Norway to Hide (12 page)

“
W
hat?” My mouth dropped open at his vehemence. How…how can you talk that way about a helpless old woman who may have suffered a stroke?”

“Your grandmother is many things, Ms. Andrew. Helpless is not one of them.” He tipped his head politely.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have business inside the hotel.”

“But where’s Nana?”

A second squad car pulled into the parking lot. Officer Vitikkohuhta gestured toward it. “Ask and you shall receive.”

The squad car eased to a stop in the middle of the parking lot, close enough for me to see Nana press her face against the backseat window and wave to me.

“Why didn’t you come back with everyone else?” I asked when Officer Hamalainen opened the back door to let her out. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“What’s wrong with your face? Uh-oh. You must a been talkin’ to your mother again.”

“Never mind my face. What happened?”

“It’s on account a we had to stop at a little bookstore down the road from the police station so’s Jackie could sign some book plates. Word spread like wildfire that a real live author was holed up in the jail all night, so the nice officer here was put in charge a crowd control. Turned out to be a real big crowd for these parts—one Russian hiker and two stray reindeer.”

I glanced into the car to see Jackie and George struggling to untangle their legs in the cramped backseat compartment.

“Why did you and George go along?”

“Jackie asked us to, dear. We was her entourage. All the famous authors got ’em.”

Officer Hamalainen patiently held the door while George and Jackie literally crawled out over each other. “Thanks ever so much,” Jackie cooed, giving Hamalainen a peck on his cheek. She patted the forearm that she’d signed for him the night before. “Take good care of my signature. It’ll be worth a fortune one day soon.”

“It has been my honor to be part of such an historic literary event,” Hamalainen announced proudly. After shaking hands all around, he slid back into his squad car and sped off, leaving me to ponder an obvious problem.

“I hope you signed your name in permanent ink,” I said to Jackie.

“All I had was a pink sparkle gel pen, but he’s going
to wrap his arm in plastic food wrap to make sure the ink doesn’t wash off, fade away, or get obliterated by repellant.”

“Isn’t globalization somethin’?” marveled Nana. “Who’d a thought they’d have Glad Wrap in Lapland?”

I cupped my hands around her shoulders and peered into her eyes. “What’s the story, Nana? Did you see a doctor at the jail?”

“He was waitin’ for us when we got there. Took our temperature and blood pressure, listened to our hearts. Shined his little penlight in our eyes. I guess it’s good to have a doctor around when you’re arrestin’ old folks.”

“No one arrested us, Marion,” George corrected. “They brought us in for questioning.”

“Did the doctor seem concerned about anyone’s health in particular?” I asked, trying not to alarm her.

“You bet,” said Nana. “He said we was too fat, and if we all didn’t lose twenty kilos, we wouldn’t be around in twenty years.”

I winced. “How did that go over?”

“Didn’t faze Osmond none. Twenty years from now he’ll be a hundred and nine.”

“So the doctor gave you a clean bill of health?”

“Yup.”

“But what about your handwriting?” I persisted. “I can’t read it anymore, Nana. It’s illegible. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but the change happened so quickly that I think we should get you to a neurologist for a second opinion. If there’s a problem, we can get it taken care of before it gets any worse.”

“My writin’s back to normal again, dear, so you don’t gotta bother.”

I raised a skeptical eyebrow as I dug a notepad and pen out of the side pocket of my shoulder bag. “Would you show me, please? Any phrase will do.”

She dashed off something and handed the notepad back to me. I read aloud the neatly formed letters of her precise script. “‘Do you believe me now?’” I stared at the paper, stupefied. “Your handwriting’s back to normal. Oh, my Lord. It’s a miracle!”

Nana looked at George. George looked at Nana. They both looked at me.

“What?” I asked. “Okay, so it’s not the loaves and the fishes, but it’s close.”

“It wasn’t no miracle, dear,” she said in a sheepish voice. “It’s ’cause a the handwritin’ expert. He found us out.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Found you out?”

“None of us could write a word the same way twice,” George confessed, “so the fella knew something was fishy.”

“And the reason you couldn’t write a word the same way twice was because?—”

“’Cause we don’t want Osmond knowin’ who’s votin’ for what, so we been disguisin’ our writin’.”

Oh, God.
“You gave the police a phony sample of your handwriting because you’re trying to outsmart Osmond?”

Nana nodded. “We was just tryin’ to be consistent. Besides, we needed the practice. Makin’ your handwritin’ sloppy is hard work.”

I regarded her in disbelief. “Nana, do you know what this is?”

“If it’s a felony, I reckon I’ll be here longer than my denture cream’s gonna last.”

“It’s wonderful!” I threw my arms around her, hugging her within an inch of her life. “It’s absolutely wonderful! You’re not having a stroke! You’re healthy! I don’t have to break any bad news to Mom.” I planted kisses all over the top of her head and squeezed her some more, feeling as if the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. “No wonder Officer Viti—whatever wanted to throw the book at you. You were obstructing his investigation, or providing false evidence, or—”

“Mmmilly?”
she mumbled against my chest.

“Oops. Sorry.” I stopped squeezing and straightened her
World’s Number One Gramma
shirt. “What were you trying to say?”

“It wasn’t our handwritin’ what set off the nice officer.”

“It was the handcuffs,” said George.

I looked slowly from one to the other. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“Well, they treated us real nice at the jailhouse and didn’t lock us up or nothin’. We got to roam wherever we wanted so long as we stayed inside.”

“They even let Jackie use their computer,” said George.

Jackie bit into her bottom lip and turned her face away, looking pained. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So one time when I was on my way back from the
potty, I seen a pair a handcuffs lyin’ on a filin’ cabinet, so I picked ’em up and tried ’em on for size. They fit just like a charm bracelet, Emily. I was wonderin’ if they was one size fits all, so I snapped the other one on Dick Teig while he was snoozin’ and sure enough, it fit him, too. And that’s sayin’ somethin’ ’cause Dick’s wrists are thick as tail pipes. Who do you s’pose invented one size fits all?”

“I bet it was the Chinese,” said George. “Probably right after they invented gun powder and origami.”

“Isn’t origami Japanese?” asked Jackie. “I can make a crane. Does anyone have a large sheet of paper? Oo, wait, I have one.”

I knew exactly where this story was going. “There was no key, was there?” I asked Nana.

“It was right in my hand, dear. I wouldn’t a dared try ’em on if the key hadn’t been layin’ there beside ’em.” She flashed me a pointed look. “I’m not Bernice.”

“So what was the problem?”

“Dick woke up,” said George.

“I stuck the key in the lock, but it got jammed, so Dick give it a twist, and
crrrkk
—he broke it clear off. I never had a notion Dick Teig was so strong. Who woulda thought he had so much muscle under all that blubber? Anyway, he wasn’t real happy with me, ’specially since the only reason he woke up was to go potty.”

“Ooo—kay.” I covered my ears. “Too much information. Don’t need to hear any more.”

She stood in front of my face and kept talking. “They had to call a locksmith in the wee hours of the mornin’, and he couldn’t do nothin’—”

Damn. I could read her lips.

“So they tried cuttin’ through it with a hacksaw, and that was takin’ too long, so they ended up havin’ to bring in a specialist.”

“A metallurgist?”

“A magician. He had them cuffs off in no time, which was a good thing seein’s how Dick’s back teeth was singin’ anchors away. But the nice officer was a mite put out with me, so I been keepin’ my distance.”

“Ta-da!” said Jackie, holding up her paper crane.

Nana regarded it oddly. “It don’t got no head.”

“The paper wasn’t big enough, so you have to imagine the head.”

Nana nodded sagely before turning back to me. “We didn’t get no breakfast at the jail, dear. Can we still get served in the dinin’ room or do we gotta imagine that, too?”

“You have three minutes,” I said, checking my watch again. “How fast can you move?”

Nana grabbed George’s hand, and off they went at a trot—an extraordinary speed for two people who had only three good legs between them. “Are you going to join them?” I asked Jackie. “You probably haven’t eaten either.”

“I couldn’t possibly eat.” Bottom lip quivering, she inhaled melodramatically before breaking into a pathetic sob. “I’m so miserable, Emily. I want to die!”

“No, no. We already have enough corpses on this trip. Poor Jack. What’s wrong?” I wrapped my arms around her and patted her back while she slouched down to sob into my neck. “Is it because of your
crane? I’m sure the hotel can find you a larger piece of paper so you can give it a head.”

“I got my first review on Amazon,” she wailed, causing rubbernecking and stares from the guests on the patio. When six-foot transsexuals cry, people listen.

“That’s great, Jack. See? The reviews are starting to pour in.”

“It was only one star!”

“Oh, dear.”

“My readers hate me!”

“I’m sure that’s not the case,” I soothed. “The review probably said some nice things, too. I know you; you’re just obsessing about the bad stuff.”

“It was
all
bad! Someone from North Carolina said she bought my book because she knew she was going to be temporarily vertical. She found it so unreadable that she threw it away! She said I had no talent, my book was a waste of paper, and she’d never buy another. And here’s the thing, Emily. She sounded
thrilled
to have the opportunity to slam me.”

“Why was she vertical?”

“What?”

“When people are laid up, aren’t they usually horizontal? She was vertical. What is she? A bat?”

Jackie’s sobs morphed into a little chuckle. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Come on, Jack, don’t let some petty review get you down. You have more sense than to let someone who doesn’t know the difference between vertical and horizontal ruin your mood. Remember: Those who can, do; those who can’t, criticize.”

Sniffling loudly, she straightened to her full height and dried her eyes. “I suppose. Thank you for pointing that out, Emily. You always make me feel so much better. If I didn’t already have a husband, I’d marry you.”

I flinched. “You might need to reapply your eye-liner, Jack. It’s running down your cheeks.”

“I guess I should feel sorry for the twit,” she speculated as we crossed the parking lot to the hotel. “I checked out some of her other reviews, and you know what? She gives
everyone
one-star reviews. She hates everything! And she loves to send them out on Christmas Day. Can you believe it? What kind of lowlife tries to ruin someone’s Christmas?”

Bernice popped into my head, but I figured even she had more class than that. “Did you ever get a call in to Mona?”

“They wouldn’t let me use the department phone because the call was long distance. But—drumroll, please—I talked the officers into ordering six copies of my book online! Isn’t that terrific? This is
really
going to boost my sales, Emily. And you know what else? I did some sleuthing and figured out what was written on the note the police don’t want to admit they found on Gus’s body.” She paused for effect. “‘Meet me outside in twenty minutes.’”

Which made a lot more sense than Dick Teig’s “
Take twenty-five bottles of beer to me in sixty minutes.”
I regarded her with new respect. “And you weren’t even in disguise. How’d you do it?”

“There was a wrinkled note with those words on it
in a clear plastic bag on Officer Viti’s desk. Probably waiting to be processed. No one said where the crime lab is, but I was getting vibes that it’s far, far away and not used too frequently.”

“Fingerprints,” I said. “If there’s a note, the police should have taken prints! Why didn’t they do that?”

“They did do that.” Jackie flashed her slightly stained fingers in front of my face. “When the handwriting analysis fell flat, they dragged out the fingerprint cards.”

“But they didn’t get everyone. What about the Hamlets people?”

“They weren’t at the police station, Emily. Kinda hard to take prints from people who aren’t there.”