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I knew exactly what she meant.
“I ran into one of the Mole Hole back room boys today,” I said. “It seems Jimmy had some keys, and now they’re missing.”
“Yep. He was Keeper of the Keys,” Grandma said. “It was a big honor.”
“Did you ever see the keys?”
“No. He said they were in a safe place.”
“Did he say where that safe place was?”
“No, but I know he always kept them close to him in case he needed one.”
“Did he say what the keys opened?”
“No,” Grandma said. “I didn’t care about it at the time, but now that it’s a big deal I wish I knew. Everybody is talking about it.”
“The La-Z-Boys think you have them.”
“Why would they think I have them?”
“You were with Jimmy when he . . . you know.”
“Died?”
“Yes. They think he passed the keys on to you in his last moments.”
“There were no last moments,” Grandma said. “He didn’t pass nothing on.”
“Is it possible that you have them and don’t know you have them?”
“I guess,” Grandma said. “I’ll keep my eyes open, but seems to me I’d have seen them by now.”
This was a big bummer. Life would be so much better if Grandma had been able to give me the keys.
“I don’t like this business with the keys,” my mother said. “Who knows what those old men will do to get them back? They’re all gangsters.” She shook her finger at Grandma. “You should have known better than to get mixed up with one of them.”
“It seemed like a good idea when he was alive. He had a lot of money and almost all of his teeth. He was a real good dancer. He never said anything about having a bad heart. And he told me he was retired.”
I finished my mac and cheese and stood. “I have to get back to work.”
“Who are you after today?” Grandma asked. “A killer or a rapist?”
“Charlie Shine. Rumor has it he came back for Jimmy’s funeral.”
“He’s probably with his honey,” Grandma said.
I turned to Grandma. “You know about that?”
“Everybody knows about that,” Grandma said. “Loretta would have divorced him if it wasn’t for the honey. This way Loretta gets to keep the house, but she doesn’t have to put up with Charlie. He’s a bit of a drinker.”
“I have your laundry all done,” my mother said. “I had to throw some of it away. What’s left is in the basket by the front door.”
* * *
—
I stowed my laundry basket in the trunk and drove to the office. Going with Grandma’s words of wisdom that happiness is a choice, I thought I might choose to keep driving until I got to California. Or at least Colorado. I was deterred by the fact that I was driving a ’53 Buick, and I’d run out of gas money before I got to Ohio.
