Slash in the Pan Read online

  If they were that dilapidated then, well, I could only imagine how they appeared now. I bet the new houses looked weird, plunked right in the middle of the tumbledown neighborhood, and I wondered what made the developer decide to build there.

  Well, fifteen minutes later found me seeing the answers for myself. My jaw dropped the moment I turned down that sleepy road.

  It was sleepy no more.

  Along one side of the street were the same cracked sidewalks, sprinklers watering tiny yards, rocking chairs on porches, and old yard ornaments plugged in among the landscaping that I’d remembered. But the other side was swept clean of all of that. Giant, saltine-box-looking houses stood in their place.

  The structures were so close together they looked like one long building from the angle I was at. Gray with white trim, white with gray trim, beige with white trim, the pattern played out on every third house.

  I could see the one where the murdered man had been found. Yellow tape covered the front door in sloppy zigzags. I heard hammering and saw construction going on next door. A red dumpster, overflowing with scraps of construction material, sat in the driveway. Pieces of carpet, boards, and cardboard spilled over the top of the metal structure.

  I glanced across the street from the new homes—complete with fresh green lawns and baby trees—to where the old houses with rickety white picket fences and leaning, rusty mailboxes sat as a polar opposite. My eye caught sight of a familiar dwelling.

  It was Daisy’s home, a retired, widow woman, with sharp eyes and an even sharper wit. From the time I was little, I remembered how everyone, even Cecelia and my grandma, would go to her for the local gossip. She used to watch out her front window at the going-on’s of all the neighborhood, and you could bet she had some stories to tell.

  She must be in her eighties now, I thought. I wondered if she still had her habit of staring out the window. She did have a good view of the house where the man had been murdered. It might be a good time to reacquaint myself. Maybe she could tell me what she’d seen.

  To be honest, I was a little nervous to show up at her door unannounced. Daisy had been an intimidating character back in the day. She’d been older than even my grandma, and I seemed to remember Grandma deferring to Daisy’s opinion a time or two. One thing I knew, you did not want to get on Daisy’s bad side. She would take on anyone. I’d watched her once yell at our bus driver—a chauvinistic bullying man who used to make fun of the poorer students—leaving him flushed and apologetic. Everyone, and I mean everyone, watched their p’s and q’s around Daisy.

  I parked the car in front of her house. There was no driveway, just the uneven old sidewalk that led up to the door. The driveway was around back, where an alley led behind all the houses.

  I got out slowly, still reacquainting myself with the neighborhood. Somewhere up the street came the sound of kid’s laughter. It made me smile, remembering my own popsicle days by the town’s swimming hole.

  Carefully, I picked my way over the cracked sidewalk and up the porch steps. I paused outside her door with my hand lifted up to knock.

  What if she no longer lived here? Or couldn’t remember me? Visions of a different family, or finding out that she’d passed away, flitted through my head. My stomach sank. But, I didn’t get where I was in life by hesitating too long, so I squared my shoulders and knocked hard.

  Chapter 5

  There was an extended pause, and I discovered I was holding my breath. Then the door opened.

  It took me a second to recognize her. It seemed like she’d shrunk a good four inches since I’d last seen her. Not to mention she’d lost quite a bit of weight.

  I hadn’t heard her walk to the door with the thick-soled shoes she wore. Her orange caftan was trimmed in gold fringe, and her glasses sparkled with gems.

  She peered up at me and blinked.

  Oh, boy. This is what I feared. She didn’t remember me.

  “Mrs. Daisy?” I asked, a little uncertain on how to proceed. Do I pretend I’m a door salesman and just leave?

  “Yes?” Creases whiskered around her mouth as she pursed it in her study of me. Then, unexpectedly, her face crumpled with wrinkles of joy. “Georgie Tanner! What are you doing here? Come in! You come inside right now for a sit-down.”

  She reached out and gently tugged the hem of my shirt, her fingers reminding me of a tiny bird’s claw.

  “Hi, there. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me. It’s been so long.” I smiled and followed after her. I was shocked again that she was shorter than I was. She’d seem so tall when I was growing up. She toddled ahead of me as I shut the door.

  Her home smelled like an antique store, and indeed, looked like one. But these weren’t antiques to her. Baubles and furniture that she’d acquired from her wedding day forward were everywhere. Antique couches, armchairs, and huge armoires told visitors who was boss. They were. This was their world, and you’d better be prepared to sink back into time during your visit.

  I wandered into the living room to the chair that I’d always remembered her sitting in. The armchair’s seat was so worn the pattern had faded into indiscernible white threads. Resting on the side table next to the chair was a pair of binoculars. The binocular’s appeared ancient, with lenses the size of peaches. The entire visual aid was so bulky it made me wonder how easy it was for her to lift them. Then I looked closer and saw dust had settled on the eyepieces. These hadn’t been raised in quite some time.

  I felt slightly bummed. Daisy probably hadn’t seen anything.

  “Aww, you came to my sitting chair. Just like you did when you were a girl.” She smiled. “I still sit there, but I’ve got some new eyes.” She reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a tiny pair of binoculars.

  “How adorable,” I said as hope sprung in my chest.

  She set them in my hand for me to examine. I opened them and peered through. I could see the house perfectly. A huge smile broke out on my face.

  “What do you use them for?” I asked, knowing the answer.

  “Well, these peepers ain’t getting any younger. How else am I going to keep up with the carrying-ons of the neighborhood rascals and scalawags?”

  I smiled and peeked through them again. “You see any rascals lately?”

  “All the time.” Her voice got softer as she moved away into the kitchen. It was down the hall, and if it was still like how I remembered, it looked straight out of a Sears catalog for appliances for a 60’s kitchen.

  I focused farther down the street. I had to squint because the lenses didn’t quite line up, but I didn’t want to adjust them. As I swept down one side of the road and up the other, I was surprised I could see the top of a local bar that was nearly two blocks over. Just the tip of the sign stood out over the new house’s fence, but it made me wonder how visible it had been before those new houses went in. I smirked. I had a feeling that Daisy had a good view of who went into the bar all those years ago. And maybe who they left with, afterwards.

  It might explain how she was such a resource for the juicy gossip back in the day.

  I smiled as I lowered the binoculars. I could hear a metallic clank of something being set on the stove. Probably a tea-kettle. I walked into the kitchen to find out.

  It turns out she wasn’t using a kettle, but a microwave. My eyebrows lifted. A table and four chairs sat by the window. I scooted out a chair and sat.

  “All these new-fangled things.” She shrugged, her thin shoulder barely dipping under the faded caftan. “Still, I have to admit they make life easier.”

  The microwave dinged, and she fumbled with the button to get it to open, before reaching inside and grasping a glass measuring cup. Her hand trembled as she drew it out and filled the waiting mug on the counter.

  “Do you care for Earl Grey?” she asked as she toddled over and set it before me.

  “Earl Grey is great,” I answered, smiling.

  Daisy reached into one of the yellow canisters lining her counter and pulled out a tea bag.
After she gave it to me, she filled the measuring cup again and placed it in the microwave, the job taking twice as long as it would myself, but I admired how she hummed under her breath, self-assured.

  “So, you were saying about the scalawags?” I asked.

  She pushed over the sugar bowl. I opened it and was charmed to see it had sugar cubes like my grandma used to use.

  “One lump or two?” she asked, holding out a tiny silver spoon.

  “Two is great.” I dunked the tea bag while she dropped in two rattling sugar squares from a shaking spoon. Then she filled her cup with water and dug out another tea bag from the canister. With a sigh that sounded more like a groan, she settled across from me and grabbed the silver sugar spoon.

  “So… scalawags?” I asked again.

  “Oh, those come out mostly at night. But I did see one the other day.”

  The doorbell rang then, a long rusty note that dinged out of tempo. I glanced at Daisy to see what she would do.

  Nothing. She merely stirred her tea and then set the spoon on the edge of the saucer.

  The bell rang again. She lifted her cup and blew, her pursed lips sending small ripples across the tea’s surface.

  Did she not hear it?

  I straightened in my chair, its back digging into my shoulder blades. This time there was a rattle on the door’s glass pane as someone knocked.

  “Err, do you want me to get that?” I asked casting a nervous glance toward the entryway.

  Daisy’s gaze swept toward the door. Frown lines settled deeply at the sides of her mouth. “It’s that darn Gertie. She must have seen your car.” She rolled her eyes, looking like a sixteen-year-old trapped in an octogenarian body.

  “Come in!” she yelled.

  I leaned back in my chair until I could see down the hall. A little, wrinkled face peeped through the front door’s window. We made eye contact, and the woman waved her hand ferociously.

  I bit my lip wondering how this comedy was going to end. I knew Daisy could see her, too.

  Gertie pouted her bottom lip out and rang the doorbell again.

  It was like watching a standoff. Daisy wasn’t budging. Instead, she called again. “Just get in here, you cranky old owl.”

  Gertie waved even more frantically.

  Daisy slowly eased herself to standing, the chair squeaking as her weight lifted off the heavily abused legs. She groaned as she reached for her cane that was hooked over the arm, and then she shuffled towards the door.

  She muttered as she went. “That Gertie McAlexander. She's always been shifty. Makes me come to her like she’s the queen of England.”

  After about a bunch of rattling, I heard the front door opened.

  “Daisy!” exclaimed Gertie. “How nice to see you!”

  There were sounds of scraping as Daisy pushed open the screen. “Gertie McAlexander, you need to turn your hearing aids up. Didn’t you hear me tell you to come in?”

  Gertie pulled a sulky face. “My hearing aids are fine.”

  “Well, I think you need to get new batteries then because that isn’t fine.”

  Daisy came back down the hall with a sour expression on her face. “I swear, Gertie, you couldn’t hear a herd of pigs running through the schoolyard. You need to get those things fixed.”

  Gertie followed behind her with a big smile. She carried a small pink purse, which she slung over her forearm to reach a hand out toward me. “Hello! And who might you be?”

  “Are you getting goofy, too? Mind like a sieve,” Daisy muttered as she got another cup down. She filled it with the remaining hot water and brought it to the table, where Gertie had already taken a seat. “That’s Georgie Tanner. Henrietta’s granddaughter.”

  “Ohh.” Gertie’s mouth puckered. “This is that little peanut Henrietta took in after her daughter died in that terrible car accident? Poor Elizabeth.” She shook her head.

  A lump grew in my throat at hearing my mom’s name so unexpectedly, reminding me of another horrible loss in my life. First my mom and dad. Then my grandma. And Derek. Why was I always losing people?

  “So, Daisy,” Gertie peeped innocently over her teacup, her eyes magnified behind her glasses like a goldfish in a round bowl. She sniffed the rising steam. “Is this Earl Grey tea?”

  Daisy gave the faintest nod.

  Gertie replaced the cup back in its saucer and nudged it away from her. “You know, my doctor told me to stay away from herbal remedies especially things with caffeine. At our age, we really need to watch what gets our heart pitter-pattering.”

  “At our age, we need to be thankful our heart is pitter-pattering at all,” Daisy snapped in reply.

  It was like watching two old hens in a henhouse. I could well imagine how they were back in the day. Even in their eighties, they were a formidable pair, and I wouldn’t want to take them on.

  “So you were saying,” I asked Daisy again, hoping to get her back on track. The whole reason I was there was to dig out what she might have seen the day the man died. Kari depended on me.

  Daisy glared at Gertie for another second. Gertie completely ignored her. In fact, she even hummed a little, and I suspected she was quite happy to see Daisy's feathers ruffled. But finally, Daisy seemed to realize she wasn’t going to get a reaction from Gertie. Daisy heaved a sigh, her bosom lifting the gold caftan, and reached for her pink cardigan hanging off the back of her chair. After a bit of wiggling, she wrapped it around her shoulders and then turned toward me, her chair squeaking.

  “It was the morning of April 18th,” Daisy started.

  “April 18th? Wasn’t that the day that the Davises came over to—” Gertie interrupted.

  “Now Gertie. You let me tell the stories.” Daisy was decidedly still looking ruffled. She fluffed the sweater.

  Gertie gave a gracious smile and nod of the head. But I detected a note of triumph in her eyes.

  “As I was saying it was the afternoon of April 18—”

  “I thought you said it was the morning?” Gertie asked.

  “Gertie, will you put your pie-hole back on your teacup and let me tell my story!” Daisy snapped.

  “Fine. Fine. I'm sorry.” Gertie lifted a wrinkled hand as though admitting defeat.

  I stared back-and-forth between the two of them, wondering if I’d ever get to hear the story. Daisy gave Gertie a steely stare, her lips pressed together, daring her to speak again. Even I could tell she meant business.

  After a solemn pause, Daisy started again. “As I was saying, it was around noon on April 18th when I saw a man entering the house over yonder. The one covered in yellow tape. I’d been curious because the house was up for sale. It’s the first one to go for sale out of all of them tissue box buildings.”

  “And the prices too! Highway robbery!” Gertie interjected, before cowering back under Daisy’s glare.

  Daisy sniffed. “Well, it is highway robbery. But they say a fool and his money shall soon be parted. Anyway, the man tried the front door several times and then went to the side of the house. That made me pull out my specs.” She slid her binoculars from her pocket to demonstrate. “I could tell he was up to no good.”

  “I wonder if he was with the woman I saw who snuck in there just the other day.”

  “Gertie McAlexander! You don’t need to get in on every story. This is my story to tell. And when was the last time you had your eyes checked? You told me last year you saw a bear walking down our street, and it was that darn scruffy dog from the Borneo’s house.”

  I studied Gertie carefully. Her eyes did look large and watery behind her enormous glasses.

  “Well, Daisy, you don’t need to be so mean.” Gertie sniffled, and her bottom lip trembled.

  It broke my heart. I reached to pat her arm.

  “Good gracious me. Is this what we’ve come to?” Daisy rolled her eyes. “I suspect we’re boring poor Georgie. No wonder we don’t have many guests around here. Just a bunch of sniveling old women is what we are.”

  “I’m no
t sniveling,” Gertie sniveled.

  I squeezed her arm, and she covered my hand with one of hers.

  “Besides, we probably don’t have guests because you insist on serving them this dusty old tea.”

  Daisy stared down at her cup. “What’s wrong with my tea?”

  “I love it,” I said. “And I’m having a good time. I want to hear more about the man you saw.”

  “Mm, the one who broke into that house, you mean?” Daisy said.

  Chapter 6

  “Broke into the house? Oh, do tell,” Gertie said. I noticed she sipped from her teacup, her doctor’s advice apparently forgotten.

  Daisy noticed too and smiled. Gertie’s eyebrows fluttered at Daisy’s smile. She hurriedly put the cup back and then wiped her mouth on the napkin.

  “As I was saying, the man tried the front door and then went over and down the side of the house. I grabbed my spectacles and watched him. He tried the other door, which was locked, and then went straight through the window.”

  She sipped her tea and watched us for a reaction. “I was especially interested because just a few minutes later, another man arrived. The first man unlocked the side door and let him in. A few minutes later, the second man left by the same door, got into his car, and sped off.”

  “Do you think it was the vagrant that was killed?” I asked.

  “Well, most likely. The first man never came out again. Unless he found the entrance to Alice’s Wonderland.”

  Gertie snickered, her quiet laugh raspy, like a breeze moving dead leaves.

  “But it wasn’t Cooper, right?” I asked, referring to the homeless man with the bike and the dog.

  “Nope. Good ol’ Cooper stopped by the other day for his biscuits and gravy. He likes a nice hot meal on Sundays. He’s doing well as expected. As for that pup of his, I told him the dog needs a thorough grooming.”

  Gertie looked horrified at Daisy. “You still cooking up those biscuits and gravy? It’s not heart-healthy, you know.”

  “My heart’s happier when I feed it biscuits and gravy. Slathered in real butter,” she threw in for good measure with a side-eye toward Gertie.