Mourning After Page 2

  The sisters’ public row continued with names and insults flying from both of their mouths. Greta grabbed a fistful of chips and watched the action as if it were a daytime drama while Hazel attempted to shush her girls. Everyone else stood in stunned silence. Roseanne and Gwen had reached a point where it was impossible to ignore them anymore, and that was saying something. North Carolinians were nothing if not polite.

  “Why did you ever come back? No one likes you.” Gwen motioned around the room for emphasis. Everyone turned away, but no one contradicted her.

  “You two-timing tramp. You think you’re better than me?” Roseanne retorted. Greta sucked in a breath. My mouth snapped shut. The sweat dripped off Harold.

  “Enough!” Gran hollered. “You’re a guest in my home, and I won’t be having that!”

  Gwen blinked for a moment and blushed, finally realizing everyone was staring at her. Roseanne, on the other hand, downed the liquor in her glass and met everyone’s stare head on.

  “Pardon me, I’m leaving. Sorry for the intrusion.” Gwen’s voice was barely above a whisper as she addressed the group. She kissed her mom on the cheek, leveled her sister with a stare, and quickly exited out the door. Roseanne turned around and refilled her glass with more liquor. A double by the size of the pour. Clearly, she wasn’t going anywhere.

  You know that saying about one bad apple ruining the bunch? That’s how I was starting to feel about Roseanne and this little party. Thankfully, soon after Gwen left, another guest walked through the door.

  “Daniel!” Greta exclaimed. Everyone welcome the man’s appearance, myself included, even though I didn’t even know who this middle-aged fellow was. It was just nice to have a fresh face join the party and defuse the tension.

  “I thought Mom might be here when she wasn’t next door. Hope you don’t mind me dropping in?” Daniel asked Gran.

  “You’re always welcome. You know that,” Gran replied. “How’s the campaign?”

  “In full swing.” Daniel flashed a winning smile. “But it looks like it’s going to be a close one.”

  “You have my vote.” Gran patted Daniel on the arm. “Daniel, I’d like you to meet my granddaughter, Maven Mackenzie.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” I stuck out my hand and was greeted with a firm handshake. Daniel had that skill down pat.

  “Nice to meet you. My mom said you’d be coming. Nice trip?”

  “I’m not sure I’d call it that, but the scenery was beautiful,” when I wasn’t worried about navigating the curvy landscape.

  “That it is. I do love it here.”

  “I’m hoping I will too,” I answered honestly.

  Daniel’s attention was then captured by another guest who had saddled up and started talking politics. I left him to his conversation and went to nab an hors d’oeuvre. It looked like Gran had put together my favorite ham rollups with cream cheese and pickles. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was one item she could pull off in the kitchen.

  I started surveying the guests. I noticed that the warm fall day hadn’t stopped Daniel from wearing a full suit and tie. His suit was dark gray, the dress shirt light blue, and the tie was a combination of both. His wardrobe matched the rest of his looks—dark hair and light blue eyes. He was color-coordinated through and through and matched the ladies and gentlemen at the party, who were all wearing pressed pants and button-up shirts. When I was a little girl, I would have called them church clothes—the kind of nice clothes you would find at department stores and that required ironing. Like the outfits Gran would wear to Second Presbyterian and then out to brunch for waffles after.

  Roseanne’s wardrobe, on the other hand, made her stick out like a sore thumb.

  “Roseanne?” Daniel said her name as a question and seemed more than a bit surprise to see her. For her part, Roseanne seemed completely unfazed and unimpressed. She responded with a silent evil eye in his direction. Unless that was just her normal look? At this point, I was beginning to think so.

  Daniel didn’t say anything else, turning back to his conversation instead. Roseanne continued to stare down anyone who even glanced in her direction.

  As I watched Roseanne, I thought she looked like she’d been living a hard life. Bleached-out blonde hair, skin so tan and wrinkly it looked like leather, stained clothes. I still wasn’t sure her age, but seeing her mom was in her seventies and she was the younger sister, it was probably somewhere around forty-five. Speaking of family, Roseanne’s appearance made no sense given how put together both Hazel and Gwen appeared. I couldn't help wondering what Roseanne’s story was. It was something I picked up at acting school, how to study other people so you can emulate them. I was getting a whole slew of information just watching Roseanne in front of me. She refilled her glass for the third time and continued to glare at everyone as if daring them to approach her.

  Harold, on the other hand, was still standing next to me, sweating away.

  “Would you like to join me outside?” I offered. It seemed like the polite thing to do and I was sure he’d like to get away for a moment.

  “Yes, ma’am, I sure would.”

  I had him lead the way, and we walked through Gran’s living and dining rooms into the kitchen and out the back door to the patio area. It was a comfortable space set on a cement pad identical to the neighbor next door, and the neighbor after that, and after that. The only variation was in the style of patio furniture and potted plants. Gran had chosen a gold and orange theme with marigolds, black-eyed Susans, orange blanket flowers, and mums of both hues that were just starting to bud. The flowers stood out amongst the dark brown wicker and cream-cushioned furniture.

  “Better?” I asked Harold with a smile on my face.

  “From the way I heard it, you were the one who needed saving, and now here you are saving me. My angel.”

  I couldn’t help but blush. Gran was right. Harold was a charmer.

  “What made you leave New York City, darlin’?”

  Harold’s question was innocent enough, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it. Instead I replied, “Oh, this and that.” New York was exciting, but it was also exhausting, and it can be overwhelming and downright depressing when your dreams come crashing down. Suffocating, heart breaking … that’s the New York City I knew.

  Harold saw right through my ruse. Either that or Gran told him more than she should have. “Oh, I’ve met a couple this and thats in my day. Don’t worry, you forget them eventually,” he said, patting my hand.

  I smiled in reply, even though I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. It was the best I could do.

  “That’s a beautiful cane you have there.” The light-colored wood was carved to look like a tree with a bird perched on the top, acting as the handle.

  “Why, thank you. Carved it myself.”

  “Really? That’s amazing.”

  “Just a little hobby of mine.”

  “There you two are.” Hazel joined our little tête-à-tête.

  “Just getting some fresh air,” I said.

  Hazel handed us each a fresh drink. The clear, fizzy liquid with a slice of lime had me second-guessing Hazel’s memory.

  “Vodka tonic,” she said as if reading my thoughts.

  I laughed. “Good to know.”

  Harold looked slightly confused but didn’t comment.

  “What are you going do now?" Harold brought the conversation back around to me.

  "Well, first things first, I guess I need to find a job. Gran has been gracious enough to let me stay with her, but I know the complex has rules for how long I can stay.”

  Since I was under fifty-five, I couldn’t be a permanent resident. Not that I’d want to be per se. Nothing against Gran, but it would feel good to be on my own two feet again, holding my own.

  “So, I need to get a job and then my own place, and I guess we'll see." I shrugged my shoulders. That's as far as I had allowed myself to think ahead.

  "Well, it's nothing major, but I do need help moving some furniture. I’d a
sk my son, but with the campaign in full swing, I don’t want to bother him.” The accented voice came from behind me. I hadn’t heard Greta approach.

  “What campaign’s that?” I asked.

  “U.S. Senate. He’s going to win, too. I know it.” Greta beamed. I looked around for the source of her pride, but Daniel seemed to have already left. Come to think of it, perhaps Roseanne did, too. That would be wonderful.

  Greta was still talking, and I forced myself to pay attention. “I’d be more than willing to pay you for your help. How does that sound?” she finished saying.

  “I can give you a hand.” I started to say that she wouldn’t have to pay me, that it would be a neighborly thing to help her out, but then Harold piped up.

  "My shutters need a little sprucing up. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not as strong on my feet anymore. You take a tumble at my age and you don’t necessarily get back up.”

  I pictured Harold up on a ladder and was horrified at the thought. “Just tell me when, and I’ll be there.”

  “If you’re taking on clients, my garden could use an extra hand if you don’t mind pulling weeds,” Hazel chimed in. “Roseanne’s always saying she’ll get it, but we all know that ain’t gonna happen.” Greta nodded in agreement and I had to bite my tongue on that front.

  “I guess I can do that.” There wasn’t much room for gardening in our apartment in New York City, but I could certainly pull weeds. How hard could that be? I don’t suppose I’d be raking in the dough anytime soon, but it would get me out of the house and make me feel useful. That was almost, if not more, important than the cash.

  The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. Roseanne did in fact seem to disappear, which significantly lightened the gathering’s mood, and I was able to get to know my new neighbors. I was dead on my feet by the time the last guest left. Maybe it was from all the socializing, but I had a feeling the vodka tonics Hazel kept handing me played heavily into it as well. I was asleep before my head even hit the pillow.

  2

  I couldn't remember how many vodka tonics I drank the night before, but my dry, scratchy throat told me it was probably one too many. What did I tell you? Gran and Hazel were trouble. You have to watch out for some of those older ladies—they could drink a frat house under the table any day. I was going to have to keep that in mind.

  I could hear Hazel's voice coming from the kitchen. At least I thought it was Hazel. It was hard to make out between the sobs. I tossed the crocheted afghan to the side of the bed and swung my legs over. In response to standing up, my head immediately started to pound. Oh yeah, it was going to be a Tylenol and extra caffeine type of morning. I shook my thoughts loose and closed my eyes to try to listen more closely to the conversation coming from the kitchen.

  "I know she was a mess. I know she was trouble, but who would do this?" Hazel sobbed.

  "I don't know, but we are going to figure it out.”

  I backed away from the door, wondering what on earth had caused Hazel to become so upset. Curious or not, it wasn’t right for me to stand and eavesdrop at the door any longer. Besides, a shower would do me wonders. I grabbed my toiletries bag and a fresh set of clothes before making a beeline for the bathroom across the hall. I shut the bathroom door louder than necessary in hopes of announcing to the ladies that I was awake.

  I pushed Hazel's worries out of my mind as I stepped into the shower and prayed that the hot spray would wash my hangover away. Unfortunately, it was going to take more than a thirty-minute shower and moisturizing body wash to fix me up right. I even spent longer than necessary blow-drying my hair and applying my makeup before leaving the bathroom.

  My hopes at providing the women some privacy had been pointless. When I stepped out, I saw Hazel had already left. Gran was sitting by herself at the kitchen table with the newspaper in front of her and a look of concern fixed on her face. Her coffee cup was full and appeared to be untouched in front of her. Now I knew this was serious. Gran looked up and met my eyes, and I saw that she had been crying.

  I pulled up a chair next to Gran. "Is everything okay? I heard Hazel was here, but I didn't want to intrude.”

  "It’s Roseanne. She was murdered last night." Gran shook her head in disbelief.

  "Oh my goodness, are you serious?" Sure, the woman was rough, but I couldn’t believe that someone had murdered her. And what about Hazel? She was a widow like Gran. Now, losing her daughter as well, I could understand why she was devastated.

  "What happened?" I asked.

  "Well, we don't know for sure yet. Sheriff Evans came and woke Hazel up this morning. Roseanne was living with her, you see. He said that Roseanne was found in the park just before sunrise. Dead."

  “He’s sure she was murdered?"

  "Well now, Hazel said he called it suspicious. That's all we got to go on." Gran twisted the napkin in front of her, her nerves getting the best of her.

  "I'm so sorry. Let me know what I can do to help." I might not have cared for Roseanne, but that didn't mean I wish she was dead, and Hazel was a wonderful woman. Anything I could do to help, I would. No questions asked.

  "Thanks, sweetie. I'm sure I'll be taking you up on that." Gran patted my hand and seemed to think for a moment before changing her direction.

  “How about you? What can I get you to eat?" Gran offered, rising up to her feet.

  “You don’t have to fuss over me. I'm sure I can find something." Plus Gran couldn’t cook worth a darn. The toast would be charred, the eggs runny, and the bacon soggy.

  "What type of me-maw would I be if I didn't make my granddaughter breakfast?” Gran asked, referring to the nickname I used to call her. “Besides, I could do with some food myself.”

  “What if we go out for breakfast instead? You can show me around town and help me look for a job. That is, unless you think you should go and help Hazel?”

  “She’s going to be busy for a few hours here calling family. I told her I’d call her this afternoon to help with the arrangements.”

  “Okay, I can help with that too, if you need. Just let me know.”

  Gran nodded and clapped her hands together as if that settled it. “Now breakfast. Where should we go?”

  “Some place with coffee and lots of it,” I said, rubbing my forehead for emphasis.

  That got a laugh out of Gran. “Still can’t stomach the spirits!”

  “For the record, my stomach is just fine. It’s my head that’s killing me.” I eyed the cupboard where Roseanne had gone for the meds the night before. What in the world had befallen the woman?

  Gran drove us the short distance downtown in her zippy little smart car. Truth be told, her little lemon on wheels reminded me more of a go-kart than a traditional motorized vehicle. Then again, who was I to judge? My sports car wasn't much bigger, but it sure did have a heckuva lot more horsepower.

  Miss Sue’s was a cute little diner and just what you’d expect from a town that catered to locals and tourists alike—metal exterior, neon sign, and framed menu advertising twenty-four-hour breakfast. It was located on Main Street, and the downtown area was packed, which wasn't surprising for a Saturday morning in the fall. It might seem busy now, but I knew this was nothing once the fall foliage was in full effect. Gran told me it was both the best time living up in the mountains and the worst. Best for the views, worst for dealing with the tourists and all the traffic they brought to this little town.

  Everyone turned and looked at us when we walked through the door. Well, everyone except Daniel. He was the only other patron that I knew, but he was too busy digging into his breakfast. I didn't blame him. From the looks of it, Miss Sue’s pancakes were the size of my face and were topped with something that looked an awful lot like vanilla custard and chopped nuts. I wasn't exactly sure what he had ordered, but I wanted it too.

  The room fell silent as the door’s bell clanked softly behind us. This was small-town America at its finest. I didn't even have to ask to know they were talking about Roseanne. Gran didn’
t either. The chatter picked back up once they recognized us as locals. Well, recognized Gran anyway. I was apparently a guest of honor.

  We walked up to the bar and took the last two empty red swivel chairs. Miss Sue herself—I knew courtesy of the embroidered name on her teal apron—brought over two mugs and the coffee pot. I nodded my approval. Bless Miss Sue. She might as well leave the whole pot. Normally I took my coffee with a little bit of sugar, but right now I would take it straight-up black.

  “What do we know?" Gran asked Miss Sue as she poured our mugs. The woman’s hand shook ever so slightly under the weight of the full pot of coffee.

  “Hank found her this morning. You know he gets up so early to walk that dog of his.” Miss Sue’s voice wobbled. Gran ignored this and nodded that she knew Hank’s routine. “They were walking through Grove Park, and his dog took right off toward her. Of course, she was already dead, lying flat on her back, staring up to the stars.” Miss Sue placed her hand over her heart as if that was the worst thing she could ever imagine.

  “My word.” Gran tugged her open sweater across her chest. I thought that was a very good assessment.

  “Loraine said she was at your place last night.” Miss Sue motioned to another older lady sitting in a booth along the front windows.

  “She was. Sue, this is my granddaughter, Maven,” Gran said, interrupting the flow of conversation to introduce me.

  We exchanged polite how do you dos and nice to meet yous.

  “She’s going to be staying with me for a bit and just got into town. I had a little welcome home party for her. Roseanne stopped in to see her mom.”

  “How is Hazel?” Miss Sue asked. Her voice still sounded unsteady to me. The diner seemed to get quiet. Everyone was listening for Gran’s response.

  “As best as can be expected. She’s calling her family now. I expect they’ll start arriving tomorrow.”

  “Well, you just let me know how I can help. Tell her I’d be more than happy to donate some food,” Miss Sue said.

  “That’s a wonderful offer,” Gran replied.