A Dangerous Departure From Hillbilly Hollow

by Blythe Baker

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mable continued. “I knew you were looking into Blanche’s death, and when your friend showed up at my door looking for you, I saw my chance to put all of this to rest once and for all. I’d take care of him first and then lure you here and do the same to you. One at a time would have been easier, but I’m adaptable. You don’t get to be as old as I am without being able to adjust.”

  “How are you going to take care of us?” I asked, genuinely curious. “What do you plan to do with our bodies?”

  “Do you really want to spoil the entire plan?” Mable asked, exasperated. “I think the time for questions is over. Lift him up,” she said, using the gun to gesture to Tucker. Her hand was shaking more noticeably now, and I worried she’d pull the trigger by accident.

  Tucker’s body was already leaning into mine, so I grabbed his arm and threw it around my shoulder, standing up slowly. Immediately, my thighs began to shake under his weight. He groaned and tried to open his eyes, but they stayed shut.

  “Onto the fire escape,” Mable said, her voice now shaking like her arm.

  “Mable,” I said, trying to engage her humanity. “You don’t have to do this. You can’t get away with it.”

  “You don’t know that,” she said quickly, cutting me off. “Onto the fire escape or I’ll shoot you. Poison is my preference, but I will shoot.”

  Mable looked unsteady, and I wanted to try and wrestle the gun away from her, but I had Tucker to think about. He couldn’t defend himself in his current state. If I made a single wrong move, he could end up hurt or worse. So, I decided to take my chance with the fire escape.

  I leaned Tucker against the window frame as I kicked my leg over and then stepped out onto the rickety metal staircase. Tucker was almost unconscious but had enough wherewithal to reach for my hand. I pulled him onto the stairs.

  “Up,” Mable ordered from inside the apartment. “And if you even think about knocking on any windows for help, I’ll shoot.”

  “I don’t know if I can make it all the way to the top. He’s heavy,” I said.

  Mable shrugged. “If you both fall then that makes my job even easier. Up.”

  She wagged the gun at me again, reminding me she still had the power, as if I could have possibly forgotten. I gritted my teeth, and stair by stair, lugged Tucker up the stairs. He moved his feet slightly, dragging them across the metal, and placed one hand on the railing. But the little help he offered was hardly enough to make a difference.

  I turned back several times to see if Mable was following us, but she wasn’t yet. I realized then why she may have been shaking so much the closer she got to the window—Mable was scared to leave her apartment. In that moment, hope surged in my chest that Mable’s fears would incapacitate her. That she would be frozen in terror, unable to follow after us and see her plan through to the end. However, the next time I turned around, I saw the old woman cautiously climbing out of her window. Then, she began a slow and steady trek up to the roof.

  If I hadn’t been forced to deal with Tucker’s weight, I would have sprinted up the stairs and then found a way back into the building from the roof, hoping I could dodge whatever shots Mable would aim at me from such a long distance. However, Tucker made that impossible. We were moving so slowly up the stairs that Mable was actually gaining on us. By the time Tucker and I made it to the top, landing in a heaving heap on the asphalt roof, Mable was only ten steps below us.

  She appeared on the edge of the roof with a small snack bag in her hands. She tossed it at me, the bag landing a foot away.

  “Enjoy,” she said with a fake smile.

  The bag contained two brownie squares—broken and crumbling from Mable’s throw, but otherwise delicious looking. It was almost unfair how good they looked. The tops were a perfect, crackled brown crust, and the inside was shiny and gooey. If Mable had handed me these same brownies on a plate like she always did as I walked through the lobby, I would have eaten them both just like Blanche had. I would have enjoyed them.

  “No,” I said, kicking the bag further away and then standing up.

  Mable sighed. “This is the easiest way. It will be better for you this way. A little discomfort and then nothing. Much preferable to a gunshot.”

  I shook my head. “I won’t kill myself for you.”

  “Mmmm-ha,” Tucker mumbled, reaching for my hand.

  “Your friend is beginning to resurface, I believe,” Mable said, pointing the still-shaking gun at him. “It would be kinder of me to shoot him now. He wouldn’t even feel it.”

  I spun myself to cover Tucker, as if Mable wouldn’t shoot me just as callously as she would Tucker. “You don’t have to do this. It won’t work, anyway. People will still find out.”

  Mable shrugged her thin shoulders. “Maybe. But there will be doubts. I’ll tell the police how Blanche tried to raise your rent while you were gone and how angry it made you. I’ll tell them how you anonymously sent her the treats and then came back to the city with a police officer to frame me for it since you knew how much I liked to bake. I caught you before you could carry out your plan, and you tried to kill me, as well. But unlike Blanche, I was able to turn the tables on you both. Now, this next part is up to you. Either you realized you’d been caught and committed suicide by eating the poisoned brownies you meant for me. Or, I shot and killed you both before you could do away with me the way you did Blanche.”

  There were holes in her story, but that didn’t matter. She was a little old lady. People would already be hesitant to believe her capable of something as horrid as murder, so if she was able to introduce any doubt at all, there was no telling how people’s opinions would be swayed.

  “So, which ending do you prefer?” Mable asked, her shoulders noticeably shivering against the wind. “I hope you’ll hurry and decide. I’m anxious to get back inside.”

  In the fading afternoon sun, Mable looked even more fragile than she had inside. Her skin was papery and dry, her hair frizzy and thinning. I could see liver spots on her scalp and the backs of her hands. Suddenly, it hit me that this woman would kill me. Even with Mable’s lack of humanity on full display, I’d found it difficult to reconcile the kind woman I’d spoken to most days as I’d come and gone from the building with the scowling, gun-wielding woman in front of me. Mable had often felt like a grandmother-like figure to me while I was away from my own grandparents. But now she looked like a monster. Her fears of leaving her apartment had twisted and molded her into a monster, and she would do whatever it took to be sure she wasn’t afraid anymore.

  “You know,” Mable said, her pale lips twitching up into a smile. “I think I like the idea of being the hero. The news would love an elderly woman who stood her ground and fought off her attackers. Not only will I get away with it, but I’ll be praised.”

  Tucker was sitting up now, his hands propped out to either side of him like the kickstand of a bike. I could see how hard he was fighting to regain full consciousness. As Mable spoke, his entire body seemed to tense, as if he could hear her and wanted to act, but his body couldn’t move beyond the haze of whatever drugs Mable had given him. He looked helpless, like a small child, and I knew I couldn’t let him die this way.

  “Which one of you first?” Mable asked, shifting the gun back and forth between the two of us like a game of Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Mo. A cool wind blew across the top of the roof, lifting the fabric of Mable’s floral dressing gown and tousling my hair. A few strands whispered across my face before settling behind my ear as though tucked there.

  I lifted my hands in surrender and then took a large step forward, closing the distance between myself and the old woman by almost half. Now, she was only four feet away from me. Point blank range. If she had an opportunity to pull the trigger, it would be a miracle if she didn’t hit me.

  “Me,” I said, studying Mable’s every move. I was now close enough to her to lunge forward and fight for the gun, but I was waiting for the best opportunity. I needed Mable to be distracted e
nough that she wouldn’t pull the trigger immediately. I needed an extra second.

  “It makes no difference to me,” Mable said, shifting her aim to me. I could see the short barrel of the weapon shivering in her grip, but it wouldn’t be enough to cause Mable to miss. Her arms stiffened, as though preparing to shoot.

  “Wait,” I called out, holding a hand towards her.

  Her eyes widened and then she sighed. “What is it?”

  “Can I have a final moment with my thoughts?” I asked. “A prayer?”

  I remembered seeing the large Bible on Mable’s coffee table. Clearly, she’d never read it, but I hoped she was devout enough to respect my right to a prayer.

  She nodded, and I knelt to one knee, my head lowered as if in prayer. But really, I was in a runner’s stance. The foot next to my knee was tensed and ready to propel me forward, my hands were positioned on the ground on either side of my foot for balance. Adrenaline tingled up my arms and down my legs, preparing me to fight for mine and Tucker’s lives. And really, I did say a quick prayer, asking that my attempt to take down Mable be successful. And then just as I took a deep breath and prepared to launch myself forward, a shiver started at the base of my neck and worked down my spine. It didn’t feel like nerves or adrenaline. It felt like an unnatural chill. One I had become intimately familiar with.

  I heard Mable inhale sharply. “What was that?”

  When I looked up, Mable was spinning wildly in a circle, her head snapping back and forth to either side, causing her cheeks to shiver and shake like a gelatin mold in an earthquake.

  “Who did that?” she asked, eyes wide and milky. “Who pushed me?”

  For a brief moment, I smiled. Mable couldn’t see what I could see. She didn’t notice the soft blue shimmer circling around her—the middle-aged spirit still wearing the long dress and fake jewelry she’d worn during her life. Mable couldn’t see that Blanche’s eyes were narrowed and her jaw, once busy chewing the brownies that would end her life, was now set in determination.

  I knew this was my opportunity. Blanche had drawn Mable’s attention away long enough for me to act. I launched myself forward, my foot pushing off of the asphalt roof as my hands lifted from the ground and reached for the confused old woman.

  Mable didn’t react to me until my hands were on her arms. Mable looked fragile, but if it was possible, she felt even more fragile. Her skin was dry and soft like tissue paper and the bones beneath felt like they could belong to the birds she liked to punish. It took remarkably little effort for me to fling both her arms to the side, causing the gun to clatter to the ground at our feet.

  Mable kicked out at me with a dark tan orthopedic shoe, connecting with my knee cap and making me groan. It wasn’t enough to injure me, but it was enough to make me take one stumbling step backwards. It was enough to give Mable the extra second she needed to bend down and reclaim the gun. I watched as her hand wrapped around the black handle, as she straightened up, ready to pull the trigger without hesitation. And then, I watched as she was tossed sideways like a plastic bag in an icy wind, a wispy trail of blue smoke behind her.

  Blanche’s spirit pushed Mable the way I’d seen football players plow into stuffed dummies during football practice. It was like a train plowing into a car on the tracks. Even though we’d been standing in the center of the roof, Blanche somehow gathered the energy to pummel Mable all the way to the edge. The old woman’s arms circled once for balance, trying to stop herself, but then she tipped over the side and disappeared. Blanche’s glassy shape remained for another second before she too flicked away.

  20

  Mable had been telling the truth. Tucker just needed a nap. The sleeping pills she’d slipped into the tea she gave him were powerful, but ultimately harmless. He woke up on my sofa.

  “Tucker?” I held up a finger to Jay Wilkins, stopping him in the middle of his sentence. “Tucker are you okay?”

  He sat up slowly, a hand pressed to his forehead. “What happened?”

  I explained everything to him, revealing the details one at a time, waiting for him to nod his head in understanding before I moved on.

  “I called the police from my cellphone as soon as Mable…fell off the edge, and then the EMTs carried you down here,” I said. “We’re supposed to take you to the emergency room if you wake up and feel at all strange.”

  “I feel like I’m still dreaming,” he said. “Does that count as feeling strange?”

  I smiled. “I think I’d be more concerned if you didn’t feel that way.”

  Jay, in a surprisingly thoughtful move, walked over with a glass of water, and Tucker drank the whole thing almost immediately.

  “Worst case of cotton mouth ever,” he said, smacking his lips together.

  “Do you remember what happened?” I asked.

  He closed his eyes, wrinkled his forehead, and then opened them, nodding. “Bits and pieces. I was lookin’ for you,” he said, tipping his head towards me. “I wanted to apologize about earlier and let you know I planned to stay in the city until you were ready to leave, but I couldn’t get ahold of you. I was about to leave when Mable opened the front door for me. She told me I could wait in her apartment for you, and since I knew you were friendly with Mable, I thought I could trust her.”

  “I thought you could, too,” I said, shaking my head, still in disbelief.

  “She offered me some tea, but I said no thanks. I’ve never been a big tea drinker,” he said. “But she made it for me anyway, and I felt rude refusing, so I drank half the mug. Right away, my head started to swim, and by the time I thought it could have been the tea, it was too late. The effects came on too quickly for me to do much of anything. Mable pushed me back into the sofa and said she would take care of me. And that’s the last thing I remember.”

  “She tried to take care of you, all right,” Jay said. His mouth was turned down in a scowl. “She tried to take care of you both just like she took care of my mother.”

  Jay’s face was red, his jaw clenched. I reached out and patted his arm. He stiffened at my touch and then offered me a smile before stepping out of my reach. “I owe you both for solving the murder. I would have continued living below that woman without the slightest idea that she had killed my mother.”

  “I was unconscious for all of it,” Tucker said. “You should thank Emma.”

  I shrugged. “It was nothing, really. Mostly it was an accident.”

  Jay shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. You set out to solve the case, and you did it better than the police. My mom wasn’t always an easy woman to live with, but she didn’t deserve the end she got. So, thank you for putting this whole thing to rest.”

  “Of course,” I said, hoping Jay was right. I wanted Blanche to find peace, and I hoped that by pushing her killer off the top of the building, she’d found that. When the police had arrived, they confirmed that Mable was dead. I’d watched them load her body into the back of the ambulance, a blanket thrown over her.

  “Well,” Jay said, looking noticeably uncomfortable. “I guess I should let the two of you rest. You’ve had a pretty big day. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Jay turned to leave, looking eager to escape our presence.

  “Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you,” I said calling after him.

  Jay turned back around reluctantly, his shoulders sagging with disappointment at this encounter being prolonged. “Yes?”

  “I remember you mentioning something about your mother having a cat,” I said.

  He nodded. “Pudding.”

  The cat’s name was Pudding? Not great, but I could work with that.

  “You also mentioned you were allergic?”

  He nodded again. “Very. I break out in hives with prolonged contact.”

  “Well, my grandparents have farmland in Missouri, and I love animals. I was wondering if you would be willing to let me take…Pudding…home with me? I know she was your mother’s cat,
and you might want—"

  “He,” Jay said. “Pudding is a boy.”

  “Right, of course,” I said with a smile. “Well, I know he was your mother’s cat, but I love animals and don’t have an allergy, so—”

  “He’s yours,” Jay said.

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. It’s a relief honestly. I would’ve felt bad taking him to a shelter, but I can’t stand to be around him for more than five minutes without my entire body starting to itch.” Jay scratched his stomach at just the memory of his allergic reaction. “I think my mom bought him just to keep an eye on me. It ensured she had to come down to my apartment several nights a week for dinner, so she got to inspect how clean my place was and whether there were any signs of me doing anything she wouldn’t approve of.”

  I decided to ignore the awkward part about Jay and his mother, and instead just thanked him.

  “I’ll unlock the door and you can take Pudding and all of his stuff before you go,” he said.

  I also decided not to tell Jay that his mother’s apartment door was already unlocked from my investigation earlier.

  As soon as he left, I turned around to see Tucker shaking his head.

  “Are you feeling alright?” I asked. “Does your head hurt?”

  “No, I’m fine. Just ready to be home,” he said. After a long pause he ran a hand through his hair. “Life in the big city is a bit more than I bargained for. Murderous neighbors, warring mother/son landlords. Hillbilly Hollow is nothing compared to even the drama in this one building.”

  I laughed, thinking that Tucker didn’t even know about the hacker on the fifth floor who once broke into the databases of the National Security Agency. And I intended to leave it that way.

  Then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Billy, but before I could even respond to the first one, several more buzzed in.