Page 14

Chapter 14

Elise

“ H ey Elise,” an all-too-familiar male voice called as I hurried along the tree-lined sidewalk on my way to Biology.

I considered breaking into a run, but Dylan had already caught up to me.

“Hi,” he panted.

I returned the greeting without making eye-contact. The less I engaged with this guy, the safer my heart would be.

“So, I wanted to talk to you after practice, but you took off before I had a chance,” he said.

That’s because I’ve been avoiding you and your far too tempting charms.

“H’mm,” I murmured.

“I don’t know how to say this.” The guy ran a hand through his hair, and I tried to avoid looking at his sharp jawline and smoldering gaze.

Wait, why was he acting so nervous? I turned to face him, my stare landing on the blue notebook clasped in his arms.

“Hey!” I snatched the book and closed the distance between us. “Where did you get this? You didn’t read any of it, did you?”

Dylan gave me a sheepish look. “You left it in my car last night. I was only checking to make sure it hadn’t been ruined.”

My cheeks heated like the interior of a volcano. “How much did you read?”

“Not much. Just one story.”

“Which story?” I had to know which parts of myself had been laid bare. Some of my most intimate thoughts were in this book. How dare he read them without my permission?

“Just The Saga of the Grans,” he hurried to say. “Elise, it’s amazing. I had no idea you were so funny.”

I turned and stomped toward the tall building some twenty meters away before I could smack the enthusiastic smile right off his face. Even though that’s exactly what he deserved.

How could I have been stupid enough to get into his car last night? In fact, why had I ever agreed to coach with him in the first place? I never wanted to see that nosy snooping jerk again.

Finally, I was home and away from all the idiots of the world. One idiot in particular.

Without meaning to, I slammed the garage door on my way into the house.

“Everything alright?” Grandma called from the front room.

“Sorry, Grandma. I’m fine; just sick of dealing with horrible people.”

“Well hold onto your britches because pinochle starts soon, and Bernice is in a tizzy. Edna can’t make it tonight, so Bernice is bringing a substitute.”

Great. Now I’d have to act pleasant for the sake of some stranger when all I wanted to do was throw rocks at passing cars while yelling random obscenities.

I can’t believe that joker read my notebook. My most private thoughts were in that book. I’d never even shared it with Dad, much less that cocky slug whose hair dye was leeching whatever common sense he may have had left from his brain.

You don’t read other people’s journals, dang it. Regardless of whether it’s in a leather-bound book, complete with locking mechanism or in a notebook on the floor of your car, it’s a violation of trust.

Had he read the poem I wrote about Mom?

I hurried to my door without looking in Grandma’s direction. She didn’t deserve the verbal thrashing I would give her if she so much as glanced at me wrong.

Reaching my bed, I threw my bag against the wall, then cringed as Dad’s painting of Mom shook with the impact. Hopefully, the wall wasn’t dented.

Fluffy fabric welcomed me as I plopped onto my lavender comforter. Staring at the rotating wooden blades of my ceiling fan, I listened to the buzz of voices coming from Grandma’s T.V. program. So much of her life was spent in front of the television these days. Whether from her arthritis, lack of exercise, or extra weight, she was finding walking more painful every day. She didn’t get much social interaction anymore, aside from phone calls and our weekly games of pinochle with The Grans.

The last thing I wanted to do right now was put on a cheerful act for a stranger, but maybe tonight didn’t need to be about me. Tonight could be about Grandma. Playing card games with friends brought her joy. I could be nice so she could be happy. It’s not like it was going to kill me.

At the front door, a knock sounded.

“Come in,” Grandma called.

Time to be cordial. Smile. Laugh. Save throwing rocks at cars for after.

Footsteps and voices sounded from the family room. One voice stood out in particular.

No.

Not him.

Anyone but him.

“Elise, time to come play,” Grandma shouted.

Ugh. I laid on my bed thinking of excuses not to go out there. I could say I threw up. I could say I had too much homework… from the first day of school. No one had that much homework on the first day of school. Drat.

Ultimately, no excuse would make up for ruining this night for Grandma. This was for her. I could do this for her.

I slogged slowly across the carpet. Silently, I cracked open my door and peered into the family room at the two people chatting with Grandma. Blue hair. Why did it have to be blue hair?

I was wrong; this was definitely going to kill me.

Whining, Bessey nudged at the partially open door. Everyone turned toward the sound.

“Traitor,” I muttered to her before stepping into the room.

Grandma grinned at me from her spot in the padded recliner. “Feeling any better?”

“Peachy.”

She must have caught the sarcasm in my tone because her eyebrows drew together in concern.

Bernice shuffled to me, the fabric of her jogging suit swishing with her movements. “Elise, this is my grandson, Dylan. I hear you two know each other?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” I growled.

“What was that dear?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.” Turning to Dylan, I asked, “Do you play pinochle?”

“Not really. Hey, in my defense, I didn’t know this was your house until you walked out of that door.”

Then why are you here?

The trill of cards being shuffled carried to us from the folding table placed in front of Grandma’s recliner. When had that been moved there, and why hadn’t we thought of it sooner? She’d be so much more comfortable there than on the hard metal of the other folding chairs.

Following my gaze, Bernice said, “That was Dylan’s idea. We should’ve thought to let the old bird stay there long before now.”

She slid her hand around her grandson, fitting perfectly beneath his arm since she was barely more than half his height. Standing there like that, the both of them grinning, they made a cute picture. The sight almost melted away my anger. Almost.

“I’ll go get the bowl and drinks,” I blurted, then hurried to the kitchen.

Bessey didn’t follow, choosing instead to lick Dylan’s outstretched hand from every possible angle. As I stepped onto the linoleum floor, I was greeted by Snowball’s demonic yowl.

“We’ve got guests; you should go greet them,” I told her. “The boy would love to become your new scratching post, and I’m sure Bernice is dying to see you.”

As if she sensed the sarcasm, the cat's eyes narrowed in contempt. With a growl still rumbling low in her throat, she slunk from the room.

From underneath the kitchen island, I pulled out the crystal bowl. Next came the four glasses, which I filled with Diet Coke for Bernice, sparkling water for Grandma, and ice water for myself. What would Dylan want to drink? After putting the cup back in the cupboard, I moved to the fridge and grabbed a chilled bottle of Gatorade. It wasn’t the orange flavor— I couldn’t stand the stuff now thanks to the impromptu shower he had given me. Glacier Freeze would have to do.

It took two trips to bring everything in.

“Hey, it’s like we’re on the same wavelength,” Dylan said when I presented him with his drink.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and set the bowl by the shuffled deck. While I sat down, he stooped to grab something under the table.

Hiss, rowr, row! Dylan sprung to his feet, cradling his hand. Blood oozed from striped claw marks on his hand and forearm.

“What was that?” he gasped.

Bernice pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at his arm. “That was the blight on humanity that Lola insists on calling a pet. Where do you keep your hydrogen peroxide?”

“In the medicine cabinet above the toilet.” Grandma motioned toward the bathroom.

While the two of them went to tend his wounds, Grandma asked me to put Snowball in the garage. “She’s too jittery with new people here and no Edna to calm her down.”

I could refuse. Dylan had a lot more than just a few scratches coming to him, but this was Grandma’s night, and she couldn’t take the homicidal demon out herself. After arming myself with oven mitts, I cornered Snowball behind the dark green sofa. It took some wrestling, but I successfully relocated her to the garage with only minor scratches. The oven mitts, however, now had two new fang holes.

“Lola, I don’t know why you keep that thing around instead of throwing it out into the wild where it belongs. You could send it to live with Edna’s colony of strays she’s forever feeding.”

Grandma said nothing as she dealt out the cards.

“Treats are on me tonight,” Dylan announced, pulling a shopping bag from beneath his chair. His arm and hand were covered in Band-Aids.

After tearing open a brightly colored package, he dumped thirty or so candies into the waiting bowl. Both Grandma and Bernice eyed the sweets with hesitation.

“Ever tried a Warhead before?” Dylan asked.

Warheads, really? I shook my head.

Grandma launched into an explanation of the game of pinochle, most likely in an effort to avoid having to try the murderous candy. “There’s two teams with two players each. We start out by bidding. Whoever bids the highest wins the bid. They then get to choose which suit is trump and start the first trick…”

While Grandma talked, Bernice peeled open a Warhead wrapper and popped the candy into her mouth. Seconds later, her lips puckered. Her eyes bulged wider and wider until finally, she spat the sweet into her hand.

“That’s not candy. That’s torture,” she wailed.

Coughing, she hurried to the kitchen.

“Want one,” Dylan offered to me, tearing open a wrapper.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You’re missing out.” Shrugging, he plopped the treat into his own mouth.

I snorted. “I think your grandma’s tastebuds would disagree.”

Bernice returned, gargling water, her eyes dripping.

“I’m sorry, Grannie,” he said when she sat. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I was just trying to spice things up a bit. You know, keep things interesting.”

She laughed. “Oh stars, you’ve been doing that since you were born.”

She was right. Things never turned boring when Dylan was around.

Seeing them in that loving embrace, something clicked into place. If Bernice were Dylan’s grandmother, then the aunt that died would be her daughter. She’d talked about the sudden loss of a daughter before, but I’d never realized that girl had been Dad’s teammate. That they’d run together in college. And that she’d died running a race he’d been in. Why didn’t anyone ever talk about that? We all lived on the same street for heaven’s sake.

“Bernice, I had no idea that your daughter that died was on the Cross-Country team with my dad in college,” I blurted out.

Not the most tactful way to broach the subject, but I had to say something before my fear of tainting Dad’s memory blocked me from ever uncovering the truth.

The poor woman’s face turned as red as Grandma’s lipstick. Maybe I should have let Dylan be the one to ask her about this. She was his aunt after all.

“It was tragic,” she said, rubbing at her breastbone.

“What happened?” I reached to squeeze her shoulder.

There was a long silence during which Grandma peered over her hand of cards to give me a disapproving stare. It was rude to make an old woman talk about the premature death of her child, but what if her death and Dad’s were somehow connected?

Pushing out a long breath, Bernice said, “She was only twenty-years old. She’d been running for the college since she was a freshman, and with a lot of hard work and practice, she had gotten to be pretty good. Don’t get me wrong, running can be a good thing, but for her, it became a major distraction. It was all she thought about. Her grades were suffering. She had no social life outside of the team. She listened to her coach much more than she ever listened to Frank and I. It just wasn’t healthy, obsessing like that.

“She was running some race. Frank and I weren’t there. We’d stepped back to give her some space because that’s what she seemed to want from us. We got a call saying she’d collapsed at the finish line and couldn’t be resuscitated.”

Leaning into Dylan, Bernice sniffled. I felt the prick of the daggers Grandma was glaring at me and sank further into my chair.

“Did they do an autopsy?”

I was a horrible person for asking the question, but I had to know.

Her head still buried in Dylan’s shirt, she nodded. “It was inconclusive. Frank and I still wonder if it wasn’t that coach of hers that killed her.”

Dylan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Mine must have as well because she leaned forward and lowered her voice, something she always did when she had a piece of especially good gossip to share.

“The man never would return any of our phone calls or letters. He stood in the back at Kelly’s funeral and made a beeline for the exit the moment it was over. I tell you, you could smell guilt on him like stink on a rat.”

Huh. A coach murdering his runner? That was hard to imagine. Even though I’d only been coaching for a little over three months, I couldn’t picture doing anything to hurt the kids on my team. Maybe it was more like he did something that accidentally contributed to Kelly’s death.

I scanned my memories for times when Dad had shared things about his college coach. He’d talked about his teammates many times, especially his close friends, Pete and Clive. There was a woman too, but I couldn’t remember her name. Strangely, he never mentioned anything about his coach. Maybe they just didn’t have a close relationship, but that too would be odd. Dad had a way of getting to know everyone around him. He even bought a birthday present every year for the janitor who cleaned his classroom at the college. With Dad being all about relationships and all about running, why wouldn’t he have more of a connection with his coach?

Across the table, Dylan was giving me a pointed look while rubbing circles over Bernice’s back. Was he as curious as me about this elusive coach?

Leaning forward, Grandma set her hand of cards face down on the table. One corner of her mouth lifted at me in annoyance.

Turning to Bernice, she said, “Now what was it you were dying to tell me earlier but didn’t want to do it over the phone?”

A blatant change of subject if I’d ever heard one.

Drawing a calming breath, Bernice straightened. As nonchalantly as possible, she patted her fingers against her head, probably checking to make sure her wig hadn’t fallen out of place.

“Well, it’s that darn Kurt Daniels over at the HOA board digging his heels in again. I keep telling him it’s time to put a lien on that property.” She pointed at the sliding glass door that offered a dismal view of the back-door neighbor’s yard. “Broken windows, a used toilet just sitting on the lawn, it’s disgraceful.”

Grandma nodded. “I’ve even seen their youngest boy use that dried up swimming pool as a latrine.”

Gross. No wonder it stunk back there.

“Well, why doesn’t the board put a lien on the home then?” Grandma asked.

Bernice’s mouth twisted in a sideways frown. “Well, it’s just…they’re scared. Some people around here have gotten the idea that the reason your boy died is because he refused to sell your property. It’s no secret the Hoffmillers are furious that they can’t cash in on that house, sell to the gas company, and buy a nice little condo somewhere.”

Shaking her head, Grandma picked up her cards again. “They may be mad, but Eileen and Ned aren’t the type to commit murder.”

“True.” Bernice leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “But their oldest, Greg, got out of jail about two years ago, and he spends a lot of time over there.”

Grandma licked her cherry-colored lips, her fingers drumming a nervous beat against the table’s plastic surface. “Well, that is something. I thought Eileen and Ned kicked him out ages ago, when he first started getting into drugs.”

“They did, but now he’s back.”

“Where did you hear this?” Grandma asked.

Bernice was an integral part of the neighborhood gossip chain, but she had been known to get her facts wrong.

“Heard it from Jean at the supermarket. Remember she and Clive run the place. She gave the boy a job at their store, and the kid didn’t even work there for two weeks before he came in all drugged up. She fired him, of course. It’s not just Jean though. I’ve seen him over there myself when I’m out walking sometimes. He likes to sit on that lopsided porch swing of theirs and stare at people as they go by. I tell you what, I got out of there quick when I saw him giving me the evil eye.”

“H’mmm.” Grandma looked to the glass doors just as another piece of trash sailed over the fence.

Bessey jumped up from her spot on the carpet and hurried to her dog door. I chased after her, hoping to grab the garbage before she swallowed it whole. Because I had to unlatch the lock and slide the rest of the door open, the dog was seconds ahead of me. By the time I reached her, she had the soda can crumpled and torn, her mouth dripping with blood.

After carefully removing the can from her teeth, I scowled at the other side of the fence. A man with snarled hair and bloodshot eyes met my gaze. Was this the son they’d been talking about? Gulping, I grabbed Bessey’s collar. Quickly, I dragged her inside, closed and locked the door. Then, I closed the curtains.

“Looks like you met Greg,” Bernice said, looking over her hand of cards. “Best to stay away from him if you can. I’m hoping he’ll hurry up and get arrested so I can stop looking over my shoulder when I’m out and about.”

With a shudder, I returned to my seat. “Do you think he could’ve killed my dad?”

Dylan watched our conversation with keen interest.

“I’m sorry to have to say this, hon, but I wouldn’t rule it out.” Bernice laid her wrinkled hand over mine.

Her red lips puckered, Grandma’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “Alright, enough blabbering, it’s time to play this rotten hand out. Bernice, you’re going to have to carry us this round, but I have a great helping hand.”

“Hey, that’s talking over the table,” I protested. After years of playing the game, Grandma knew better than to give hints like that to her partner before we’d even started bidding.

Wait, her partner? That meant that I was paired with Dylan. Ugh. Was Grandma playing matchmaker or something? Why was the world determined to thrust the two of us together at every possible turn?