by Sharon Short
“Then you got Tyra to come to town. I didn’t know, of course, that she was my mother. I never wanted to know who our mother was—she’d abandoned us, knowing we wouldn’t have much of a life. It was only thanks to Lewis that we each have decent lives at all. All I ever knew was that we’d been abandoned, and Lewis had rescued us.”
Vivian fell silent. Maybe she was thinking about Lewis, what he had meant to her and Verbenia. After a bit, I said softly, “So you haven’t known all along about Tyra Grimes being your mother?”
Vivian stayed silent, and I thought maybe she wasn’t going to answer my question. Finally she said, “No. Until a few weeks ago, all Lewis had ever told me was that our mother had left us with his father, that he was our half-brother, and that he wanted to make things right by us. Maybe it was because he and Hazel couldn’t have kids. Or maybe just because he was a good man. Anyway, Lewis came to me shortly after you sent your letter to Tyra. He said Tyra had grown up here with a different name. That’s when he told me about her being our mother.
“Then, after she got here, he came to her party at your apartment.” He must have come after I left, I thought. “He got her aside, told her they needed to talk privately. She told him to pick her up on the edge of town, after the party. She thought she could charm him—maybe pay him—into going along with her plan. You see, Tyra was having troubles with her company—and damaging news about her use of illegal labor to create her stupid T-shirts was about to break.
“So her plan was to donate a whole bunch of money to Stillwater, then have a press conference, announcing Verbenia and me as her long lost daughters. She was going to play on the sympathy factor—give her story a good spin, by presenting herself as poor Tyra Grimes, wanting to make things right for her daughters, that was the only reason she’d tried to make more money. Hah!”
Vivian was silent again, and I thought about what she’d said, as I turned down yet another country lane. “How did she know what had become of you and Verbenia?”
“She’d hired a private eye a few years back to find out whatever had become of us,” Vivian said, as if the fact meant nothing. I wondered, though. I thought about how Tyra had talked about relationships on the way to Stillwater. I thought about the pictures she had in her purse—especially the one of two young girls torn from a magazine.
Maybe she’d dreamed of having a family . . . or of the daughters she’d left behind. Maybe there’d been just a bit of her that wanted to know what became of the children she’d abandoned so long ago—before she even became Tyra Grimes. Maybe.
“Are we ever going to get to wherever we’re going?” Vivian asked suddenly.
“Yes,” I said. “It’s just, it’s this place, out in the country that Guy likes to go to every time we have an outing away from Stillwater. So I’m sure he’s there. With Verbenia. So, go on. Tyra comes to town with this plan—”
“Yes,” Vivian said. “And Lewis and Tyra get together. As she’s telling him her plan, he drives her to this wooded land he owns. You know where I mean?”
“I know,” I said.
“He forced her out into the woods, she told me. His plan was to kill her. But the stress got to him. He started to have a heart attack, dropped his gun. She grabbed it and shot him. How could she? Why didn’t she call for help?”
Because, I thought, Tyra was scared and knew she’d gotten into a situation she couldn’t charm her way out of. Yes, she should have called for help when she saw Lewis was helpless. Instead, she’d panicked.
“Tyra threw the gun into the woods,” Vivian went on. “When she heard someone coming, she went back by Lewis and pretended to be knocked out until you found her.” Vivian gave a little sob.
Vivian’s story made more sense than Elroy killing Lewis, though. Elroy must have found Lewis’s gun, picked it up without thinking about what he was doing. And of course Chief Worthy had never bothered to check to be sure that the gun was Elroy’s because it just seemed so obvious that Elroy had killed Lewis. And Tyra. . . Tyra had pretended to be knocked out the whole time I’d searched through her purse and used her cell phone to call 9-1-1.
“How do you know all this?” I asked.
“She told me! After Lewis’s funeral, after she had the nerve to show up and act that way, I followed her back to the apartment. I told her who I was, and she just stared at me a long minute, then laughed. I begged her not to do this to Verbenia. Not to get all this media attention pointed at her. I’d already told Verbenia we would be leaving today to go out west, that I’d find us someplace nice to live, and she was really upset. But without Lewis to protect us, I wanted to get us away, somewhere that Tyra could never find us. I told her that I was taking Verbenia away, and she got angry. She slapped me!
“I grabbed a lamp, threw it at her. It knocked her out. One of her T-shirts was lying on the couch. I grabbed some scissors laying out on the desk, cut up the T-shirt. And I strangled her. I thought it was a fitting end for her. I figured someone might find out the truth later. So I decided I had to take Verbenia as soon as possible and get away. I’ve gotten all the money we’ll need—and this gun, in case someone tries to stop us.”
It struck me then, with Tyra being Vivian’s mother and my second-cousin-once-removed, Vivian and I (and Verbenia and I) were third cousins, which made Lewis my half-third-cousin . . .
Suddenly, Vivian moved the gun from its cozy spot under her sweater, up to my temple.
“I’ve told you the story. Now get me to where my sister is. And she’d better be there, or I’m killing you on the spot.”
So much for family ties saving me. This woman had killed her mother—granted, a mother in name only . . . a mother who’d abandoned her . . . who only came back in her life to use her and her sister for her own means . . . but still. I had no doubt Vivian Denlinger would kill me.
We pulled into Owen’s driveway a few minutes later. The bookmobile was gone. I knew Owen had said he’d go off with Winnie—and he always keeps his word—but I hoped that for once he hadn’t. That he’d charge out, my white knight, to save me. I really did. I was desperate. I was sweating. I was terrified. Being saved by my boyfriend seemed like a great choice over being shot to death. I could show my liberated side later, by picking up the tab for a celebration dinner of turkey hot shots and cherry pie over at Sandy’s Restaurant.
I parked in front of the fourth garage over. I looked over at Vivian, offered a wavering smile. “Um, this is it, my um, boyfriend’s house. Guy likes to come here.”
“To your boyfriend’s house?” Vivian did not sound convinced. And she did not look amused.
“My boyfriend has, um, lots of books. Guy likes to count them.”
Vivian nodded—satisfied for the moment. It wasn’t true, but it was something that, as the sister of an autistic woman, she’d find believable.
Then she thought of something else. “Are you trying to set me up? What if your boyfriend’s here?”
“Actually, he told me he’s spending the whole day at the library today.” Which was kind of true.
We got out of the car. I led the way to the front door, Vivian staying right behind me, gun in my back. I didn’t knock or ring the bell. I just took hold of the doorknob, hoping that Owen had left it unlocked, like he usually did—not because of the safety of Paradise, but because he kept forgetting to lock it. In case he was still here, I didn’t want Owen coming to the door, face to face with a gun.
I opened the door, but didn’t step in. Running was still an option. It would work better if I was outside, I figured, than inside Owen’s tiny house.
“Guy,” I called cheerfully and loudly. In case Owen was still here, I wanted Owen to realize I was here—and not acting quite myself. Of course Guy wouldn’t be here, and Owen would know that. “Yoo-hoo, Guy, it’s Josie. You counting the books in there with Verbenia?”
Vivian gave me a shove, making me trip my way into the house. She shut the door behind us. We both stared at the front room, filled with books, but no Guy. And,
of course, no Verbenia.
“You said they’d be here. You’d better not be lying, Josie Toadfern, or I swear I’ll kill you right here, leave your body for your stupid boyfriend to find.” She was shrieking. If Owen were here, he’d have heard her by now. But no, Owen wasn’t rushing out to save me. I was alone with Vivian.
“Well, let’s just check the kitchen, okay?” I started moving in that direction. “Guy really likes to eat.”
I was thinking maybe I could make a dash out of the kitchen door without getting shot, circle around to Owen’s car, and speed off.
She followed me into the kitchen. I groaned. I’d forgotten that the kitchen table plus Owen’s vacuum—still attached by an extension hose to Billy’s Cut-N-Suck on the table—blocked my way to the door.
Vivian’s eyes narrowed. She lifted the gun, pointing it right at my face.
And then Owen came in. He was yawning and scratching his head, his eyes still half shut. “Josie, that you? I was taking a nap—”
Vivian whirled around, turning her gun on him. Suddenly, Owen’s eyes got wide. His jaw fell slack.
Here was my white knight, frozen in place.
So I did the only thing I could think of to do. I quickly undid the hose from the vacuum, grabbed it by the end, and whirled. Billy’s Cut-N-Suck whacked Vivian’s head on the first go round, knocking her out, cold.
Epilogue
It’s taken awhile, but life in Paradise has pretty much gone back to normal.
That afternoon at Owen’s, I had to call the Paradise Police Department a few times before I convinced the dispatcher I wasn’t a crank phone caller just pretending to really have Tyra’s killer, felled by Billy’s Cut-N-Suck, in Owen’s kitchen. Sooner or later, the dispatcher believed me, and Chief John Worthy came out. Vivian eventually came to, refusing to speak until Verbenia was found.
And Verbenia was found, along with Guy, out at the old orphanage, just like I’d guessed. No one is sure how they got there, or if Guy followed Verbenia, then led her to the orphanage when she couldn’t think of where else to go, or if they planned it together, or why, exactly, they went. Don’s theory is that Verbenia probably wanted to leave to hide somewhere until Vivian went out west, so Verbenia could then go back to Stillwater. It’s not a theory Vivian would like.
Vivian, though, upon learning her sister was okay, wept gratefully. At first she told Chief John Worthy that she’d killed Tyra because she was an unhappy fan, frustrated by too many fancy napkin folds and window toppers that didn’t quite work out. She was trying to protect Verbenia, still.
I could understand that—but I had to tell the whole story to Chief Worthy anyway, because Elroy and Billy were still in jail for murder.
He didn’t seem to believe my story.
But Paige came forward, and confessed that she knew of Tyra’s plan to make an announcement having to do with Stillwater in order to turn attention away from her business problems, although she hadn’t known the specifics. Don verified that Tyra had been about to make a huge donation—she’d just needed a few days for her accountants to pull together the funds—although he didn’t know about Vivian and Verbenia being her daughters and wouldn’t have accepted the donation if he’d known of her plans. And Hazel confirmed Vivian and Verbenia’s relationship to Lewis and Tyra.
So, finally, Vivian confessed the whole story, just as she told it to me. A short version of it got out, and the press had a field day with it, interviewing everyone they could think of about this shocking revelation about Tyra Grimes’s real life, including each other. Stillwater hired guards to keep the media away from Verbenia.
And then, all at once, the reporters left. Some of them trailed after Vivian when she was taken to the women’s penitentiary to await her trial. The rest just took off—kind of like a flock of starlings that land somewhere, and then suddenly take off again, for no apparent reason. Maybe there was news elsewhere to find. Maybe, with Tyra being dead, the story wasn’t as interesting as it would have been if she’d been alive.
In any case, the reporters left. Billy was let out of jail. He and Paige came to see me, the same day I reopened my laundromat, to let me know Billy was going with Paige back to New York, where together they were going to start a shelter for unwed runaway pregnant teens—kind of a way, for Paige, of making up for what she called “wasted time” working for Tyra. And definitely a cause Billy could believe in.
Guy and Verbenia settled nicely back into Stillwater.
The day Billy and Paige left town was also the day of the grand re-opening of Elroy’s Gas Station. Nothing about it has changed, except that Elroy sells tuna fish salad sandwiches again. And he seems to have a new confidence that suits him well, most recently shown when he announced at our last Chamber of Commerce meeting that he’d learned from the state’s travel commission that removing Paradise from the official state of Ohio map had been a mistake due to a computer glitch. Paradise is set to reappear in the next edition of the map.
The sign and pole at Sandy’s Restaurant got fixed, so Sandy’s happy again.
As for me, well, I repainted the front window of my laundromat with a toad sitting happily on a fern, and the name of my business spelled the right way: Toadfern’s Laundromat. I gave the cappuccino maker away.
Owen and I are still dating. And I’m liking his kisses more and more.
I see Winnie every Wednesday, on the bookmobile.
My insurance company finally took care of the broken window in Billy’s old apartment, which is for rent.
My hair has grown back to a nice little blond fuzz that gets a few stares, but that feels really nice now that it’s summer, so I’ve shucked my baseball cap for the duration of warm weather.
And just the other day, I found right outside my apartment door a package of homemade peanut butter cookies. No note.
The logical thing is to assume they’re from Becky, since I did her family’s laundry even while my laundromat was closed, and Becky’s known for making great cookies and leaving them as thank yous for people.
But logic isn’t always what’s needed, I find. Sometimes a leap of fancy helps. Or a leap of faith.
Either way, I’m packing up a nice picnic lunch, just for me and Guy, just because it’s a nice Sunday afternoon. We’ll have tuna salad sandwiches from Elroy’s gas station. A few peanut butter cookies. And Big Fizz diet colas. We’ll take our picnic out to the old orphanage.
Maybe, while Guy stares at the orphanage, thinking whatever it is he thinks when we’re there, I’ll think a little too about all that’s happened.
But mostly, I’m just going to enjoy this perfectly beautiful, sunny, bright day in Paradise.
PARADISE ADVERTISER-GAZETTE
Josie’s Stain Busters
by Josie Toadfern
Stain Expert and Owner of Toadfern’s Laundromat
(824 Main Street, Paradise, Ohio)
As most of you already know, I’m writing this month’s column right after one of the biggest weeks of mayhem ever in Paradise. But now that the TV news trucks have pulled out of town, it’s time to take a deep breath and consider lessons learned (stain-wise) from these events.
Note: A hearty congratulations to Mrs. Beavy, one of my Toadfern Laundromat regulars and our town historian, for her fine interview on WMAS-TV’s Masonville Nightly News regarding how recent events are like nothing that’s ever happened here before.
I’m sure Hazel Rothchild will do a fine job as the new owner of Rothchild’s Funeral Parlor. Already, she’s creating several new promotions, including a free gift to all who pre-pay for a casket (installment plans available): What To Bring When Loved Ones Die: Recipes from Paradise’s Finest Wakes and Funerals.
I for one hope Hazel’s cookbook includes her fine recipe for lime Jell-O salad. And I’m sure she won’t mind if I share a bit of laundry lessons learned from having done Lewis’s shirts for many years:
1.Pre-treat heavily sweat-stained shirts with a mixture of equal parts water, dish washing soap, a
nd ammonia.
2.And pretreat ring-around-the-collar with shampoo—the cheaper the better. (Note: Wally’s Drug Emporium up in Masonville is having a 50% off promotion on shampoo this week.)
May Lewis rest in peace.
On a brighter note, before all mayhem broke loose I was able to advise Becky Gettlehorn about how to get the mustard stain out of little Haley’s new sundress—simply pre-treat mustard stains with a dab of glycerin. Becky tried it, and it made Haley’s sundress look so new that Haley wore it to the Gettlehorn family reunion last weekend over at the Second Reformed Church of the Holy Reformation’s fellowship hall.
Of course, none of us will ever forget our visitors, Tyra Grimes and her assistant, Paige Morrissey. We’ll all miss Tyra’s homemaking expertise, but I’m mighty proud I was able to give her good advice about laundering her favorite white blouse when she spilled some Big Fizz diet cola on it during a little tussle at my place.
Cola, tea, and coffee—as I told Tyra—are tannin stains, so don’t pre-treat them directly with soap, because that may just set the stains in. Instead, wash as soon as possible in warm water. If a stain remains, re-wash in warm water with all-fabric bleach.
Fortunately, Tyra’s favorite blouse was stain-free after she followed my advice. And I hear, from Paige Morrissey, that Tyra looked mighty fine decked out in it for her funeral up in New York. May Tyra also rest in peace.
Speaking of Paige, I’ll admit that for a while I suspected her of foul play when she told me her sweater was stained with cocoa . . . but the stain looked a lot like dirt. I tested her claim by soaking her sweater in cold water. The stain didn’t budge—as it would have with cocoa—but came right out when I washed it in hot water, because: