by Matt Ferraz
It was a purple wool sweater, the one she had been knitting since they had been at the beach. Richard held it against his chest. “Grandma, you shouldn’t have.”
“Just a little something for you to remember me by,” she said. “But now I have to go. I have a lot to do.”
He nodded, and tried not to cry.
10
The police had Antoinette in handcuffs, but Grandma Bertha asked for a minute to explain everything before they took her away.
“I knew you would think that the opportunity I gave you to electrocute me in the bath was too easy,” she said. “Only a stupid person would fall for that. And I wanted you to feel smart.”
“You couldn’t have planned all this,” said Antoinette.
The policemen around her were all smiling. One of them, clearly the superior officer, gave Grandma Bertha a pat on the back. “It was all her idea,” he said. “Your husband told us to trust her, Mrs Wood. As you may know, he has a lot of influence around here.” He bent down to pick up the key that had slipped out of Antoinette’s fingers. “And you don’t need to worry about the porter. He won’t lose his job. In fact, you asking for the key was the sign we needed that you were going to try to murder Mrs Bertha. She thought of everything.”
Grandma Bertha finished the can of beer and opened the second one. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked Antoinette. “You must be wondering how I did this. I have a good sense for people’s nature, you know? It’s easy for me to tell what excited people, what makes them nervous, what makes them laugh and what makes them angry. The first time I laid eyes on you, I knew you were a vain woman. The kind who always gets what she wants, and who goes berserk when her charms don’t work the way they should.”
She went on. “When I first saw you at the beach, I began to get an idea of how evil you were. So, I decided to talk to Rich. He told me a lot about his beautiful wife, told me he’d do anything for her. It’s funny – never once did he mention anything negative about you. And I don’t mean that he should have complained about your snoring or your smelly feet. When I say something negative, I mean basic stuff like talking about a food you don’t like or a complaint you had against the hotel service. It was clear the man was blind. He painted a different picture from the one I got when I saw you: to me, you looked like a woman who’s never satisfied and who wants the whole world to bend to her will.”
“That’s when I realized Rich was wrong. He was seeing what he wanted to see and – most of all – what you wanted him to see. I got suspicious. What if you were trying to hurt my friend Rich? What if this whole charade had a purpose – an evil purpose?”
Antoinette blew a raspberry. “You could tell all that just from talking to us?”
Grandma Bertha raised her index finger. “Yes, I could. But I couldn’t prove anything. So, I wanted to get closer, to observe you both. Of course, I would never be so rude as to ask Richard to take me to his home. But that’s the beautiful part: I never even had to ask! He came up with the invitation by himself, and all I had to do was say yes.”
She continued. “It was only when I was a guest at your home that I became convinced about what you were trying to do. I could see it in your eyes: you looked at every object around you, thinking how you could use it as a weapon. You would pick up a paperweight in the middle of a conversation to see how heavy it was, test the sharpness of a knife against your finger during a meal, and so on. You had a death wish in your eyes – and you were looking at your poor hubby.”
“There were two things I needed to do,” Grandma Bertha went on. “First, I had to convince Rich to get rid of you. And second, I needed something that would put you behind bars, where you couldn’t hurt anyone. But how to do that? The answer came quickly: I needed to hurt your ego, the most sensitive thing you have.”
“You manipulated him!” Antoinette shouted. “You made him leave me!”
Grandma Bertha raised her finger even higher. “That wasn’t necessary,” she said. “All I did was talk to Rich. Have tea with him in the garden, offer my company, listen to him. I didn’t need to manipulate him, or even suggest that he should leave you. The idea was in his mind all the time, and he made the decision by himself.”
“But it wasn’t just a matter of you two splitting up,” Grandma Bertha went on. “Because now I needed to transfer the hatred you felt for him to me, so I could set the stage for you to get caught in the act. In other words, I had to become the bait for the big white shark, and make sure that the shark slayers were waiting with their harpoons.”
“My first idea was the graveyard. We were going to have a pleasant picnic, just you and me and the doggies. They would be my guards that afternoon. It was the anniversary of Jane Marple’s death, by the way, a day when lots of fans would visit her grave. I’d give you the opportunity to kill me before we got to her grave, and once the doggies started barking, we would have plenty of witnesses. That plan wasn’t very good, though. Too many variables, too many things that could go wrong. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to fall for it, and I’d have blown my cover. I realized that just before we got into the car, so I went back to the house and pretended to fall asleep, and tried to think of a better plan.”
“That’s when I decided to open the game to you.” Grandma Bertha waved her index finger. “Let you know that I knew what you were trying to do. This way, when Richard asked you for a divorce, you would think it was my idea. I would then made you think that he was divorcing you to marry me, which would give you a reason to kill me. But I wanted to do that in a safe environment, where you couldn’t fire a gun without someone hearing you. I had to take you away from your mansion and put you here.”
“That whole charade with the radio and the bath was to distract you,” she continued. “Because you’re not stupid, Toni. You’re crazy and evil, but you’re not an idiot. If you found out from the get-go that this was being staged, you wouldn’t have taken the final step and tried to kill me.”
The police inspector finished for her: “Richard Wood is a friend, and when he told me this crazy plan, I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea. But I have another friend, Inspector Shaw from Scotland Yard, who Grandma Bertha assisted with the alley murder last year. He told me I should do exactly as she told me.”
“But how could you be so sure I was going to use the needle?” asked Antoinette. By this point, she was more curious about the plan than upset she had been caught. “What if I tried to murder you with something else?”
“There are twenty-eight murder props in this hotel room,” explained Grandma Bertha. “I collect them, and I asked my son Todd to ship them to me as soon as I realized you wanted to kill me. You could have tried to use any of them, but I always put my money on the knitting needle. I thought it suited you better.”
The policemen did their best not to applaud her. Antoinette hung her head. She had been defeated in every way possible.
“Take her away,” said the inspector. “We have lots of paperwork to do.”
Soon, Antoinette was in the back of the police car, being driven away. Grandma Bertha and her dogs watched from the window of their hotel room. She thought of picking up the phone and calling Todd to tell him of her triumph. He would be pleased. She had proven that she was able not only to solve murders, but also to prevent them. It was a great feeling.
Instead, she turned on the TV again. It was showing Psycho II. She liked that movie too.
A Study in Brown
1
It was the hottest afternoon of the summer. Everyone without air conditioning was outdoors. The little town prospered during the summer, when tourists came in droves to visit its biggest waterpark. Most of them spent the day there, swimming and playing on the slides. Later, when the sun started to go down, there were tourist attractions and museums to visit.
Grandma Bertha had gone down every single slide in that waterpark while her dogs enjoyed a pet spa, and now they were back on their way to the hotel. After spending time at Richard Wood’s mansion
, she had chosen a more modest hotel, even though she could afford something fancier. The hotel was cosy and intimate.
She still phoned home every day to talk to her grandson, Stu. Grandma Bertha missed him more than anyone else – more than her son Todd and her daughter-in-law Lydia, who had never been her biggest fan. Since Grandma Bertha decided to take her long holiday, she had realized there was a little room in her heart for Lydia, and she hoped to start again with her when she got home.
But right now, there was a lot to do, and a lot to see. Grandma Bertha had decided to move inland and try a pool for a change. Water parks were her favourite, but she had also played some water polo – and posed for photos with her fans. She had a lot of fans now that her name was appearing in the papers – and on the internet. The fame never went to her head, though, and it didn’t stop her from enjoying her time off.
After spending so much time underwater, Grandma Bertha was surprised to see how hot it was out there. You could fry an egg on the street. Her dogs would end up with blisters on their paws if she let them walk on their bare paws. That’s why she had knitted them little boots: green ones for Castor, orange ones for Rufus and purple ones for Mustafar. The dogs were her best friends, after all, and part of her family.
Grandma Bertha walked down the street holding the leashes in her left hand and a can of cold beer in her right, from which she took a sip from time to time. She wore a straw sombrero that protected her from the sun, and a light pink dress with a matching pink plastic bag. Having arrived in the little town just a couple of days earlier, she still had a lot to see. She was especially interested in visiting the medieval torture museum she had heard so much about.
Grandma Bertha was an amusing sight. She smiled at everyone and greeted strangers.
“Hey, what’s up? How do you do? Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Some people greeted her back, some just smiled and went on their way. And she continued her walk, whistling an old tune.
It was almost noon, and she decided it was a good time to grab a bite to eat. There were plenty of restaurants around, but Grandma Bertha was fed up of pizzas and hamburgers. She’d eaten a lot of junk food that week, and she craved something healthier. There was a fruit stand on the pavement, so she decided to stop there. A snack was all she wanted.
“Good afternoon, ma’am!” said the vendor, an Asian man with a thin moustache. “What can I do for you?”
“These apples look yummy!” she said. “I think I’m gonna take half a dozen, and some pears and plums and…” She stopped talking and turned to her dogs, who were barking at a couple who were walking by. “Boys, what are you doing?”
The couple stopped, seemingly afraid to get any closer. Grandma Bertha opened her mouth to apologize to them, then she realized the woman’s make-up was smudged with tears. And not because of the dogs. She was pale – too pale for someone living in such a warm climate. Her hair was thin and blonde, almost white, and her big blue eyes were scared.
The man, in contrast, was tanned. He had thick curly brown hair and eyes that held no kindness. Grandma Bertha didn’t like him. She had a sixth sense for people, and it told her that the woman was suffering at his hands. They wore identical wedding rings, although his looked a bit loose.
“What’s the matter, dear?” asked Grandma Bertha to the woman. “Why are you crying?”
The couple stood there, the dogs barking at the man. The woman stared at Grandma Bertha with hope in her eyes. The old lady wanted to grab her by the hand and take her away, but she was afraid of what the man might do.
“We live there,” said the man to Grandma Bertha, pointing at the door right next to the fruit stand with the tip of his walking cane. “And we want to get in, so if you please…”
“Your wife isn’t all right,” said Grandma Bertha, turning to the woman. “Sweetie, if you don’t want to go with him, you don’t have to.”
The woman opened her mouth, then shut it again when her husband took a step forward.
“It’s none of your business!” he said to Grandma Bertha. “Now, are you going to let us pass or not?”
Grandma Bertha gave an order and her dogs lay down. The couple walked by and went through the front door. Grandma Bertha realized that the man had a severe limp. He pulled his wife by the arm, as if they were in a hurry. Just before they entered, the woman’s eyes met Grandma Bertha’s, and the old lady realized that the woman was crying again.
This is not gonna end well, thought Grandma Bertha. The vendor gave her a bag of fruit. Grandma Bertha finished her beer, put the can in her bag to throw away later, and took the bag. “Thanks, kiddo!” she said to the vendor and went on her way, still thinking of the woman. It was hard to tell what had bothered her so much about the couple. It wasn’t just the look on the woman’s face, but something in the man’s eyes. She didn’t know for sure what it was, but it was more than just cruelty.
Walking down the street, Grandma Bertha examined the building the couple had entered. It was nice enough: the walls were painted blue and it had big windows on all three floors. There should be six apartments, she thought. There was no doorman, and she could see no lift. A quick look at the buzzer showed that there were only two apartments on each floor, and only three were occupied: one on the ground floor, where Mr and Mrs Johnson lived, and two on the second floor, Mr and Mrs Bunker and Mr and Mrs Markum.
Grandma Bertha’s hotel was two blocks down, but she decided to take the alley that ran behind the apartment block, so she could take a look at the back of the building. Something drew her to it, even though it wasn’t the first time she’d seen a couple fighting. Grandma Bertha knew that most marriages end up in divorce, and that one looked like it was heading that way. However, there was something else going on.
The dogs led her along the alley, which was almost as busy as the street. A group of kids were playing football, couples walked by, and a blind man sold cigarettes in a booth. Her sixth sense was tingling now, despite her efforts to ignore it. She stopped and looked back at the building. All the windows were shut, so it was difficult to see where the couple were. But she knew they were on the ground floor. After all, why would a man with a limp rent a second-floor apartment when there were two empty apartments below?
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr and Mrs Johnson!” said Grandma Bertha.
So, she knew where they lived, and she had an idea of what was going on in their apartment. That poor woman was suffering some kind of abuse, physical or psychological, and Grandma Bertha could not let that continue. Some people might say it was none of her business, but she believed it was everyone’s duty to help each other in situations like those.
The kids started to laugh. Grandma Bertha realized they were pointing at her dogs. She looked down to see that Rufus was doing his business on the pavement. “Oh, jeez, Rufus, couldn’t you wait? I forgot to bring any plastic bags!”
It was too late, though. Rufus was already in the middle of doing what he had to do. Grandma Bertha still had the bag of fruit with her, so she thought she could use it to pick up the poo, but then how should she carry her fruit? Maybe she could go back to the fruit stand and ask the man for another bag.
Grandma Bertha was considering these options when two things happened. The first thing: she looked back at the Johnsons’ window, just in time to see it opening. She realized a man was inside, looking out. She couldn’t see his face, but something about him made an impression on her.
And then the second thing happened: a driver lost control of his car and mounted the pavement, crashing into the fruit stand where Grandma Bertha had bought her afternoon snack. Thankfully the fruit vendor was agile enough to leap out of the way, and the only victims of the accident were bananas and avocados. Everyone ran into the street to see what had happened, and soon the alley was empty – or almost empty.
The blind cigarette vendor couldn’t leave his booth, and Grandma Bertha wasn’t sure in which direction she should run. There were too many things happening at once,
and she wanted to be sure that she did the right thing.
Finally, the dogs chose for her, and ran towards the crash site. Grandma Bertha followed. As she reached the street, she realized that the accident had sounded worse than it was. The driver had but a scratch on her forehead. People were already dispersing.
And then the third thing happened. Everyone heard it, even with all the noise on the street. It came from the blue building behind them. It could not be mistaken for anything else. Grandma Bertha knew exactly what it was. Gunshots. Silently, she prayed for Mrs Johnson.
2
Grandma Bertha opened a cold beer that evening and toasted the deceased. Mrs Johnson would now be in the mortuary, where a doctor would carry out a post mortem to determine if the bullet that hit her in the back had been her only cause of death. Grandma Bertha spared a few tears for the poor woman, even though that wasn’t her usual style.
Mr Johnson’s husband was being questioned by the police. He had shot his wife, there was no doubt about that. But he might still escape justice. Even the beer couldn’t cheer Grandma Bertha up. She was feeling sick after what she had seen that morning. Not the murder itself, although that was pretty revolting. But what bothered her most was the look in Mrs Johnson’s eyes. It was the look of someone who needed help, but who was afraid to ask for it.
“I should have done something,” said Grandma Bertha to her dogs, who lay beside her on the hotel bed. “If I had, she might still be alive now.”
The TV was on, and the case was all over the news. Young woman shot by accident by her own husband. Mr Johnson appeared, desolate, in front of the cameras, while the newsreader talked about how he had tried to protect his wife from a burglar.
“Burglar, my butt!” said Grandma Bertha, finishing her beer. “Who tries to rob a house in broad daylight in a town like this?”
