Slash in the Pan

by CeeCee James

  “Bob here,” came a gruff voice.

  “Hi, Bob,” I said, out on the street. I ducked to get into the VW. “I was just wondering how my van is doing? It’s the old white one that you had to tow?” In my mind, I chanted, Please be cheap. Please be cheap.

  “Well, I’ll tell you. She’s got quite the smell, hmm?”

  “Smell?” I paused before starting the car. Alarm filled me.

  “Yeah. Like a barbecue or something.”

  I laughed. “Oh, it used to be a catering van a long time ago. I noticed the scent gets stronger in the summer.”

  He chuckled. “I figured it was something like that. Anyway, needs a new starter. Shouldn’t be a big deal. We kind of got a backlog of cars. I’ll have her done maybe by next week.”

  After the words “Shouldn’t be a big deal,” he lost my attention. My world exploded in fireworks of relief.

  “Sure, great!” I gushed.

  “Okay, then.” He hung up, and I’m positive I glowed. Not a big deal. Thank you, God!

  I was still glowing when I turned down Baker Street and parked at the bed and breakfast. The entire house smelled wonderful, and I breathed in deeply.

  “Hello, you,” she smiled. She must have noticed my happiness. “Let me guess. You hear from Frank?”

  “No, that would only make the day better.”

  She flipped a pancake the size of the frying pan. Sitting on a warming dish was a ration of sausages, with a pile of crisp bacon draining on paper towels.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said. “I have to hear this.”

  I scooped up the syrups. Cecelia always had several fruit flavors, as well as real maple syrup. “It’s Old Bella. I just found out she can be fixed and it sounds like it’s not going to be a big deal.”

  “Great news. We like small deals.” She raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes.”

  I laughed, and she shooed me away. “Go get that table ready and the food out there.”

  I grabbed the orange juice carafe and the silverware basket and hurried to set the table.

  Mr. and Mrs. Carrol were already seated.

  “Hello,” I said and began arranging napkins and forks. “Would you like some juice?”

  They both agreed, and I poured two glasses. I went ahead and filled another pair for the other couple, should they appear.

  “Coffee?” I asked.

  “That would be lovely,” Mrs. Carrol said, while her husband nodded.

  “You know,” he said, stopping me from leaving. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking of that museum all night.”

  “It’s pretty spectacular, isn’t it?” I said with a grin.

  “Very much so. Thanks for talking me into it. I’d hate to think I might have missed it out of preconceived ideas from the duller-than-watching-paint-dry museum experiences I had in school.”

  “Wow, those must have been some experiences,” I said. “I’m glad it worked out. If you really like it, I know they’re always looking for partners to help support them.”

  “To be fair, the museum from my school years was small. The stuffed animals were moth-eaten, and I never understood the splotch paintings. And the few tools on display I could have found just as easily in my grandpa’s shed.”

  I laughed and left him discussing the idea of sponsorship with his wife while I went to get their coffee.

  The Sterns had joined the table by the time I got back. I poured them coffee too, and then Cecelia helped me bring in the platters of food.

  While the guests were eating, Cecelia surprised me with my own breakfast in the kitchen. I poured the syrup over the pancakes and took a bite.

  “This brings me right back to childhood,” I said.

  “You always say that,” she said, dishing herself up as well. She sat across from me at the little kitchenette.

  “It really does. I only eat them here, maybe that’s why.”

  She paused with her fork in the air. “What do you mean, you only eat them here? Haven’t you eaten them at your home?”

  “Not since Grandma died,” I said, cutting another piece and mopping it through the syrup.

  “GiGi Tanner, are you saying you’ve never made pancakes, yourself?”

  I paused, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “Not from scratch,” I finally confessed.

  “Is there another way to make pancakes?”

  “I make toaster waffles.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Girl, I’m going to write you out the recipe, and you’re going to make yourself some pancakes before this summer is over. You get that?”

  I laughed at how serious she was, but I nodded.

  “Girl is in her thirties and doesn’t know how to make pancakes,” she muttered to herself.

  “Sorry!” I said. “I still have lots to learn in this life. Besides, I do know how to shoot a bow and arrow.”

  She pressed her lips together. “You can’t eat a bow and arrow.”

  “Depends on what you’re aiming at,” I said, finishing the last bite. I winked and got up to the sink.

  “Sassy girl. Such a sassy girl,” she said, shaking her head. But she had a smile on her face, so I knew she didn’t mean it.

  An hour later, with the kitchen cleaned, I scooted out of the bed and breakfast with the promise that I would help flip the rooms when the guests checked out. Cecelia let me go with her pancake recipe tucked into my pocket.

  I got into the VW with renewed enthusiasm. This was a great day. And I knew exactly where I was headed next.

  Gertie, here I come.

  Chapter 12

  I drove past the Ridgeline Hill development, still marveling at the contrast between the tall, cramped houses that stared like sentinels, while across the street, the squat dwellings from the 1920’s sat like elderly matrons.

  Daisy’s house was just up to the right, and I cringed a bit when I saw her silhouette sitting in the chair by her window. I knew Daisy was going to wonder why I was going to Gertie’s house. But there was nothing I could do about that. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she pulled a Gertie and just showed up, herself.

  I turned into Gertie’s driveway three doors down, my tires bumping over the cracks in the concrete that had been overtaken by tufts of dead grass. I turned off the car and the VW engine ticked as I glanced at the front of the house, hoping she was home.

  There was no sign of life. I got out and slammed the door of the Volkswagen. That door bounced back, nearly catching me in the shin once more. Yeah, try that again, and I’ll rip you right off your hinges. With a grunt, I shoved it closed and then checked the handle to make sure it latched.

  Okay. Here we go. I brushed my hands against my jeans and walked up to the gate in the middle of a chain-link fence corralling her tiny lawn.

  The lawn was surprisingly lush and well kept. I wondered for a moment how she mowed it until I noticed an old-fashioned push mower leaning against the corner of the house. It was a rusty machine with gruesome blades, and I had to admire that she used it with success.

  Gladiolus and poppies bloomed in a hedge across the front of the house, looking like a living red-and-yellow firework display. There was a tall lilac bush that was heavy with dark purple blossoms. I pulled a branch down to smell the flowers and smiled at the fragrance. The bush was so old and beautiful, calling back to an older time where summer days were about picnics, with the food being held in real baskets along with red-checked cloth napkins.

  I walked along the cracked cement pathway and up the matching steps, noting how one end of the stairs had sunk. A black wrought-iron handrail provided the support on either side. The top of the rail was worn silver smooth from years of hands gripping it. A little awning with a ruffled edge provided shade from the already warm day.

  I opened the screen and knocked before gazing out at the tiny yard. I wondered if she’d lived here her entire adult life. It showed years of pride.

  An insistent yapping answered my knock. Through the door’s window, I could see a white puffball racing
down the hallway toward me. The dog jumped to be able to see me through the lower pane. I waved. Every few jumps, the long hair covering its face would fly back, revealing angry eyes.

  Coming slowly down the hallway was Gertie. She was still in her nightgown, and I winced at showing up unannounced. But the old woman was gracious, and her soft wrinkled cheeks curved into two balls, and her steps quickened when she saw me. After a bit of fumbling, she opened the door.

  “Georgie Tanner! What are you doing here? Oh, I'm so excited. I was just telling Frosty—”

  Here the dog barked even louder at the sound of her name.

  “Oh, quiet down, Frosty.” Gertie's face scrunched into a map of wrinkles as she stared disapprovingly at her dog. “You keep that up, and you’ll scare her off. Then nobody will come over.”

  I smiled at the thought of the little dog scaring anyone off. Although, Frosty looked more serious about the guarding business than my favorite Pomeranian, Peanut, Oscar’s pup.

  “Hi, Gertie. I'm sorry to bother you. I was hoping you might have a few minutes to chat this morning?”

  “Of course. Of course. Come on in.” She shooed the dog away and then stared up at me again, her face beaming with a welcoming smile, before tottering back from the door. A breeze caught the corner of her pink nightgown and fluttered it slightly.

  I walked in and studied my surroundings.

  The house smelled of old books, lavender, and a hint of pine cleaner. The hardwood floors were worn but very clean. The shelves were filled with knick-knacks that appeared to be collected from all over the world. On the wall was a sombrero which hung next to an African mask. Below that was a turtle, an elephant, and a tiny clog shoe.

  Gertie caught me looking.

  “Oh that’s all from Mr. Gertie,” she said. Her lips pursed together in remembrance and her eyebrows followed. “Gone twenty-two years now. But I still miss him, the old coot.”

  With a sigh, she led me deeper into her house and into a kitchen with its speckled yellow countertops.

  “Come in! Come in! Let me get you something to eat.” She grinned again. “I have yogurt!”

  Gertie pulled out a white China bowl with a tiny blue daisy on the front. Something in my chest squeezed at seeing it, and I glanced at the floor at the unexpected emotion. My grandma had once had the same set. As I stood there in Gertie’s kitchen, memories flew through my mind of my grandma setting the table with matching serving dishes and plates and bowls. My eyes stung, realizing I would never see her again.

  “Are you okay, love?” Gertie asked in a sweet voice.

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Just thinking of my Grandma. She had the same dishes.”

  Gertie nodded knowingly and opened the avocado-colored refrigerator that matched the oven. I could hardly believe the appliances were still working.

  After rummaging a second, Gertie brought out the promised yogurt container. “I used to eat this with granola, but my dentures got me. You really need to try it that way, someday. Now, sit down.”

  Gertie waved her hand at me, so I pulled out a wooden chair with its seat covered with a puffy pink cushion that tied in the back with giant bows.

  “So what can I do for you?” Gertie asked, her spoon making a little “dink” sound as she scooped up the yogurt and tapped it against the dish. She passed over the bowl and an extra spoon and then got herself a big helping. Frosty jumped into her lap, and Gertie absent-mindedly patted her.

  I held the spoon in my hand and eyed the yogurt. I have to admit, I was intimidated. Normally, I wasn’t a yogurt kind of gal, and who knows how long it was in the fridge. I stirred it slightly, my stomach rolling at the black specks. Please, oh please, be seeds.

  She was watching me, so I pretended to take a bite, making sure I hummed at how delicious it was. I quickly put the spoon down and casually started, “You know, I can’t get that poor man who got murdered down the street from you out of my mind.”

  “And that Daisy was staring right at him, practically watching it happen.” Gertie clicked her tongue and shook her head in disapproval. “I’ve never been a busybody like that, but for Pete’s sake, if she’s going to be so nosy, she might as well be able to identify the killer!” Gertie stated adamantly.

  “I know. It's just so strange that Daisy might have seen it happen. I wonder if she saw anyone else go in there?”

  Gertie let her raised eyebrows do the talking, looking every bit as skeptical as if I’d just said the moon was made of green cheese. But she didn’t add anything, either.

  Darn. I was hoping she would take the bait. After waiting for another second to see if Gertie was going to mention the girl, I pressed gently, “So, weren’t you saying that you saw a girl go in the house? Was it that same day?”

  “Well, I don't like to speak poorly of anyone. Besides, my eyesight isn't what it used to be.”

  “So you did see someone. Who was it? Can you describe her?”

  Gertie gazed outside her front window. I followed her look and realized she really could see the side door of the new construction house.

  Her face was worried when she turned back. “I really don't want to get anyone in trouble.”

  “Get into trouble? Of course not.” I hurried to reassure her. “We're just here talking. Don't worry. I’m just curious, is all.”

  “Well,” she hesitated. Finally, with a deep sigh, she blurted out, “Do you know that young lady, Randy Kay? She works down at the Cash and Carry. She's kind of new to town.”

  I stifled my automatic physical response to her usage of the word “new.” I did know Randy Kay, well at least of her since I didn’t know what she looked like. She'd been living in Gainesville for over six years, having moved here with her parents during her last year of high school. I knew all of this because Kari had used her a few times as a babysitter.

  “Sure. Go on.” I smiled encouragingly. Frosty seemed to take my words as permission. Her tongue flicked out against Gertie’s yogurt bowl. I swallowed, not knowing if I should say something.

  “Well, that’s who it was. Randy Kay herself.” Gertie stared at me, her eyes wide behind her glasses, to see if I was shocked. She patted Frosty, who started on the bowl more enthusiastically. “She wore a hoodie with that that darn hood pulled clear up to her face and I almost couldn’t tell who it was. But then she looked back over her shoulder like she was afraid of being followed. Next thing I knew—hop, skip, and a jump—she was inside the house.”

  “Really,” I said taking a bite of my yogurt. Immediately, my mouth puckered. It was sour and not in a good way. I swallowed and rubbed my nose to hide my shiver. Finally, I was able to continue. “What was she doing there, do you think? Was she in the house for long?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t say. I'm not like one of those nosy busybodies.” She cast a glance at me to see if I thought she was.

  I smiled. “Of course you aren't. But Randy Kay was there that day that the man was murdered?”

  “That very same day. And later, when I was cleaning my sink, I did happen to notice her leaving. She just kinda scurried away.”

  “Scurried?” I asked.

  “Yep.” She nodded and took a bite of her yogurt. Sweat sprung out on my forehead in queasy protest. “And—bippity boppity like a bunny—right back over that fence.”

  I stared out the window. “She jumped over the fence? And Daisy didn't see that?”

  She shook her head. “That Daisy doesn't know everything. Besides her house doesn’t have a very good view of that new house’s backyard.”

  “Huh.” I stared at the fence. It looked to be at least six feet tall. “Randy Kay just jumped right over that, huh?”

  “Yes indeedy. I could hardly believe it myself. She seemed to toss something over first. Then—Whoops!— there she followed.”

  “And you didn’t see what she was carrying?”

  “No, my dear. But then, I don’t use those fancy spy specs that Daisy does.” She sniffed and took another bite. “You going to finish th
at?”

  I really wanted to, but I just couldn’t. In fact, there was nothing on this earth that could convince me to have another bite. I took it to the sink and hurriedly rinsed it. “It was delicious, but I’m late to Cecelia’s. Have to help clean the bed and breakfast for new guests.”

  “It’s nice to see her doing so well,” Gertie’s said with a smile. She flashed her set of dentures as she licked her spoon clean. “Mmm, that hit the spot. Thank you for stopping by. You must do it again.”

  “Absolutely,” I said, and I really meant it. “Maybe next time I can bring the breakfast.”

  “That would be lovely,” she said.

  “Do you have any ideas?” I laughed and pulled out the recipe that Cecelia had given me earlier. “I just got a new recipe for pancakes, actually.”

  “Oh, I try to avoid carbs when I can. And the butter! Just no good at all.” She slipped her glasses off and pulled a pair of readers that had been hanging around her neck. “Here, let me see that.”

  I passed over the recipe. She read it, her lips silently moving. After a moment, she passed it back. “That’s a good one. Though I always added buttermilk to mine. Mr. Gertie used to enjoy them. Yes, he did.” She glanced up at me, her eyes twinkling. “I tell you what, I’ll make you a stack the next time you come. That’s what I’ll do.”

  I smiled and tucked the recipe away. “Sounds wonderful, Gertie.” Internally, I was thinking it didn’t sound wonderful at all, and I wondered how my fool-proof plan to bring food had dissolved into more ingredients from Gertie’s fridge. I shuddered at the thought of how long the buttermilk had been in there.

  After a few more goodbyes, and a pat on Frosty’s head, I got in my car and carefully backed out from Gertie’s driveway.

  Daisy was out on her porch when I drove by. I waved, and she waved back. I slowed by the house Devon had died in. The yellow tape was gone, and a realty post was in the front yard. I wondered if it would be listed soon.

  The house next door was swarming with construction workers. I worried for a second that my interest in the house would attract some attention from the construction workers, but they seemed to be ignoring me. One of them was up a ladder painting the siding while the other one was doing touchup on the gravel.