I don’t get to hear the rest of the sentence, because the apartment door swings open, an exaggerated Southern accent ringing out, “I do declare! A gentleman caller. Perhaps I should return later?”
Ladies and gentlemen, my grandmother is back.
CHAPTER NINETEENTHE BODY IN THE COMPROMISING POSITION
Felix bounces off the couch with a garbled explanation about picadillo that makes him look incredibly shady. You’d think my grandmother had found us dangling naked from the light fixture. This is not the cool customer who can rock a fake mustache and a show tune, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t enjoyable to watch him flail.
Especially since all I can think is that she must be okay if she has the energy to go full Southern belle. It’s one of her most iconic characters.
Grandma Lainey places a finger to her lips, shushing him. “Never give them the rope to hang you with.”
He clamps his mouth shut, gathering our dishes and carrying them to the kitchen. There’s some intense eye contact at the door, like he’s sending me a coded message. I silently hold up my phone, reminding him that texts are a thing.
“Good night… everyone,” he says, hustling out the door.
“Poor thing would have cracked like an egg if the po-po got hold of him.” With a sigh, my grandmother settles into the armchair opposite the couch.
“Are you okay? Can I get you something to drink?” I ask.
She waves this off. “They tried to drown me down there.”
“What?” Surely they wouldn’t waterboard a senior citizen?
“Water, coffee, juice, Gatorade… apparently they thought I was at risk of imminent death by dehydration.” She cocks her head, considering. “That’s one we haven’t tried.”
I don’t know if she’s making light of the experience for my sake, but I’m not a kid who needs to be protected from the truth. “What happened?”
“Very little, for the amount of time I spent there.” She glances at the bar cart, like she’s reconsidering my offer of a drink.
“They didn’t accuse you of anything.” It’s less a question than a request for confirmation.
Grandma Lainey shakes her head.
“So you’re not out on bail?”
“Correct.”
“Do they have any theories?”
“None that they chose to share with me.”
Right. That makes sense. Probably I should let it go, wait until tomorrow when she’s rested to get the full story, but… there’s no chance I’ll be able to sleep without more information. “Doyouhave any theories?”
My grandmother stretches her legs in front of her, flexing her feet. “I’ve been thinking about your mother.”
“You thinkMomoffed Bradley?” Maybe the stress of her ordeal is messing with my grandmother’s usually sharp mind.
“Of course not.” She slides off one of her bangles and sets it on the coffee table. “That would be reckless and irresponsible. Not her groove.”
“Alsowrong.”
“That too,” she agrees.
I watch her remove the rest of her wrist jewelry, trying to remember the last time she steered a conversation to my mom. We usually tiptoe around the subject with careful politeness, avoiding the elephant in the room: their strained relationship.
“What did you mean?”
Grandma Lainey shifts in her chair. “My instinct is to point the finger at that Berniece woman.”
