“There you are, sweet little boy.” Gran sat with Waffle in her lap, feeding him grapes like he was a Greek god.
So, I wasn’t entirely to blame for spoiling him. Gran did her part, but how could I tell her to stop after she’d gifted us with such a delicious meal?
We sat in Gran’s living room with the view of the lake, the sun setting, our bellies full of lasagna. Of course, Waffle’s tummy was full of good veggies, and the grapes were a treat. I drank my pop, my feet up on Gran’s favorite ottoman, taking even breaths.
“Gran,” I said, “do you know a woman by the name of Roxanne Maas?”
“Roxanne?” Gran’s tone soured. “Oh yes, I know Roxanne. She’s the one who sells jewelry on the street corner? Fifth and Bundine Boulevard?”
“Apparently,” I said. “I’ve been trying to find her. You know, so that I can talk to her about Angela. They were supposed to meet that morning.”
“I’d love to help you, honey, but she moves around so much with that brood of hers, I couldn’t tell you where she stays now.”
“She moves around?”
“Oh, sure. She’s Star Lake’s worst tenant. Folks know by now not to rent apartments or houses to her, but they still do it. I don’t know if it’s out of pity for her kids or what,” Gran said. “I’ve got to admit, it’s sad how those kids are being raised. A child will struggle to blossom when they don’t stay put for long enough.”
“Are they in school?”
“Yeah, they’re in school, thankfully. That’s one thing that’s being done right, but they’re a bunch of heck raisers, or so I hear from Miss Darlene at the middle school. Poor woman has sprouted about five gray hairs a day since they started in her class.”
“I wonder where Roxanne stays.”
“Try the trailer park,” Gran said. “Or the campgrounds on the outskirts of town. Most likely, you’ll find her there.”
“I take it she’s not affiliated with the boaters, butchers, or bakers?” I asked.
“Definitely not. She sent them packing the minute they tried, and they listened.”
“A formidable woman?”
“I guess you could say so,” Gran said. “I’m not old-fashioned or anything, but I believe that a woman should act responsibly, especially when she has children. She’s not responsible. Always trying some new fangled business idea, and all because she can’t hold down a job.”
“Why not?” I was always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. It was clear Gran had made up her mind.
“Because she steals,” Gran said. “Whenever she’s had good thing going, she’s managed to ruin it by stealing from her employer. Terrible example for her children. And you know, I’ve offered her help before too, and she downright refused it. Too proud. More than willing to steal for her supper but won’t accept a helping hand. I don’t understand it.”
My grandmother, in all her dynamitey-goodness, was well-meaning. She wanted the people of Star Lake to be happy. And I knew it had to worry her that Roxanne’s kids might need help that their mother couldn’t afford to give them.
We fell silent, Gran occasionally cooing at Waffle. He lay in her lap, the true lap of luxury, yawning and showing his massive two front teeth.
The TV was on, though the sound was low so we could talk, and I flicked through the channels, trying to find something that would distract me sufficiently. Roxanne might be in the trailer park. I’d have to check there soon. There had to be some way to find her and—
“Do you know what else I heard?” Gran asked, settling back against the couch.
“Do tell.”
“Brittany was mugged.”
“Who?”
“Brittany from my book club, Milly. I swear I’ve told you about her before.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”
Gran waved a hand. “Oh, that doesn’t matter. The point is, she was mugged, and right on Baker Street too.”
“Baker Street,” I said. “That’s right around the corner from…” I trailed off, barely hearing my grandmother’s follow-up reply.
Baker Street was right around the corner from the Starlight Cafe. A mugger. Around the corner from the cafe. On the route Angela likely walked from the intersection where Roxanne Maas supposedly peddled her jewelry.
“—told her that she ought to walk with someone else at that time of the night but she wouldn’t listen to me, and now look what’s happened,” Gran said. “It’s a miracle the sheriff decided to bring in outside help for the murder case. It’s not like he’s handled the mugging issue at all.”
Angela had walked through the quiet town streets, likely past the mugger’s hiding spot. What if they had seen something? What if the mugger was actually the killer? Or what if the mugger was the one who had taken Angela’s pretty pink heels? Then where had she gotten the sneakers from? A pair of gym shoes maybe?