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CISSIE HAD SPREAD a blue and white plaid football blanket at the bottom of her back steps. Eric sprawled across the part that covered grass and appeared to be comfortable, while I perched on the step beside Cissie and worried about my floppy paper plate falling off my lap.
The silence between the two strangers stretched on a beat too long, so I diffused it with some of my patented babble.
“My friend and I used to stuff our bologna sandwiches with pretzel sticks. Haven’t seen pretzel sticks like that for ages.” I’m sure I appeared vexed.
Baby Caroline dropped her stuffed giraffe from within her shaded stroller, and as Cissie bent to retrieve it, she remarked, “Potato chips might work.”
I promised to give potato chips a try.
While the young mother flicked a strand of corn-silk blonde hair off her face, Eric Zumstein watched with fascination.
“Did you grow up around here?” he asked.
Smooth opening, and original, too. I bit into my sandwich to suppress a chuckle.
“Wisconsin.”
Eric pretended to be appalled. “A Packers fan!”
“Not me." Cissie giggled. "I hate football. Did you play?”
“Nah. My high school didn't have a team.”
“Where was that?”
“Philadelphia. And college...” He shrugged.
Our hostess took that in stride, but his non-answer raised my eyebrow.
“What did you study?” I inquired, the same time Cissie asked what he did for a living.
“I was a bank teller until last month. Having a helluva time finding anything else, so before I totally ran out of cash, I moved in with Gram.”
When Cissie smiled, the sun shone a little brighter. “That’s nice.”
Eric erased the compliment with his hand. ““Expedient. She needs somebody to look after her, and I need a place to live.”
“It’s still nice.”
I squirmed on the unforgiving step.
“She needs help because...?” I wondered aloud.
Eric immediately sat upright. “Because what?”
Because she’s losing her grip?
“Because, um, because you’re worried what she’ll do?”
Eric was no longer the languid, I’m-on-vacation-from-my-grandmother lump on the grass he’d been the moment before. He lowered his eyebrows to say, “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve seen?”
Now Cissie was staring and biting her lip.
I explained that I’d witnessed Maisie throwing a bag of clothes—and bricks—out of an upstairs window.”
“Anything else?”
I consulted a cloud in the sky. “I’ve seen her carrying around a long rope, and a big knife.”
A short laugh failed to hide Eric’s discomfort. “My grandmother does read a lot of mysteries.” I nodded as if giving that thought. “For entertainment, of course. They’re not how-to books.”
“Good!” I spread my hand across my heart. “Good to know she doesn’t want to kill you.
“Although...She doesn’t own a gun, does she?”
Eric’s eyes widened. “Nooo...”
“Because I also heard a pop-pop-pop coming from your yard, and I smelled some really stinky smoke. I thought maybe it was from a gun.”
A surprising expression took over Eric’s face: infectious, eye-crinkling mirth. “Let me guess. You read a lot of mysteries, too.”
I replied with a smile, but I was still waiting for an explanation.
Which was not lost on Mrs. Zumstein’s very imposing grandson. “Would exploding eggs put your mind at ease?”
“Uh...”
“Gram was trying to make egg salad last week, but the water boiled away. Siss, boom, bang.” He gestured wildly. “I tried to save the pot, but it was a goner.”
His explanation actually made sense; I’d seen an abandoned pot among the mess at the Maisie’s backdoor.
I placed the back of my hand to my forehead. “Phew. That’s a relief. I was afraid my daughter was living next to Lizzie Borden.”
Although the whole exchange had dismayed Cissie, she was once again beaming. “And I’m glad nobody’s trying to kill you.” Her hand casually patted Eric’s knee, but there was nothing casual about his flinch.
“Oh, no,” he demurred. “If anyone has a motive, it would be me.”
The looks Cissie and I traded prompted Eric to explain. “I’m supposed to inherit the house.”
“Nice,” said Cissie, showing off her dimples.
“Not too soon,” I said, finding my tact at last.
Already I’d seen and heard more than enough, so I gathered my paper trash and rose. “Better get back to work. Thanks for the lunch, Cissie. Just the break I needed.” I’m so glad your husband didn’t come home.
The young woman stood to kiss me good-bye. “Thanks for everything, Mrs. B...er, Gin. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
I eyed Eric as pointedly as I could, but he was too smitten to take the hint.