“You’re my best friend, Jonathan.” Trudy Wilton tested a small chunk of white meat for coolness, and then set it inside her Chihuahua’s food dish. “We’re going to get through this together.”
After gobbling down the treat, the tiny fawn puppy cocked his head and stared at his mistress. Trudy wondered if he could tell how tired she was. She scooped him up and cuddled the dog. “You bring me such joy. I knew this would be tough, but…”
Trudy set the dog back onto the floor carefully, then washed her hands. “Showtime,” she said to Jonathan. She picked up the tray with its steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup, glass of fresh lemonade, white damask napkin, polished silver, and plate of oyster crackers. She’d done her best to make the meal seem appetizing, but she steeled herself, knowing her mother would find fault.
“Ma’s cancer has spread,” Trudy said to Jonathan as he followed her out of the kitchen. “It’s gone from her lungs to her bones and maybe even to her brain.”
Balancing the tray, Trudy climbed the stairs and crossed the landing. Using the scuffed toe of her shoe, she opened the door to her mother’s bedroom.
Ma’s grizzled hair poked out from under her auburn pageboy wig. Lipstick ran above, below, and around a sullen mouth full of too-big dentures. She didn’t look at all like the woman who had raised Trudy. That woman had been meticulous about her makeup and proud of her gorgeous auburn hair. The cancer had ended all of that. But it had taken away more than Ma’s health. It had also destroyed any semblance of kindness. Ma had always been demanding, imperious, and self-absorbed, but now she was also downright mean. “What took you so long? I’m hungry.”
“I wanted to make sure your soup was good and hot. I made lemonade the way you like it. Fresh squeezed.”
“Huh,” Ma grunted. A bolster propped the older woman upright so she could watch her favorite TV shows. With a wave of an age-spotted hand, she shooed her daughter away from the screen. “Move. I can’t see. You’re a better door than window. Barn door, that is.”
Jonathan waited by the bedroom door, sniffing the air cautiously. Over the previous eight months, he’d learned to fear the wrath of the old woman, who made no secret of her dislike for the pup.
Ma adjusted her trifocals and examined the golden broth closely, twirling her spoon in the liquid. Lifting a spoonful of dripping noodles, she said, “What is this? I told you I wanted Campbell’s Homestyle Soup. With the big noodles. These little ones look like worms. I can’t eat worms!”
Before Trudy could respond, Ma shoved the tray so hard it went flying. The soup bowl did a complete somersault and landed upside down on the bedspread.
“Ma! You’ll burn yourself!” Trudy scrambled to lift the wet covers away from her mother’s body.
Wrestling with the polyester comforter, Trudy fought to keep from screaming. The bedspread would need to be washed. The lemonade had splashed all over the carpet. The crackers had scattered like confetti. More work. As if it wasn’t enough to wait on her mother around the clock. Trudy never seemed able to get caught up with the messes Ma made.
Jonathan scurried over to gobble down an oyster cracker.
“Stupid dog.” Ma unhooked her cane from the headboard and flailed at the dog over the side of the bed. “Get away from me.”
Jonathan yipped and cowered. Trudy snatched up her pup and looked him over carefully. He didn’t appear to be hurt, just scared. Without a word to her mother, Trudy carried the dog downstairs and locked him in his crate. “This isn’t punishment. You’ll be safe here.”
She grabbed a roll of paper towels and a trash bag. Back upstairs, Trudy bundled up the bedspread, pulled a blanket over her mother, and threw herself to her knees, sopping up the mess in the carpet. She was on all fours when her mother burst into noisy sobs.
“Ma? You okay?” Trudy did her best to sound concerned, but inside she was thinking, Now what?
“No, I am not. Where is Roger? Why isn’t he here? What did I do to deserve this? I’m so lonely.” Ma’s gnarled hands gripped the blanket.
The shriveled woman, decaying from the inside, broke Trudy’s heart. Patting her mother’s shoulder, Trudy said, “I know you miss him. But I’m here, Ma. I’m doing my best.”
The old woman twisted away. “Leave me alone. I want Roger. I don’t want you here. Go away!”
“I wish I could,” Trudy said under her breath as she headed toward the stairs. This had all been a mistake. Giving up her job in a bookstore in Chicago, moving back home to Fenton, Missouri, and thinking she could make things right with her mother before the old woman died. Madness. Absolute madness.
The past was a spool of thread, unwound and tangled, knotted too tightly to ever be free of itself. Despite Trudy’s good intentions, she would never win her mother’s love. Roger had been the long-awaited fair-haired son. He’d gotten his good looks from Ma. Trudy had been a change-of-life baby, a mistake. She’d come along just in time to ruin Ma’s figure and her enjoyment of her husband’s rising career. Worse yet, Trudy took after her dad, struggling with her weight her whole life.
The mess in the green shag carpet could be mopped up. The disaster of moving back home would be much more difficult to fix. It wasn’t like Trudy had left behind a career, but she had said good-bye to friends and co-workers when Roger asked her to help out with their mother. “I’d do it, but I can’t take time from the law firm. Not now. I’m being considered for partner. Another six months, maybe a year, and I can set my own schedule.”
Trudy carried another tray of food up the stairs for her mother.
As Trudy settled the tray on her mother’s knees, Jonathan, still caged downstairs, began barking. Trudy figured the kids next door were home from pre-school.
“Shut up!” Ma shouted. “I hate that dog! Hate him! I never said you could bring a dog here. I don’t like dogs. I like cats. You know that. Get rid of him!”
No way, Trudy thought. He’s all I have. In a careful tone, she said, “Jonathan will quiet down. He’s trying to protect us by being a good watchdog.”
“This is still my house. Mine. I want him out. Out!”
“Guess what? The Price is Right is on.” Trudy picked up the remote and silently thanked God that her mother was a huge Drew Carey fan.
Trudy was putting the bedspread into the dryer when she heard her mother’s querulous voice. “Roger! Oh, Roger, honey. You won’t believe what that awful sister of yours did to me. She served me worms. Yes, worms. And I’m hungry. I haven’t had anything to eat all day.”
Trudy cleared her throat and spoke into the extension. “That isn’t true, Ma. Just let me speak to him—”
But Ma simply talked louder. “I’m so scared, Roger. That dog of hers gets meaner every day. He tried to bite me.”
Trudy ran upstairs and pried the phone from Ma’s hands. For an eighty-year-old woman who was dying of cancer, she was surprisingly strong. Especially when thwarted. Trudy took the phone with her into the hallway and closed the bedroom door. “Roger? I’m right here. Ma’s fine. You know about Jonathan, my Chihuahua. He’s a sweetheart.”
“Hey, Sis. Yeah, he looks sweet in his pictures.”
Trudy smiled. Despite their differences, she loved her brother.
“So, how goes it?” he asked.
“Tough sledding. We had a rough morning. I think I need a break. Hard to believe I’ve been here eight months already.”
“Yeah, well, at least you’re living rent free. You don’t have six senior partners breathing down your neck, watching your every move.”
“Listen, it ain’t easy being a full-time caregiver. Trust me.” In the background, Trudy heard the muffled tones of a Jimmy Buffet tune. “Roger? Since when do law firms play ‘Margaritaville’ in their offices?”
“There’s more to being a lawyer than trying cases. You wouldn’t believe the office politics. Plus, I work eighteen-hour days. Then I’m expected to make nice with clients after hours. Bringing in the business. Rainmaking. That’s the name of the game.”
Trudy could hear the theme song of Wheel of Fortune through the door behind her. Ma would be content. For now. “Where exactly are you, Roger?” Trudy said as she walked downstairs.
Jonathan was sitting quietly in his crate, cocking his head to listen as Trudy spoke to her brother. She unlocked the door of the crate and let the dog out.
“What’s this about your dog trying to bite Ma? She isn’t in any real danger, is she?” Roger always changed the subject when he didn’t want to answer certain questions. Trudy decided to let it go for now.
“Not hardly.” In fact, Jonathan was sitting patiently at Trudy’s feet, a sign that he needed to go out.
A woman’s voice on the other end of the phone called out, “Roger? What are you doing?”
“Got to go,” Roger said quickly, then hung up.
Trudy stared at the silent receiver for a very, very long time.
* * * *
The next morning, while Trudy sipped her coffee in the living room, Jonathan ran along the back of the sofa. His tiny ears stood at attention while he looked eagerly out the front window. Two deer stared back at him as they munched on Ma’s yews. The tiny puppy scolded them, trying to shoo them away with a series of urgent barks. An autumnal breeze kicked up oak leaves, lifting them like two brown kites sailing against a crystalline blue sky. Winter was coming. Trudy shivered at the thought of being snowbound with Ma. Being cooped up would drive her crazy, especially with no one but Jonathan to turn to.
Trudy had hoped to rekindle high school friendships. Maybe meet someone special. But it had been impossible with Ma being so demanding.
“Yip! Yip!”
“Are you trying to protect me from those deer?” Trudy touched Jonathan’s hindquarters. He looked up at her and wagged his tail so hard his entire body shook.
“Aren’t you the best watchdog ever? You are such a handsome boy.” Trudy ran her palm over his rounded head and bat-wing ears. In the short time Trudy had owned him, the puppy had become the light of her life. Maybe she was destined to be single forever.
As if in response to her musings, a dark blue sedan pulled up in front of the house. Jonathan barked as a man started toward the front door. There was something familiar about him, so Trudy opened up as he rang the doorbell. Behind her, Jonathan barked a warning to the intruder.
“Paul. Is that you?” Her jaw fell open as she stared into the eyes of Paul Jankowski. A few years older than she, Paul had been a close friend of Roger’s in high school. He had changed, grown into himself. Always a bit nerdy and thin, Paul now filled out his navy blue jacket and tailored gray pants nicely.
Trudy suddenly felt self-conscious about her scruffy drawstring pants and tired “Life Is Good” T-shirt. After getting her mother breakfast and helping her with a sponge bath, Trudy hadn’t had the energy to shower and put on makeup. Her face colored as she thought about how unattractive she must look.
“Hey, Trudy. Your brother phoned me. Can I come in?” With one smooth move, Paul displayed a Fenton Police Department badge. Trudy noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“Of course you can. Let me grab the dog.” She swooped Jonathan into her arms.
Paul rubbed the back of his neck and adjusted his shirt collar. “Is that it? The dog? Your brother asked me to check on it. Said it might be endangering your mother.”
“Paul meet Jonathan, AKA Killer. Does he look like a big threat?”
Paul laughed and offered the back of his hand for Jonathan to sniff. “Not hardly.”
Trudy debated with herself. She wasn’t dressed for company, yet she didn’t want to turn Paul away. “Wow. It’s so good to see you. Would you like to come in? Can I get you some coffee?”
“Sure. Why not. That way I can report to your brother that I did my job properly. You know how lawyers can be. Sticklers for detail.”
Only after she’d closed the door and gestured toward the kitchen did Trudy grasp the full of import of Paul’s words: Her brother had asked Paul to spy on her. He hadn’t taken Trudy’s word that Jonathan wasn’t a problem. “Roger filed a report with you?”
Her emotions flitted between anger and sadness when Paul shrugged and nodded. At least he looked embarrassed about it. After Jonathan was in his crate, she poured a mug of fresh coffee for Paul. As he reached for it, their hands touched. An electric charge zipped up her arm, nearly causing her to drop the cup of hot liquid.
Paul must have felt it, too, because his eyes locked onto hers. “It wasn’t just the fact I talked to Roger.” His voice was husky. “We got a call from your mother. She claims you’re holding her hostage.”
“W-w-what? Paul, you can’t be serious.”
Now Trudy felt embarrassed. His interest had nothing to do with her personally. That strange tingle she’d felt was danger, not lust. Ma’s complaint was behind Paul’s visit and the way he was staring at her. She was a suspect.
“Yeah, I know.” He had the good grace to act sheepish. A lock of his dark, curly hair fell over one eye. “I had to at least come by and check things out.”
“When did this happen? I was with her all morning. This is the first break I’ve had. When I left her, she was sound asleep upstairs.” But the minute the words were out of her mouth, a loud thump came from the bottom of the stairs.
Trudy raced past Paul. Her mother sat on the bottom step, her legs akimbo. Her nightgown was hiked up around her pale thighs. “Ma! Are you okay? What are you doing? If you wanted to come downstairs, you know I would have helped you.”
Paul appeared at Trudy’s side. “Mrs. Wilton? I’m Paul Jankowski from the police department. I’m an old friend of Roger’s. Are you all right?”
Ma nodded, then glanced at Trudy with a gleam of triumph in her eye. She thinks she’s won, Trudy realized.
“You sure?” Paul asked Ma. “Okay, then, can I help you to your feet? One-two-three.”
Once levered to an upright position, Ma sputtered angrily. “This woman has taken over my house. I want her out. Right now. She’s holding me hostage. She and that vicious watchdog. He wants to kill me.”
“Ma, that is not fair, and you know it!” Trudy said through a clenched jaw.
Had it not been so irritating, it could have been comical. The once proper mother of Roger and Trudy’s childhood was a distant memory, faded like the color of Ma’s skin. Their mother’s wig sat on her head like an abandoned bird’s nest. Her blue-veined legs stuck out from under the thin cotton nightgown like stork limbs. Her fingers clawed at the railing with yellow nails that resembled talons. Her once perfectly proportioned nose had turned into a ghastly beak.
Who or what was this snarling creature? The one Trudy had returned home to care for?
“Come on, Ma. Let me help you back to bed.” Trudy slipped an arm around her mother’s waist and turned her around. “You know you can’t handle these stairs. All you had to do was ring the bell next to your bed. I would have come and checked on you.”
“Do you need help?” Paul’s voice echoed in the stairwell.
“I’m fine. We do this all the time,” Trudy started to say as they neared the top, but her mother interrupted with, “See how mean she is to me? I don’t want her here. And that dog? I hate him. Help me!”
Trudy got Ma tucked in and promised to bring her a cup of tea. Trotting back down the stairs, she nearly ran right into Paul as he reached out to steady her. “Appears to me that you’re the one being held hostage.”
His voice was so kind, his touch so gentle, that she allowed herself the luxury of leaning into him. She rested her forehead against his chest and breathed in the clean scent of his spicy cologne. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she pulled back rather than get him wet. Speaking to his tie, she said, “I can’t make her happy. No matter what I do, or how hard I try, it isn’t enough. And the dog. She goes on and on about the dog.”
Paul stepped aside, and Trudy hurried to the stovetop where she put on the kettle, all the while feeling grateful for a chore to do. Anything to keep her from letting loose and crying the way she thought she might.
“Hey, pup. He’s obviously a killer, isn’t he?” Paul squatted next to the crate and let Jonathan out. The Chihuahua ran to his toy box and picked up a bone-shaped stuffed gray toy. The little dog ran in a circle with the fuzzy bone in his mouth. Paul patted the floor, and Jonathan ran over and dropped his toy at the man’s feet. But when Paul went to grab it, the dog snatched it up again, chomping the toy so that it squeaked.
Paul laughed at the dog’s antics. “Why did you name him Jonathan? Big name for a little dog. What’s the story behind that?”
While she made Ma’s tea, Trudy explained that Jonathan was an applehead Chihuahua, a perfect example of his breed and worth every cent Trudy had taken from her scant savings account. The breeder had bragged on the dog’s well-rounded skull and short muzzle, but Trudy had been attracted to his fearless personality. He’d been intended for the show ring, but his teeth came in crooked, so the breeder put him up for sale.
“See?” With gentle pressure, Trudy opened the dog’s mouth. “He has a bad bite. Literally. I named him after a Jonathan apple. He’s all I have.” She blushed with embarrassment as she poured the hot tea into a yellow mug with the iconic smiley face. She hadn’t intended to sound so much like a victim. Especially in front of Paul.
“It might feel that way some days, but that’s not true.” Paul came over and stood uncomfortably close to Trudy.
She shrugged and lifted down the sugar bowl.
“Call me if you need a break.” Paul handed over his card. “I took care of my dad before he passed. It was tough. Really tough. My cell phone number is on the back.”
After he left, Trudy stuck the business card on the refrigerator with a yellow-and-green magnet that advertised Ted Drewes Frozen Custard. Just the sight of Paul’s name in bold type gave Trudy’s spirits a little lift. Maybe Paul was right. What she needed was a break. With a sense of renewal, Trudy text-messaged her brother:
Roger, I need a week off. At the very least, come and stay with Ma for a weekend. I’m at the end of my rope. Love, T.
* * * *
The next day at eight a.m., the home health-care nurse rang the doorbell. Mrs. Foster wore her hair in a bun so tight that it seemed to pull all the humanity from her face. Her mouth settled into a permanent pucker of distaste. Even so, Trudy welcomed the woman’s visit as a chance to run some errands, including a visit to the library. Ma had given Trudy a list of her favorite authors. She only read the goriest of mysteries.
Jonathan would stay in his crate while his mistress was gone.
When Trudy returned to the house, Mrs. Foster met her at the door. “We need to chat,” said the prim woman, motioning Trudy into the kitchen and pulling out a chair at the table. “I understand how challenging senior care can be. Sometimes when an elderly person gets too demanding, the caregiver can snap. Abuse is, unfortunately, more common than we like to admit.”
Abuse? The world tilted. For a heartbeat, Trudy thought she might pass out. She barely managed to set down the bag of books before sinking into her chair.
“Your mother is one of my more…obstreperous patients.” Mrs. Foster paused, folding her hands in front of her. “Obstreperous means stubbornly resistant.”
“No one knows that better than me.” Trudy’s mouth was so dry that her lips stuck to her teeth. Was Mrs. Foster commiserating or blaming? Trudy couldn’t tell.
“I,” corrected Mrs. Foster. “Not me, but I.”
“Yes.” To disguise her desire to roll her eyes, Trudy turned her attention to Jonathan, sitting patiently in his crate. His tail wagged at her encouragingly. Trudy smiled at him and struggled to stay calm.
“I’m concerned about what I see. There are signs that tell me you are having a hard time coping. I’ve decided I need to contact your brother.”
For a tick, Trudy felt relief. Maybe if Mrs. Foster explained to him how tough taking care of Ma was, Roger would listen. “Oh, he has an idea what I’ve been going through. Ma’s been really difficult. As a matter of fact, I just told my brother yesterday that I need a break. She’s too much for me to handle without a few days off now and again.”
“That might be for the best. Even so, I need to contact him and file a report.”
“Report?” Stars danced in the edges of Trudy’s vision and she felt sick.
“On the bruises.”
* * * *
After Mrs. Foster left, Trudy paced the kitchen. She sent another text to Roger. This one more urgent: Call me ASAP!
When the little bell rang summoning her, Trudy climbed the stairs and tended to Ma. It took every ounce of self-control, but Trudy didn’t ask about the bruises. Instead, she outdid herself acting solicitous. Once the old woman fell asleep, Trudy carefully lifted the sleeve on her nightgown. Four angry purple marks dotted the woman’s loose skin on the front of her upper left arm. But the marks were not perfect ovals. Instead, they were small squares. And the placement wasn’t right. If Trudy had grabbed her mother, the marks would have been at the back of the arm, not the front. On closer inspection, Trudy could also see the spacing between the marks was odd and didn’t match a handprint. While her mother slept, Trudy used her phone to take pictures of the bruises.
Once back downstairs, she looked over the images. She also took pictures of her own hands, carefully documenting the embarrassing fact that she’d bitten her nails to the quick, but showing how the placement of the bruises didn’t make sense. Clearly, Ma had hurt herself in a bid for Roger’s attention. But how had she done the injuries and what had she used? Roger would need to know all this before he heard from Mrs. Foster. Trudy sent both sets of photos to her brother and called his cell phone. It went immediately to voice mail. She texted him: This is an emergency! Call home!
An hour passed. Pacing the kitchen floor, Trudy debated what to do. Soon Ma would wake up from her nap. Trudy would have no chance to talk to her brother in private.
“This can’t wait,” Trudy told Jonathan as she dialed the law office where Roger worked. “Once he hears my side of this, he just has to stick up for me.”
“Bristol, Sturbridge, and Messina,” said the cultured voice of the receptionist. “How may we help you?”
“Hello, this is Trudy Wilton. I’m calling for my brother, Roger.”
“Mr. Wilton is not in right now.”
Panic, raw and painful, rose in Trudy’s throat. “It’s about our mother. It’s urgent. I’ve called his cell phone but it goes straight to voice mail. Please help me. I really, really need to get in touch with him.”
“Oh, dear! I am so sorry. The cruise ship must be out of cell tower range. They’ll be docking in Jamaica tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll be calling in to get his messages.”
* * * *
For the rest of the afternoon, Trudy picked up Paul’s business card in between chores, looked it over, and set it back down. She couldn’t bring herself to call the cop. “He’s Roger’s friend,” she muttered to Jonathan. “That’s all. I can’t tell him how angry I am with my brother. He was just being nice when he told me I could call. It wasn’t an invitation to whine about how unfair my life is.”
Jonathan didn’t seem to agree. The little dog brought her his stuffed bone. He shook it vigorously at her and growled playfully when she tried to snatch it back.
“See?” Ma’s voice startled Trudy. She’d managed to climb down the stairs and sneak around the corner into the kitchen. “I told you that animal is mean. You need to get rid of him. Before he hurts me. He could bite me any minute. That dog is a menace.”
* * * *
When Trudy’s phone rang the next day, she didn’t even get the chance to spit out a greeting.
“You pinched our mother? How could you?”
“I did nothing—”
“Mrs. Foster told me everything. There are laws against what you did, Trudy. Elder abuse is a crime.”
“I didn’t hurt our—”
“Ma’s a defenseless old lady, and you hurt her! How could you?”
“I d-d-d-didn’t—” It had been like this when they were little. Roger was always able to think on his feet, while Trudy stuttered and stammered.
“Right. I saw the pictures, Trudy!”
White hot anger spilled over. “W-w-when? B-b-between drinking margaritas and—”
“I didn’t expect you to understand. It’s part of my job!”
“You always did get away with murder!” she screamed.
“Murder? Now you’re threatening our mother? You harm one hair on her head and I’ll see to it you never get a red penny of her estate!”
The estate. That was it. That was what he was after. And he’d go along with any of Ma’s lies to get it. Not that there would be much in the estate. Basically, the proceeds from the house. But it would be enough to start a new life.
Roger hung up after ranting for another minute, and Trudy brewed a cup of tea. Then she sat down to think, with Jonathan settling on her lap. Okay, so her mother didn’t like her. Would never like her. But with a little money, she could start over. And by God, she deserved it for all the crap she’d been putting up with. But first, she needed to prove she wasn’t hurting Ma.
* * * *
That evening, while Ma was in the bathroom, Trudy dug around in her mother’s bedclothes. Under the pillows, Trudy found a clothespin. According to the image on Trudy’s iPhone, the clamp matched the shape of Ma’s bruises perfectly.
So that was how she did it.
Ma was pinching her own skin on purpose. To get Trudy in trouble. Maybe even send her to jail. Sure, Trudy could testify that she’d found the clothespin under the pillows, but who would believe her? Trudy tucked the clothespin into the pocket of her jeans. With shaking hands, Trudy helped her mother back into bed.
Trudy tucked Ma in. She had one hand on the light switch and had opened her mouth to say “good night” when the old woman said, “You need to get rid of that dog or I’m going to get rid of you. See if I don’t. This is still my house. My rules. You’ll be sorry you tangled with me.”
“Yes, Ma.”
Once downstairs again, Trudy took Jonathan out of the crate. She sat on the sofa and hugged him. His warm tongue lapped at her cheek. She felt tired. Defeated. What was the use? It was down to her and Ma. Opponents.
Ma had Roger, Mrs. Foster, and the law on her side.
Trudy had…Jonathan.
He seemed to know what she was thinking. He put a paw on each of her shoulders and licked her face tenderly. It was almost as if he were asking, “How can I help?”
“You can’t do anything, sweetie.” Trudy brought him to her face to kiss his nose. “I know you’d like to be my knight in shining armor. I know you’d save me from the mean old witch. But you can’t. You’re just a dog. I can’t give you up. I won’t. No way.” In an act of desperation, she went into the kitchen, grabbed Paul’s card, and dialed his number.
When he answered, she burst into tears.
“I’m on my way,” he said. “Hang in there.”
* * * *
He arrived with a pint of Ted Drewes Frozen Custard in one hand and a bottle of Menage à Trois Midnight Dark Red Wine in the other. “Pick your poison.”
Instead, she wiped her eyes and laughed. “Great. Here I am, bigger than a barn, and you’re offering me more calories.”
“That’s baloney. You’re absolutely perfect. I’ve always thought so.”
“Really?” She couldn’t believe her ears.
“Really,” and his voice had turned husky again.
Without waiting for him to set down the gifts, she threw her arms around his neck. Paul rewarded her with a long, hungry kiss. That led to more of the same, until finally, he put the ice cream and the booze down on the coffee table. His hands felt cold as they crept under her blouse, but Trudy didn’t care. When the banging began, she was lost in a fog of heightened senses. The noise didn’t make sense. Paul moaned and pulled her closer.
A loud clang of metal against metal forced Trudy to tear herself away from Paul’s embrace.
Trudy raced toward the noise. Jonathan sat at the bottom of the staircase. Ma stood on the top step and banged her cane against the wrought-iron bannister. “I’m going to get you! See if I don’t!”
“Ma!” Trudy was exasperated. “Calm down before you fall and hurt yourself.”
Paul came up behind Trudy and put his hand on her shoulder. She reached up and twined her fingers through his. She’d waited so long for a moment like this, and of course, Ma had to ruin it. What else was new?
“Yip! Yip!” Jonathan’s bark broke the spell.
“I’m going to kill that dog!” Ma raised her cane over her head.
“I’ll help your mother. You get the dog,” Paul said.
Trudy swooped down and picked up Jonathan. From his perch in her arms, the Chihuahua bared his teeth and growled at the old woman. Trudy felt like growling too.
“That dog is a killer! I’m going to kill it before it kills me!” Ma shrieked. Then she pitched forward and tumbled down the stairs, bump, bump, bump. The force of her fall shook the entire house. Ma came down, head over heels, tumbling, gurgling, banging. Instinctively Trudy and Paul both jumped away from the human pinwheel of legs and arms. Ma’s auburn wig skidded along the floor like a frightened guinea pig.
As the couple watched in stunned horror, Ma’s body came to an abrupt stop. Her head twisted at a sharp right angle to her neck. Her unseeing eyes stared up at the ceiling.
“Oh, no,” Trudy said. “No!”
Paul pressed his fingers against Ma’s throat and shook his head.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Was she? Trudy was free now, free of Ma’s complaints and lies and constant nagging about Jonathan. But she also had lost her mother—the only one she’d ever have. She’d never have another chance to make things right between them. All the sadness and the pain broke free inside her, and she put Jonathan on the floor. Trudy couldn’t hold back the sobs. “He’ll blame me. Roger will. He’ll never forgive me, and he’s promised to send me to jail.”
“What?” Paul wrapped his arms around Trudy as she explained about the clothespin. “Roger thinks I’ve been abusing her.”
“Whoa,” he said as he hugged her closer. “Aren’t you forgetting something? I’m a police officer. I saw what happened. I’ll explain it to your brother. You’ve got the pictures and the clothespin, right? It’s going to be okay.”
Jonathan whined and pawed their legs. Paul let go of Trudy and picked up the little dog. “We know who the real culprit was. Right, Killer?”
National bestselling and award-winning author Joanna Campbell Slan has written thirty books and twice as many short stories. RT Reviews has called her one of mystery’s “rising stars.” Joanna’s nonfiction has been endorsed by Toastmasters International; her first novel was shortlisted for the Agatha Award; and her historical fiction won the Daphne du Maurier Award. She edits the Happy Homicides anthologies and coauthors the Dollhouse Décor & More series. Visit her at www.JoannaSlan.com.