by Matt Ferraz
“So why didn’t she come today?” insisted Grandma Bertha.
Craig stood silent for a second. “Why all these questions?” he asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Did you?”
“No!” His voice was loud now. “What are you suggesting?”
Grandma Bertha’s face opened in a smile. “I’m sorry. I tend to ask too many questions. Don’t mind me. By the way, I saw your wife yesterday. She has beautiful blue eyes.”
“Thank you,” he said. “But her eyes are green.”
“I’m sorry, I must have confused them. Your daughter has blue eyes, right?”
“Yes,” said Craig, smiling too. “They’re beautiful too.”
“Her mother’s eyes, right?” asked Grandma Bertha.
“Yes!”
“They told me Daisy was a child when her mother died in the fire,” continued Grandma Bertha. “And she was by her side. That’s why she has those scars on her arm, isn’t it?”
Craig nodded. “It was an awful thing,” he said. “Daisy wanted to read a book one night. She lit a candle next to her bed, but it touched the blanket and the fire spread. Her mother and I came running to save her, but Barbara – her mother – got caught in the fire. She died a week later.”
“That’s terrible,” said Grandma Bertha. “Daisy must have grown up with a guilt complex.”
“We paid for the best psychiatrists,” said Craig. “But they can’t work miracles.”
“What does Scarlett think of Daisy’s issues?” asked Grandma Bertha. “Does she get on well with Daisy?”
“Well, they’re not the best of friends,” said Craig, folding his arms. “It’s funny. I never talk about this to anyone. But I think Daisy is jealous of her stepmother.”
“Do you think Daisy might try to kill her?”
“I guess so, but…” He stopped. “What kind of question was that?”
“A question you started to answer,” said Grandma Bertha, turning away and walking back to the living room.
“I didn’t answer anything,” said Craig, running after her. “And why would you ask something so stupid? Daisy wouldn’t hurt a fly. Why do you think she—”
Grandma Bertha stopped by the couch to get her bag. “Please don’t mention this conversation to anyone. Not to Scarlett, and certainly not to Daisy. That could make the poor girl feel guiltier.”
“Why should she feel guilty?” asked Craig. “She’d not done anything wrong.”
“Her scars don’t let her forget what she did,” said Grandma Bertha. “Even if she didn’t mean to kill her mother, she’s the one who lit the candle. She started the fire that took Barbara life.”
“Listen to me,” he said, grabbing her hard by the arm. “I gave everything I had to keep Daisy sane, and—”
His words were cut short by a yell. He pulled his hand back. For a woman with no teeth, Grandma Bertha could bite hard. “Don’t you ever grab me again!” she said.
“You’re crazy!”
“I’m trying to find a pattern here, Craig,” she said. “We have a girl who’s been carrying a lot on her shoulders. We have a father who lets her do whatever she wants. And a stepmother she’s not crazy about. There’s a mystery here, and I want to solve it.”
“You’re crazy,” he said again. “I won’t let you near Daisy. We won’t come back to this house while you’re a guest here.”
“I can help Daisy,” she said, just as Craig was about to walk out of the room. “I think I understand what happened here last night, and I can help her to find peace.”
Craig stood still. He didn’t like her, but he couldn’t deny Daisy had been acting strange. Maybe the old Lady knew what she was talking about. “I’m listening,” he said. “But if you say something stupid…”
“I need some answers first,” said Grandma Bertha. They were in the living room. She sat down on a couch. Craig took a seat beside her. “I need to know a few things about you and from Daisy. Then I’ll have a better picture of the situation. First question: what kind of relationship did she have with her mother?”
He thought for a second. “A normal one, I guess. I must be honest, I wasn’t there a lot during those years. My business took most of my attention. Didn’t have much time to be a father. But Barbara was a good woman. I’m sure they were close.”
That’s not a good answer, thought Grandma Bertha. “Did the accident bring you closer together?”
Craig nodded. “Daisy had a lot of pain. The burns and the treatment – they took a part of her childhood. I felt it was my duty to take care of her. But it wasn’t easy. She doesn’t let people get too close. Not even her own family.”
“Do you ever talk about what happened?”
“Not for the past six years or so,” he said. “It became a taboo subject.”
“Did you ever talk to her psychiatrists about it?” asked Grandma Bertha.
“What could they say?” asked Craig. “They can’t say anything about clients. Confidentiality.”
“They must have told you something.”
He thought for a moment. “She used to sleepwalk,” he said. “I caught her wandering around the house a few times, mostly when she was stressed. Why is this important?”
Grandma Bertha raised her finger. “Remember what she said about the painting? How she thought it was a portrait of two women? I think that’s important. I’m no psychiatrist, but I know a thing or two about human nature. Daisy is not well, Craig. And I think she hasn’t been well for a while. That was clear to me from the moment I saw her. She’s a beautiful, rich woman who could have any man she wants… but I only see pain in her eyes.”
“She’s not the happiest girl in town,” agreed Craig. “But that’s her nature. She was always like that, even as a child.”
“Are you sure?” asked Grandma Bertha. “After all, you were an absent father in her early years, and by the time you started to get closer to her, she wasn’t a child any more. Your words, not mine.”
He had no answer to that.
“Now, another important question,” continued Grandma Bertha. “How’s Daisy’s relationship with her stepmother?”
“As good as anyone could expect,” answered Craig with a shrug. “They’re not best friends, but they’re not enemies either.”
“What’s the age difference between them?”
“Seven years,” said Craig. “I know how that sounds. But with everything I’ve gone through, I think I deserve this. Scarlett was my business partner’s secretary. That’s how we met. I’ve given her jewellery and plastic surgeries. She’s not a bad person, Mrs Hepburn. Just not very bright.”
Grandma Bertha listened with her hands over her belly, making a mental note of everything he said. “You don’t know her very well, do you? Scarlett, I mean.”
“We’ve been together for years…”
“But you don’t know her,” repeated Grandma Bertha. “You’re not a people person. You don’t understand others well. This isn’t a critique. Everyone is good at something. I could never run a business the way you do. But I can read people like a book. And I think I know a few things about your deceased wife you don’t know yourself.”
She took another can of beer from her bag and got up. “I’m going to talk to Daisy now. It shouldn’t take long. Let me know if young Nate shows up. He’s bringing me something important.”
With those words, Grandma Bertha walked down the hallway, leaving a speechless Craig Erickson behind.
6
Daisy lay back on the bed that Marina kept for her guests, too confused to rest. Marina had offered her a glass of brandy, but Daisy refused. She didn’t like to drink in bed. In fact, there were lots of things she didn’t like to do in bed.
Like reading. It reminded her of that night, all those years ago. Of the police, asking so many questions, and she trying to remember the story her father had made up for her. “I was reading The Hobbit, and I didn’t want to put it away to go to sleep. So, I waited until
Mum was in bed and I lit a candle next to my bed. It set fire to my blankets, and before I knew it, Mum was there. She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me out of the fire. But her nightgown caught fire and—”
She didn’t have to go on. The police left her alone after that. A girl with burns to twenty per cent of her body shouldn’t have to explain things over and over again. Her mother was being operated on. Doctors didn’t think she would survive. Let the kid rest. She already has too much on her hands, the police said.
Thinking of that night didn’t make Daisy cry. All she wanted was to find some answers. What had really happened? What had started the fire? She couldn’t remember. Just a mix of pain and confusion. Even after so many years, she couldn’t remember. And the previous night, when she saw that painting, something snapped inside her.
She got up and looked for the sweater the old lady had given her. It had to be somewhere in the room. It had also made her feel strange. It wouldn’t have meant anything twenty-four hours ago, but seeing it right after she saw the painting did something to Daisy.
She jumped back into bed when she heard a knock on her door. She didn’t want anyone to think she had faked her headache. “Come in,” she said.
The old lady opened the door, offering her a smile. “Just came by to see if you’re all right, love,” she said. “Your dad said you might like to talk.”
“I have nothing to talk about,” said Daisy, lying back on the pillow. “Things have been a little strange, that’s all. Maybe I just need to take some vitamins.”
“I could get you a tangerine from the kitchen,” said Grandma Bertha, shutting the door behind her and grabbing a chair. “But first, I would like to hear your story.”
“My story?” asked Daisy. “I don’t have a story.”
“Everyone has a story,” insisted Grandma Bertha. “Even the most boring person in the world has something to tell. Now, please, I’m not here to interrogate you. That’s not what I do…”
“What exactly do you do?” asked Daisy. “They said something about you solving murders.”
Grandma Bertha dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “People like to say that, but I’m just lucky that I can see things other people can’t.”
Daisy laughed. “I’ve had enough,” she said, preparing to get up. “I’ve got to go.” Then something touched her hand. Something soft and warm. Grandma Bertha wasn’t grabbing Daisy, only holding her hand gently.
“Just a couple of minutes, Daisy,” she said. “I just want to ask you some questions to try to solve this thing that has been bothering you for so long.”
“What do you know about it?” said Daisy, ignoring the tears that were forming in her eyes.
“Little,” was Grandma Bertha’s answer. “I need you to tell me everything you can. You weren’t reading a book that night, were you?”
Daisy thought hard. She remembered reading The Hobbit, and remembering never finishing it due to the fire. “I don’t think I was,” she said. “At least, not by the light of a candle.”
“Were you asleep?”
Daisy scratched her head. “I remember I had a nightmare. My mother came to me, and she was turning into something else. Into a monster with…” She stopped, staring at the wall without blinking.
“Go on,” said Grandma Bertha.
“A monster with two faces,” said Daisy. “One was her own face. The other was a monster.”
“Did your mother take medication to calm her down?” asked Grandma Bertha.
“She never liked to.”
“What kind of mother was she?”
This time, Daisy had to think hard. “She was my mum, that’s all,” she said, knowing it wasn’t a good answer. “I can’t remember her talking to me much, or taking me out—”
“Do you remember her yelling at you?” asked Grandma Bertha.
“Yes.”
“What did she yell about?” asked Grandma Bertha, holding Daisy’s hand a little tighter.
“We weren’t rich then,” Daisy said. “Dad was out all day. I was making dinner one day and I let a dish fall on the ground and she—”
Daisy covered her face with her hands and let the tears flow. Grandma Bertha sat on the bed and hugged her. “It was not your fault, Daisy.”
“I liked to read,” Daisy said. “I always liked to read. It was a way of escaping from everything. And I don’t read any more. I don’t do anything.”
“Easy, dear,” said Grandma Bertha. “Daisy, I need to ask you something very serious. And I’m going to promise you that, no matter what you tell me, I won’t tell anyone. I might use it to solve this case, but nobody else will ever know what you say.”
“Okay then,” said Daisy.
“Did you want your mother dead?”
She expected Daisy to cry harder with that question. Instead, Daisy just looked her in the eye and nodded. “I wanted her out of my life,” she said. “I wanted it to be just me and Dad. Because he was nice, when he was at home. But I didn’t…”
“I know you didn’t,” said Grandma Bertha. “You were just a child living in a home with a bad mother.”
To Grandma Bertha’s surprise, Daisy started to giggle. “It’s so refreshing to hear someone saying those words,” she said. “Bad mother. I had to live for years pretending she was the greatest woman on the planet. That it was a tragedy that she died. But I hated her. I’ve always hated her, even when I couldn’t admit it to myself.”
“That’s what Granny is here for,” said Grandma Bertha. “You’re feeling better now?”
“Yes,” said Daisy. “But I still don’t know why I flipped out yesterday. Do you?”
“I have a couple of ideas,” said Grandma Bertha. “But it’s still a little early to reveal them. I need to clarify some things first.”
“There’s something I need to tell you,” said Daisy. “That whole story about me reading in bed and Mum being caught in the fire was Dad’s invention.”
Grandma Bertha scratched her chin. “Tell me more.”
And so she did. Daisy told her everything. The lies her father had asked her to tell at the hospital. How she was raised by tutors while Craig made his fortune. The million shrinks who could never make her say the things she had just told Grandma Bertha. The life of solitude and emotional detachment she had led to that point. Daisy spoke for half an hour, while Grandma Bertha listened to her every word, never looking bored or disinterested. By then, Daisy looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.
“How do you feel now, love?” asked the old lady.
“Better than I have ever felt before,” said Daisy with a huge smile. “You have some sort of power, did you know that?”
“I just know how to listen,” said Grandma Bertha. “It’s something that people forget how to do. It’s been very nice getting to know you, Daisy. And I hope you can make some changes in your life from now on. But there’s still a mystery to solve.”
“And what mystery is that?” Daisy asked. “If this is about my reaction to the painting, I don’t think it’s all that important.”
“But it is,” said Grandma Bertha. “Because I still think your father is hiding something from you.”
“You think he murdered my mother, don’t you?” asked Daisy, little emotion in her voice. “I thought that too, for a long time. But I can’t believe that he would—”
“As I said, it’s too soon,” replied the old lady. “There’s a lot we need to find out before pointing fingers. But would he have any motive for wanting her dead?”
“It couldn’t be money,” said Daisy. “He was supporting her, and his business was starting to grow. It couldn’t be because of Scarlett; they met years later.”
“Another woman, maybe?” suggested Grandma Bertha.
“No, that’s not like him,” she said. “He lived to work. He already had a family and couldn’t afford another distraction. Later, when he was already rich, he started looking for a new wife.”
At that mom
ent Marina opened the door and entered the room. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Nathan just came by with something for you, Albertha.”
“That’s great!” said Grandma Bertha, getting up. “We’ll soon have the chance to continue our conversation, Daisy. Right now, your dad must be dying to go home. I hope to have some answers for you soon.”
Daisy got up and kissed Grandma Bertha’s forehead. “Thank you for this,” she said.
“Don’t forget your sweater!”
7
Nathan was sitting in the living room, talking to Craig Erickson while hiding a manila envelope inside his jacket. Craig seemed to enjoy Nathan’s company – he’d be angry if he found out that Nate had a picture of the deceased Mrs Erickson in his pocket.
Finding the photo had been harder than Nathan thought it would be. When Barbara Erickson died, social media wasn’t yet popular. He ended up finding a photo of her in the obituary section of the local newspaper’s archives, which were on the internet. It wasn’t as clear as he would have liked, but it was better than nothing. It showed a woman with a strong jawline, thick dark hair and beautiful blue eyes.
“I hope this is not too serious,” said Craig, holding his teacup. “They said that three trucks had the same problem. All the ice cream melted, gone to waste. We need to find out what’s causing this.”
“About your daughter,” said Nathan, trying to shift Craig’s attention from his business to the problem at hand. “You should consider getting her some professional help.”
“I don’t believe in that stuff,” said Craig. “Barbara took a ton of pills every day, and that didn’t do much good for her. Do you think it’s an electrical problem with the freezers? But how did that happen to three different trucks?”
At that moment Grandma Bertha entered the room, following Marina. “Hey, there, Nate!” she said, winking at the young man. “You got that thing I asked you for?”
“Yes, I did,” said Nathan, looking sideways at Craig. Daisy’s father seemed immersed in his own thoughts.
“I think I’m gonna feed my doggies now, Marina,” said the old lady. “Nate here is going to help me. Shall we?”
