Bertha grinned. “We can lie, but you know I don’t smoke.”
Grandma raised her nose in the air like a birddog and said, “Listen, missy, my senses ain’t what they used to be, but I can smell it on you.”
Bertha’s good clothes still smelled of the fire. Most grandchildren caught smoking would lie and say they weren’t smoking; Bertha lied and agreed that she was. “Okay, you’re right. They’ll smell it on me.”
“Thought so.” Grandma smiled as Bertha pushed the wheelchair into the hallway, through the lobby, and out the front door. She helped Grandma into the passenger seat and buckled her in. The chair easily fit in the cargo area.
“So,” Bertha said. “Have you met Charlie’s wife?”
“She come around to argue with him. I seen her. She nothing but a heifer.”
“So she doesn’t know you?”
“We ain’t been properly introduced, if that what you mean.”
“So don’t go in there and be all ‘I’m Charlie’s mistress’ or ‘I’m the other woman,’ and she might not even notice us.”
Grandma didn’t answer.
At the funeral home Bertha easily pulled the Tucson up to the Handicapped entrance. She got Grandma settled in the wheelchair and pushed her inside, then went out to move the SUV to the parking lot. Coming back in, she noticed there weren’t many people in the burgundy-carpeted area off which four archways led to different-sized rooms with folding chairs. Next to a guest book a short, bald man in a blue suit waited. When they were near him, he asked, “Are you here for the Lawsons?”
“We here for Charlie,” Grandma said.
The man nodded. “He’s at the end of the hall.”
Bertha said, “Thank you,” and continued to wheel Grandma slowly on the rich carpet. When they reached the doorway, Bertha stopped. In the first and second rows of folding chairs sat several black women wearing magnificent hats. Two other women stood by the coffin with their backs to the door.
“Well,” Grandma said. “If that’s his daughter, she’s pretty big, boobage-wise.”
“I wouldn’t want to wrestle with her.”
In the back row sat a middle-aged white man who seemed to want Grandma’s attention.
When Grandma saw him, she said, “Albert, what you doing here?”
He looked up at Grandma and then Bertha. “I came to support you. I know you loved Charlie.”
“What a sweet thing,” Grandma said. “Bertha, this here is Albert, the man from the Internet that I dumped for Charlie. Albert, this is my granddaughter, Bertha.”
Bertha mumbled, “Nice to meet you,” then pushed Grandma toward the coffin. Albert seemed nice enough, but something about him bothered Bertha. Maybe it was his dark, rugged-looking five o’clock shadow. Bertha didn’t know much about straight white men. Maybe it was normal.
As they approached the casket, mother and daughter were talking about a grocery bag of clothes. Daughter said, “Nope. Even my ten-year-old grandbaby is too big for these. I’ll drop them at the Goodwill if you want me to.”
In the casket lay Charlie. His caramel-colored skin, brown suit, and tie made him look a helluva lot better than Albert. Bertha understood why Grandma dumped him.
A woman next to them extended her hand. “I’m Charlie’s wife. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Bertha took the woman’s hand and shook it. “I’m Bertha Brannon and this here is my grandma. She was a friend of Charlie’s from the nursing home…” The big woman stepped around her and shouted at Grandma, “So. It’s you. You husband-stealing harlot!”
Grandma raised her voice. “If you’d of took care of him at home, it might of been harder to get in his shorts.”
“Why you—”
“He didn’t need no Viagra with me,” Grandma shouted. “Well, almost never—”
The huge woman snatched at Grandma’s hair and it came off in her hands. She screamed and threw the lavender wig toward the back of the room. A second woman tried to get hold of the wheelchair and someone stepped on Bertha’s toes. All of the women were squawking like a gaggle of geese, and the man in the blue suit was suddenly in the middle of it. Chairs in the front rows turned over with noisy thuds. But it was Albert who pulled Grandma out of the mess of angry women and pretty hats. On the way out of the room, with Albert pushing the wheelchair, Bertha grabbed Grandma’s sparkling wig. Then the paper bag hit her back, and Grandma’s underpants exploded in all directions.
The women followed the three of them into the hallway. Then Albert held something up and said, “Don’t come any closer. This here’s a stun gun. I’ll zap the next one that even looks like she’s going to move this direction.”
The women stopped, and after a few angry words and evil eyes, they one by one retreated to Charlie’s viewing room.
Breathless, Bertha turned to Albert. “Thank you so much.”
“We need to get her out of here. Why don’t you get your car? I’ll stay with her and keep her safe here inside.”
Bertha nodded and dug the keys out of her pocket as she fast-walked out the door and across the parking lot. She pulled the Tucson up to the door and turned the motor off and went inside to get Grandma.
The hallway was empty. Bertha found the man with the blue suit. “Where did Albert take Grandma?”
“The woman in the wheelchair?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. Maybe they went to get cookies or to the bathroom.”
“Where are the cookies?”
“Over by the stairs.”
No one was at the cookie table. Bertha continued past the cookies to the handicapped bathroom. She knocked on the door. “Grandma, you in there?” When there was no answer, Bertha rattled the doorknob and found it unlocked. She went inside; the room was empty. Her heart raced as she looked in each of the viewing rooms. Only Charlie’s had anybody. The big women with the flowered hats were picking up underpants and righting chairs. Bertha said, “Any of you ladies see my grandma?”
Charlie’s big-boobed daughter stepped forward. “If me or my mother never see that hussy again it’ll be too soon.”
Bertha exhaled slowly and, as calmly as possible, said, “I can’t find her.”
Boobs cut her eyes toward Bertha. “You serious?”
Against her will, Bertha’s eyes filled with tears.
Several women rushed toward her and Bertha wondered if she should run. But one handed her a tissue and another patted her shoulder. “There. There. We’ll help you find her.”
They searched every inch of the funeral home. After they found the wheelchair behind the bushes out front, they stopped the hunt and called the authorities.
Grandma was gone.
Chapter Twenty-one
Bertha didn’t recognize the officers who responded. As they took the report, one of the men reminded her that a missing adult was not officially gone for twenty-four hours. One of the women from Charlie’s wake, her big hat slightly skewed, asked, “What about an old lady? What about kidnapping?”
“Well, that might be different matter,” the uniform said thoughtfully. Then he added, “We’re going to need you to come downtown to fill out more reports.”
Bertha said, “When hell freezes over.”
At this point the officer raised his voice. Bertha knew it was protocol to ratchet up one step above the suspect, but why in the hell did she get suspect treatment? Then the second uniform nudged his partner and mouthed, “She’s a judge.”
Just as she thought things couldn’t get worse, Fred Cook and another uniform came through the door. He walked directly to Bertha. “I thought your grandma was dead.”
Angry and out of control, Bertha shouted, “She was alive two hours ago.”
Cook studied a spot on the wall behind her. “Sorry. I just thought…well, never mind. We’re here to help.”
The pretty-hatted ladies stayed where they were. One of them said, “A man named Albert took her out of here.”
“Who’s he to her?” Cook
asked.
“She told me he was her ex-boyfriend,” the funeral-home guy, the golden-tongued son-of-a-bitch, said.
Cook sniggered. “So this could be some kind of lovers’ quarrel.”
A sensation rose from somewhere primal, and in Bertha’s mind’s eye, she saw herself raise her hand and smack Cook across his face. Instead she gritted her teeth. “There’s nothing funny about this.”
Fred Cook apologized, then stepped toward Bertha and placed his hand on her shoulder. “I know things have been hard for you since—”
Bertha pulled away from him. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”
Cook apologized again. “I can’t seem to say or do anything right.”
“This isn’t about what you can’t do. It isn’t about you at all,” Bertha said. “You wanna say the right thing? How about telling me where my grandma is? Tell me how many men you guys are going to put on this. That or shut the fuck up.”
Cook scowled, then turned around and walked out of the room.
Finding herself disoriented from the beginning of a migraine, Bertha rubbed her temples and tried to stay focused. A hand touched her shoulder and she spun around with murder in her mind. Pop Wilson opened his arms, and without hesitation, she stepped into them. He rubbed her back, saying, “This is going to work out. We’ll find her.”
“How did you know?”
“Police-band radio. I heard the call. There’s gonna be another call go out directly. You take a seat in there.” He nodded toward an empty, dimly lit viewing room and said, “Rest a minute.”
Charlie’s wife and daughter went with her. The large women guided her to a pink and silver couch in the back of the room and sat on either side of her.
After collapsing on the couch, Charlie’s wife said, “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Bertha.”
“I’m Minnie, and this here’s my youngest daughter Jasmine.”
“How do?” Jasmine’s striking long red nails were second only to her gold tooth that showed when she smiled.
They sat quietly for a moment and then Minnie observed, “I don’t mean to sound rude, but you have some scuffs on your head, and your hair is singed on one side.”
“My right hand’s still healing too,” Bertha said matter-of-factly.
“Honey, what happened?”
“My Jeep exploded.”
Minnie clucked her tongue.
Jasmine, who wore those Michelle Obama inauguration bangs, said, “I could fix that hair. I got my own shop. You just come by anytime. I won’t charge you. Seems like you got enough trouble with your Jeep and your grandma.”
Bertha murmured her thanks. Sometimes it seemed like her life was full of women wanting to fix her hair. With all her problems, at least her hair could be fixed.
Pop Wilson stood in the doorway, the light behind him creating a shadow on his face. “Okay,” he said. “We got everybody lookin’ for her now. And they’re going to announce it on the TV. Do you have a picture?”
“I don’t know. I can’t think straight.”
“Well, we can give ’em a description,” Pop said. He held out his hand and stepped toward her. “Come on now. We’s going to look for her too.”
Bertha stood. “Thank you for your help, ladies.”
Jasmine said, “Don’t forget about your hair. My place is called Jasmine’s for Women of Color, down on South Fifth Street.”
Bertha followed Pop through the corridor to the back. There she found Alvin’s Tucson waiting by the door. “I forgot this was here. I got to move the car.”
Pop said, “You do that. My truck is over there in the second row.”
Past sunset, long dark shadows overlapped in the parking lot, leaving some places in darkness. Bertha moved the Tucson to the spot next to Pop’s truck. She locked it, circled the truck to the passenger side, opened the door, and got in.
Pop asked, “Who is this Albert, anyway?”
Bertha shrugged and closed her eyes. The truck felt too warm and the snow too bright. Damn headache. She heard herself say, “She met him online. They started seeing each other a couple of months ago. Until now all I knew about him was he was white and about fifty years younger than Grandma.”
“How do you date from a nursing home?”
“Leave it to Grandma.” Guilt took a shapeless, black form in Bertha’s mind, growing larger each time she asked herself why she’d left Grandma alone with Albert. She should have listened to her gut. He hadn’t looked trustworthy.
“Look, sweetie, just lately you got more serious problems than one person has in a lifetime. You got to ask yourself why.”
The truck jostled Bertha as they pulled out of the parking lot and headed south. They were quiet for a moment, and then Bertha said, “I don’t understand how Albert knew Grandma would be at the funeral home.”
“You think she might have told him?”
“Maybe. How can I keep my family safe when they just go off and do what they want to? First Doree comes home because she wanted to see her boyfriend, and now Grandma manages to find Albert and look where we’re at.”
They pulled up to an intersection and waited for the light. Pop said, “The only thing that makes sense is you have something he wants. He won’t harm her because—”
Bertha interrupted. “I have nothing. They’ve searched my house more than once. They’ve tried to burn it down.”
“Must be you have something but don’t know you have it.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and then Bertha said, “So how in the hell can I give it to them?”
“We’ll find out what it is when he contacts you.” Pop made a left at a busy intersection.
“Where are we going?”
“Golden Promise.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t you say your grandma resided there?”
“Yes.”
“We need to find out what they know.”
Feeling a tickle of unease, Bertha hesitated. “I took her to the funeral home against their wishes.”
“Why?”
“They wouldn’t release her to go to the wake. She and Charlie, the dead guy, had a close friendship, and he was married and…”
Pop chuckled. “So she called you.”
Bertha shrugged. “I didn’t think it could hurt anything.”
“You Brannon girls,” Pop said, shaking his head slowly. “Surely they’ve missed her by now.”
“I suppose so.” Fear rested like a stone in her belly. She wasn’t afraid of anyone at Golden Promise. It was Albert that worried her.
“Maybe we can learn something about Albert from one of her friends. Maybe Grandma made Albert carry her back there.”
“Do you think I should call?”
“We’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
When they walked in, the lobby was empty except for a plump young man with a walrus mustache. He stood at the nursing station making notes, the med cart next to him. Nighttimes they only staffed one practical nurse as opposed to three RNs during the day. No matter how young, this guy was the one in change.
They crossed the scratched-up parquet floor toward him and stood politely waiting for his attention. The LPN’s nametag was on a cord around his neck, backward.
At length, with a weary sigh, he said, “Visiting hours are over in ten minutes.”
“We’re not here to visit,” Bertha said, “not unless Addie Brannon has returned.”
The walrus looked at them then. “Would you be the granddaughter who took her without permission?”
Bertha’s eyes became two narrow slits. She could tell she wasn’t going to like this guy.
Pop said, “This is Mrs. Brannon’s granddaughter.”
The LPN planted his fists on his hips. His forearm featured a tattoo of some kind of hellhound. “Are you saying you don’t know where she’s at?”
“I took her to the funeral home,” Bertha said. “A friend of hers died, and she asked me to take her.”
&nbs
p; The nurse put an elbow on the counter and, shaking his head, said, “And you’ve lost her?”
Pop said, “We think she was taken against her will from the funeral home.”
Walrus’s voice rose an octave. “Kidnapped?”
“Taken against her will,” Pop repeated.
“Listen, whoever you are, she left here without our permission. You can’t hold us responsible if she got away from you. She’s pretty good at going where she isn’t supposed to.”
Bertha said, “Have you asked the folks she’s close to where she might be?”
The nurse said, “That’s how we learned about you.”
“How about Albert,” Bertha asked. “Do they know anything about Albert?”
“You mean her mobster-looking boyfriend?”
“Mobster?” Bertha’s jaw dropped.
Pop said, “He visited her here?”
“He came here to see her a few months ago. Caused quite a stir. He looked like a criminal to all of us,” the nurse said. He checked his watch pointedly. “I’ll report her missing after rounds. But my cart isn’t ready. If I don’t start at eight, I can’t get them all done.”
“When was he here?” Bertha asked. “How many times?”
The nurse sighed. “I told you, a couple of months ago. I only saw him the once, but I was told more than once that he was here again.”
“Sorry to bother you. If you hear from her will you call us?” Pop dug a card out of his back pocket.
The nurse looked at the card and squared his shoulders. “Oh, you’re from the police?”
Pop nodded.
The air seemed to go out of him. “I’ll call if I hear anything. Now if you’ll excuse me…” The walrus scratched his mustache and turned back to his charts.
*
Back in the truck, Pop drove past the end of the city limits. “I’m picking up Stumpy and Mel. Four heads are better than two.”
“Does this gangster stuff make you nervous?”
“A little. But he only looked like a gangster. In a way Grandma might be better off if he was. I don’t think anyone from the mob would harm a ninety-year-old woman.”
“But what the hell does he want?”
Widow Page 21