Men, checking me out? Nah. Oh wait, he’s just trying to distract me. Before I can reply, Noel continues, “When I’m with you, I feel alive. I never know what’s going to come out of that delectable mouth of yours. It feels like every second with you is an adventure. No one’s ever made me feel that way before.” Well, shit. Now I feel bad for ignoring his calls.
“Really?” I sound breathless and feel like a teenage girl with her first crush.
“Really. Now, let’s find a desert to ‘share’, which I only get a spoonful of before you confiscate it.” He’s smiling at me as if he really believes what he’s saying. Huh.
Chapter 13
"I Fought the Law” by The Clash
Motive, motive, motive… the word circles in my mind all night long. If Grandma was murdered, then there has to be a reason why. It’s not like faking a heart attack is some bizarre accident or anything. This was planned. Why? Why would someone want to hurt grandma, let alone murder her? I listen to the thunderstorm outside my window and try to figure out what to do.
I sit up straight in my bed when the idea hits me. I have keys to Grandma’s house. I can just go over there and snoop around. There are probably clues the police missed because they were blinded by the fact that grandma was old and appeared to have had a heart attack. Hah! Great idea. I nestle back down into my bed for some much-needed sleep.
The storm breaks and the sun peeking out from the clouds heralds dawn’s arrival. I’m up and at ‘em early. I want to get to Grandma’s house before the world is fully awake. I need to get some work done after all the interruptions from the past few weeks. Okay, that’s just an excuse. Truth is – I don’t want Ally catching me going in and out of Grandma’s house. At least until I have a better idea of whether or not foul play was involved, I don’t want the knitting crew constantly checking up on my progress. Betty would probably try to commandeer any and all attempts to solve Grandma’s supposed murder. I love Betty and all, but I’m not so good at taking orders even if they do come from a sweet, old lady.
I park my car a block away from Grandma’s house. Unfortunately, the grass is wet and muddy from last night’s thunderstorm and I’m forced to stroll through the neighborhood instead of sneaking through the woods out back of her house. Since the house sits on a few acres of land, the neighbors aren’t super close, but close enough if one of the residents is a peeping tom.
I use my key to enter the front door. After I shut the door behind me, I take a moment to catch my breath. I don’t think I’ve ever been in the house without Grandma being around before. The emptiness catches me by surprise. There’s no smell of baking in the oven, no laughter from the knitting group on the porch, and worst of all, no sweet old lady shouting hello as I walk in.
I force myself to get moving after a few moments of silence. I have no idea what I’m looking for. Grandma always kept her house clean and tidy. I notice a bunch of mail lying unopened on her kitchen table. I grab it and stuff it in my bag for perusal later at home. I’m trying to think of places Grandma might have kept to herself. Places that could hide secrets that would lead to murder. I nearly chuckle at this assumption. Grandma, secrets? Yeah, right. That woman was an open book.
The stairs creak as I tip-toe upstairs to have a peek in her bedroom. It seems as good a place as any to keep secret stuff hidden. I’m opening her jewelry case when I hear it – sirens. My heart stops. Are the police coming for me? I shake my head and nearly laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Of course the police aren’t coming for me.
Just to make sure, I pull back the curtain in the bedroom while standing hidden to the side. Shit! There’s a police car in the driveway! Uh oh! Without thinking, I spin around and run down the stairs and out the back door. I head for the copse of woods at the rear of the land.
“Police! Stop!” I hear someone yell, but there’s no way I’m stopping now.
“Police! Stop!” The second time the words are shouted, I turn around to see how far the voice is behind me. A large, burly cop is chasing me, and it looks like he’s catching up as well. Oh bugger! I sprint for the woods, but I hit a patch of mud and start sliding. Oh no, I’m going down. I land on my butt in the mud – hard. I scramble to get up as quickly as possible, covering myself head to toe in mud, but the burly cop is upon me.
“Just stay down,” he yells at me and turns me so I’m face down in the mud. Apparently, I was in need of a mud facial. He slaps cuffs on me faster than you can say howdy-doody and roughly hauls me to my feet. “Come on, missy, it’s off to the station with you.” He grabs my bag from where it’s fallen next to me and drags me to his squad car.
The officer looks my mud-covered body up and down before pushing me up against the car and ordering me to stay. He pulls a towel from the trunk and places it on the back seat before forcing me into the car. The towel smells like dog piss. How lovely.
We arrive at the police station in full glory – sirens blazing and lights flashing. I don’t know why the cop is in such a hurry. I know I’m not. He parks his vehicle behind the station before opening the rear door to grab me. I don’t see the purpose in protesting and keep my mouth shut for once. When he realizes I’m not going to make a run for it, his grasp on my arm eases. He pulls me through the station to a desk where he sits me down on a chair while he takes his spot behind a battered ancient computer.
“Now,” he begins, “can you tell me what you were doing?”
I shrug and open my mouth to respond when I hear a shout. “Iz?” Oh shit, seriously? Two days in a row? What are the chances? I try to slide down in my chair and hide myself, but it’s a bit tricky with handcuffs on.
“Izzy?” The voice is closer now, right in front of me, in fact. I keep my head low but peek up to see Noel staring at me with his mouth wide open. “What in the world?”
I shrug. “I went to Grandma’s to find motive,” I mumble.
Noel tilts his head back and laughs. He bends over, holding his stomach. After a few minutes of this not-humiliating-at-all moment, he wipes his eyes and grabs his keychain. “I got this,” he tells the officer who brought me in before he reaches around and unlocks my handcuffs.
When I’m free, he grabs my purse with one hand and my elbow with another before dragging me back to ‘our’ spot – interrogation room #2. “Sit down,” he says and points to the chair. I sit in the chair he indicated, and he places my bag on the table in front of me.
“Explain, please.” He’s back in cop mode now: arms crossed over his chest and feet planted shoulder-width apart.
Another shrug. “Not much to explain. I let myself into Grandma’s house to search for clues.” Noel snorts, but otherwise doesn’t respond. “The police came and I ran.”
“Why did you run? And how come you’re covered in mud?”
“I don’t know why I ran.” I shrug yet again. “Instinct I guess. You see a cop coming after you and you run.” Now is probably not the moment to regale Noel with tales of my wild youth and dalliances with police as a juvenile. “Maybe not the smartest thing to do was run into the backyard, which was a tad bit wet from last night’s storm.”
“Where’s your car?”
“A block from the house.”
Noel pulls out his phone and dials. “Hey! I’ve got your BFF down here at the station. I can’t leave. Can you come pick her up?” He nods as he listens to someone on the other end, I assume is Jack. I knew those two being friends was a bad idea. “Make sure you bring towels.” Face plant. Jack is never going to let me live this down.
Noel finishes his call, and puts his phone back in his pocket before walking around to kneel in front of me. He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “Can you leave the police work to the police?” he asks gently.
I shake my head. “But the police aren’t doing anything,” I whine. Yes, whine.
His eyes gentle. “You could have been hurt, baby.”
I love hearing the words baby come out of his mouth and be directed at me, but I can’t stop my pursuit of
Grandma’s killer. “Nothing would have happened. I had every right to be there. I just panicked when I heard the police sirens.”
“Promise me you’ll be more careful,” He demands and I nod.
Noel has to get back to work. He gets me a coffee and a towel, gives me a quick peck on the cheek, and then leaves me to await Jack’s arrival. Jack arrives like the diva he likes to pretend he is. “Where is my Izzy,” he shouts as he flounces about. He’s got an armful of towels and his camera. The cheek of that man! Noel appears from out of nowhere and Jack shoves the towels at him. Hands free, Jack proceeds to take a gazillion pictures. I’m thinking my five minutes of fame will be on Facebook today.
Chapter 14
"Please Read The Letter” by Robert Plant
I spend the afternoon listening to the never-ending sound of pings from my computer as my Facebook fame grows. I hate Jack right now. Not that I’m surprised, but still, I hate him. I give up on social media and work at dinner time. I shuffle into the kitchen in search of something easy to make. Okay, fine, I admit it, I’m heading for the freezer and my favorite lovers – Ben and Jerry.
When I enter the kitchen, I see my bag sitting on the table. It’s filthy and in need of a good wash. I grab it and throw the contents on the table, intent on emptying it before throwing it in the washing machine. Hoorah for canvas bags! Along with a plethora of junk – various lip glosses, nail files, receipts, gum wrappers, etc. – out tumbles Grandma’s mail. Huh, in the aftermath of my police arrest and mud bath, I completely forgot about the mail.
I slump into a chair and stare. Should I open it? Now that opening the mail is a possibility, I realize what an invasion of privacy it would be. I’m not sure it’s possible to invade the privacy of someone who has passed, but you get what I mean.
I chew on my fingernails while trying to decide what to do. When I’m down to my pinky, I finally decide to open the mail. It’s not like this mystery is going to solve itself! I reach forward and grab the pile. First things first, I throw away all the junk mail – of which there is a lot. Marketers must think old ladies are pushovers judging by the amount of sweepstakes Grandma has won.
With the pile much smaller now, I remove everything that looks like a bill. I don’t know how many times I told Grandma I could handle her bills online. Didn’t matter. She said she liked to balance her checkbook each month. Yeah right. I don’t know anyone who likes to balance a checkbook.
There are a few larger, colored envelopes and these I pull out and open. I’m not surprised to see several invitations to weddings and baby showers. I think grandma was invited to every wedding, which happened at her church. Probably because she gives such awesome presents. My breath catches in my throat – used to give such awesome presents, I force myself to think.
In the end, there is one extremely official-looking envelope remaining. The envelope itself feels expensive as it’s made some from heavy-duty cream paper. The return address is a law office. I clap my hands in glee. Now we’re getting somewhere. I only hesitate for a moment before ripping the envelope open.
Dear Mrs. Archer,
As per our meeting and discussion on April 15th, the signed documents have been notarized and filed as per your instructions. Per our standing agreement, our fees have been deducted from the annual retainer. We look forward to continuing to work with you in the future. Please let us know if we can be of any further assistance in this matter.
Yours sincerely,
Huh. None of the letter makes any sense. I read it again, but I’m still confused. After five minutes of staring at the letter, the only thing I’ve been able to figure out is that it’s from the law firm I called to get the ball rolling after Grandma’s death.
I pick up the phone and dial Betty’s number. “Hello!” Betty answers on the first ring.
“Hi Betty, it’s Izzy.”
“Oh Izzy, my girl, how are you doing?”
I clear my throat. “Um okay.” Gosh, I hope she didn’t hear about me being hauled off to jail, but that’s a pipe dream. There’s no way Ally missed that spectacular show. “I have a question.”
Betty doesn’t hesitate to reply. “Sure. What is it?”
“I’ve been going through Grandma’s mail, and I found a letter from a lawyer that doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’ll be right over,” Betty replies and hangs up before I have a chance to say anything. Shoot. I don’t want Betty commandeering this so-called investigation.
The doorbell rings a short time later, but when I open the door it’s not Betty standing on the stoop. Or rather it’s not only Betty, somehow she has rounded up the troops and gathered them at my house in less than half an hour. Ally, Rosemary, Martha, and Rose stand next to Betty on the other side of my door. This should be interesting. At least Betty is holding a cake carrier and Ally has a pie plate in her hands.
The ladies shuffle in, and sit at my dining room table. I start the coffeemaker while gathering cups, plates, and forks. By the time the coffee is finished and I walk into the dining area, the ladies have dished out pie and cake.
Betty immediately takes over. “So,” she starts. “Have a seat Izzy and let’s get started.” She actually takes out a notebook and pen, then flicks the notebook open and looks at me. “What’s happening?”
I grab the letter from my back pocket where I stuffed it when the doorbell rang. “I found this letter from her lawyer in her mail, but it doesn’t make any sense.”
Ally grabs the letter and hands it to Betty as if they’re co-conspirators. Betty reads the letter aloud and then hands it back to me. “First of all,” she says while tapping her pen and doing a darn good impression of Jessica Fletcher. “Does anyone know anything about this?”
Four women shake their heads while I shrug. “I’m totally confused. I didn’t even know she had attorneys on retainer.”
Ally clears her throat and looks to Betty as if to ask permission to speak. Betty nods her head in acquiescence. “Well, yes, I knew that.” I gasp and Ally blushes. “Sorry, Izzy, but someone had to drive Anna to the lawyer, and she said she didn’t want to bother you.” She shrugs, but continues to blush. “I thought she told you.”
I’m pretty sure I’m doing an awesome imitation of a gaping fish at the moment. “What,” I sputter.
“Now, now,” Betty says. “Let’s not get our panties in a twist. Anna was allowed to have her secrets.”
Secrets! Why would she have secrets from me? Betty doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “The question is,” she continues, “what was this letter about? And does it have anything to do with her murder?”
Ally shrugs. “I never went into the offices with her, and she never talked to me about it.”
Betty looks around the table. “Anyone else Anna confided in?” Betty looks at each woman in turn, and waits until each shakes her head in the negative before proceeding to the next woman. When she has finished non-verbally questioning the table, she turns her gaze to me. She shuts her notebook and clasps her hands on top of it. “There’s only one option then. You’ll need to call the law office and find out what this is about.”
“Me?” I sputter. “But I’m not her real grand-daughter, you know!”
“Sorry, but you’re the closest thing to a relative Anna had. You’ll have the best luck.”
After that announcement, Betty dives into her piece of pie, which apparently signals to the other ladies the discussion is over and it’s time for refreshments. The group leaves shortly thereafter, but not before Betty makes me promise to call the law office first thing in the morning. She actually makes me use the words ’I promise‘ this time.
I’m not sure when law firms open, so I wait until half past nine just to make sure. My hands tremble as I dial the number. “Jones, Smith, and Cagney law office. How may I direct your call?”
“Um. I’d like to speak to Mr. Smith, please.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Izzy Archer.”
“Hold
on a sec.”
A minute later a man’s voice comes on the line. “Mrs. Archer?”
“Yes, this is Izzy Archer.”
Before I can start my spiel, Mr. Smith continues. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch yet. I’ve been meaning to call and set up an appointment.”
I’m too confused to find words in response. He was expecting my call? He wants to set up an appointment? What? I hear papers shuffle. “Would tomorrow morning at ten suit you?”
I manage to mumble yes and the appointment is set.
Chapter 15
"Dream Weaver” by Gary Wright
I’m extremely nervous about the meeting with the lawyer. What if I’m just barking up the wrong tree? Grandma was in her late eighties. Why can’t I accept that she died of a heart attack? By the time it’s late enough for me to drive to the meeting, I’ve been prowling around my house for two hours. I leave early from my house and end up arriving fifteen minutes early for my appointment. I stare at the chairs in the waiting room, but I’m too full of nervous energy to sit, so I start pacing the area. After five minutes and about two gazillion meaningful stares from the receptionist, I give in and sit down, although my knees don’t get the message and continue to bounce.
“Mrs. Archer,” I hear someone call my name and see an older lady with her gray hair tied in a perfect chignon standing next to the receptionist’s desk. I stand, and she motions for me to follow her. After a short trek through the hallway, we arrive at a door. She knocks but doesn’t wait for a response before entering.
A surprisingly handsome young man stands from behind his desk. “I’m Mr. Smith. Mrs. Archer, I presume?” I nod. “Please have a seat,” he says as he motions toward a table and chairs in the corner of his office.
“Can I get you anything?” perfect chignon lady asks.
“Um, coffee?” She nods in response and retreats, closing the door in her wake.
The Gray-Haired Knitting Detective Series: (Books 1 - 3) Page 6