Mourning After

by Stephanie Damore

  “Oh my gosh.” Hazel’s face was set into shock.

  "Our sources say that the woman was attempting to board a flight to Atlanta, where she had booked a connecting flight to Mexico. Police say she's a person of interest in her sister’s death this past week, which has been ruled suspicious. We will update this story as more information becomes available. This is Lisa Jennings, reporting for News 13.”

  I wrapped my arm around Hazel’s waist in a comforting gesture. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Beneath my arm, Hazel trembled.

  Harold came down the hallway a minute later.

  “She's coming to." His limp was more pronounced this morning, probably from sleeping on such a hard chair. Hazel and I left the television and hurried back into Gran’s room.

  "Gran, thank goodness you’re awake." I retook my seat beside her bed and took her hand, the one without the IV.

  Gran blinked a couple of times. “You and me both.” She looked around the room, taking in the setting. “Does somebody want to tell me what's going on here?” Gran’s focus shifted from Harold, to Hazel, and then to me.

  "What's the last thing you remember, dear?" Harold was standing at the foot of the bed, his hands gripping the plastic footboard.

  “Well, let's see … you and I had watched some Wheel of Fortune last night." Gran’s attention was focused on Hazel. She nodded encouragingly. "Then, I’m not too sure. I think I walked home, put on a pot of coffee and probably changed into my pajamas. That’s what I’d usually do.” Gran closed her eyes and seemed to think and then instinctively, her hand went to touch the bandage on the front of her head. “But something happened, didn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  Gran looked about the room, lost in her memories, but came up empty. “I just can’t remember. My head though, it just aches.” Gran laid her head back on the pillow.

  I debated whether to tell her or not. Perhaps now wasn’t the best of times. Then I realized that Gran was looking at me expectantly.

  I cleared my throat. “Gran, someone attacked you last night. You hit your head—” I stopped short. Gran’s expression was a mix of fear and confusion. It made the words get all choked up in my throat.

  "Your neighbor, Mr. Embers, found you. Said you were lying unconscious in your hallway. He's the one who called the police.” Harold finished for me.

  “I don’t remember that. That’s for sure. I’ll have to send him a Christmas card. I mean a thank-you card." Gran rubbed at her temple. Everyone else was silent for a moment.

  Gran eyed us and just like that, she knew there was more we weren’t saying. “What is it that you all are not telling me? Spit it out.”

  I took over. “The sheriff also found a bloody footprint by the back door. Looks like someone attacked you and then you fell and hit the front of your head too.”

  That got a response out of her. “Wait until I find out who did it. I’m going to get out of this hospital and hit them when they’re not looking. See how they like it." There was the spitfire that I knew as my gran. "What's that Sheriff Evans have to say?"

  "He's actually been waiting to talk to you. I told him I’d call him when you woke,” I said.

  Hazel was silent in the doorway. Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Now don't you go crying. I’m fine. See? I have a little bit of loose change rolling around up there, that’s all.”

  The tears started falling down Hazel’s face. "I'm sorry. It’s just, I can’t right now. I just need a minute.” Hazel excused herself and left the room.

  “What else has happened?" Gran asked in a lowered voice. Even after head injury, Gran didn't miss a beat.

  “Gwen was just arrested at the airport hightailing it for Mexico.” I kept my voice a whisper.

  Harold’s shocked expression gave Hazel’s a run for her money.

  Concern spread across Gran’s face. "No wonder my girl’s a mess."

  "If that doesn't say guilty, then I don't know what does." Harold stood back from the bed. "If I find out she's the one who attacked you, well, I just don't know what I’ll do.” Harold pointed at Gran. "I love you. There, I said it and I don't care if the whole world knows it. You're my peach. Whether I live for another five minutes or five hundred years, you’re my girl.”

  We both just stared at Harold for a minute.

  “Wait, say that again,” Gran said.

  “I love you, Mabel. And I have for some time.”

  “You do? And here I thought it was just me.”

  Harold’s face lit up once he realized what Gran had said. “You love me?”

  “I do.”

  “Are you sure it’s not the pain meds talking?” Harold asked jokingly.

  “I promise you it’s not. Though I thought I’d be dead before you realized it.”

  “Well, nothing like a little near-death experience to bring out your feelings. I always knew you were a gem, darlin’, but I didn't know just how much I wanted you to be mine."

  Harold came around and planted a kiss on Gran’s cheek. I smiled at the sweet scene. Gran held Harold’s hand between her own.

  "I'm going to go and call Sheriff Evans,” I said, excusing myself. “And check on Hazel while I’m at it, see if I can help in any way.” I was sure that wouldn’t be the case once Jake was around. My stomach twisted in knots when I thought about the way he looked at me last night. Such anger. Such disappointment. I wasn't sure whom I should be angry with. Hazel for hiring the funeral fakers? Gran for encouraging me to take the job? After all, I would've attended Roseanne’s funeral regardless and would have met Jake either way. And now whatever might have been, I would never know. I never got the chance to discover for myself. I bit my bottom lip in frustration. The truth of the matter was, at the end of the day, the only person responsible for my actions was me. Regardless if he would've been upset or not, I should've let him in on the gig at the funeral. Maybe after that initial conversation, I could have pulled him aside. Explained what I'd been hired to do and why. But of course, that wasn't what I had done. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

  I didn't have to go far to find Hazel. She appeared to have cornered Sheriff Evans as he was making his way into the hospital. The two stood off to the side on the sidewalk just out front of the sliding glass doors. Hazel didn't seem upset. She wasn't up in his face or anything of the sort. If anything, she seemed dejected. Her head was down, looking at the ground, and she nodded as she took in what the sheriff was saying to her. A coughing fit appeared to overcome the sheriff while he was speaking. He took a step back to give his germs some room as I approached them.

  "I didn't want to interrupt. I'm just going to peruse the gift shop and wait for you guys to finish. Just find me when you’re done.”

  "You can just stay right here. I'm sure whatever else Sheriff Evans has to say, I'm going to just go right ahead and tell you anyway. This will save me some trouble."

  I didn't argue with that. Instead, I stood silently by her side.

  "Sorry about that. Darn cold hits me every fall. The leaves can't change without my nose dripping. The rest just goes downhill right along with it." The sheriff sneezed as if to punctuate his point. So that’s why the sheriff looked so rundown and worn lately—he was sick. That made sense.

  “Sheriff Evans was just telling me that they uncovered a life insurance policy Gwen had taken out in Roseanne’s name,” Hazel filled in for me. “That's what triggered the arrest."

  "She can do that?" I wasn't sure whom you could or could not take life insurance out on.

  "Not without Roseanne's consent, which I have no way of knowing if she gave it or not,” Hazel answered.

  "You see, the thing with life insurance is one would have to prove that Roseanne’s death would be a financial liability. Was it?"

  It was Hazel who answered. “We all know Roseanne was a bit of a train wreck, but I don't see how she would be Gwen’s responsibility.”

  “You might want to keep those thoughts to yourself, Hazel.” Sheriff Ev
ans was serious.

  Hazel waved the sheriff’s concerns away. “If Gwen’s guilty, I’m not about to cover for her. I want the truth, answers. I’m counting on you to find them.”

  Sheriff Evans started coughing at that moment and had to excuse himself.

  I took the opportunity to side with the sheriff. “He’s right. Wanting answers or not, you don’t want to give the prosecution anymore ammo until you speak with Gwen. Maybe this is all just a misunderstanding on her part. If that’s the case, you’ll want the authorities still eager to hunt down the real killer and not just focus on Gwen.”

  Hazel looked at Sheriff Evans. He was beat and probably just as eager anyone to wrap up this case. Hazel knew I was right.

  Sheriff Evans tucked the used tissue in his uniform pocket and rejoined us. “How's your grandmother doing?" he said, switching the topic of conversation.

  “She’s awake. I was just talking with her.”

  “Does she remember much?”

  “A bit, but she doesn’t know who attacked her or why. She never saw anyone, only felt them hit her from behind.”

  “We found the weapon.” Sheriff Evans retrieved his phone out of his pocket. He appeared to scroll through something before turning the screen toward us. It was a picture of a hand-carved cane. I knew that one-of-a-kind piece from anywhere.

  “I know it belongs to Harold Krostezka.” Sheriff Evans read our silence correctly. “Any idea why someone would hit your grandmother over the head with it?”

  “Well, it most certainly wasn’t Harold’s doing.” Hazel was indignant.

  “I agree. He was just upstairs professing his love to her.”

  “Unrequited love?” Sheriff Evans seemed hopeful.

  “Nope, Gran loves him just as much.”

  “Well, someone took his cane and hit Mabel with it. We found it bloodied in the backyard.”

  “Any fingerprints?” Hazel asked.

  “Plenty, but it’ll take a while to see if they all belong to Harold or not. I’m going to go on and head up, talk to them.”

  Hazel and I both nodded. “Okay, will you call if you hear anything?” I asked.

  “Will do. Hazel, call Betty at the station. She’ll fill you in on Gwen’s status.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but Hazel seemed to. She nodded.

  “Is the house clear? Am I okay to go home?” I asked the sheriff.

  “Yes, we finished there last night, but if you find anything off, give me a call right away.” The sheriff handed me a business card and then headed into the hospital.

  “I just don’t know what to make of it all.” Hazel put her hands on her hips in anger. “This whole situation just tears me up. First Roseanne, then Mabel, and now the police are looking at Gwen? Not like I hadn't thought of it before if that tells you something about Gwen and Rosanne's relationship. You saw the way they were fighting the other night." Hazel just shook her head and looked up at the sky.

  I could tell you one thing: Hazel was one heck of a strong woman to be standing here defiantly. If I were in her situation, I’d probably be in hysterics. One daughter murdered, the other one being charged with it …if that just doesn't rip your heart into pieces, then I don't know what would.

  "Do you want me to try and get you a ride home? I'd give you one myself, but I obviously rode over in the ambulance. I'm sure Harold would volunteer as soon as he’s done with the sheriff.”

  "I've got a ride already coming. Besides, let those lovebirds be.”

  That got a smirk out of me. "Did you know they were sweet on each another?"

  “You betcha. It's all your Gran ever talked about. Just sad that it took her getting walloped in the back of the head to make him realize it."

  "You don't think Gwen would have gone after Gran, do you?"

  Hazel gave a heavy sigh. "I just don't know what to think anymore.”

  At that moment, Hazel's ride arrived in the form of Jake. My stomach dropped to my toes. If I could disappear right then and there, I would have in an instant. Poof.

  Hazel took my hand and squeezed it. "He'll get over it, just give him some time."

  The icy glare Jake shot in my direction from the driver’s seat had me highly doubting that. I wish I could talk to him and try to explain things from my side, but this clearly wasn't the place nor the time. I wondered if he had heard the news about his mother, and how he was handling it if he did. I gave him a sad smile as Hazel climbed into his truck. I know he saw it, but that didn’t mean he acknowledged it. The man had one heck of a poker face.

  “Call me if you need anything. We should be home later this afternoon.” Hazel nodded at my parting words, and the two left.

  Back inside, Harold insisted on bringing Gran home after she was discharged. In fact, despite the fact that he was still in yesterday's clothes, he refused to leave Gran’s side. With his assurances and Gran’s too, I felt comfortable going back home to freshen up and grab a bite to eat. Of course, I hadn't driven to the hospital last night either. If things had been different, I could’ve asked Jake for a lift, but there was no way that was possible now. Jake was a southern boy; he wouldn't dare say no to me in front of his grandmother, but even if his manners would have prevailed, I didn't have the nerve to ask. Not after last night.

  I replayed the scene at Gran’s and the look Jake shot me. Hazel had been right. Such shock. Such hurt. I hated it. Asking for anything at this point would be too much, too soon. As it was, just thinking about him again had my heart racing and my stomach dancing. Instead, I called a cab and gladly paid the twelve-dollar fare back home.

  With it being Sunday, I wasn't expecting the police to have a lot of breaks in the case. Jake wouldn’t be able to access the safe deposit box until at least tomorrow, and I didn't know how long it would take Sheriff Evans to question Gwen, or how long they could hold her until she was charged with a crime. Regardless, it wouldn’t be anytime this morning. Would Hazel be able to talk to her in the meantime? I wasn’t sure, but I was more than eager to hear Gwen’s side of the story.

  7

  Gran's house felt empty when I walked in, which was dumb because of course it was empty. But it was more than that. I couldn’t shake the unsettling feelings that followed me into the kitchen. It hung in the atmosphere like a dark cloud. On the countertop, the coffee pot was still plugged in, the carafe filled to the brim with stale, burnt coffee. A carton of half-and-half was on the counter. I untwisted the plastic cap and dumped the warm contents down the sink. I then moved around the house, opening windows as I went, letting in the fresh mountain air and praying it would blow out the negative feelings.

  Alone with my thoughts, I struggled to make sense of what happened last night. Why had someone broken into Gran’s and attacked her? I didn’t like Gwen, but I had a hard time believing it was her. That didn’t feel right. Even if she did murder her sister, I couldn’t think of why she would come after Gran. Instead, I tried to come up with another scenario.

  “What if it was a robbery gone bad?” I said aloud.

  It wouldn’t be the first time a homeowner came in unexpectedly and interrupted a robbery in progress. But what could they have been trying to steal? I walked around Gran's bedroom with that in mind.

  Nothing looked out of place. Dresser drawers were shut tight, the bed was made just so, Gran’s jewelry appeared to be untouched, although some trinket that I hadn't known could be missing. I didn't have a catalog of Gran’s baubles, but nothing was thrown about or obviously tampered with. Even in the bathroom, things appeared to be just the way they always were. My makeup bag still sat on the cream and beige swirled laminate countertop, a bottle of perfume tucked beside it. My toothbrush was nestled beside Gran’s in the white porcelain holder. The white towels were as fluffy as ever, and the bubble bath retained its place on the edge of the tub. A round pedestal makeup mirror sat in the corner on the counter. It was the kind that you could flip over, and it would magnify your face. I supposed it was meant to help you put on eyel
iner or tweeze your brows, but I always found it reminded me that I needed to schedule a facial and do something about minimizing those pores on my nose.

  Next to the sink was a little white dish full of pink, rose-shaped soaps. The soft floral scent reminded me of Gran. They were merely decorative, as no one would dare pick up and use the delicate soaps, and even they remained undisturbed. More and more, it made me feel that whoever had broken in hadn't been searching for something but rather waiting. I thought of Gran coming home and going about her nightly routine while someone sat here and watched, waiting to attack. That thought sent my head spinning. I swayed on my feet and plopped down right then and there on the bathroom floor.

  I couldn’t fathom why someone would want to hurt Gran. It didn’t matter how long I sat on the floor, staring at the beige carpet. My mind couldn’t come up with the answers. The only thing I concluded was whoever decided to carpet a bathroom had never been tasked with cleaning one. However, it was a task that Gran seemed more than able to handle. I pushed off the floor and got to my feet, feeling steadier than before. Not perfect, but better. Perhaps I should eat something.

  Thankfully, Gran generally knew her limitations in the kitchen and kept the freezer stocked full of microwavable entrées. Enchiladas for breakfast. Sure, why not. I popped the dish in the unit and took a seat at the kitchen table, taking my cell phone along with me. Looking at the screen, I saw that Greta had in fact texted me back yesterday evening, but I had completely missed it. It turned out her son Daniel had been able to give her hand with the furniture.

  I shot back a reply. That’s great. Let me know if you need help with anything else. I half expected Greta to reply with a text asking how Gran was doing. I knew word had to have gotten around Bakers by now, but thankfully she didn’t. The warm fall breeze fluttered in through the kitchen window, making the white valance above the sink, with its little pink roses, gently sway in response. It should have felt comforting and peaceful, but it didn't. I wasn't sure what it would take until Gran’s home felt safe again.