4
Four
“So, I know you probably think of Martha as a sweet old bird who never hurt anyone, but that was just her public persona,” Sebastian announced as we left the funeral parlor.
“I don’t remember hearing anything bad about her,” I said as we stood at the intersection and waited to cross the street. The senior center — if that’s where he was taking me — was only a block down the street so there was no reason to drive.
“That’s because we were kids and we considered anyone over the age of thirty decrepit.”
“I didn’t believe that.”
He shot me a sidelong look. “We all thought it. When you’re sixteen, the idea of crossing certain thresholds is hard to swallow. You want to hit twenty-one but can’t imagine what comes after. Martha was way over thirty. We didn’t know her secrets.”
“Do you know her secrets?”
“Yes.” He was solemn. “She has a camera in the Yarn Barn and if she sees teenagers touching each other inappropriately — or what she deems to be inappropriate — she calls their parents to tattle.”
I was dumbfounded. “What teenagers are going into the Yarn Barn?”
He snorted. “It figures that’s what you would glom onto.” He shook his head. “Teenagers like crafts. There aren’t many stores in Shadow Hills that cater to things outside of practical matters. Martha did pretty well ... but all the kids were aware that they couldn’t trust her not to call, so they were careful when going into her store.”
I was taken aback. “Really?”
“Um, yeah.”
“That’s kind of rotten.” I considered it for a moment. “Yeah, it’s definitely cruel. I don’t know why she would do that.”
“She had a well-known mean streak,” Sebastian replied as he laced his fingers with mine to cross the road. It didn’t seem out of place because it was a friendly gesture, nothing romantic at all, and I actually appreciated the tactile contact. Sebastian was gay and I was involved — or about to be involved — with my first love.
“I’m still confused,” I said as we hit the sidewalk in front of the library. “If she had a mean streak, why didn’t people talk about it more? My grandfather loves to gossip with the best of them.”
“Yes, but your grandfather avoids the senior center,” Sebastian countered. “That’s your grandmother’s domain.”
Now I was really confused. “I don’t understand. Before I left town, neither of them hung with that group.”
“Because you have to be sixty-five.”
I did the math in my head. “Okay, both my grandparents qualify. Why is only my grandmother involved with this group?”
“You’ve forgotten how little small towns have going for them. There are, like, three things to do here for each age group, and the senior center is one of the biggies for the over sixty-five crowd.”
“I’m following so far. That still doesn’t explain why you’re making such a big deal over this.”
“Have you ever considered I just like the drama?”
“Every single day.”
He laughed. “Well, that’s partially true. I’m also in tune with seniors these days because I run a funeral home. They’re in at least once a month because one of their friends — or sometimes a frenemy — has died. They impart a lot of secrets to me.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Everything I say makes sense.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” I shot him a quelling look. There was no need for him to get too big a swelled head. “I didn’t realize my grandmother was hanging around at the senior center. Why would she want to do that when my grandfather clearly isn’t interested?”
“Your grandfather has the restaurant to keep him busy,” Sebastian explained. “He’s getting close to retirement, but he’s structured the restaurant in such a manner that he can work whatever hours he wants and then sit at the counter bossing everybody around while being the center of attention while watching over his fiefdom.”
“That was a mouthful, huh?”
He grinned. “You know what I mean. He gets a lot of social interaction at the restaurant. He doesn’t need the senior center. Your grandmother is a different story. She’s never much liked the restaurant, but she does enjoy her social circle.”
He wasn’t wrong. As far as I knew, my grandmother met her small circle of judgmental old women at least once a week for tea and gossip. If I had to guess, all the women she spent her time around probably participated in the senior center events. “And Martha was part of this crew?”
“She was ... well, kind of. She was part of the euchre crew.”
I wrinkled my nose. “They play euchre?”
“Oh, now you’re interested.” He laughed when I squirmed. “I remember how competitive you were when we played euchre back in the day. That might be a family trait, because your grandmother is supposedly just as competitive as you.”
“I’m not competitive.” Even as I said the words, I knew it was a lie. “I mean ... I’m only a little competitive when it comes to euchre.”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” Sebastian halted at the senior center, pulling me back before I could move onto the sidewalk that led to the main building. “Isn’t that your hot little boyfriend?” He inclined his head toward a vehicle parked at an odd angle and blocking traffic into and from the senior center parking lot. Hunter stood next to the window of the car, bent over and talking with the driver.
“I don’t believe we’re defining our relationship at the present time,” I offered stiffly.
Sebastian didn’t bother to hide his eye roll. “Oh, you’re so full of it.” He jabbed his fingers from his free hand into his mouth and let loose a whistle to draw Hunter’s attention.
When he looked up, Hunter said something to the driver, tapped the hood of the car when crossing in front of it, and then made his way toward us. “What are you guys doing here?”
I felt exposed. “We were just visiting,” I replied, releasing Sebastian’s hand. “We weren’t doing anything. I mean ... we were just screwing around.”
“I think she’s saying you have nothing to worry about,” Sebastian said when Hunter smiled. “I’m only borrowing her. I don’t intend to keep her.”
Hunter glanced between us and shook his head. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”
Because I felt stupid admitting we were going to spy on senior citizens who may or may not have had a beef with Martha, I changed the subject. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m having a talk with Douglas French.” Hunter jerked his thumb toward the car, which had yet to move. “He’s decided that everyone is cheating at cards, so to stop it he won’t allow anyone into the parking lot.”
Sebastian cocked his head. “Doesn’t he realize there’s another entrance one street over?”
Hunter shrugged. “I don’t believe he does. He just keeps talking about the ‘cheating bastards trumping his aces.’”