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Sandra turned away from the lifeless body of poor Ivan Clark and stepped into his small, cluttered living room. He had a lot of furniture for a man who lived alone. Her heart started pounding. Did he live alone? Why had she assumed that? Had his wife or girlfriend shot him because he’d brought home a pile of some other woman’s dresses? “Maybe we should go wait in the car,” she said, her voice shaky. Even as she finished the sentence, she knew she would do no such thing.
“Go ahead,” Bob said. He too knew she wouldn’t do it.
Leaving the living room, she stepped into a narrow hallway. The dark paneling on both walls made it feel even darker than it was. It smelled like mildew and sewage. She put the back of her hand to her nose, grateful for the lavender soap she used at home. She paused at a door to her left. Lest she encounter any more surprise goo, she pulled her shirt sleeve down over her hand and turned the doorknob.
The door opened to reveal a relatively neat, sparsely furnished guest room. The mattress was bare, and a few dusty boxes were scattered around the room. She stepped inside, briefly, but she got the sense no one had been in this room for a long time, and she backed out again.
The next door was to her right, and it stood open. She looked into the room.
“Watch your step,” Bob said and then reached past her to turn on the light.
Sure enough, there was a large, awkward step down into this room, which was spacious and neater than the rest of the house had been thus far. She walked toward the piano, which was covered with framed pictures of Jazmyn. In most of them, she was dancing. She looked beautiful.
A few of the photos were blurry. Sandra assumed they had been snapped from a distance.
The piano was clean and gleaming. Had Ivan sat here alone, serenading these pictures? The more she knew about the man, the sadder he got.
She looked around the room for another minute and then hiked herself back up into the trailer and turned right to go down the hallway, past the bathroom, which she didn’t explore, and into his bedroom.
“I found the clothes,” she said.
“I know.”
She jumped. She hadn’t known that Bob was right behind her.
Shiny dresses, sweaters, sequined costumes, and leggings of every color were piled up on the bed. An imprint in the middle of the collection suggested Ivan had slept among them, probably covered up by them.
“Someone’s here,” Bob said.
Really? She hadn’t heard anything. She followed him back into the living room. “Is it Chip?” This was wishful thinking. No way could he have gotten there already.
“It’s Gertrude.”
Well, that was better than a murderous wife or girlfriend. Sort of.
“Why are you always everywhere I want to be?” Gertrude cried out when she saw Sandra in the doorway.
“The police are on their way. Ivan is in here. He’s dead.”
Gertrude stopped ten feet shy of the door and narrowed her eyes. “Did you kill him?”
“Of course not!”
Gertrude started again.
“You can’t come in. Detective Buker told me to not let anyone in.” This was a lie, but for once, Sandra didn’t feel guilty.
Gertrude stopped and glared at her. “Are you going to try to stop me?”
Sandra widened her stance. She had no idea what she was going to do if Gertrude tried to wrestle her way into the house. She didn’t want to hurt the obnoxious woman. But was she so sure that was the way such a struggle would go? “Yes, I am.”
Slowly, Gertrude started toward her. Sandra’s body tensed up, but it took so long for Gertrude to reach her that her body grew tired and started to relax. When Gertrude was within spitting distance, Calvin said, “Gertrude, don’t.” But it was plain he didn’t believe his words held any power over Gertrude.
Gertrude reached the bottom of the steps. Sandra stood on the threshold. The steps were small and narrow and difficult to navigate with a walker. Gertrude stopped to study them. She placed the front legs of her walker on the bottom step, but then there really wasn’t any room for her feet. So she moved the walker up another step and then stepped onto the first step. She looked up at Sandra then, as if Sandra should be threatened by her progress.
Sandra was not. Sandra was trying not to laugh. At this rate, Chip would be there before Gertrude got to the top of the steps.
But now that Gertrude had a method, she picked up speed. She was now moving at the speed of a turtle instead of a sloth.
She stopped. She had gone as far as she could go. Because she was standing two steps below Sandra and because Gertrude was short, she was eye level with Sandra’s belly button. Sandra brimmed with confidence.
But then Gertrude’s demeanor changed. She puffed out her cheeks and picked up her walker and started to pivot on the step, holding her walker a few inches above the porch. What was she doing? She was turning around. Had she given up? She now faced Calvin on the walkway. She put her walker back down on a lower step, but her feet did not descend. Instead, she stepped backward. Her arms pushed up on the walker handles and suddenly she was on the top step, almost touching her. And then she was touching her. She’d moved the walker up another step and was pushing off it with her arms. She bent over a little and shoved her fanny right into Sandra’s thighs.
Sandra almost staggered backward and grabbed the frame for support. Is she boxing me out? Had this woman played basketball at some point in her life? Sandra really wished she had a whistle to blow.
“Gertruuuuuude!” Calvin tried, but Gertrude kept pushing. She was incredibly strong. So much stronger than she looked.
Sandra’s hand slipped on the rotten wood, and when she lurched back to get her grip again, Gertrude’s body had filled the space. Oh no, Gertrude had a foot on the threshold. And Sandra only had one foot and one hand in place.
Gertrude grunted with effort.
“Oh, just let her in,” Bob said, amused.
“A little help would be nice!” she snapped.
Gertrude stopped pushing. “Who are you talking to?” Sandra tried to take advantage of this lull in the action, but then Gertrude came back with a vengeance, slamming her backside into Sandra and placing her second foot on the threshold.
Sandra knew she had lost. She could have kneed the woman in the rump. She could have let go of the house and pushed her back out onto the steps. But she did neither of these things. The woman was obnoxious, but she wasn’t evil. And besides, she was older than Sandra. Sandra didn’t make a habit of beating up her elders.
Sandra tried to stand her ground, but she could feel her fingers slipping from the weak, splintered wood. Gertrude let out a mighty final grunt, and then Sandra was falling backward. She landed on her rump but had only a second to be angry about the pain of that, because Gertrude was falling toward her. Sandra tried to get her arms up to stop the avalanche of Gertrude, but she didn’t have time, and then Gertrude landed on her like a ton of bricks.
Bob was laughing.
“Help,” Sandra tried but it came out a wheezy whisper. She tried to roll to the left, but Gertrude had the same idea at the same time. She rolled off Sandra and landed on the floor right in front of her, giving an elbow to Sandra’s cheekbone in the process.
“Ow.” Sandra’s eyes filled with tears.
Gertrude grabbed a rung of her walker and tried to pull herself to her feet.
Sandra realized Calvin was in the house now. He tried to help Gertrude up, but she yanked away from him. “I can do it,” she snapped.
Why did this man spend any time with Gertrude at all? Did she have something on him?
Sandra lay there for a minute, trying to recover and wishing Bob would help her up. But the help didn’t come. Then Sandra realized she was lying on a filthy floor only feet away from a dead body, and that was all the motivation she needed. When she sat up, Calvin came to her aid and helped her the rest of the way to her feet. She felt guilty accepting help from him. He was no spring chicken either. She gave Bob a dirty look.
Gertrude’s eyes snapped to Bob. “Who’s there?” she demanded.
“No one is here,” Sandra managed, still having trouble breathing.
Gertrude glared at her. “You were asking for help. Who were you talking to?”
“She was probably talking to me, Gertrude,” Calvin said.
Gertrude turned to glare at him. “Why would you help her?”
Calvin shrugged. “She’s probably wondering why I would help you.”
