Up in Smoke (Glock Grannies Cozy Mystery Book 1) Read online

  “I wish I remembered more about him,” I said, breaking the silence.

  “He was a wonderful man. I fell in love with him the moment I saw him. I was in New York at a party. I was nineteen and he was thirty. He told me he was an agent and he had an opportunity for me if I was interested in going to Europe. Well, I jumped at the chance! My career was going nowhere fast in the States. There was only one problem…”

  She stopped and closed the book, letting it rest on her lap. Her face fell and I waited to see if she was going to continue. She put the album aside and looked at the cover of the three albums left on the coffee table. She selected one and opened it. The first picture was a birth announcement from a local newspaper. The second page was a very young Grandma Dean holding a baby. She sighed heavily. “That’s your mother.” Her face warmed and she smiled gently. “She was a beautiful baby, perfect in every way.”

  She turned the pages and I saw my mother sleeping on the floor next to a little dog and another photo of her in the bathtub. My favorite was her in nothing but a cloth diaper and a bonnet, cradling a baby doll. “She was probably a year and a half,” Grandma Dean said, admiring the picture.

  I held my breath as she pointed out a picture here and there, telling me a little story about each one as she flipped through the pages. She had never talked to me about my mother’s father before. All I knew was that it wasn’t Glenn. And I knew my mother didn’t know either. Would she finally share the secrets she’d held close to her heart all those years? I had so many questions, but I didn’t want to ask and make her close up. I sat there quietly, listening as little by little she let the pictures take her on a tour of her past.

  As we neared the end of the album, my heart sank a little. She hadn’t said anything about my real grandfather. And then she turned to the last page. The photo wasn’t tucked safely behind plastic film like the others were. Instead, it was loose and it fell onto Grandma’s lap. She picked it up and studied it. A young man with dark hair and glasses dressed in a pair of dress pants and a button-up shirt stood next to a very young Geraldine Baker, Grandma’s maiden name. Young Geraldine didn’t have the thick makeup and curled hair that she did later when she began her acting career. Instead, her hair was straight and her face looked fresh and makeup free. They looked happy. No, that was an understatement. They looked like they were the happiest people in the world.

  “Who is that?” I asked cautiously.

  Grandma sighed. “Someone I loved very much.” She didn’t take her eyes off the photo. “It feels like a lifetime ago, or maybe someone else’s life even.”

  I stared at the man. He looked so much like my mother. They had the same nose, same chin, same sideways smile. I knew Grandma wouldn’t tell me the truth of his identity, but she didn’t have to. I knew it was my mother’s real father.

  Grandma took in a deep breath and tucked the picture back into the photo album. She stacked them back up on the coffee table before picking them all up and putting them back in the end table.

  “Well,” she said, standing up. “That was a long walk down memory lane!” She smiled, but I could tell it was forced. “I’m exhausted after our cycling meeting today. I’m going to take a shower and then take a quick nap. Let’s go out for dinner tonight—somewhere fancy!”

  She didn’t wait for my answer. Instead, she turned and walked into her room. Kitty Purry and Catalie Portman followed her, as if they sensed that she needed them in that moment to quietly comfort her.

  I stayed in my position on the couch until Grandma’s door was shut, and I gave her plenty of time to get in the shower. Once I felt like it was safe, I rummaged through the end table until I found the photo album I wanted. I flipped to the back and studied the picture for a moment until I flipped it over. Scrawled on the back was ‘Thomas and Geraldine 1959.’ “His name is Thomas,” I whispered to myself. I put the picture back in the album and put it back in its place in the end table.

  What Grandma didn’t say, but I already knew, was that my mother was eighteen months old when Grandma went to Europe. Her parents were very supportive of her acting and modeling career and they said she could leave my mom, Marilyn, with them. That was what she did. She left her baby and went to follow her dreams, marrying Glenn, her agent, a year later. My mom said she’d forgiven her, but I knew deep down she still held onto the pain of not having her mother when she was growing up. Geraldine would make visits here and there, and send little packages in the mail, but that was no way to build a strong relationship with a child. It wasn’t until Grandma came back to the US that they were reunited and began to work on a mother/daughter relationship. But it was always strained, and I thought it always would be.

  I stood up, feeling a little depressed. Grandma Dean’s past was so full of fun and adventure, but it was also full of pain. Pain is such an interesting thing. It can lie dormant for years, then come back and be as ferocious as the day it came into your life.

  Grandma had her secrets. I had mine. Joe had his and Bev had hers. Everyone has secrets. Everyone.

  9

  When Grandma emerged from her bedroom hours later, she looked like her usual, energetic self.

  “I made reservations at The Cobbler’s Tea Room.”

  I tried to hide my disappointment. I was more of a steak and potatoes kind of girl.

  Apparently, I didn’t hide my disappointment as well as I thought. “Believe me,” Grandma assured me, “you’ll love it.”

  She stared me up and down for a minute and I braced myself for the unwanted beauty advice and forced makeover.

  “I have a dress that I think might fit you. I’ll be right back.”

  I really didn’t want to wear a dress, but I didn’t want to upset Grandma Dean, especially after the morning we’d had.

  She scooped up Kitty Purry. “You can come help me pick something out,” she said to the cat.

  As they disappeared into her room, I stood in the half-bathroom off the hall and looked myself over. I liked my hair and makeup-free face just the way they were.

  I could hear Grandma Dean coming down the hall and I took a deep breath. Any second she was going to pop her head in the bathroom and hand me a dress, probably something floral or paisley.

  To my surprise, she held a simple, black dress in her hand. “Here,” she said, handing it to me. “Try it on.”

  When I closed the door, I took a look at it. It looked small, yet elegant. I got undressed and slipped the dress over my head. I pulled it on and glanced down to see how it looked. It fit like a glove.

  The dress was just above the knee and hugged my figure perfectly. Nothing bulged out or hung over. It was like it was made for me.

  I looked at myself in the mirror and suddenly I could understand why Grandma cared so much about how she looked. It wasn’t to impress people—well, maybe sometimes it was—but it was more because it made her feel good about herself. Suddenly, I wanted perfect hair and makeup to go along with the perfect dress.

  I opened the door and Grandma Dean gasped. I spun around a little so she could see the whole thing. “What do you think?”

  “It’s perfect!” she said with her hands clasped over her mouth. “You look stunning! And I didn’t even know you had curves!”

  It was a total surprise to me too.

  “Let me grab my purse and then we’ll go.” She started to take off down the hall.

  I stood there dumbfounded. What about my hair? My makeup?

  “Grandma Dean,” I called after her. “What about the make-over?”

  “Well,” she said, walking back toward me. “I felt a little guilty after Kitty Purry and I did that to you the other day. I know that’s not your thing. If you’re happy with the way you look then I should be too.”

  She started back down the hall again to her room.

  “But…what if I wanted you to do that? Just for today! You know, because I’m wearing a dress and everything.”

  I had never seen Grandma Dean move that fast. She was back to the
bathroom door in a flash, grabbing my arm and dragging me to her bathroom, all the while talking about color pallets and blending.

  She pointed to her vanity. “Have a seat.” She looked at her watch. “Hmm, we only have about twenty minutes.” She looked me up and down. “We don’t have much time so the eyebrows are out. We’ll just have to do some gel in the hair to tame that a bit…whew!” She shook her head and grabbed her makeup brushes with determination. “We can do this!”

  Twenty minutes later, I looked in the mirror and could barely believe my eyes. My hair was curly but not frizzy, and my makeup wasn’t overdone. I had soft pink eye shadow and soft pink lips. A little bronzer across my cheeks, but not too much. A thin layer of eyeliner and a little mascara. I could live with this look!

  She gave me a little spritz of her perfume and we were out the door.

  When we arrived at the tea room, I was starving. I’ll just have to sneak out later and grab some real food, I told myself. But when we walked in the door, I was pleasantly surprised.

  The restaurant was beautiful. Tables with delicate looking white table clothes were scattered across the large room. Black chairs with white bows surrounded them. Several large black chandeliers gave the room a romantic feel. The place smelled like a mixture of sweet bread and roses.

  As we walked to our table, I couldn’t help but glance at what others had ordered—tiny sandwiches with different kinds of bread on plates rimmed with gold, scones and other pastries on smaller plates with a tiny floral trim. Glasses half-full of wine, tea, and sparkling drinks with a wedge of fruit perched on the side. It almost looked too beautiful to be real.

  I looked up and saw a man playing the violin in the corner. The sounded drifted through the air and mingled with the hushed voices of the customers. Clinking glasses and gentle laughter said that this was a happy place to be.

  On our way to our table, Grandma Dean saw someone she recognized. We stopped for a moment so she could say hello to the woman in her mid-fifties who was seated next to someone closer to Grandma’s age.

  “Mitzie McCreedy, how are you, dear?”

  “I’m doing well…under the circumstances.” The woman stood and hugged Grandma Dean, then sat down again.

  “When you came in my shop last week and told me about your mother, I was just heartbroken. How much longer will be you in town?”

  “Just a few more weeks. Just trying to tie up loose ends.”

  As the two talked, I couldn’t help but notice the older lady sitting at the table scowling at Grandma. Then I realized that Grandma had never greeted her. I thought that was interesting. Grandma Dean talked to everybody.

  “Well, it was good to see you,” Grandma said to Mitzie. “Tell your brother I said hello. I hope I can see you again before you head home.”

  Grandma turned to our server and apologized for the holdup. The young lady smiled and said no problem before taking us to our table.

  “Who was that?” I asked once we were seated.

  “That was Mitzie. She used to live here years ago. She worked for the mayor for years, then one day, she decided to move and start somewhere fresh. She was thirty-five and said she was bored with her life.”

  I could understand that.

  “That was nearly twenty years ago. She came into my shop a little over a week ago and I was so surprised to see her. I knew her mother wasn’t doing well, but I didn’t realize the family was called in to say good-bye.” Grandma’s eyes turned glassy. “Her mother died later that day.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching out and putting my hand on hers. “Did you know her well?”

  “She was one of us. She was in our…card…playing…group.” She stumbled over the words and looked at me awkwardly.

  “I don’t know exactly what kind of group you’re in, but I know it’s not a card playing group.” I chuckled and looked down at the menu, letting Grandma off the hook…for now.

  A waitress came and took our drink order. Grandma ordered something called champagne tea and I ordered a strawberry kiwi spritzer, whatever that was. While we waited for our drinks, I asked her about the person sitting with Mitzie.

  “That’s Wanda Turnbough,” she said like she had something sour in her mouth.

  “I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t even acknowledge her.”

  “We’re not speaking at the moment,” she said, flipping over her menu.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked hopefully.

  “Nope.”

  Darn it.

  The waitress walked up and set down our drinks, then took our order. When she walked away, I hoped that Grandma would change her mind but instead she started a conversation about a new grocery store coming in across town. I made a mental note of the woman’s name and decided to see if I could figure out for myself what was going on between them.

  An hour later, we were leaving the tea room and I was completely full. I’d eaten several tiny smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches, a salad with turkey and a sweet cranberry dressing, and French onion soup that was served in a little bread bowl. I ended the meal with an apricot and ginger scone. I had never felt so satisfied in my life.

  When we got back home, I changed out of the dress and into my usual jeans and t-shirt. When I walked back into the living room, Grandma was headed outside. “The gang’s sitting by the pool drinking wine. Want to join us?”

  I glanced out the door and saw a group of people sitting in lawn chairs, laughing hysterically about something. I was tempted to say no, but then I had a thought—maybe I’d learn a little something, maybe they’d let something slip, or better yet, maybe Grandma Dean would open up if she was indeed having financial problems. I’d learned over the years that wine was the lubricant of truth. So was tequila.

  “Sure,” I said, following her out the door.

  They shouted to us as we got closer. They were an excited bunch. “Pull up a chair!”

  We grabbed a lawn chair and added it to their circle. Wine glasses clinked and were passed around to us.

  “This is my daughter’s daughter, Nikki,” Grandma Dean said.

  A chorus of “hellos” rang out.

  “You’ve already met a few of the gang,” Grandma said to me. She went around the circle. “You know Lloyd.” He winked at me as Grandma continued. “And of course Hattie and Irene…” They waved at me simultaneously. “And then there’s Greta and Virginia.” Greta smiled and Virginia lifted her glass to me.

  “Were you guys out here having a party without us?” Grandma asked as she took the wine bottle and added a little more to her glass.

  “We knocked on your door but no one answered.” Greta fished a bag of mixed nuts out of her purse and passed it around.

  “We went to The Cobbler’s Tea Room for dinner,” Grandma said, taking a handful of nuts out of the bag. She handed it to me, but I passed it on. I couldn’t fit another thing in my stomach if I tried.

  Irene looked at Lloyd. “I love that place. You should take me sometime.”

  Lloyd laughed a deep laugh and lowered his voice. “Okay, but if I pay, you’ll owe me.”

  Irene giggled and I felt sick to my stomach.

  “I gotta be careful,” Lloyd said to her. “One of these days, I might get you pregnant.”

  The group laughed and I sat there trying to think of a good excuse to go back inside.

  Irene put her hand on Lloyd’s leg and winked. “We’ll just have to be extra careful then.”

  Oh, Irene, I thought. Your eggs left your cuckoo’s nest a long time ago.

  “Did you see the bulletin board the nurse put up in the lobby?” I was thankful Hattie was changing the subject. “It said we had a higher STD rate than any other facility in the county. Even the local high schools!” She sat back, proudly. “Can you image that? Our Sexual Trysts Daily rate is higher than the young folks!”

  I looked at Grandma. She winced and slightly shook her head at me to stay quiet. I looked at the other faces in the group to see t
heir reactions, but no one seemed to know, or care, that Hattie had the acronym wrong. Instead, they laughed at her and poured more wine.

  “All thanks to Lloyd,” Virginia said, raising her glass. Everyone put their glasses to the center of the circle and shouted, “To Lloyd!”

  Suddenly, Grandma’s phone started beeping. She pulled it out and read a text. She looked up at the group and nodded. Quickly, everyone but Lloyd and I got up.

  “Party over already, girls?” Lloyd asked, disappointed.

  “Gotta run,” Grandma Dean said. She looked down at me. “Don’t wait up for me. I might be late.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked. “Do you need me to come along too?”

  “No.” She patted me on the shoulder. “We just have something to take care of.”

  A minute later, they were gone and I was left stranded with Lloyd. I looked over at him and he looked like a sad little puppy.

  “Where do you think they’re going?” I asked him.

  “Who knows.” He took a sip of wine. “They run off like that all the time and they never let me go with them.” He pouted a little and pulled his silky robe across his body. I was thankful I no longer had a view of the speedos. Didn’t that man ever wear clothes?

  I figured this was a good time to ask if he knew anything about the lady we saw at the restaurant. “Lloyd,” I asked casually. “Do you know Wanda Turnbough?”

  “Yeah, she lives in four B.” He eyed me suspiciously. “Why do you ask? Did you hear something? Does she want me back?”

  “Um, I’m not sure.” He looked disappointed again. “We saw her at the tea room tonight and Grandma didn’t talk to her. Do they not get along?”

  Lloyd laughed. “Wanda’s just ticked because Geraldine wouldn’t let her in their little group.”