Odd Partners

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Odd Partners Page 19

by Mystery Writers of America


  Minnie looked around. “A man…”

  “What man? There’s no one in the store but us and Martin.”

  “Well, he’s gone now, but I saw him.”

  “It’s all right,” Grace said in a soothing voice. “We’ll sort this man out. Have you found it?”

  “Found what?”

  “Your shopping list. You insisted on writing it yourself. Remember?”

  Minnie took a shuddering breath. “There’s something I need to tell you. It’s important.”

  Grace waited, and Minnie looked around.

  “What is it?” Grace asked.

  “I can’t remember!” Minnie said, furious with frustration.

  Grace patted her arm. “Don’t worry. You’ve still got lots of good qualities.”

  “The good are supposed to die young.” Life at her age wasn’t worth living. Not when you wore diapers. She looked down at her pants. At least she hadn’t wet herself.

  “Can I have your handbag?” Grace asked.

  “Why? And why is the clerk looking at me like that?”

  “Martin’s a bit annoyed because last time, when you came in on your own, you nicked a can of pasta.”

  “I don’t like canned spaghetti!”

  “Then why did you steal it?” asked the clerk in a sing-song voice.

  “I’ve never stolen anything in my life. And your store is messy.”

  “Can I see your list?” Grace asked.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” the clerk said, shaking his head. “You have the patience of a martyr, I think.”

  Minnie unclasped her ancient handbag and a silk eyeglass case caught her eye. Was that new? She didn’t need glasses. Did she? Or a hearing aid. If she could have her memory restored, she’d give up her perfect vision and hearing, and wear a diaper.

  Grace shook her head. “My mother always said, ‘patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.’ Besides, I like Minnie. She’s a good gig. Easy on my back. My last client weighed over two hundred pounds and left me with a herniated lumbar disc. We make a good team, don’t we, Minnie?”

  “You’re bossy,” Minnie said.

  The clerk snorted, but it was true. Grace made Minnie wash and dress though she would have preferred to stay in her slippers and nightgown. She dyed Minnie’s hair a nice chestnut brown, which was better than the hairdresser on Main Street, who dyed her hair a red that matched the rims of her eyes, and permed it into rows of silly sausages. Grace styled Minnie’s hair smartly, making the mouse-pink skin of her scalp less conspicuous, so that was all right. Sometimes, she manicured her nails.

  Minnie fingered the pearls wound around her neck. She didn’t like jewelry, especially costume jewelry. Why had she worn pearls? It worried her, her mind not being as sharp as she’d like it. She hated being afraid. Afraid she’d bungle something or forget something important.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got, then,” Grace said, holding out her hand.

  Minnie stared at the scrap of paper she was clutching, gleaned from a bundle of scribbly notes held together with a large paper clip. Printed on it, in her spidery hand, were the words: “NO 11 SQUATTER.”

  “What does ‘squatter’ mean?” Minnie asked, though she knew very well what the word meant, but not why she’d made note of it. She wrote down only important things.

  “Last week an old man was mugged at the beach,” the clerk said. “His face smashed in with a rock. I heard a rumor it was squatters.”

  “Give me your bag and I’ll have a look,” said Grace.

  Grace pulled the handbag away, and a fresh undertow of anxiety flooded Minnie’s brain. “I want to go home. Now,” she said, sounding as petulant as a toddler. Minnie didn’t care. She wanted to feel safe, and she didn’t feel safe here.

  “We’ve come to do our shopping, haven’t we?” said Grace.

  “My daughter does my shopping.”

  “Priscilla’s busy with work, isn’t she?” Without asking, Grace turned out the handbag onto the counter, letting loose a flurry of paper scraps.

  “Perhaps a squatter—” Grace said.

  “What squatter?” Minnie asked, tuning back in to the conversation.

  “A squatter crackhead who needed ocean air,” said the clerk. “That poor old man was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Or he could have stroked out and tripped,” Grace said. “Hit his head or something. We really don’t know whether he was mugged, now, do we? Can’t always expect the worst.” She read a scrap of paper in her hand. “Frank’s place. Pale eyes, thin mouth, stubbly gray hair, tall. You looking for love, Minnie?”

  Minnie felt a stab of annoyance and then a cold ripple of apprehension. The man with the colorless eyes and stubby gray hair. “Grace, we need to go home!”

  “Ah. Here’s your list. Milk, apples, American cheese, ham, and a loaf of whole grain bread. Let’s go shopping, Minnie,” she said, handing Minnie back her handbag.

  “You’ve mixed up my notes,” Minnie said, frustrated again. “I can’t remember what I need to tell you!”

  “Chocolate’s good for the memory,” said the clerk. “Dr. Oz said that. It’s in this month’s Woman’s World. Read for yourself.”

  A pair of untidy teenaged boys slouched into the store, and the clerk found something more interesting than Minnie to keep under surveillance.

  Together Minnie and Grace gathered supplies, including a bag of barbecue potato chips for Grace.

  They were waiting at the register when the clerk shouted, “You can’t open a bag of chocolate without paying for it. That’s stealing. Get out now!”

  “Hey, chill. Wasn’t us,” said one of the boys while the other fooled around with his cellphone.

  The boy with the cellphone nodded without looking up. “It was like that when we got here.”

  “Hassle us, and my parents are gonna sue your ass. My mom’s a lawyer.”

  “We haven’t eaten any of your stupid chocolate. And your store smells like piss.”

  The clerk turned to glare at Minnie, who felt a cold heaviness between her legs. She felt ashamed. She wasn’t a child. She didn’t steal cans of spaghetti. Did she?

  “Come on, then,” said Grace. “Let’s pay for our things. We’ll take that bag of candy, as well, Martin. No worries, eh?”

  “And eggs,” Minnie said, the idea coming to her in a flash. “We need eggs.”

  Grace looked surprised. “You’re right.”

  Minnie smiled. “See, my memory’s just fine. You’ll have to remember to tell Priscilla.”

  * * *

  —

  Together, Grace and Minnie had developed a system for communicating wordlessly. Not Morse code, which would have been better. Minnie’s grandfather used to blink in dots and dashes after his stroke. She thought it was nice that he didn’t have to feel so lonely and could communicate with his war buddies.

  Minnie and Grace didn’t need anything as complicated. One blink for “yes,” like a thumbs up, and two blinks for “no” did the trick.

  When Priscilla came round to ask whether Minnie had eaten lunch, Grace would blink once and Minnie would say, “Yes.” Had she eaten scrambled eggs? Grace would blink twice, and without looking at the sink or sniffing the air for a clue, Minnie, with a confident smile, would say, “No.” To end the grilling, Minnie would sniff and say, “I’m too old to be playing twenty questions.”

  Then Grace would prepare tea or coffee for Priscilla, who would check the cupboards, commenting on what they did or didn’t need. “Mom shouldn’t be eating so much candy,” she chastised Grace that afternoon.

  “It’s chocolate. Good for the memory,” Grace said. “We saw that on Dr. Oz, didn’t we, Minnie?”

  Though Minnie had lost any thread of the conversation minutes ago, she looked at Grace, who blinked once, and
said, “Yes, of course,” in a starchy tone meant to end the discussion.

  When Grace had poured tea, Priscilla said, “Can you be a dear, Grace, and run my Lexus through the car wash? The interior could use a good vacuuming, and if you can remember I have a prescription to pick up at the CVS.”

  “Really, Priscilla,” Minnie said. “I’m tired.”

  “Not you, Mom. Grace can go.”

  “But we go everywhere together.”

  Priscilla held out some bills. Grace took the money and went off wordlessly to get her coat. Minnie adored going to the drugstore and said petulantly, “Grace’s my partner, not yours.”

  “She’s your aide and well compensated. I thought you said you were tired. If you’re going to lie down, at least she can be useful.”

  “She is. I’d be lost without her.” It was true. Minnie remembered getting lost coming back from the convenience store. She’d been terrified wandering the avenue, not sure which street was hers.

  “So, do you want a nap?” Priscilla asked.

  “I’m not tired anymore.”

  “Good. We need to talk.”

  Priscilla parked Minnie in her favorite armchair, a sea-green BarcaLounger overlooking the street. If the wind blew the right way and the windows were open, she could hear the ocean. “You used to love the beach when you were a child,” Minnie said.

  “True, Mom, but the neighborhood isn’t what it used to be.”

  Minnie surveyed the empty street. “The summer people are gone. But they always come back.”

  “Yes, well, I’m sure you’ve heard there was an attempted break-in down on the bay side. Did the police talk to you about it?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?” Priscilla handed Minnie a cup of tea she didn’t want.

  “I think I’d remember something like that,” Minnie said, though truthfully she had no idea.

  “When I arrived earlier, I saw a uniformed officer knocking on a door across the street. At Frank’s house.”

  “Frank’s house. Number eleven?”

  “I suppose so. Frank must be visiting his sister in Miami.”

  “Not Miami,” Minnie said. Something nibbled at a corner of her mind, filling her with a nagging apprehension. Frank usually wintered in Florida, but this year he’d changed his mind. He’d spent a week with his sister and then had come home. She’d seen him opening his front door. She remembered that clearly. When had that been? A day or two ago?

  “All right, wherever then,” said Priscilla. She paused and looked at Minnie. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” Minnie said, then shook her head. “I mean, nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Not with my memory, anyway.” She put down the untasted tea. She would be sick if she swallowed anything.

  Priscilla looked doubtful. “Look, the point is the neighborhood’s getting dangerous, and soon property values will drop.”

  “The crack addicts?” Minnie asked.

  “Precisely. Two towns away it’s an epidemic. How long before the marauding hordes infest this neighborhood?” Priscilla sat opposite Minnie on the matching ottoman. “People will rent to anyone these days. Everyone needs money.”

  She reached out and took Minnie’s hand. Priscilla’s hand felt warm and soft and comforting, and Minnie thought she hadn’t felt this close to her daughter in years. Priscilla talked and talked, and Minnie couldn’t keep herself from smiling, imagining Priscilla as a young girl. Sweet and sensitive. Too sensitive. Always having her feelings hurt at school.

  “So, you understand where I’m going with this?”

  Minnie smiled, and Priscilla let go of her hand. She had no idea what Priscilla had been going on about, only that she wished Priscilla hadn’t stopped holding her hand.

  “Well, look at the time,” Priscilla said, standing. “Tell Grace I’ll pick up the car tomorrow.”

  A light kiss on the cheek and Priscilla was gone.

  * * *

  —

  Sometime later, Minnie was still in her chair in front of the window when the kitchen door opened. Grace announced herself, came into the living room and looked around. “What happened to Priscilla? I’ve got her car and she owes me five dollars. I tipped the car wash attendant.” She dropped a prescription bag on the coffee table.

  “You went to the drugstore without me?” Minnie loved CVS. The clean smell of detergent and the friendly pharmacists who all looked younger than the mayonnaise in her refrigerator.

  “What’s that you’re holding?” Grace asked.

  Minnie turned the brochure over in her hands. Old people, sitting around, laughing together. “I’m trying to read it, but I can’t make sense of it. I think I’m tired.”

  The expression on Grace’s face hardened, but she said gently, “Come on. A nap before dinner will do you good.” Grace took Minnie by the arm and helped her shuffle to the bedroom they shared. A hospital bed for Minnie and a twin for Grace.

  The telephone rang, and Grace left to answer it after tucking Minnie between the clean sheets.

  Minnie drifted off to sleep thinking about her husband, Sean, and what a wonderful smile he had. No one would ever smile at her like that again. There was nothing nice about growing old.

  * * *

  —

  “You remember me, don’t you?”

  A strange man was sitting at her kitchen table and smiling at her. Not a doctor. She was home and it was dark outside, and doctors didn’t make house calls anymore. “Where’s Grace?” She remembered how sad Grace had been when Minnie told her Priscilla was right. She did need to go to a home. Her memory was only getting worse. She didn’t care anymore. It didn’t matter. What made her feel sad was the possibility she’d never see Grace again.

  Then she remembered the man sitting across from her. Something about his face looked familiar. She looked down, away from the colorless eyes. The table was littered with notes, dozens scattered about, all in her handwriting. “Where’s Grace? Don’t hurt her. She doesn’t know anything.”

  “And what do you know?” the man asked genially, as though they were friends.

  “How did you get in?”

  “You let me in. Don’t you remember?” He smiled, and she could almost believe she had invited him inside. Offered him coffee or tea, and he’d said not to bother. Young people always worried about how clean an older person kept their home. She remembered her grandmother’s house. Her father wouldn’t have eaten a cracker off any of her grandmother’s dishes.

  She looked up and met his smile. Nice teeth. But no, she hadn’t let him in. She’d found him sitting at the kitchen table when she’d gotten up from her nap. It was dinnertime and Grace should have been warming up a can of soup or making a ham sandwich. Where was Grace? She should tell the man to get out, but he frightened her.

  “Who are you, and why are you here?” And then she felt the blood drain slowly from her face as she remembered.

  “You do remember. I can see it in your face,” he said, his voice still pleasant, but somehow not human.

  “At the convenience store today. You startled me.” Yesterday. She’d been staring outside, wondering why the draperies stayed closed at number eleven when Frank liked them open, even at night when she could see him plain as day, dozing in front of his big screen television with a can of beer.

  She’d meant to tell Grace. She’d written it down somewhere. “I want to call Grace,” she said. To find out that she was okay and to warn her to stay away.

  “Be my guest. Do you remember her number?”

  She didn’t and stared at him blankly.

  “Didn’t think so. Ever since smartphones came along, we don’t have to remember a thing, do we?”

  “I don’t have a smartphone. I don’t think I do anyway.” She did have a flip phone but she could never find it. And it was always off. She
needed it, according to Priscilla, for emergencies. This was an emergency! Where was it, and where was Grace?

  “What’s this supposed to mean?” He held out the scrap of paper printed with “NO 11 SQUATTER.” The sight of his hairy hand sheathed in a latex glove sent a geyser of adrenaline through Minnie and brought back the memory in living color. His face. In the front window of Frank’s home, peering at her from behind a crack in the draperies. The sun had been right and she’d seen his face, and he’d seen hers.

  The door opened and Grace appeared. “Priscilla wanted her car back and—” Minnie turned, relief flooding her heart before a fresh stab of panic tore through her. Grace needed to go and get away from this latex-gloved madman who would surely kill them both. She stared at Grace, willing her to understand, blinking furiously, three dots, three dashes, three dots. SOS, to warn her, to tell her to get away, to go get help, but they didn’t have a signal for that, or else she’d forgotten.

  “Oh, you have a visitor,” Grace said. “Minnie, you didn’t tell me. Is this gentleman a friend?”

  Minnie looked Grace squarely in the eyes and blinked twice. Then she said in a voice that wavered with alarm, “Yes, I forgot to mention he was in town. You know how forgetful I’ve been lately.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  She blinked twice and said, “Of course. We’re having a nice chat.”

  “So you know each other?”

  Two blinks. “A student of mine. When I taught third grade. It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

  “I’m Hank,” the man with the stubbly gray hair and unnaturally pale eyes said without getting up or holding out his hand.

  “All right then,” Grace said cheerily, though Minnie could see the fear that had settled on her face. “Priscilla will have my head if I don’t get her dry cleaning before the place closes. She’s waiting for me at her office. You know what she’ll do when I’m late. Send out the cavalry. See you in a bit, Minnie. Enjoy your visit.”

  The man was out of his chair faster than Minnie would have believed possible. “You’re not going anywhere.”

 

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