by Becca Bloom
Mammy looked around my empty room. “Nothing was taken?”
I shook my head. At this point, I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.
“You’ve taken minimalism a touch too far, Jess, but I see clearly what I can do for your housewarming gift.”
Mammy being here was gift enough. I opened my mouth to protest, but she pressed her finger against my lips.
“Don’t you argue with me, Jessica James. Your mom, dad, and sisters — Jessenia anyway — pooled together some cash and sent it down with me. And I know just how to help you spend it.” Turning to Jake, she asked, “Can you take us to a furniture store?”
I knew better than to attempt to object any further. Not when her sharp eyes dared me to just try and stop her from doing what she had already decided to do.
Kissing her on the cheek, I said, “Thank you,” like a grateful granddaughter.
Jake headed downstairs. “I’ll take you right now, but let me swing by Adi’s first. She can keep an eye out for the carpenter until we get back. That door needs fixed tonight or I’m going to sleep on your floor.” He looked at me as firmly as Mammy had a moment ago.
What? Was everyone going to gang up on me today?
Mammy looped her arm through his, tapping her fingers against his bicep. “I think I’m going to like you very much, young man.”
I followed them down to Adi’s, admiring the ease with which they talked and wishing I had half the pizzazz of my seventy-year-old grandma.
Three hours later, my apartment smelled like pine furniture. I had a new door, too.
Mammy and I arranged and rearranged the furniture to our satisfaction. Finally, standing between the couch and the coffee table, she surveyed the effect, declaring, “You need something on the walls.”
Didn’t I know it! “I have a painting at the framer’s now.” I described Illari.
“I can’t wait to meet her. It’s a start,” she said, looking more contented and plunking down onto the couch. “Now, tell me what else you’ve been working on. I love the comics you’ve been drawing. Are those difficult to put on the computer?”
“No, not too hard. I was thinking of compiling The Adventures of Jungle Jane into a series of stories for you guys, but I wasn’t really sure if you liked them.”
“Are you kidding? I love them! Do you have any new episodes?”
I pulled out my sketch pad.
Jungle Jane chopped through sugar cane fields with a machete on one page, her trusty dog took on a gun-toting maniac on the next. When her loyal pup was kidnapped, Jungle Jane climbed over a cement wall to free her and the other dogs held hostage. Her black, ninja hoodie still bore the mark of the ferocious German Shepherd responsible for taking a bite out of the fabric.
Mammy flipped through my drawings as I told her the stories. There were more than I had remembered. If only she knew….
When she came to the last page, Mammy gently closed my sketchbook and set it down on the table. “These are fantastic! They’re so much fun, I hope you never stop drawing them,” she said. Locking my eyes with her own, she said, “I see a lot of you in Jungle Jane.”
I laughed. “She’s my alter ego. I’m not that brave.”
Mammy pointed at my book. “If you can think of it, you can do it. You’re braver than you think you are, Sugar.”
Lady trotted over and sat beside us.
Mammy smoothed her fur. “And you are a hero, too, Lady,” she said, flipping back to the page where Lady had latched onto the arm of the gunman and patting Lady’s head absentmindedly. “This one really happened, didn’t it?”
“Yep. Lady saved me before I was in any real danger,” I said, minimizing what had happened.
After staring at the page for long enough I leaned forward to see if something was wrong with my drawing, she closed the book. “I have an idea for tomorrow. After you show me the shop and I get to meet Martha and Fernanda, I’d like to borrow Lady for a few hours.”
“Sure, but why?” I asked, uneasiness niggling at me.
When Mammy answered with a tight-lipped smile, I sensed that another episode of Jungle Jane was imminent.
Chapter 8
It was officially opening week. The flour was scheduled to be delivered today, and Saturday couldn’t come fast enough to suit me.
Mammy loved the decor of the shop. It reminded her of the dessert shop she used to take her boys to when they were little. “I bought pie and ice cream for all three of us for under a dollar. Those were the days,” her voice drifted off into pleasant memories.
Fernanda was there in her school uniform: plaid skirt, knee-length socks, polished black shoes, and a crisp white button-down shirt with a bow at the neck.
Mammy asked, “Why aren’t you at school, hon?”
“School days are divided into mornings and afternoons so kids can be home to eat lunch with their families. I go to the afternoon classes.” Fernanda expertly tucked in the colored portions of her hair so they were hidden beneath the black.
“Ah, so they still close down the businesses from noon to three? I don’t know how anyone around here ever gets anything done, but it seems to work. Do you do your own hair? Or is there a hair salon you recommend?” she asked Fernanda.
“I do it myself,” Fernanda said proudly.
“Really?”
“I learned from the internet,” Fernanda replied sheepishly.
Mammy’s eyes widened. “Wow. You can learn anything on the internet these days. Have you ever tried doing an ombre before? I’m thinking of doing a black to purple when I get tired of this flaming red. I’d love a new look, and I’d be willing to let you practice on me.”
“Sure!” Fernanda almost grinned, no doubt pleased to be consulted for her coloring advice. She tossed her ponytail behind her shoulder, sighed, and tried her level best to sound bored. “I mean, it’s no big deal. I’ll look it up.”
Mammy’s reply contained enough enthusiasm for both of them. Snapping her fingers and doing a trendy move she must have learned in one of her hip hop dance classes, she said, “Excellent! I look forward to it!”
Abuelita and Tia Rosa joined us in the shop, dressed in trousers and sneakers instead of their usual skirts and heels. Tia Rosa carried something bulky wrapped up in a large garbage bag.
Mammy excused herself and they went upstairs, calling Lady to them.
I looked at Martha and Fernanda, who returned my concerned glance. The grandmas were up to something.
The arrival of the delivery truck as well as Patricio and his gardeners prevented me from following them.
Sal watched the delivery man unload fifty-kilo sacks of flour into my shop from down the street, his arms crossed over his chest. He glared at me every time I stepped outside. If looks could kill, I’d have keeled over before the first bag of flour had hit the kitchen floor. I tried not to let it get to me, but it was hard when I felt his beady eyes following my every move.
With some help from the delivery men, Martha, Fernanda, and I situated everything where we needed it and closed up the shop when we were through. Fernanda had to get home to finish up the last of her homework before school, and I was dying to get away from Sal’s scowls and up to the terrace to see what the mischievous matrons were doing.
Halfway up the stairwell, I paused to reposition my grip around the tray loaded with glasses of ice water. It was humid outside, and I knew that whatever they were doing, they’d probably be thirsty. As would Patricio and his gardeners.
Instead of the usual pounding hammers and scooping shovels, I heard deep cackles and guffaws.
It didn’t take long to see why when I reached the terrace.
Patricio rushed over to take the tray from me before I dropped it.
Tia Rosa looked like a sumo wrestler in a black, padded suit too large for her petite frame. Her face was beet red (more from the hot sun than from embarrassment, I surmised.)
Abuelita rubbed steak over her, and Mammy placed a highlighter-yellow squirt gun
in Tia Rosa’s hand.
The gardeners laughed louder. I stood rooted in place, watching the scene before me unfold in astonishment. This had been Mammy’s big plan?
Lady walked up to Tia Rosa while Mammy and Abuelita shouted, “Attack!”
My sweet dog cocked her head at Abuelita then licked Tia Rosa’s suit with gusto.
Mammy, still determined, told Tia Rosa, “Wave the squirt gun. Make her think it’s real.”
Tia Rosa squirted the gun, and Lady chased after the water, pointing her rump up in the air and wagging her tail happily at this new game. She didn’t have a vicious bone in her body.
Patricio finished shoveling a banana palm into a large pot. He signaled over to Tia Rosa, suggesting she rest in its shade.
Mammy turned to me, plunking her fists on her hips. “You told me Lady protected you from that idiot with the gun, but this is no guard dog.”
Lady perked up her ears, her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth.
Mammy huffed in frustration. “I thought we could turn her into a proper guard dog. Lord knows you need one.”
Patricio helped me pass the glasses of water around.
“Lady knows when there’s a threat,” he said, scratching under her chin so that she leaned into him. “She’s probably wondering why Tia Rosa is dressed up in that puffy suit. She’d never bite her family or friends, but she senses aggression. Don’t you, girl?” He grabbed one of her toys and tossed it across the terrace.
“He’s right,” I said to Mammy, watching Lady chase after her squeaky hot dog toy. “And I wouldn’t want her any other way.”
Mammy joined Tia Rosa in the shade. “I suppose you’re right. I just want you to be safer. Now that I know what an … adventuresome … life you lead here, I feel I need to do something to help protect you.”
Abuelita piped up. “I sign you up self defense class.”
When Mammy brightened at the suggestion, I said, “If it’ll make you feel better. When does it start?”
Abuelita shrugged. “It start when you want. I the teacher.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I chuckled. Abuelita was tiny, but I bet she could body slam a man three times her size.
Mammy raised her finger in the air. “I know! We can create our own alarm system. We can look up how to do it on the internet.” She dropped her voice, adding, “You can learn anything there.”
Abuelita latched onto her suggestion like a toddler to an ice cream cone. “Booby trap! Is good! I like.”
Of course, she would.
I helped Tia Rosa peel off the padded suit. She tripped all over it and her own feet in her haste to join the conversation. “We need the fish wire and the siren. I know how make wonderful device!”
So, Abuelita wasn’t the only one who liked the idea of booby trapping my apartment. That was disturbing.
“Just don’t trap me out of my own place, okay?” I asked, to which they raised their heads briefly from their huddle and waved me away.
“Okay?” I repeated louder.
They looked up in unison, and Abuelita spoke for the trio. “We make you safe. You trust, okay?”
I wasn’t reassured. And when I heard words like tripwire, red paint, and pepper spray strung together in the same sentence, I thought it best to seek Adi out for sane conversation. She had some sketches she wanted me to look at for Mammy’s dress, and there was no time like the present.
Mammy took over my computer for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening. She took notes and chuckled alternately.
“Should I be worried?” I asked, setting my book aside and taking another sip of the nighttime tea I was trying to teach myself to like. Can’t nothing replace coffee, I thought, the insipid taste only making me consider switching to decaf in the evening rather than drink the herb-infused water.
“You don’t need to be worried, Sugar. But anyone who tries to break into your place ought to be.”
I was still worried. After going an entire day without enduring anything more than a grumpy glower from Sal, I thought Mammy’s plans were a bit overkill. Angry Art Man was probably long gone by now.
On the other hand, she was keeping Abuelita busy, so I held my tongue.
Chapter 9
Mammy, Tia Rosa, and Abuelita spread their notes out over Sylvia’s table the next morning at breakfast, comparing their suggestions and fusing elements like batteries, copper wire, and Legos.
When Gus joined us at our table and they hid their notes to smile brightly at him, I was a ball of nerves.
“Have a seat, Officer,” Mammy said, pulling up another chair.
After a quick introduction, Gus said, “There have been two more break-ins. One just outside town, and one in Ambato.”
I wondered why he was telling me this, but he answered my question before I could ask it. “Both burglaries were for paintings similar to the painting you described to me.”
Oh, drat. I just bet he’d want to take my painting to the station for evidence or something. The framer was supposed to get my piece back to me tomorrow morning. I was so close to getting Illari home, I wasn’t about to give her up to Gus.
“Miss Patty said paintings of Quechua-speaking women with flowers are quite common in Ecuadorian art,” I said casually.
“Can I see it, so I can compare it with the pictures the owners sent to the station?” he asked.
I really wanted to say, “No way.” But that wouldn’t fly.
Instead, I appealed to Gus’ logic with a question, “Why would someone steal a painting? As if the police aren’t busy enough with a jewel thief running rampant … flaunting his success with embroidered handkerchiefs and a growing collection of heirloom jewelry. Isn’t catching him more interesting than my painting?”
Gus looked at me. He had the no expression thing down just like Fernanda. Did they teach that in school here? I made a mental note to ask Adi.
I continued because I couldn’t stop myself, “I mean, I can see how a thief would stand to benefit from jewels, but a painting by an unknown artist? It doesn’t make sense.”
Of course, there was Angry Art Man. He’d seemed obsessed with the paintings. Was he obsessed enough to steal them? Miss Patty hadn’t given him her list of purchasers, but could he have found them by some other means?
Gus was not dissuaded. “I still need to see your painting,” he insisted.
Not thinking it would lead anywhere, but not wanting to withhold potentially helpful information, I told Gus about Angry Art Man. “I don’t know if he’s still around. I haven’t seen him since he followed me home from Miss Patty’s.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me this yesterday?” he asked sternly.
“I thought about telling you, but it didn’t seem important.”
“He followed you home after arguing with Miss Patty about the painting you bought from under his nose? I’d say that’s significant. He saw where you live.”
“But he had no way of knowing which apartment was mine.”
“Like that would be difficult to figure out.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t steal my painting,” I pointed out.
Gus’ voice raised in frustration. “Because it wasn’t there to steal. He must not have seen you take it to the frame shop.”
I clamped my mouth shut, feeling stupid for defending Angry Art Man when by all means and purposes, he’d been the one to beat down my door.
Showing Gus the picture I’d sent to my mom for frame suggestions, I held my breath. Please don’t need it for evidence. Please don’t need it for evidence, I repeated over and over in my mind.
“It’s a match. I’ll need to take your painting back to the station. There might be something there that’ll help us understand why these paintings are being stolen.”
My breath came out in a whoosh of resignation. “How long will you need it?” I asked. This was my first piece of art, and I was proud of it. I couldn’t wait until it was hanging on the empty spot above my couch. Now, who knew w
hen that would be? The justice system moved at a snail’s pace, and I could just imagine my beautiful painting getting lost in a room full of misplaced evidence.
“Only a few days. I’m going to send it to our expert team in the city. They’ll take good care of it, and I’ll get it back to you before you have a chance to miss it.”
I already missed it.
The Troublesome Trio packed up their things, stuffing their notes into a bag before Gus could see them.
Abuelita held a piece of paper that looked like a shopping list. I couldn’t read the items written on it, but it was conspicuously long. When she saw me eyeing the page, she hid it behind her back.
They bid their farewells, Mammy saying to me, “Don’t worry about me today, Jess. We just need to make a quick trip to the hardware store.”
Tia Rosa pushed up her glasses. “No quick. We be some time.”
I knew I should have been more concerned, but I was too dejected to care. If I couldn’t even save Illari from Gus’ and his evidence inspector, then who was I to talk the grannies out of doing what they were intent on doing? I’d lost my chutzpah. Oh where, oh where had it gone?
So, I set out with Gus for the frame shop, my feet dragging the whole way.
Miss Patty was there.
“Oh, Jess, have you heard? Someone is stealing Eduardo’s paintings,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears.
Gus pulled out his notepad. “What do you know about the paintings, Miss Patty?”
She dabbed at her eyes. “I got a phone call from one of the purchasers this morning. I came here directly to see if your painting had been spared, Jess.”
Gus asked, “How did you know her painting was here?”
“Oh, I’m in here almost every day,” she replied, turning to me and adding in a lower tone, “Excellent choice of frame, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I was pleased she approved, but I didn’t want to get distracted when I still had a question. “You haven’t seen that guy that showed up at your gallery again, have you?”