She found Grandma Bikini drunk as a proverbial skunk and
passed out in her orange upholstered easy chair. The woman
snored heartily as Paloma tried to rouse her. Fortunately
for her, Grandma had left her back door unlocked, allowing
easy entrance.
“Grandma, wake up! It’s Paloma.”
Grandma Bikini snurgled. “Yeah, okay. I’ll do it.”
Paloma blew out an exasperated breath. This wouldn’t be
easy. She left Grandma and marched to the kitchen to put
on a pot of strong coffee. She must sober her up. She
returned a few minutes later with the steaming brew in the
largest mug she could find, and set it down on the table
before Grandma.
“Grandma Bikini I made coffee. You must wake up now. I
need your help.”
Grandma flailed her arms. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everybody
needs me.” Her words slurred together. “You need me. They
need me. I need me.” The old woman chuckled. “The
hell with all of you sons-of-bitches. I ain’t takin’ my
clothes off ever again.”
Oh, boy. Apparently Grandma was reliving her days as a
stripper. With a sigh, Paloma returned to the kitchen to
check the liquor cabinet. How much had she had to drink?
She checked the lower shelves to find it fully stocked
with gin, scotch, vodka and some pricey bottles of
Australian wines. All appeared new, their seals unbroken.
She peered into the trash bin. Bingo. An empty pint of
vodka.
She poured a cup of coffee for herself, then went back
into the den to check on Grandma, who was coming around.
“Who the hell are you?” she growled, fixing one rheumy
eye on Paloma.
“Your neighbor, Grandma.”
Her gray brows furrowed. “Oh yeah, right. The gal with the
miserable cat that poops in my posies.”
“The one with a huge, huge, problem,” Paloma added under
her breath.
Grandma shot ramrod straight in the chair as if she’d
suddenly come out from under a spell. Paloma sat up, too.
My, but the effect of alcohol had worn off quickly.
“Guess when you found me you thought I’d tanked up on the
sauce and passed out, eh?”
Paloma cleared her throat. She had. But Grandma appeared
to have made an astonishing recovery.
“I wasn’t snockered ya’ little brat. It’s the effects of
this powerful Blue Moon we’re having. What you witnessed
was one of my visions. That’s why I gave up driving two
years ago. Never knew when one would hit.”
“Vision? You mean as in a psychic vision?”
“Yep. They’re stronger during some phases of the moon, but
this Blue Moon is double whammy for me. I don’t know that
I’ve ever had them this close together. Now I want you to
make a wish, Paloma.”
Paloma stared. “A wish? For what?”
“Dearie, everyne knows that wishes made on blue moons are
magical. Now’s yer chance.”
Grandma Bikini was serious? Paloma didn’t have to think.
She knew her exact wish. “I want Robert to come back to
me,” she said softly. “That’s my only wish in the world. I
want him to live again.” Emptiness filled her at the
words. Nothing had changed by making a silly wish. Her
burning question also hadn’t been answered. How could she
save him? She sighed, exasperated. She was back to square
one.
“Oh, hell!” Grandma sprang from the chair like a woman
half her age. “I’m gonna miss it.” She teetered to the
television set. “Today on Passion’s Crest, Maximillian
Chancellor reveals his true identity to Celeste.”
Paloma had no time to waste discussing soap operas.
“Grandma, I need your help.”
“You think you need help,” she said, waving her
hand. “Wait ‘til Celeste gets a load of old Max. She’s
gonna need a crap load of help dealing with him, too. Had
his face altered at one of them fancy schmancy Swiss
hospitals while he was hiding out from corrupt government
agents. Actually he’s not really Max, but Reynaldo in
disguise. You know, the hunky Latino gardener Celeste met
and had an affair with while she was at the sanitarium
recovering from a bout of amnesia? He has mob ties, you
know. It’s his baby she’s carrying right now.”
“They’re going to disconnect him from life support today,
Grandma.”
Grandma jerked and turned to Paloma. “No they’re not. When
I had my vision I learned that David Hopkins has no close
relatives. The so-called cousin who ordered this ain’t
even a blood related. He’s a spoiled, distant cousin by
marriage who has his eyes on David’s Harley and his beach
condo. Don’t you worry, girl. I’m workin’ on a plan in my
head right now.”
Paloma folded her hands in her lap. She hoped it was
better than the one she planned to propose. “I’d
like to hear it.”
“Fine. As soon as Max and Celeste get through with their
tête-à-tête, I’ll let you in on it. Then
I’ll get all purtied up and we’ll go to the hospital.”
“And what do you propose to do once we get there?”
Grandma Bikini turned to her and smiled. “Meet Mr.
Hopkins’ long lost momma.”
Paloma stared as a sinking feeling hit her in the pit of
her stomach. Actually, she intended to ask Grandma if she
would pose as his grandmother. “Pardon me for saying this,
Grandma Bikini, but aren’t you a bit mature to have
a thirty two year old child?”
“I’ll tell ‘em he was a late in life baby, a love child
fathered by my biker boyfriend, Spike.”
Paloma put her head in her hands. Oh, God. She was in
terrible trouble now. She looked up at the woman.
Grandma was insane. They would never believe it. But
what choice did she have? Even a last ditch effort was
better than none at this point. She blew out a breath.
“They’ll want proof you’re related.”
Grandma winked. “Hey I’m psychic, remember. By the time I
get through delivering my academy award winning
performance those docs will think I’m their
mother.”
Or they might put you in a straight jacket.
“So
how do you propose to pull this off?” God, she couldn’t
believe she was going along with this!
“I know stuff about this patient’s case that even the
doctor’s don’t know.” Grandma gave a smug smile.
Paloma blinked. “Such as?”
Grandma sprang from her chair and fumbled in a carved box
through a cache of lipstick, the likes of which rivaled
even the most well-stocked Avon lady’s.
“Our Mr. Hopkins,” she turned to look over her shoulder,
“or rather I should say, your dear fiancé Robert, is
waking up today.”
