Crush. Candy. Corpse.

by Sylvia McNicoll

  Never again, I promised myself. That was the last time I even shopped with Donovan, just in case. For the final present, I needed to consult with Alexis anyway.

  Alexis agreed to help me. So on Saturday, we walked together to the drugstore to buy the dye for Mrs. Demers. It was a perfect October day, warm but with none of that stickiness that makes your hair droop. On the way, Alexis told me about her volunteer placement at the shelter and how she was photographing all the animals there so that they could put their pictures on the Net and adopt them out faster.

  “Cool. So it’s not all poopy-scooping for dogs. Do you keep some pictures for yourself? A souvenir?”

  “No, I didn’t think of that. But next time I’ll download some on a memory stick now that you mentioned it.”

  Then I told her about the mass birthday at Paradise Manor. “After the cake, this paunchy dude in a jumpsuit and a wig played all these songs and only Cole sang.”

  “Back it up. Who is this Cole person? Is he cute?”

  I frowned when I pictured him in my head. “Nah . . . at least not like Donovan. He’s more the sweet kind. He’s not volunteering for his graduation requirement. He’s just there to visit with his grandma. It breaks my heart.”

  “Oh, now I get it. She’s the one you’re buying the hair dye for.”

  I stopped walking for a second. “There’s nothing to get, Alexis. It’s her birthday on Monday, that’s all. You know I’m going to the prom with Donovan.” My voice came out sharpish.

  She put out her hands like she was shielding herself.

  Reaching the edge of the sidewalk first, I lifted my foot to step onto the street.

  “Careful!” Alexis flung her arm across my waist. “There’s a car turning.”

  Tsk. “Talking on the cell phone. She should get a ticket.” When it was safe, we crossed the street to the super-sized pharmacy. “Then Cole more or less forced me to sing along.”

  “With your voice?” Alexis lifted an eyebrow.

  “Exactly! After I told him how tone deaf I was, too.” We walked to the first aisle where all the hair product was kept. I picked up a box of a dark red shade. “But I did finally join in.”

  “You didn’t! Isn’t that red too dark, Sunny?”

  “Not on white hair.” I frowned. “But it’s a permanent. There must be something else.” I picked up a copper-coloured can and checked the label. It was a mousse called Beat and the instructions said it washed out in eight to ten shampoos. “All those old folks made me miss Omi and I sang her favourite song. Jeannette said my voice was a gift.”

  “I guess she’s pretty deaf too. What about this shade?” She handed me a can of Beat with Electric Cherry printed across the lid.

  “Yup, that will do the trick.” We took the mousse to the front checkout. “Jeannette isn’t deaf. She just likes me.”

  “Is that the one who always compliments your clothes? Ones you’re not even wearing?”

  “So what? She’s confused. She really brightens when she sees me. Makes me feel good.” I handed the money to the clerk. “And now I can actually do someone’s hair. It’s not quite like co-opping at the salon, but it’s not bad.”

  Back then I thought it was a lovely gesture, but now I knew it would be turned against me during the trial.

  chapter five

  The next person the old buzzard calls up is Gillian Halliday. I relax in my chair. She thought I was a natural with the old people. She will be on my side. There couldn’t possibly be anything wrong that she would say about me.

  Gillian has to swear in and state her occupation like everyone else. Today she wears her hair pulled back in a conservative bun, no happy-go-lucky braids and beads. Better for the fashion-dysfunctional jury anyway.

  The buzzard checks his notes. “What kind of duties do you assign volunteers at Paradise Manor?

  “Mostly feeding the residents and helping them with activities. The old people get lonely and they like the youngsters comin’ around and chattin’ with them.”

  “And how did Sonja Ehret fit in with the duties?”

  “She wanted to do everything just so. She liked to fix the old folks’ collars and make their sweaters straight. She combed some of the ladies’ hair for me.”

  “Could you describe any other hairdressing activities she might have performed for them?”

  “Well now, if you’re bringin’ up that hair-dyin’ incident, that was just a misunderstandin’. She was just bein’ nice to Mrs. Demers and didn’t know she needed to ask permission before doin’ anythin’ with her hair colour.”

  “Would you explain exactly what she did to Mrs. Demers?”

  “You have to understand that some of the ladies think they’re teenagers themselves and they all want to be cute like Sunny. Mrs. Demers liked the pink streaks Sunny has in her hair. She asked Sunny if she could have stripes like that too.”

  “And what did Sonja do?”

  “Well, she bought a temporary colour and combed some through Mrs. Demers’s hair.”

  “Where would she have gotten the money, do you know?”

  “Mrs. Johnson said she stole it from Mrs. Demers’s special drawer but —”

  “Objection. Hearsay,” my lawyer calls.

  “Sustained,” the judge answers. “The jury should disregard that last answer.”

  Oh sure, you can tell them to disregard it, but don’t they all now believe that I’m a thief?

  The buzzard continues. “Could you describe Mrs. Demers’s hair after?”

  “Mrs. Demers really liked the pink. It was just her daughter-in-law who got angry. She thought Sunny was makin’ a fool of the old lady.”

  “But how did you think it looked?”

  “The pink on the white didn’t appear the way Sunny’s streaks do — she having the dark brown hair and all. Mrs. Demers looked like she had candy-cane hair.”

  “No further questions.” The buzzard swoops back down into his seat.

  “Does the defence wish to question Miss Halliday?” the judge calls.

  “Yes, Your Honour.” My lawyer stands up and smiles at Gillian. “Miss Halliday, how would you characterize Sonja’s relationship with the residents at Paradise Manor?”

  “They liked her, she bein’ young and pretty.”

  “And how would you describe her attitude to them? You said she straightened their clothing? How did she react to their dementia, for example?”

  “She treated them very seriously. If they asked her questions, she really thought hard to give them honest answers. She brought them little treats. And she wanted them to have choices. Her and Cole, they were always talkin’ about that.”

  The jury member in the plaid shirt gives a nervous heh. It sounds like the first beat of a laugh. Did letting them have choices seem dangerous to him?

  My lawyer ignores it. “You said she should have asked permission to colour Mrs. Demers’s hair. But Mrs. Demers asked to have pink streaks. What was Mrs. Demers’s grandson’s attitude and reaction towards the hair colouring?”

  “He helped her because he thought it would bring his grandma pleasure.”

  “So I’m confused then. Help me out with something. If her grandson and Mrs. Demers gave permission, how did Sonja come to be reprimanded for the incident?”

  “Well, Mrs. Johnson insisted we had to inform Cole’s mother and when she saw the hair for herself, she blew up.”

  “And how often would you say Cole’s mother usually came to visit?”

  “That was the first time this year. She never visits.”

  My lawyer frowns and rubs his chin. “So Helen Demers wanted her hair streaked and enjoyed the pink colour?”

  “Yes.”

  “And her daughter-in-law would have never known if Paradise Manor hadn’t called her. Is that corr
ect?”

  Gillian shifts in her chair as she looks towards Mrs. Johnson on the other side of the room. “Yes. That is correct.”

  “No further questions.”

  Cole’s mom called what I did to Helen’s hair vandalism. Cole said she’d yelled about it in front of his grandmother and got her all upset. “She can’t help herself, though,” he explained after I was lectured by Mrs. Johnson. “Mom overreacts to anything to do with Grandma’s Alzheimer’s ’cause she can’t cope.” He made me feel sorry for his mother so I let it go and just did what Mr. Brooks told me I had to in order to continue with the project. The jury could read how nicely I played along if they could just read my next journal entry.

  The Fifth Visit — thirty hours left

  I apologized to Mrs. Johnson for streaking Helen’s hair just as you told me to, Mr. Brooks. I promised her I’d never do anything like that again and she let me back to volunteer. As usual, Johann barely had anything to eat because I fed him slowly as she’d asked and he fell asleep in the middle.

  Since it was warm enough, we took a few of the residents outside after supper. Not so many UV rays at that time of the day. It wasn’t easy to push Johann’s wheelchair out, but in the end I think he enjoyed his time in the sun.

  No matter what Claudine Demers said, Helen’s candy-striped hair made her look very cool. Despite the hair perk, though, she had a very bad day. She suddenly couldn’t walk and Cole had to borrow the Manor wheelchair to get her to dinner. She didn’t talk much during the meal either, but when I noticed her staring at Johann’s brownie, I slipped it to her.

  “You’re not supposed to give Mrs. Demers anything with sugar,” the goth cafeteria worker told me.

  Helen had already taken two bites and smiled.

  “I’m so sorry,” I lied to her. “I had no idea. I won’t do it again, Sheila,” I added, reading her name tag.

  Sheila didn’t accept my apology even though I looked her directly in the eye and acted sincere. “Better not,” she grumbled at me as she collected the trays of half-eaten food.

  As I wheeled the sleeping Johann back towards the hall, I met up with Cole.

  “Do you want to take them into the courtyard?” Cole asked. “Maybe it will cheer Grandma up. She always liked fall.”

  “Sure. Be nice for all of us.” Cole looked like he could use some cheering up too. “Want me to swipe some more brownies for her?”

  Cole winked and shook his head. “Not now.” His eyes looked behind me and when I turned I noticed Sheila clearing the table close to us.

  “Just kidding.” I grinned and winked back at him.

  He led the way out towards the door that opened onto a rectangular court, protected by the four walls of the building. No wind reached us, and the air felt warm. Yellow and purple mums grew in the flower beds.

  We parked the old people across from a wooden bench so we could sit too. Cole sprawled across the seat, his right leg touching mine.

  I shifted away. “Too bad we can’t see the coloured leaves from here.”

  “I could have tried for permission to take them to the front, but Mrs. Johnson’s not happy with us right now. She probably would have said no.”

  I shrugged. “They’re both asleep. I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  “Guess not.” His arm drifted across the back of the bench behind my head. There was nowhere left for me to shift. “No matter what, I’m glad you streaked Grandma’s hair. Made her happy for that moment.”

  I leaned back against the bench, and his arm, closing my eyes to enjoy the last glow of summer. “Yeah, that was something.” I chuckled. “Jeannette wants me to do hers too now.”

  “Me too.” Cole let his hand rest on my shoulder.

  “You’re close to your grandma. It’s sweet.” I opened my eyes again.

  He smiled. “She looked after me when I was little.”

  “Mine did too.”

  Cole played with my hair, lifting it so he could touch my neck. He leaned closer to me.

  I looked into his eyes. Warm gold. He liked me, I knew he did.

  His lips drew to mine.

  Johann groaned in his wheelchair suddenly, startling me. I pulled away. What was I doing? Cole was kind and cute in a different way than Donovan. Still no reason to let him kiss me. His grandmother still slept peacefully. I took a breath. “What ever happened to her?” I asked him. “I mean, how did you know she had Alzheimer’s?”

  Cole cleared his throat and sat up on the bench. “First she locked herself out of the house a few times ’cause she couldn’t find her key. We didn’t think too much of it.”

  “Anyone can lose a key,” I agreed, putting my hand on his shoulder.

  Cole nodded and frowned. “Only then it got worse. One day she tried to pay her bill at the restaurant with a plumber’s business card.”

  “Oh! What did the doctor say?”

  Cole shrugged. “He gave her some pills.”

  “Did they help at all?”

  He shook his head. “The next time she went to the store she couldn’t find her way home.” He kicked at the edge of the walkway. “When Dad and I found her, she cried and promised it would never happen again. But Mom couldn’t give up her job to look after her. And Dad wouldn’t take the chance.”

  “So she’s here,” I finished for him.

  “No. She went on a waiting list. She disappeared three more times. The last time, she was hit by a car. Mom refused to take her back home. Grandma stayed in the hospital till a spot opened up at Paradise Manor.”

  I nodded. “She seems better than most of the others, though.”

  “I don’t know. I think she’s slipping. Not walking is bad,” Cole told me.

  “Really, you don’t think your mom’s fuss about the hair put her in a funk?”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s the disease progressing.”

  “I’m sorry, Cole.” I touched his arm. “But at least you visit her. There’s nothing else you can do.”

  “Well, yes. There is something else. And she made me promise to do it when the disease progressed too far.”

  chapter six

  The next person the buzzard calls to the stand is Sheila Swanson, the cafeteria goth. She fixes me with her evil stare. We all know where this is heading.

  He asks her what kind of behaviour I exhibited towards the seniors when she was around.

  Sheila shifts in the chair and looks at me with a satisfied smile. “Sonja rushed Johann, that is Mr. Schwartz, when he ate and didn’t seem too concerned when food stuck in his throat. He was only supposed to be eating mashed but she tried to give him solids.”

  “And her attitude, in general, to staff?” The buzzard flips a page of his notes. Of course, he’s scanning ahead at all the answers she’s already given him.

  Sheila puffs up indignantly. “She always seemed to blame us . . . for everything from dietary restrictions to the patients’ inability to choose their own meals. And she never took any of our rules seriously.”

  There’s a nervous laugh cough from the guy in plaid. He probably doesn’t like diets either. Hopefully he’s on my side.

  The buzzard fixes Sheila with his window-cleaner eyes. “Can you describe Sunny and Cole’s relationship?”

  “Oh, he had a crazy crush on her. And we saw them holding hands sometimes.” She says this as though it was part of the crime: we liked each other so I must have tried to choke his grandma.

  “And what behaviour and attitude did you observe in Cole towards his grandmother?”

  “Like Sonja, he tried to sneak his grandmother sweets, which her diabetic condition did not allow.” She smiles at me again, thin lips stretched out long and triumphant.

  “In your opinion . . .” he says, in a loud voice with a weighty pause after, “did you feel he was
deliberately sabotaging her health?”

  “Objection!” My lawyer leaps to his feet. The front row jurors seem to sit up in attention. “The Crown is openly asking for an unsubstantiated feeling.”

  “Sustained,” the judge answers.

  The jury looks confused. The guy in the back scratches his beard. The man in the plaid shirt coughs nervously. Heh, heh.

  At least Cole and I never deliberately tried to sabotage his grandmother’s happiness!

  The woman in the stained T-shirt at the front folds her arms. What conclusion is she drawing? If the jury only knew Cole the way I did from the volunteer hours, they would understand how deeply he cared about his grandmother.

  The fat man rubs at his forehead, back and forth, like he’s trying to clean something off. Here in the courtroom, my lawyer can object all he wants and the judge can sustain every objection, but that buzzard planted an idea in their minds: that Cole wanted to kill his grandma. And the buzzard’s already suggested I carried out this plan in his opening statement. This will stay in the jurors’ minds, there’s really no recalling it.

  The Sixth Visit — twenty-eight hours left

  Miss Halliday asked me and the other volunteer, Cole, if we would come in for the weekend Halloween Party instead of our usual feeding shift. I dressed up as a princess so I wouldn’t frighten anyone and Cole dressed up as a scarecrow. We made sure the residents got their treats. The neat thing is that some of the residents’ grandchildren came in their costumes. The old people really loved the kids.

  Orange and black streamers hung along the walls. Bunches of matching balloons were weighted down to tables by mini pumpkins. No dangling skeletons, googly-eyed witches, or floating heads. Cole explained that some of the scarier Halloween décor might cause the old folks to hallucinate, so they had to keep it low-key. Likewise the staff was dressed up mostly as clowns or dolls — no Zombies or brides of Frankenstein. Gillian made a great puppy dog.

  The truth about the party was that, like the birthday celebration, it felt lame. Not that many people came — the staff, a few adults, and five kids. The residents didn’t dress up. Well, really, did it matter? Halloween wasn’t exactly an adult holiday.