No Escape Claws

Chapter 7

I got home to find Elvis snoozing on top of his cat tower. He opened one green eye, looked at me and then closed it again. I’d noticed lights on upstairs in Gram’s place. I decided to call her and see if she was busy. I needed to ask her about the judge, and if John was home I could start sounding him out about the foundation.

“Hi, Gram,” I said when she answered. “Would you and John like some company?”

“John isn’t here,” she said. “But Rose is. She made cookies. I’m being her guinea pig. Why don’t you join us?”

“I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

“We’re debating the merits of raspberry jelly versus strawberry-rhubarb jam. We could use another opinion.”

“I’m on my way,” I said. I decided I could wear my slippers up to Gram’s. I grabbed my keys and stopped to give Elvis a scratch. “I’m going upstairs for a while,” I told him. “Are you coming?”

He lifted his head, seemed to consider the question for a moment, then yawned and rolled over onto his back.

I knocked on Gram’s door and then went in. Gram and Rose were in the living room. Gram got to her feet and wrapped me in a hug. “Hello, sweetie,” she said.

I was so glad she was finally home. I’d missed her hugs, her smile, the way she thought everything Liam and I did was fantastic.

“You missed your brother,” she said as I took a seat on the couch. “He had supper with us.”

“Did he say how the plans for the demolition work along the harbor front are going?”

“Slower than he’d like. But he did say he’s going to be able to salvage more than he expected.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Rose said. “I know most of those buildings that are coming down for the development can’t realistically be saved and I’m not one of those old fuddy-duddies who’s against any sort of change, but I am glad some things are going to be salvaged. I’d hate to see everything from North Harbor’s history just wiped out.”

“Me, too,” I said. “I know Liam’s managed to save a couple of fireplace mantels that are slated for the new hotel.” I looked at the coffee table between us. It held three small plates, each with a couple of cookies on them. “So these are the cookies you made?” I asked.

Rose nodded. “There are three batches. I couldn’t decide which jam to use, among other things.”

“I already told you, use the raspberry jelly,” Gram said. “I know there were raspberry canes in the Halloran’s back garden.”

“There were raspberry canes in the back garden of all the houses on that street back in the day, Isabel,” Rose said. She pushed a plate at me. “Try one of these.”

I picked up the small jam-filled cookie and took a bite. It was good. Better than anything I could make. “That’s good,” I said.

“But what’s missing?” Rose asked.

I frowned at her. “I didn’t say there was anything missing.”

“But you’re still holding half a cookie and you didn’t swoon the way you do when you have one of my chocolate chip cookies.”

“I don’t swoon when I have chocolate chip cookies,” I said a little defensively.

“Yes, you do, dear,” Rose said as though there was no point in discussing her assertion. “You take a bite and then you make a little groaning sound.”

“I’ve heard you do that,” Gram agreed.

I took another bite of the cookie, trying to figure out what it was that kept me from my so-called swooning. “A little too much molasses,” I said finally. I looked at Rose. “I’m not trying to criticize. It’s just that the flavor of the molasses seems to be competing with the jam, if that makes any sense.”

Rose nodded her approval. “It makes perfect sense.” She pushed the second plate at me. “Try one of these.”

I picked up one of the cookies and took a bite. The cookie had a crisp outside with a soft inside. This time the molasses flavor was more subtle and didn’t overpower the slightly tart strawberry-rhubarb jam filling. “Mmmm, this is really good,” I said around a mouthful of cookie.

Rose and Gram exchanged a look.

“I’m not swooning,” I said, popping the other half of the cookie in my mouth.

Gram got up and went into the kitchen. She came back with a glass of water. “Here. Cleanse your palate,” she said.

I took a drink of water. Then I gestured at the third plate. “Should I try one of those?”

“If you don’t mind, dear,” Rose said.

I took a bite of the third cookie. “This is good, too,” I said after a moment.

She smiled at me. “There’s a ‘but’ coming.”

I narrowed my eyes at her in mock annoyance. “Yes. A big butt. Mine, if I keep eating cookies like this.”

“A man likes to have something to hold on to,” Rose said with a saucy grin.

I put my hands over my ears for a moment and shook my head. “I’m going to just pretend I didn’t hear that,” I said.

She laughed. “So you’d say number two is your favorite?”

“Yes. The cookie is perfect and so is the jam. Not too sweet. Not too tart.”

Rose looked at Gram. “You win,” she said.

I was licking jam off my thumb so it took a moment for the significance of her words to sink in. “Wait a minute,” I said. “What do you mean, Gram wins? This wasn’t a competition, was it?”

They exchanged another look. “Busted,” Gram said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” Rose said. “We just wanted an unbiased opinion and we didn’t want to put you on the spot.”

There was still half of the third cookie left. I reached for it. “So who made what?” I asked.

Gram pointed at the first plate. “Rose made those, but she wasn’t really happy with them. We found two other recipes so I tried one and she tried the other.”

“So cookie number two was yours?”

She nodded. “Yes. But it wasn’t really a fair competition. I was using the recipe that my mother used to make.” She turned to Rose. “I still prefer the raspberry jelly for a filling, but I don’t see how you could go wrong with the strawberry-rhubarb jam, either.”

“I’ll get the recipe from you and make a batch in the morning,” Rose said.

“Take these ones I just made,” Gram said.

“Are you sure?” Rose asked.

Gram nodded. “Of course.”

Rose smiled. “I will, then. Thank you.”

I leaned back on the sofa, kicked off my slippers and tucked my feet underneath me. “Gram, tell me about the judge. You were friends when you were in school, weren’t you?”

She nodded. “We were in the same homeroom in grades 10 and 12.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “He’s always been a straight arrow, but not a goody two-shoes. For instance, there were parties and some drinking back then. Neill didn’t drink but he wasn’t judgmental about people who did. He was an A student, president of the student council and co-captain of the hockey team.”

“He sounds like he was pretty much perfect,” I said.

Gram smiled but there was a tinge of sadness in it. “The bar was set very high for Neill.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Rose began to nod. “I forgot about Connor Halloran.”

“Neill had an older brother, Connor, who died in Vietnam very early in the war,” Gram said. “He left big shoes behind to fill.”

Something in her voice told me that Gram had a soft spot for Neill Halloran.

“Did you ever go out with the judge?” I said.

She nodded. “I did.”

Rose looked at her in surprise. “I didn’t know that, Isabel.”

“I still have a few secrets,” Gram said.

Rose smiled. “Clearly.”

“It was only a couple of dates.” Gram turned her attention back to me. “Then I met your grandfather.”

From the corner of my eye I could see that all of a sudden Rose was struggling mightily not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I said.

Rose pressed her lips together, but the bubble of laughter she’d been fighting to hold down got out anyway. She looked at Gram. “Don’t tell me you’ve never told this child how you and Matthew met?”

Gram’s cheeks turned pink. “I thought we were talking about Neill Halloran,” she said stiffly. “And Sarah isn’t interested in how Matthew and I met.”

“Yes, I am,” I said. “Was it romantic?”

Rose gave a snort of laughter. “Well, your grandfather always said love hit him over the head.”

Gram sent her a daggers look.

“Although technically, wasn’t it your math textbook?” Rose asked.

I couldn’t help laughing now myself. “Gram, what is it with you hitting men over the head?”

Gram looked bewildered. “I haven’t been hitting men over the head,” she said. “Other than your grandfather, and he provoked me.”

I scrunched up my face at her. “That’s not true. You met John when you knocked a book off a shelf at the library and hit him in the head.”

“That was an accident,” she said indignantly, color flooding her cheeks again. “The book wasn’t shelved properly and, on top of that, the shelf was crooked.”

“What about Clayton McNamara? You hit him with your book bag.”

“First of all I was six. And second he should have ducked. Who doesn’t duck when they see a book bag coming at their head?”

Rose was still laughing. “Your grandmother is like the Canadian Northwest Mounted police,” she said.

I caught the reference and grinned at her.

“I don’t get it,” Gram said.

“They always get their man,” Rose and I said in unison.

Gram shook her head. “Rose Jackson, you’ve been a bad influence on my granddaughter. I was gone too long.” I knew she wasn’t really annoyed. She wasn’t any better at hiding a smile than Rose was.

I reached over and grabbed her hand. “Yes you were gone too long and I’m glad you’re home. Now tell me more about Judge Halloran.”

She gave my hand a squeeze and then let it go. “As I said”—she shot Rose a look—“I went out with Neill a couple of times but nothing came of it and yes, then I met your grandfather. I can promise you that Neill is one of the good guys. He’s kind and fair and it makes perfect sense that he tried to help Gina Pearson and that he told the police about seeing her husband the night of the fire. Neill will do the right thing, always.”

I gathered up the plates and went out to the kitchen to get a glass of milk. When I came back, I set my glass down and put my arms around my grandmother’s shoulders. “Tell me why you hit Grandpa with your math book,” I said.

“You’re like a dog with a bone,” she said, wrinkling her nose at me.

I cocked my head to one side. “Gee, I wonder where I learned that?”

“Sarah should know her family history,” Rose said, all innocence.

I took my seat again, folded my hands in my lap and looked expectantly at Gram.

“Fine,” she said. “When we were in high school we changed classrooms for different subjects. And at that time there were no lockers so we kept everything in our desks in our homeroom. Your grandfather sat at my desk for his first-period math class.”

“You weren’t in the same class?” I asked. I’d known my grandparents had met their senior year of high school. I’d just never asked about the details.

“No. I took what you’d call AP math, Matthew was in the regular class.”

“He did something, didn’t he,” I said. I leaned forward. “What was it? Did he draw all over your desk or swipe your pencils?”

“He ate my lunch.”

I stared at her. “He what?”

“He ate my lunch. It was in my desk. My mother had made me a bacon sandwich and there were two chocolate chip cookies as well. It was first period and he ate the whole thing. When I confronted him he just shrugged and said he was hungry.” Gram smiled at the memory. “I was so angry I hit him with my math textbook and stalked away.”

“What happened then?” I asked.

She looked away for a moment. “According to a couple of girls who were standing nearby he turned to his buddies and said, ‘I’m going to marry that girl!’”

“Those chocolate chip cookies? They’re the ones I make that you like so much,” Rose said. “Your grandmother gave me the recipe.”

“So I guess you could say that Grandpa had good taste,” I teased.

Rose smiled at my grandmother. “Yes, sweet girl, he definitely did.”