The Easter Sleuth

The Easter season began, and Grandmama was selling off our belongings. Our sleepy Iowa town sold corn and gossip by the bushel but didn't have a lot of room for old jazz musicians like Grandmama was. It was the 1950's.

We were the talk of the town, and not in a good way since our parents died in a violent, submerging car crash. Grandmama moved in to "help." She was my mama's mama and she was an emotionally cruel woman who resented being anything but stylish, talented and pampered. "I used to play to full crowds." She would say and she could see them there in front of her...her adoring fans. When she came back to reality, all she saw was us. The dishtowel over her shoulder seemed to remind her that she was a domestic caretaker now and she'd crack it in the air like a whip when she saw us. Her brown eyes turning black with disgust.

Then she'd say something like, "What are you kids still doing here," with a cruel chuckle. "Quit acting like you are a spy, Johnny. You're not 007, you're nothing but a nuisance. I'm too young to be taking care of kids again." Grandmama adjusted her finger waves with long manicured fingers in the mirror.

She could be a professional piano player in town instead of volunteering at church like she did sometimes. Maybe she was scared she wasn't good enough, we didn't know. She also could teach piano lessons or something instead of selling our parents' things for money. She had options, but she didn't like any of them.

Grandmama could play that piano and make it sing! But it didn't bring her an ounce of joy, and so it didn't bring anybody else any joy neither. There was a dullness in her movements. There was nothing but coldness in the places where love should have been.

"I know you took mama's broaches. I followed you to the pawn shop." I said to her boldly one morning. She stared at me long and hard, but she didn't do anything.

"You look just like my husband who went missin' after he went off to the war in 1942. Anyone ever tell you that, Johnny? Your granddaddy was the love of my life, but he went off and ain't nobody seen him since." She jazzed the piano keys a little and took a swig of her sugary coffee, slamming down mama's good china. Then she inspected it closely as if she had over looked its value, and looked at me... irreverently she slammed down the piano lid.

"I know he's still alive too...I can feel it in my bones. Clean this mess up." Grandmama said as she sauntered away from the oak breakfast table. She was wearing my mother's favorite dress. The beautiful one with the embroidered red roses. I couldn't help it, I could excuse everything else, but the dress? It made my blood boil. The next morning, I found it rolled up at the bottom of grandmama's hamper and I took it in to be cleaned and pressed. I then took it to the charity where my mother used to volunteer. They collected beautiful clothes for women who needed a second chance in life. She would have wanted them to have it.

"You are a sweet boy, Johnny." The charity lady said. "Your mother was very proud of you and I know she would have been very happy you did this...I know just the lady it will fit too." I walked home happily. Smelling the flowers and noticing the leaves blowing on the trees. I took a breath of the fresh Iowa air and I felt mama. She was all around me, hugging me through the wind. I cried a little bit, but no one saw me.

I was only 12 years old the year my parents died and when the magic started. I had this incredible chance encounter with the Hare-man, at Easter, at the height of my sadness. At that time, I thought it all a coincidence, but now I'm not so sure.

I was up late reading by flashlight, and I saw the enormous creature speed through a freestanding portal out in the field. It was Easter's Eve and suddenly his motorcycle skidded wildly, sending loose dirt raining down my window. It scared me.