Morning Cup of Murder (2 page)

“See you tomorrow?” Peggy, the elderly cashier, said it as a question as Lacy filed past her.

“We’ll see,” Lacy returned. She had become such a frequent visitor that the two were almost friends now. At least they exchanged friendly pleasantries a few times a day. Lacy had the uncomfortable feeling that she was seeing her future stretch out in a dizzying array of days just like this one until she would be one of the white haired regulars, sipping her coffee and eating her bran.
No, no, no,
she told herself. Just because she didn’t have a plan right now didn’t mean she never would. Eventually she would think of something to do with her life and then she would do it.

Her vague life plan left her feeling restless and dissatisfied. What was she doing here? How did she wind up in the one place she swore she would never be? And, most importantly, how could she get out?

The scent of sugar and cinnamon hit her as soon as she opened the door and worked to ease some of her anxiety. And then she saw her grandma standing at the sink and she smiled. Without asking her if she was hungry her grandma cut a slice of cake and slid it onto a plate. And even if she wasn’t hungry she would eat the cake. Over the years prune cake had become her number one comfort food, and her grandma knew it. For as long as Lacy could remember her grandma had used it to try and cajole her out of whatever silly sadness she was suffering, and for as long as she could remember it had always worked. How her grandmother knew when she needed it remained a mystery. She had always seemed to possess a sixth sense about Lacy’s moods.

“Thanks,” Lacy said, and then she tucked into the cake. It was still warm from the oven, and the caramel topping stuck first to her fork and then to her teeth. Her eyes closed as comfort washed through her. “Grandma, you’re spoiling me,” she said as soon as she could safely talk.

“That’s what grandmas are for,” her grandmother answered, and Lacy had to agree with her because she had never known different. Her grandma was soft and plump and white-haired, just like a grandma should be. And she always smelled like a combination of peppermint and vanilla. All of Lacy’s memories of her involved food in some way, but that was her grandmother’s way. For her food was love. And the more fattening or sugar-laden the food the more she loved someone, which was probably why her grandfather had died at a rather young age from a variety of ailments all relating to high cholesterol and diabetes. One might think that knowledge would deter Lacy from eating the calorie-laced goodies, but one would be wrong. Her jeans were starting to become uncomfortably tight lately, but she still couldn’t stop herself from indulging in her grandmother’s treats. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to hurt the sweet, sensitive woman’s feelings, but in reality they just tasted too good to pass up.

“Another piece, honey?” her grandmother offered, alerting Lacy to the fact that she had practically licked her plate clean without even noticing.

Yes.
“No, thank you,” she made herself say, although she stared wistfully at the cake. “Maybe I’ll go for a quick run before supper, Grandma.” She paused on her way out of the room and turned to look back. It was their standard routine for her to ask to help with supper and her grandma always made a blustery refusal. But just as she opened her mouth she paused and studied the older woman. What was that strange, unknown expression on her face? Sadness? Concern?

“Grandma, are you okay?”

Her grandmother looked up and forced a bright smile. “Of course, honey. You go for your run now. Supper’s running a little behind anyway.”

“Is there…” Lacy started to say her usual, “Is there anything I can do to help?” but her grandmother cut her off with a shake of her head.

“It’s all under control, honey. Go ahead and have your run. Pretty young girls like you have to stay in shape if they want to catch a man.”

Lacy waited until she left the room before allowing her grimace to show. What was the older generation’s obsession with marrying off everyone under the age of fifty? Some of her earliest memories were of her grandparents teasing her about boys in her class, boys she had detested at the time, but they had laughingly called them her boyfriends. It used to make Lacy furious and embarrassed. Some of those old feelings returned to the surface now. She had carefully explained to her grandmother why she wasn’t ready to date anyone just yet, but her grandmother’s only response had been to nod, smile and say, “I’m sure you’ll find a nice young man who will change your mind.”

Her thoughts muddled as she exited the house and pounded the pavement. In books and movies people ran because they enjoyed it. To Lacy those characters were far-fetched. She ran because it was the most expedient way of burning calories, but she hated every painful, burning step. Who in her right mind wouldn’t hate the hard slap of concrete underfoot, the sweat trickling down her back, and the stinging stitch in her side? She had never developed a graceful stride. Instead her yellow jogging pants made her look like an injured duckling trying vainly to return to the water. The sound wheezing from her open lips didn’t help matters; it was reminiscent of faint, pained quacking.

For some reason she thought of Jason and her discomfort increased. He was one of those naturally gifted athletes who made running look simple. Many times she had seen him cruising down the football field during their Friday night games in high school. Of course she had always watched from the bleachers along with the rest of the marching band. Running for exercise had never occurred to her until her freshman year of college when she suddenly tired of being chubby. Never obese by anyone’s standards her extra poundage had been labeled “baby fat.” Most girls that first year of college gained fifteen pounds. Lacy and her roommate, Kimber, lost that much and then some. She could still remember the first day she and Kimber decided to start jogging to lose weight. They had to stop halfway through their run, not only because they were out of shape, but also because they were laughing too hard to continue. Kimber wasn’t an athlete, either.

For a few years in
New York
jogging hadn’t been necessary. Walking everywhere was enough to keep the excess calories at bay. And then her life fell apart and she moved back home to her grandmother’s waiting arms and busy kitchen. And now her pants didn’t seem to want to zip all the way. So it was time to start jogging again. As much as she loathed it she would do it. Maybe she was a failure, but she didn’t have to be a fat failure.

She ran for what she hoped was three miles but was probably more like two. At any rate spots were starting to pop before her eyes like sunbursts and she took that as a cue to end her jog before she passed out on the sidewalk. With her luck someone would call the cops and Jason would be the one to find her sprawled on the cement in a puddle of her own sweat like a melted ice cream cone.

“Grandma, is supper ready?” She hoped her tone didn’t sound impatient. She wanted to grab a shower before they sat down to eat.

Her grandmother looked up distractedly and Lacy wasn’t sure she had heard the question, but at last she waved her hand in front of her face. “Things are going slowly, dear. Go take your shower.”

Lacy nodded and paused in the doorway a moment. Were the older woman’s eyes red-rimmed, or was Lacy projecting her own blue mood? Her grandmother had always been a happy woman. In fact, Lacy had never seen her sad. But as she ambled to the bathroom she wondered if that was because her grandma kept her emotions hidden. If that was the case, why would she do that? Lacy poured out her heart on an almost constant basis. Why wouldn’t her grandmother reciprocate? Was it because she wanted to project a “grown up” image? Maybe that had been necessary when Lacy was a child, but she was an adult now. They were roommates. Surely they should be able to share their delights and concerns in equal measure.

She resolved to say as much to her grandmother while they were eating, but when she sat down to supper she lost her nerve. After all, this was her grandmother they were talking about. The woman was and had always been larger than life to Lacy. Her sweetness, patience, tolerance and good humor were almost supernatural. And Lacy wasn’t the only one to feel that way. She once asked her mother if Grandma had ever raised her voice to her growing up and her mother smiled and shook her head.

“No, Lacy. There’s no one sweeter or more genuine than your grandma. She has all the love and patience of a saint.” And then her mom had rolled her eyes. “You have no idea how annoying that was when I wanted to be a rebellious teenager. I could never goad her into an argument, no matter how hard I tried.”

The exchange had stuck in Lacy’s head because it was one of her first grown-up insights into her mother’s relationship with her grandmother; the first time she realized her mother had once been somebody’s little girl, just like her.

Now she studied her grandmother surreptitiously from across the table. There were definite signs of distress on her face. For one thing she was quiet. Usually they talked about little things and big things while they ate. But so far her grandmother had been mute. And her features were pulled tight in a way Lacy had never seen before.
 

“Grandma, is something wrong?” she asked at last.

Her grandmother looked up in surprise and pasted on a smile. “Why, no, Lacy. Everything is fine.”

Lacy took a breath to question her further, but the front doorbell rang and interrupted her query. “I’ll get it,” she said. She dabbed at her lips with her napkin and deposited it on the table before rising to push out her chair. They weren’t prone to many visitors and she thought that might account for the way her heart was pounding in her chest. Her lashes fluttered in surprise when she opened the door and saw Jason standing on the other side. He held up a piece of paper and spoke before she could gather her wits enough to talk.

“Lacy, I have a warrant…”

He would have continued but she cut him off. “You’re here to arrest me?” Her voice was a faint squeak.

“Not you. Her.” Lacy didn’t notice the other officer until he spoke and pointed behind her to her grandmother. “Lucinda Craig you’re under arrest for the murder of Barbara Blake.”

Chapter 3

The plainclothes detective beside Jason grew impatient with Lacy’s shocked silence. He stalked past her, knocking her aside. She would have fallen except Jason put his hand to the small of her back to keep her upright.

“Jason,” she began but didn’t know how to continue. His hand left her back and eased up to touch her cheek.

“Lacy,” he said in a whisper, but the detective interrupted him.

“Cantor, I need your cuffs,” he called.

Jason shot Lacy a regretful look and left her standing in the entryway. Lacy watched while he pulled his handcuffs off his belt and finally her tongue unfroze from the roof of her mouth.

“What are you doing? You can’t arrest my grandmother,” she said, but they both ignored her. Her grandmother was strangely silent and subdued, but maybe she was in shock as much as Lacy was. “This is crazy.” Her fear and confusion turned to anger when they continued to ignore her. “Don’t you dare put handcuffs on her.”

Jason’s hands paused in mid-air, the cuffs dangling listlessly as he appeared to be looking into her grandmother’s sweet, drawn face.

“It’s policy,” the detective reminded him in a crisp tone.

Jason gave one, curt nod and resumed cuffing the old woman. Lacy watched her grandmother stare dejectedly at her feet. She had always been a sweet, unassuming woman, but her lack of protest was disturbing for a reason Lacy couldn’t pinpoint.

“Grandma,” she tried. “Everything is going to be okay. I’m going to contact the rest of the family and we’ll get this figured out.” She would have kept going but her grandmother interrupted her.

“No,” she said. Her voice was faint because she was staring at her feet. She raised her head and when Lacy saw her eyes she sucked a breath and stumbled backwards a step. Her grandmother looked angry, angrier than Lacy had ever seen her. “I don’t want the rest of the family to know a word about this, Lacy. Promise me you won’t call anyone.”

“I,” Lacy started, but before she could agree to the promise the detective grasped her grandmother’s arm and led her from the house. “Grandma,” she cried. To her annoyance and embarrassment her voice broke; tears threatened to spill over. Jason hung back, waiting until the detective left the house, and then he spoke.

“Follow us to the jail. Once the booking is done we’ll have more information for you.” He took a step toward the door, then paused and turned back to her. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, and he exited the house, leaving the door standing open in his wake.

A fly buzzed in through the open door, and that small action was the catalyst needed to propel Lacy forward. She walked out of the house in a stunned, zombie-like way and went back inside when she realized she lacked purse and keys. It took a moment of mindless rummaging in her room until she located them and then she exited the house again, making sure to close the door behind her this time. The quiet hum of her grandmother’s car felt jarring to her overwrought nerves.

The next thing she knew she was at the county jail with no memory of having driven there. She sat in her car a moment, gathering her senses and feeling dazed. Never in a million years did she imagine she would be at the jail trying to fix the mix-up that landed her grandmother in handcuffs. That thought gave her the anger she needed to burst from her car. Someone was going to pay for this colossal mistake.