murder sunrise

Grams was dying, and I was on the other side of the country. The conversation from last night still played in my head: 

“I need you to come home.”

“We’ve talked about this,” I said, trying to let her down gently for the umpteenth time. “You know it’s not my home. I don’t fit there.”

“I know.” Grams paused. “But I went to the doctor today.” Another pause, and a sigh. “He told me I might not have very long left.”

“To do what?”

“Until I go to be with Gramps in Heaven.”

I sat up so fast it made me dizzy. “What are you talking about?”

After everything that had happened that week, that was the bit of news that had kept me up all night, tossing and turning in an eerily empty apartment. I rolled over to look at the clock. Two a.m. Ten after two. Quarter after. It seemed like the longest night of my life as I stared at the ceiling, holding myself back from screaming. This was not how I’d imagined my life would be. Not now. I chased my dreams, and life just kept whacking me in the kneecaps with a reality two-by-four.  I nearly jumped out of my skin when the phone rang.

“Did I wake you, Kelly?” Grams asked. Her voice sounded warm on the phone. I tried to choke back my tears. 

“I never went to sleep,” I said, my mind still foggy. “Tell me what the doctor said.” 

Grams brushed me off. “I don’t want to go into that,” she scolded. “I was calling to see if you are coming home. I’ll pay for everything to get you moved back here,” she continued, interrupting the depressing silence. “I can wire you the money today, and you can stay in the old apartment over the bar, rent free.” 

 There was a long silence as I thought about my answer. I knew what my response had to be. There was nothing for me now in New York. Roger had disappeared without notice, and the job at the gallery had evaporated just as quickly. In a city of nearly eight and a half million, I felt alone, alone except for Grams’ voice on the other end of the line, more than two thousand miles away. I knew what the answer had to be. I just didn’t want to admit it. 

“What do you say?” Grams asked, interrupting my thoughts again. “It will give you some time to get a fresh perspective, and we can be the talk of Maple Creek together. Just like the old days.” I rolled my eyes. Grams was always the talk of Maple Creek. I was usually the innocent bystander who had to explain her willful defiance of old age to anyone who didn’t know her. 

“Okay, Grams, okay. I’ll need a couple of days to pack up everything and get a rental car. It will take me about four days to drive home. I’ll be home in about a week.” My heart sank as I spoke. It felt like I was saying, “I failed. My dreams didn’t work out, and I’m coming back to Maple Creek with my tail between my legs.” If Grams weren’t dying, I might try one more time to make it as an artist in the Big Apple. But I’d already lost Gramps while I was in art school, and I absolutely wasn’t going to lose Grams while I was on the other side of the country if I could help it. 

“Good.” Grams sounded content. Normally, she’s a pretty tough woman—you’d have to be to run the Feisty Goat bar for so many years. Every once in a while, however, she lets her guard down just enough to let you know she is indeed human. “I’m looking forward to spending time with you. Maybe we’ll go for a drive. Like for old times’ sake.” 

“Are you well enough to drive?” I asked. The last thing Maple Creek needed was a sick old woman driving her yellow ’72 Cadillac convertible with leopard-print seat covers down Main Street at three in the morning. 

“Don’t be crazy,” Grams said with a chuckle. “I’d have to be six feet under before I stopped doing the Sunrise Cruise.” 

The Sunrise Cruise was the one thing (aside from Grams and Gramps) that I missed about Maple Creek. Every once in a while, after the bar closed down for the night, Grams would load up a couple straggling customers still hanging around the Feisty Goat—and more importantly, only the customers who hadn’t irritated her during business hours—and drive them around town, top down, until the sun came up. The Sunrise Cruise ended when Grams dropped everyone off, then went to Mary and Lou’s for breakfast and a cup of decaf coffee, ordered with the same joke each time: “Make sure it is decaf. I don’t want to be up all morning.” 

“I’d love to do a Sunset Cruise again,” I said, glad she was still holding onto the tradition and choking back tears that this too would soon come to an end. 

“Okay. Let me know when you leave,” Grams said. “Make sure you call me every night when you stop, so I know you’re safe.”

“I will.”

“I’ll make a reservation for your rental truck and send you some money to help pay for your trip.”

“Don’t worry about it. I still have some left in my savings.”

“Too late. I already did.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then quickly remembered the futility of such an action. One didn’t argue with Grams, especially when the money in my savings account wasn’t anywhere near what it would cost to move back. 

“Grams?” I asked. “How much longer do you have?” 

“Why do you insist on asking such depressing questions?” she barked with an exaggerated sigh. “I still have a couple kicks left in me, so don’t break the law getting out here. We’ll still have plenty of time to be together. I’ll let you in on the details when we can talk face to face.” 

Lying back on the bed, it took me several minutes to process everything. Grams had always been healthy. I couldn’t even remember her ever getting a cold. She’d always been full of energy and life. I know everyone dies. I just hadn’t expected her to go so soon.

It might have been my imagination, but she’d sounded so tired. I couldn’t think of losing Grams. She and Gramps had raised me after my parents died. As far as I knew, I didn’t have any other living relatives. The thought that I might be truly alone in this world sent an icy finger up and down my spine. The thought of a world without Grams’ antics made everything seem bleak and gray.

I stumbled to the kitchen, almost in a daze, to make a pot of coffee. As the coffeemaker gurgled to life, I rifled through the fridge, hoping I could find something to cobble together for breakfast. One egg, one piece of cheddar and, if I retrieved it with a spatula, a quarter cup of blueberry yoghurt. My practical side kicked in as I watched the coffee pot slowly fill with that black nectar of life. I realized all this took care of a couple of problems for me. I wouldn’t have to worry about getting a job in New York. I was sure I would find one back home. If nothing else, I could help Grams in the bar to earn my keep. I probably would have to anyway, if she was that sick.

I sat at the table with my breakfast, thinking about everything I needed to get done in such a short time. I knew it was going to be a hectic and tiring week. I just wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep for the rest of the morning, but I didn’t have the time. I looked at a group of paintings leaning against the wall. I had been working on a new series for my show at the coffee shop, but I would have to call the owner, apologize profusely, and cancel the show. 

I’d be able to get all my things into a small van. The only possessions I really needed and cared about were my paints and canvases, my clothes, and a few good books. Everything else either came with the apartment or could be donated to a thrift store.

The next couple days were a flurry of shoving my belongings into cardboard boxes, trips to the thrift store drop-off, and trying to remember what else I’d forgotten. Grams wired more than enough money to ensure my trip back to Maple Creek wouldn’t involve staying in run-down motels and living off fast-food dollar menus.

I looked around the apartment one last time. It seemed so empty. Roger was gone, and all my belongings I cared about enough to drive them across the country were packed away in a small rental truck. I pulled my notebook out of my backpack to write a quick note to Roger. What am I doing? I thought, scolding myself. Writing a note to the man who left without any explanation, just a note on the table?I certainly didn’t owe him an explanation. After we had lived together eight months, he disappeared, leaving only that vague note and money for rent. I’d sent the money he’d left for the next six months’ rent to the landlord. If Roger came back, he’d still have his apartment. But I’d be long gone, back in Maple Creek.  

The drive was oddly relaxing. Leaving the city, I felt both a sense of failure and of relief. I’d made such a big deal of moving to New York when I left, and those words were going to haunt me: That girl who thought she was too good for Maple Creek comes crawling back. But after everything that’d happened in the past two weeks, it would be so good to be with Grams again, even if our time was limited. 

***

About ten miles outside of Maple Creek, I pulled the car into a shady rest stop with a good view of the mountain peaks. I told myself I needed to stop and stretch, to walk around a bit before the last several miles. The real reason was to give myself one last chance to change my mind. To tell Grams I was sorry, I just couldn’t move back. Perhaps she could come live with me. I’d settle down in another town somewhere, she could sell the bar, move in with me, and I’d take care of her. As I sat on top of a picnic table hatching my plan of escape, I heard a faint whine near the edge of the parking lot. I walked over and saw a dog lying in the ditch. The poor girl tried to raise her head when she saw me. She was so thin. Her fur was matted, and she was so dirty, I couldn’t tell what color she was. She tried to stand up but hobbled on her hind leg as if she had been grazed by a car.

“You’re a cutie,” I said, squatting, trying to coax her to me. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” 

She spent every little bit of her energy trying to wag her tail. I slowly approached her, trying not to scare her, gently holding my hand out to her. She needed my help. She cautiously approached like a bashful boy trying to ask a girl on a date, limping on her hind leg. She licked my hand and let me pick her up and put her in the front seat of the truck.

“It’s okay, little one. I know a good vet where we’re going,” I said, hoping Doctor Hughes hadn’t retired from practicing.  “He’ll patch you up, and you’ll be good as new in no time.” I reached over to pet her, wincing as I felt her bones through her fur. “We’ll get you taken care of, then I’ll find a good forever home for you.” 

I drove past the sign on the edge of town: Welcome to Maple Creek, Gateway to the Outdoors. Population 5,300. I felt my chest tighten, and my hands gripped the steering wheel. The town hadn’t changed a bit. It was the same little place I’d escaped from twelve years before, vowing never to return. It was the same town where I’d endured the schoolyard taunts: Kelly, Kelly really smelly, Kelly, Kelly big round belly. The town that feigned pity for that poor orphan girl and secretly gossiped behind her back. The same town where everyone asked why I wasn’t trying to get a real job instead of trying to be an artist. Yet there I was again. I drove past the town’s single stoplight at Main and Third—the one that made Old Man Harvey brag, “We’re not such a small town after all!” I’d bet what was left in my savings that the only exciting thing in town was still the Friday night ball games at the high school and the teenagers cruising and drag racing down Main Street.

The old, battered wooden sign with the horse, cow, dog, and cat still hung outside Doctor Hughes’ office. I carefully picked up the shaking dog and took her inside.

When I walked in, no one was behind the counter. I sat on one of the benches, gently cradling the dog and rubbing my fingers around her ears. 

“Kelly? Kelly Lewis?” I glanced up. Oh, my goodness. I guess there’s one thing that’s changed. The boy I’d dated in high school, the one I’d thought was the love of my life, approached me, wearing a lab coat with a name tag, “Dr. Michael Sheba.” His awkward, boyish appearance had morphed into a rugged-looking man with an angular jaw. He still had the same warm smile and piercing blue eyes, the same qualities that had made me drivel on for pages in my high school diaries. 

“How can I help…?” Michael paused and chuckled. “I heard you were coming back to town. Your grandmother has been telling everyone that you decided to come back.”

Decided to come back? I wasn’t going to argue. “I found this poor little girl on the side of the road. I think she could use some of your help.”

He knelt down in front of me and rubbed his hand over the dog’s head. I could feel the little dog relax in my arms as she tried to wag her tail. She knew she was in good hands. 

“Let’s go to the exam room and take a look,” he said. By the tone in his voice, I knew he was concerned. 

After a few minutes of examination, including listening to her heart and lungs, Michael looked at me with a serious expression.

“She is extremely malnourished,” he said, frowning. “She had a broken leg that looks like it never set right. But her heart and lungs sound healthy.” He rubbed his hand along her back, quietly telling her she was going to be all right. I probably had a look on my face that betrayed how little I had in the bank. “I’ll tell you what,” Michael continued with the comforting gaze that had made me fall in love with him back in high school. “I won’t charge you for my work, but the medications and other things she’ll need won’t come cheaply. Just don’t tell Doctor Hughes. He’d kill me.” Michael ran his hand down the dog’s chest. 

“Does she have a name?” he asked. I shrugged. 

“We just met about twenty minutes ago,” I said. “It hasn’t come up yet.” 

 The dog shivered on the table, looking at me. She didn’t make a sound, except to whimper when Michael touched her hurt leg. 

“Her leg is still causing her some discomfort,” Michael said. “I suspect the break was fairly recent.” The dog’s huge brown eyes melted any resistance I might’ve had.

“She fought to survive this long. It would be a shame to let her down. I’ll pay for whatever she needs.”

I thought about the rest of my savings disappearing. But at least it was for a worthy cause.

Writing down my phone number, I told him I’d be staying in the apartment above the bar. “After Gramps died, Grams moved into a condo.”

Putting the paper in his pocket, he said, “I’ll get started. It’s good to see you again.”

He gave me a quick side hug and then called out, “Janice, would you please give me a hand?” The vet tech came in. All business. Good. The dog was in good hands.

“I’ll come by in a day or so to check on her.”

He nodded, then gave all his attention to the dog.

I suspected Michael was just like Doctor Hughes, a very serious man when it came to taking care of animals. I knew that if anyone in the world could help this poor soul, it would be Michael. He’d always had a soft spot for animals.

The only reason our relationship hadn’t worked out was because I’d wanted to get out of Maple Creek, and he’d wanted to stay.

I drove down Main Street past the downtown tourist shops and turned right on Elm Street, a point beyond which few of the town’s visitors ventured. The Feisty Goat wasn’t a tourist bar; it was for locals, located on the edge of town, sitting by itself on the edge of the forest. I opened the door, and what to my wondering eyes should appear? Grams hustling a couple bikers at the pool table. She was dressed the same as they were, with a black leather vest lined with fringe and covered in patches. She had a bandana tied around her head. 

I looked at her, speechless.

Noticing me gaping at her, she yelled, “Hey, Spider! Hey, Dave. This is my granddaughter, Kelly. I told you she’d be here today.”

She ran up to me and hugged me so tight, I felt like she was going to squeeze out my last breath. One would never guess she was on her life’s last lap. 

“I’m so glad you’re home, honey. I’ve missed you so much.”

She looked healthy. Very healthy. She’d literally run over to me. Even though she was in her late seventies, she didn’t look a day over sixty. Her hair was dyed purple. She didn’t strike me as someone who had mere weeks to live. I’d caught her in the middle of hustling bikers at pool, for heaven’s sake.

“Grams?” I asked, trying to phrase my next question as delicately as I could. “I thought you said you were dying?” 

Grams stepped backwards, her hands on my shoulders, and frowned. 

“Did you really expect to see me withering my last days on this earth on my deathbed, whining about everything I could have done?” she asked sincerely. 

With the exception of her whining about everything she could have done, that was in fact the image I’d had in my mind during the entire drive from New York. On the other hand, I shouldn’t have been surprised. It would take a lot to knock Grams down. 

One of the two bikers cleared his throat and stared hard at Grams. She looked back at him, then at me, and rolled her eyes. 

“Ah, fiddle faddle,” she exclaimed, holding her hands in the air like a magician who just performed a mind-blowing trick. “We’re all dying! At my age, it’s not really a lie, it’s just a fact of life. I still have at least twenty good years in this body!”

She hugged me again, and I told her I was relieved she’s healthy. That wasn’t what I was thinking. That conniving old bat! She tricked me. I can hear her and her cronies now, cackling in the background like a bunch of old wet hens. “I know how to get her to move back.”

“You sneaky little…” 

Grams smiled, knowing what I was going to say. 

“You might not be dying, but I can certainly fix that.”

“You can fix that later,” she said with a firm pat on my shoulder. “How was your drive?” 

“It was nice,” I said, still fuming at the deception. “Really nice, actually.” It had been a while since I’d seen the country up close for so many miles. I loved living in New York, but the reminder that there were some amazing sights across the US had done me some good. 

“You can drive Gramps’ old Jeep while you’re here,” Grams said. It was the same Jeep Gramps had driven to take me fishing. “He always took great care of ol’ Betsy, so it will be reliable for you,” Grams continued. “Spider here just gave it a good tune-up, so she’s running like new.” I told Grams I needed to return the rental truck in the next couple days and asked if she knew someone who could give me a ride back. 

“Spider,” Grams called, “can you give Kelly a ride back from Dawson City one of these days?” 

“You bet,” he said. 

“Thank you,” Grams said. “I owe you one.” She looked at me and smiled. “Ever been on the back of a bike before?” I shook my head. 

“Then it’s good your first time will be with Spider,” she cackled. 

I moved a bunch of my belongings from the truck to the apartment above the bar. When I opened the door, I stopped for a moment to take in all the mementos scattered around the rooms—the photos of Gramps and Grams when they first opened the Feisty Goat, the whittled bears Gramps used to make in his spare time, my gymnastics trophy emblazoned with the word “Participant.” 

A knock on the door startled me. Spider and Dave stood at the doorway, holding a couple boxes from the truck.

“We thought you could use a hand,” Spider said, his soft, sincere voice contrasting with his leather vest, white T-shirt, and faded blue jeans. The pair looked like they knew their way around a gym, with broad shoulders, muscled arms, and strong hands. But they had a roughness about them that made me guess their physiques were accomplished through hard work, not with a few hours at a fitness center and trendy protein bars.  

“Thanks, guys,” I said, happy for the help. The three of us emptied the moving truck in no time.  

“Can I buy you guys a beer?” 

“Nah,” Dave said, “we’re happy to help.” 

“Any granddaughter of Grams is a granddaughter of ours,” Spider added with a grin. “Next time you’re downstairs, you’ll have to tell us all about New York. I’ve always wanted to go.” 

“It’s a deal,” I said. “It’s quite a bit different than Maple Creek. Do you always go by Spider?” I asked, and he smiled. 

“It’s just a nickname that seemed to stick with me,” he said with a confident grin. “If you prefer, you can call me Jimmy.” 

“One of my best friends in New York was a Jimmy. I should stick with Spider, though, so I don’t get confused.” 

Spider laughed. “He must have been a pretty handsome dude,” he said. “Just let us know if you need anything else.” 

“Yeah,” Dave added, “we’re usually pretty easy to find. Just look for us downstairs.” 

I took a deep breath and wondered if I was really smelling Gramps’ cologne or if my mind was playing tricks on me. The old heavy carpets Grams and Gramps bought in Santa Fe were still neatly arranged on the floor, a little extra padding to muffle the sounds from the bar below. The thick curtains served the same purpose and helped darken the apartment, perfect for a good night’s sleep.  

Looking around the place, it felt like I’d never left. The living room still had the mission-style couch and leather chair that Gramps sat in every night reading the Lincoln County Post, the local newspaper. The room had a cozy feeling, like a Western lodge, complete with paintings of horses and landscapes on the walls. The table next to the window looking over the Feisty Goat’s parking lot was the one Gramps had made out of old barn wood. I smiled as I remembered how many times the three of us had sat at that table, laughing and telling stories. Gramps was now gone, and I was all grown up, so I got the big bedroom. My former bedroom was going to make a nice studio. 

I studied the family photos neatly arranged on the bookshelf and felt a pain in my heart thinking about how much I missed Gramps. Grams has always been a firecracker, but he was easygoing, the kind of person who drew other people to him with an immediate feeling of trust. Everyone in Maple Creek knew if you had a problem or just needed someone who would listen patiently, Gramps was your guy. And, of course, no one in Maple Creek knew that more than I did. While Grams had tried to teach me how to apply makeup and walk in heels without ending up in the hospital, Gramps had taught me how to fish. He told me stories about his days in the Army, which was why I’d always had itchy feet and wanted to see the world. Losing my parents was the single most painful chapter in my life, and Gramps had helped me get through it. 

And there I was, back in that tiny little town. I was surprised to admit to myself that I was actually glad to be back. I’d never tell Grams that, though. She’d just gloat and say, “I told you so.”

I didn’t know what I expected when I looked at my phone again to see if Roger had called or texted. We’d been dating for three years. Then, out of the blue, he’d packed up all his things one day and vanished. I’d at least have liked an explanation.

It didn’t take long for my exhaustion from the day to catch up with me, and I collapsed in the old mission chair and fell asleep.

When my cell phone rang, jolting me awake with the realization I had slept through the night, I glanced at the clock. Six thirty in the morning.

“Honey?” Grams said. I couldn’t believe she would even think of calling me this early after I’d driven across the country. 

 “This time you’d better be dying,” I said, not trying too much to hide my irritation. 

“Worse, honey. I’ve been arrested.”