by V. M. Burns
Nana Jo and I sat down.
He turned to me. “You were saying your grandmother threatened the deceased?”
Heat rose up my neck and I knew I was blushing. I turned to Nana Jo. “I don’t think you should answer any questions without a lawyer.” I pulled out my cell phone and pushed my sister’s number for what felt like the thousandth time since Nana Jo called. “For some reason it keeps going to voice mail.”
“She and Tony are gone on their anniversary cruise. Remember?”
“Ugh. I totally forgot about that.” I put my phone down. “You could request a public defender, I suppose.”
“Mrs. Thomas has not been arrested.” He pounded the table. “We are merely taking her statement.” An angry red flame rose up Detective Pitt’s neck and a vein bulged on the side of his forehead.
The door swung open and Freddie Williams rushed inside. “Josephine, are you okay? I just heard about Maria.” He pulled Nana Jo to her feet and hugged her tightly.
Detective Pitt threw his pen into the air and pounded his notepad onto the desk. He rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat. “Do you mind? I’m trying to conduct an investigation.”
Freddie ignored everyone except Nana Jo. He pushed her away from him so he could stare into her eyes. “You know there was never anything between Maria and me. There has never been anyone else in my life once I met you.”
Nana Jo’s eyes filled with tears and she melted into Freddie’s arms. “Oh, Freddie. I’ve been such a fool. Of course I knew it. I knew it with my heart, but my head wouldn’t listen.” She pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Can you ever forgive me for doubting you?”
“Darling, there’s nothing to forgive.” He kissed her soundly. “I remembered you said your granddaughter was going on a cruise, so I took the liberty of calling my friend, Judge Ben Miller. He’s in River Bend.” He looked at his watch. “It’ll be about thirty minutes before he can get here, but he said don’t say one word until he does.”
Detective Pitt looked as though he would explode. “Judge Miller? What’s a judge going to do?” He ground his teeth. “She isn’t under arrest. I’m just taking her statement.”
“Well, she won’t be saying another word without legal counsel present.” Freddie kept a protective arm around Nana Jo’s shoulders.
Freddie was usually a very gentle, quiet man, but tonight he exuded an authoritative strength that was comforting. He was in his mid-seventies with white hair, which he kept cut short. He was a retired police detective and his son, Mark, was a state trooper. Nana Jo always said she liked the fact Freddie was taller than she was and still had all of his own teeth. The look in her eyes showed she was more serious about Freddie than she had ever admitted.
My grandmother was a strong woman. She was a smart, wise-cracking, sharpshooting, Aikido black belt. I never thought of her as needing protecting, but when she placed her head on Freddie’s shoulder, I glimpsed a vulnerability she rarely displayed.
“I just want to ask Mrs. Thomas a few questions,” Detective Pitt explained.
The door burst open and in walked Irma, Dorothy, and Ruby Mae.
“You okay? We just heard that crazy woman went and got herself killed,” Dorothy said.
“One of my sons is an attorney in Chicago.” Ruby Mae held up her cell phone. “I called him on the way downstairs. He’s not licensed to practice in Michigan, but he’ll be here in two hours if you need him. Just say the word.”
Irma coughed. “I used to date an attorney. He’s a bit of a leech, but I’d be willing to take one for the team if you need me to.” She coughed.
“Oh, good grief.” Detective Pitt stared at the crowd. “How many more people are coming down?” He pushed back his chair and stood in the tiny office. “Mrs. Thomas, I’ll need a statement from you. You and your posse can come downtown before noon.” He snatched his notepad off the desk, sidled through the crowd, opened the door, and walked out. “I’m done.”
Chapter 6
The office was crowded, even after Detective Pitt’s exit. So, we went to Nana Jo’s villa for coffee. The villas were single family homes painted bright coastal colors with porches that looked out on Lake Michigan. Nana Jo’s house was a lemony yellow with white trim. The interior looked like a country farmhouse with sturdy oak furniture, handed down from generation to generation. The distressed wood finishes were created by years of wear and tear, as opposed to artistic techniques.
We sat at the large farmhouse table that filled her dining room. I recalled family meals served on the table and instinctively looked for the initials I’d carved into the table decades earlier.
Nana Jo served coffee and apple pie. Despite my protest that I didn’t want pie, I found myself scraping the gooey filling from my plate and licking my fork. The odor of cooked apples and cinnamon combined with the aroma of coffee enveloped me like a warm blanket. Outside, the sun was rising and casting rays of red, orange, and yellow across the still-blue water.
“Does anyone know exactly what happened? How did she die? Who found her?” I asked.
Nana Jo sighed. “Maria . . . or someone, left a note in my mailbox asking me to come see her tonight.”
“Where’s the note?” I asked.
Nana Jo looked into her coffee. “I gave it to Stinky Pitt.”
“Ugh,” we growled.
“Well, I wasn’t thinking straight. I showed up at her door. I knocked. There was no answer, but the door was open. So, I went in. I called out, but there was no answer. I looked around, but I didn’t see her, so I left.”
“Did anyone see you? Did you touch anything?” The ex-policeman in Freddie kicked in.
“I don’t know. I might have, but I certainly didn’t kill the silly twit.”
“No one is accusing you of killing her.” He tried to soothe her.
“Keep going, Josephine,” Dorothy said.
“I came back home and went to bed.”
Freddie looked uncomfortable. “Can anyone corroborate this?”
“Corroborate?” Nana Jo’s eyes squinted. “You don’t think I . . .”
Freddie held up his hands. “Now, calm down. You know I don’t believe you killed her. I’m just trying to ask the questions Detective Pitt will ask.”
“He’s right, Nana Jo.”
“I know he’s right.” She sighed. “If you’re wanting to know if I have an alibi, then the answer is no. I don’t. I was home alone.”
“I tried to call and you never answered. I hoped you were out with Sam or the girls. Weren’t you supposed to be at a girls’ night?”
“I didn’t feel up to going out. So, I stayed home.”
He swore under his breath and Nana Jo reached over and patted his hand.
“How did you know she’d been murdered?” Ruby Mae asked.
“The property manager, Denise Bennett, came by and knocked on the door. She said there was an emergency at the main complex and I needed to come over,” Nana Jo said.
“How was she killed?” I asked.
Nana Jo shrugged. “Beats me, but when I got to the main building, I saw all those police cars and then Stinky Pitt pulled me into that office and started firing off questions like Perry Mason. That’s when I knew he thought I killed her.”
“Just because you threatened her doesn’t mean you killed her.” I realized as soon as the words were out of my mouth, how stupid they sounded. “Sorry. I’m sleep deprived.”
Everyone had questions, but Nana Jo wasn’t able to answer much more. Apparently one of the neighbors saw her leaving Maria’s apartment.
Freddie’s son, Mark, called. He would get as much information as he could. He promised to report back as soon as he found out something helpful.
Judge Ben Miller arrived later than the thirty minutes Freddie said initially. He was an older African American man with dark skin, white hair, and a white beard. He had soft, friendly brown eyes and a quick mind. I’d read about his retirement from the bench in the newspaper. He had been one of the first
African American judges in River Bend. He was a big advocate for civil rights, dating back to his time marching with Dr. Martin Luther King. He’d retired from the bench but was now the full-time dean of JAMU’s law school.
He shook all of our hands and shared a moment of aren’t you related to such and such with Ruby Mae. Apparently, his wife, now deceased, had been Ruby Mae’s third cousin or something like that. Irma flirted. Dorothy asked a few tough questions about Judge Miller’s ability to represent Nana Jo, which he answered calmly. He wasn’t licensed to practice in Michigan or Indiana anymore, for that matter. However, he was able to advise and would recommend good counsel to stand in until Jenna returned from her cruise.
Nana Jo and I agreed not to telegram the ship. Jenna and Tony rarely took time off and both deserved to enjoy their anniversary without worry. If Nana Jo was arrested, that would be a different matter. However, for now, we would handle things ourselves.
Judge Miller, Freddie, and Nana Jo went to the living room to talk.
“We certainly have our work cut out for us this time,” Ruby Mae said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“We’re going to have to figure out who wanted Maria dead more than Josephine.” Dorothy stared at me.
“And we’ll have to be quick about it.” Irma was hit by a coughing fit. She poured the contents of her flask into her coffee.
“Why?” I asked.
Dorothy, Ruby Mae, and Irma all stared at me.
Dorothy leaned forward. “Regardless of what happens, the show must go on. We have a performance to do, and Josephine will have to take the lead part. It’s the only way we can be ready in time.”
I groaned. “Detective Pitt will take that as another motive for Nana Jo to have murdered Maria.”
Ruby Mae nodded. “He’d be a fool not to.”
“We have to clear Josephine’s name,” Dorothy said.
Ruby Mae knitted. “That means finding the killer.”
“Before the bus leaves for New York.” Irma coughed. “I’ve already paid for my ticket and Horace promised to take me to the top of the Empire State Building and then dinner and drinks.” She coughed. “People used to say I looked like Fay Wray.” She patted her hair.
Ruby Mae rolled her eyes and Dorothy groaned.
“But the trip to New York is only one week away.” I stared at her and then glanced at the girls.
“Then we better get cracking.” Dorothy pushed herself up from the table.
Chapter 7
Sundays were typically spent hanging out with my mom. Given the fact that I hadn’t slept, my plan was to beg off. After more than thirty years, I should have been prepared to deal with my mom’s guilt mojo. All it took was, “I’m so disappointed. I was really looking forward to spending time with you,” and I caved in. Nana Jo said I have a guilty conscience and I need to get over it. She’s right, but Rome wasn’t built in a day, and I hadn’t managed to grow a backbone overnight, or over the last thirty-five years. Jenna said I needed to stand up for myself and just say no. Easy for her to say.
Several cups of coffee and a hot shower and I was wide awake—mostly. I picked up my mom and drove the short distance to her church. The church had undergone a bit of a transformation after the pastor died and a younger pastor was installed. The congregation had grown significantly since Pastor Timmons took over and now had a much younger crowd attending. Some of the older members resisted the changes. From traditional hymns to contemporary music and from sermons of condemnation, fire, and brimstone to messages of love and acceptance, there had been lots of change. Pastor Timmons was a bridge between the two generations and offered a solution which worked for the majority of people, two services. The early service included traditional organ music and hymns while the later service offered contemporary songs. My mom preferred the early service. I expected the organ music and hymns would put me to sleep, but between standing to sing, kneeling for prayer, and my mom’s elbow in my side whenever I blinked, I was wide awake for the entire service.
Afterward, we went to brunch at a new restaurant in downtown South Harbor. Riverside Foodworks was a renovated warehouse in an old knitting mill. The restaurant was packed and we were lucky to get a seat without reservations. The food was excellent. I ordered banana bread French toast and it was delicious. One of the restaurant’s biggest selling features was one-dollar mimosas.
“Are you sure you should be eating all of that syrup? You’ve taken off some weight and you don’t want to get fat.”
I was five feet four and had been described as pleasantly plump my entire life. It was only since I hit my thirties that I’d become comfortable with my curves. I could stand to lose about fifteen pounds, but I wasn’t fat. Nevertheless, my mom’s words made me feel fat and ugly. I downed my mimosa. When the waiter came by and asked if I wanted another, I said yes.
My mom declined. “Are you sure you should? You’ve already had one and I’ve always heard alcohol has a lot of calories.”
The waiter looked at me to see if I was going to change my mind.
I stared him in the eyes. “On second thought, you better make it a double.” This was going to be a long day and without sleep, I needed fortification.
Mom pursed her lips and shook her head. Barely five feet tall and less than one hundred pounds, Mom was a full foot shorter than Nana Jo. The casual observer might not see a resemblance between the two women, but a deeper look would show they had the same nose, mouth, and cheekbones. Pictures of my great grandmother Pearl showed a petite woman who could have passed for my mom’s twin sister. Nana Jo was definitely more forceful and independent while my mom was more of a pampered princess.
She squirmed in her seat and took a drink of tea. “I’m glad to see you’ve been taking a little more care with your appearance lately. Your hair looks nice. You’re wearing makeup and your clothes fit your body.”
I stared at my mom, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There were a lot of compliments in there, which I refused to analyze for double meanings. I decided to accept when she said, “your clothes fit your body,” that she meant it as a compliment on the new clothes I’d purchased as opposed to a backhanded insult on my body size.
“Thank you.”
“I wanted to talk about something.” She fidgeted with her napkin and avoided looking me directly in the eyes.
This must be serious. I waited.
“Your father has been gone for over ten years now. You know I loved him very much and no one will ever be able to replace him.”
The waiter brought my double mimosa.
“But, I’m sure you know how lonely it is for a woman when your husband is gone.”
Oh God. I knew where this conversation was going. “Mom are you trying to tell me you’ve met someone special? If you are, I think that’s great.”
She smiled. “Thank you. dear, but it’s actually a little more than that. Harold and I have been keeping company.”
Keeping company sounded so quaint. I smiled. “Mom, I think that’s wonderful. I can’t wait to meet Harold. You deserve to be happy.”
I smiled and took a sip of my drink.
She took a deep breath. “There’s no other way to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” She took another deep breath. “I’m getting married.”
I choked. I wasn’t expecting that. When I finally stopped coughing, I stared at my mom. “Married? Sounds like you and Harold are doing more than keeping company. When did this happen? Why haven’t we ever met this Harold before?”
“I didn’t want to upset you. I know you were always really close to your father, and I knew this would be hard for you to accept that someone else might try to fill your dad’s shoes.”
“Hold on. First, no one will ever be able to fill Dad’s shoes—”
“I knew you wouldn’t take this well.”
“Wait. Let me finish.”
Mom sat with her lips pursed and arms folded across her chest.
“No one will be able to
take Dad’s place in my heart, but that doesn’t mean I think you should spend the rest of your life alone. Losing Leon taught me just because I loved him doesn’t mean I can never love anyone else.”
Mom relaxed and unfolded her arms.
“If you’ve found someone who makes you happy, I think that’s wonderful. I’m just surprised you’re talking about marriage to someone you’ve never introduced to your family. It seems a bit sudden, that’s all.”
“I’ve known Harold for almost five years. We met at BINGO at the senior center.”
“Five years? Why haven’t you ever mentioned him before?”
“I told you, I didn’t want to upset you.”
I took another sip of my mimosa. “So, you’ve been dating Harold for five years and now you two are getting married?”
“Yes.”
I took another sip of my drink. “When is the wedding?”
“We thought we’d get married on Christmas Eve.”
I spewed my drink all over the table, barely avoiding spitting it in my mom’s face. Miraculously, most of it landed down the front of my white cashmere sweater.
Mom tsked and patted at her sweater. “Honestly, dear, a woman should always know how to handle her alcohol.”
The waiter arrived with our bill but turned and walked away. He returned with a damp towel, a glass of tonic water, and a spot removing pen. He mopped up the table and I tackled my sweater. When we were done, the table was in much better shape than my sweater.
“Christmas Eve as in next month?”
“Yes, dear.”
“What’s the big hurry?”
“It’s not exactly a hurry.” Mom avoided eye contact again. “Harold asked me to marry him over a year ago, but . . . well, time just got away from me.” Mom fluttered her hands.
“Time got away from you? It’s been a year, Mother.”