Janet Evanovich - Notorious Nineteen

“We’ll be in big trouble if she finds out I took you to the hospital.”

“She won’t find out. I’m wearing a disguise, and I have a fake ID. As far as anyone knows I’m Selma Whizzer today.”

“What’s going on?” Lula wanted to know.

“It’s Grandma. She’s at the beauty parlor, and she needs a ride to the hospital so she can snoop for us. She said she’s in disguise.”

“I gotta see this. Is she at the beauty parlor on Hamilton by the bridal shop?”

“Yes.”

“I’m on it. Tell her we’re fifteen minutes out.”

FIVE

LULA ALMOST JUMPEDthe curb when she saw Grandma in front of the hair salon. Grandma was wearing a blond Marilyn Monroe wig, a hot pink tank top, black Pilates pants, and black kitten heels. She looked like the senior version of an inflatable sex toy doll that needed more air.

“Your granny’s real fashion forward with the retro wig, and I love the little pink tank top,” Lula said, “but we gotta fatten her up. I don’t like to be critical, only she’s got too much skin. You could fit a whole other person in that skin.”

Grandma tottered over on her little heels. “What do you think?” Grandma said, climbing into the backseat. “I bet you didn’t know who it was standing there until I waved at you.”

“It’s a good disguise,” Lula said, “but you might be cold in that tank top when you get into the hospital.”

“I got a sweater in my purse,” Grandma said. “I’m all prepared. I could take care of any situation. I’m packing heat more ways than one.”

Lula pulled out into traffic. “You telling me you got a gun?”

“Of course I got a gun. I got a big one too. A person’s gotta be prepared. You never know when you might have to stop a bank robbery.”

“That’s true,” Lula said. “Good thinking.”

“It’s not good thinking!” I said.

Grandma clicked her seat belt into place. “You sound like your mother.”

“Sometimes she’s right.” Truth is, she was almost always right. And my life would probably be improved if I listened to her more often.

“What are you girls doing today?” Grandma asked.

“We’re going to check out Cranberry Manor,” Lula said. “It’s one of them exploratory trips.”

“Maybe I could go with you,” Grandma said. “I always wanted to see Cranberry Manor. I heard a lot about it. And then you could drop me off at the hospital on the way back.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Lula said. “Granny could be our decoy. We could go incognito.”

Grandma sat forward. “I could say I’m interested in moving there on account of my son-in-law is a horse’s patoot.”

“And your mother wouldn’t get so mad at you if she found out you took Granny to see about moving into the old people’s home,” Lula said.

A half hour later we parked in the visitors’ lot and entered Cranberry Manor through the front door. It was a typical senior living complex, with a pleasant reception area and two wings for residents.

“This is real pretty,” Grandma said. “They have flowers growing outside and everything looks fresh painted.”

“That’s not going to last long being that they’re broke,” Lula said.

We stopped at the small informal reception desk in the lobby and told the woman we’d like a tour.

“I’m interested in living here,” Grandma said. “I want to see everything.”

“Wonderful,” the woman said, taking in Grandma’s hair and tank top, trying to maintain a friendly smile. “I’ll ring Carol. She’s our salesperson.”

Carol appeared immediately, undoubtedly excited at the thought of extracting money from someone who might not have heard Cranberry Manor was filing for bankruptcy.

“Just down the hall is the dining room,” Carol said, leading the way.

“I like the sound of that,” Grandma said. “Do they serve cocktails?”

“Not cocktails, but residents can have wine with dinner.”

Grandma peeked inside the dining room. “Just like being at a fancy restaurant with tablecloths and everything. Can I have oatmeal and eggs and bacon at breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“And coffee cake?”

“Yes.”

“Sign me up,” Grandma said.

“We have more to see,” I told her.

“Yeah, don’t get carried away with the oatmeal,” Lula said.

“We have two identical wings,” Carol said. “They each have their own social center.”

The social center we visited looked like a big living room. Large-screen television, three game tables, couches and chairs arranged in conversational groups. Four women were playing bridge at one of the game tables. Two men were watching a Wheel of Fortune rerun on the television.

“Excuse me,” Grandma said to the women. “I might move here, and I was wondering what you thought of the place.”

“They use powdered eggs at breakfast,” one of the women said. “They tell us they’re real eggs, but I know a powdered egg when I see one.”

“And they buy cheap toilet paper,” another woman said. “Single ply. And it’s all because of that Geoffrey Cubbin.”

“And he was a womanizer,” the first woman said. “He was having affairs with some of the ladies here.”

“You mean some of the ladies who live here?” Grandma asked.

The woman nodded. “There have been rumors.”

“I wouldn’t mind having an affair,” Grandma said.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” the woman said. “He’s gone, and he’s not coming back.”

The women all nodded in agreement.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Grandma said. “He could pop up.”

“He better not pop up here,” the woman said. “It wouldn’t be healthy for him, if you know what I mean. We would have put a hit out on him but he stole all our money.”

“Let’s move on to the exercise area,” Carol said, steering Grandma away.

“Do you have any idea what happened to Geoffrey Cubbin?” I asked Carol. “I understand he had his appendix removed and then disappeared from the hospital.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Carol said. “I have my hands full here, trying to keep the crew from mutiny.”

We toured the rest of the building, talked to about forty people, got a brochure and an application from Carol, and returned to the Firebird.

“I could have my own bathroom if I lived here,” Grandma said. “That’s on the plus side. On the other side I wouldn’t have anything to do at night. How would I get to the funeral home for viewings?”

“Yeah, and those Cranberry people were all cranky,” Lula said. “They should be giving them more than one glass of wine at dinner. They should be putting Kahlúa in their coffee in the morning. And if they find Cubbin toes up in a Dumpster they should start the investigation at Cranberry Manor because he’s not a popular guy there.”

Lula drove us back to Trenton and dropped Grandma off at the hospital.

“Don’t shoot anyone,” I told Grandma.

“Only if I have to,” she said, straightening her wig. “I’ll call when I need a ride home.”

“I’m hungry,” Lula said, driving off. “I could use a healthy lunch like nachos from the convenience store on Olden.”

“That’s not healthy.”

“It’s corn and it’s got cheese product. That’s two of the major food groups.”

“If we wait until we get back to the office we can stop at Giovichinni’s and get a salad.”

“A salad? What do I look like, an alpaca? I’m a big woman. I can’t keep going on a salad. I need salt and grease and shit.”

I had to get into a slinky little black dress tonight. I wasn’t up for salt and grease and shit. “Giovichinni will add all that stuff to your salad. Just ask for it.”