a way of showing off how stiff his fingers had gotten from typing away on his laptop all morning. “So, what do you need my help with now?”
Mary heard a beep-beep sound come from the laptop. Tripp jumped back excitedly into his seat. “Sweet, we got a thousand views on that last picture. I found this promotional app that I downloaded onto my laptop that will send me alerts when we reach certain number of views!”
“A thousand views!” Mary exclaimed.
Tripp pulled up the last photo he had uploaded. It was of Sweet Feet at their home sitting up on the kitchen counter. Tripp had sat Sweet Feet inside a mixing bowl and set up some of the slices of rainbow cake Mary had made all around the bowl with the caption, “Gearing up for the Grand Opening: Read all about our rainbow cake special below!” And, people just loved the cat. There was comment after comment of people wanting to know whether or not Sweet Feet would be at the grand opening.
“This is crazy,” Mary said.
“I’m thinking we make Sweet Feet into a sort of mascot,” he said. “I’ve seen other places do that sort of thing before. It’s usually bookstores, so I’m not sure what we can get away with since we sell food here, but I’m sure we just have to keep her away from the food and it’ll be fine.”
“I’ll look into it,” Mary said, beaming proudly at Tripp. “I had no idea you were into this sort of social media thing.”
“I’m fourteen,” he said. “Of course, I am.”
Mary laughed and clasped him on the shoulder. “Good job, kiddo.,” she said. Soon she had him holding up some of the paintings so that she could take a step back to determine where she wanted to hang them. She went around marking spots where to put the nails with a pencil, and soon they had at least decided where everything was going to go. Now, it was just a matter of getting them up on the wall.
It was at this point that there was a tapping on the front door of the shop, and Mary could see Cindy and Hannah just outside. They became exited when they saw that Hannah had a large picnic basket in her lap, grinning up at them both. “Lunch?” Cindy asked. “We’re getting some air. Going to head to the ballpark. My cousin is watching the shop today.”
Tripp looked at Mary hopefully. “I think that sounds just lovely,” Mary said, taking a moment to admire Cindy’s bright pink 40s style dress and curls. Cindy really was always one extreme or the other when it came to her attire; it was either blue jeans and a raggedy t-shirt or something straight out of 50s or 60s lifestyle magazine.
Cindy took the basket from Hannah while Tripp pushed Hannah’s wheelchair. It was an easy walk to the ballpark from their shops, so they arrived fairly quickly to the picnic tables where the Brooks Day event had taken place not too long ago. There were a bunch of kids running around that day – some of which seemed to be part of an organized ball practice for upcoming games while others were just children playing on the playground equipment at the park.
Hannah and Tripp scarfed down their food, and soon Tripp was pushing her off because they were simply too cool to hang around with their mom and grandma for too long. Mary and Cindy let them scurry off, and they enjoyed some adult time. “How is the shop coming?” Cindy asked, digging through the picnic basket for the cookies she had promised now that they had finished their sandwiches.
“It’s getting there,” Mary said. “I’ve just got to hang up some paintings, and then tomorrow I’m going to spend the day baking to make sure I’m stocked up and ready to go for the grand opening.”
“Excellent,” Cindy said as she dug through the picnic basket.
Mary noticed the giant “C” monogrammed on the side of the basket and smirked. “Southerners…” she said under her breath.
“Huh?” Cindy questioned, setting out the cookies.
Mary pointed at the basket. “If there is one thing I’ve noticed since arriving in the South, it’s how obsessed everyone out here is with monogramming literally everything they own,” Mary said with a laugh.
Cindy laughed right back. “Folks not that big into monogramming out in California?” Cindy asked.
“No, not at all,” Mary said. “I mean, I had one scarf that had a M on it, but that’s it. I think that’s the third thing I’ve seen of yours that’s monogrammed. I feel like Southern women have their initials on everything.”
“All of my bath towels are monogrammed,” Cindy said.
Mary found this rather humorous as well, and she suddenly heard a voice right behind her mutter, “I’ve got a monogrammed bag too,” and she nearly jumped out of her seat in surprise.
Spinning around she spotted a young teenager near Tripp and Hannah’s age looking back at her in the most peculiar sort of attire. He was wearing a white button-up, red tie, brown vest, and a large, brown overcoat that made him look like something straight out of Doctor Who. He had beautiful blond hair that was almost white – white enough to almost distract from his costume-like attire. Over his shoulder was a brown, leather satchel that was weighed down with various keychains that Mary recognized as a Slytherin emblem from the Harry Potter series, a small Tardis, and a Thor hammer. He was a handsome young man, but the outfit was throwing her for a loop. He was trying to show Mary his bag, and it took her a moment to look away from his clothes so that she could look at the bag. On the leather satchel were the letters “DTR.”
“Oh!” Mary exclaimed, and the boy smiled back at her.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said.
“Draco,” Cindy said in a sweet, almost motherly way. “Have you met Ms. Mary?”
“You’re the one with the new shop going up in town?” said the boy, whose name was evidently Draco.
“That’s right,” Mary said with a smile just as Tripp and Hannah came back up to the bench after Tripp had rolled Hannah around one of the fields.
“Draco and Hannah will be attending the same high school as Tripp in the fall,” Cindy said,
Mary caught the look of horror on Tripp’s face as he stared down the strange-looking human being before them, and she had to bite her tongue, as she knew good and well she had also been just as taken aback by the young man.
“Hey!” Draco said, smiling at them both. “You’re Tripp, right?” Draco stuck out his hand, and Tripp hesitantly shook it. Draco looked like he was going to yank Tripp’s arm right off.
“Uh… yeah…” Tripp said, quickly pulling his hand away. “Your name is Draco?” Tripp asked, his eyes lingering on the keychains for a moment. “Really?”
Draco laughed. “Yeah, I get that reaction a lot. I consider myself lucky because my sister’s name is Leia. Mom and Dad are kind of dorks.”
Mary could see Tripp bite his bottom lip clearly wanting to point out to Draco that he seemed to be one too.”
“Draco!” a distant call came from one of the fields.
“Oh, that’s Dad,” Draco said with a wave. “I’ve got to go. Good to see you again, Hannah. Nice to finally meet you, Tripp!” he sang and hurried off with his giant overcoat trailing behind him.
Once he was gone, Tripp turned to Mary. “Grandma, did you tell him what my name was?”
“No,” she said.
Tripp looked at Cindy and Hannah. “Are you good friends with him?” Tripp asked.
“No, not really,” Hannah said. “I’m nice to him, but he doesn’t have a lot of friends at school I don’t think. Why?”
“So, you wouldn’t have talked to him about me?” Tripp asked.
“No, I haven’t seen him all summer,” Hannah said.
Tripp scratched the back of his head which was his usual nervous tick. “So how did he know my name?”
Mary frowned. She had not questioned this earlier. “I’m not sure.” Mary wondered, though she was now a bit perturbed by the friendly you
ng man they had just encountered at the ballpark.
Chapter Twenty-Three
That evening Mary made a pot of coffee knowing that it was going to be a rather late night. Tripp had already retired to his room, likely to spend the evening playing videogames, while Mary waited for Officer Preston. She had invited him over because they had spoken over the phone earlier that day, and she had sensed his frustration over the case. They were going to have a sort of pow-wow to see if they could come up with a new angle.
He arrived right on time around seven that evening, and they sprawled everything they had out on the kitchen table. While Preston immediately sat down and started looking through everything, Mary poured each of them a cup of coffee. “So, have you gotten any further along with that locket?” Mary asked.
“None whatsoever,” Preston said, rubbing his temples as Mary sat down, placing a mug in front of each of them. “I feel like all we’ve done for this case so far is eliminate our most viable suspects.”
Mary had pulled out the diaries and scrapbooks that they had borrowed from Jenna, and she began mulling through them while Preston concentrated on information from the crime scene. “I really do think this locket is going to be the key,” Mary said.
“My biggest concern is if we focus too much on that locket, and it turns out to not belong to our victim or the suspect,” Preston said. “Wrecks happen around where Pastor Josiah was killed all the time. It could have been sitting there for months.”
“I don’t think so,” Mary countered. “The locket looked like legitimate gold. It would have looked a lot more worn after sitting out in the weather for that long. And it was right next to that fresh boot print we found.” She put away the prayer journal she had been looking at and started reading through some of the newspaper clippings from the scrapbook. It was nice to see this side of Josiah since she had gotten a very foul taste in her mouth about the man after learning about the affair and the alcoholism. She supposed everyone had their vices and their sins; even pastors. It was hard being a Christian in California, so Georgia had become a lovely change of pace in that aspect. It was nice, in a way, being able to assume most people you interacted with here were part of the faith, but things like this had a way of dampening your spirits, especially things like learning your local pastor was far from perfect.
