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“My darling granddaughter, you just did. Now, let’s eat. I’m famished.”
I returned to my seat, and at once, we bit into our tofu burgers.
Grandma stabbed a forkful of her salad. “So, did that boyfriend of yours hear from Brown? Lance, right?”
“Lancehole,” I corrected. “I don’t know. And I don’t care.”
My grandma’s brows rose to her forehead.
“We broke up.”
Her brows rose higher. “Oh?”
“Tanya, our exchange student, stole him from me.”
Anger washed over my grandma. Her face darkened, her lips pinched. “That despicable shrew! I didn’t have a good feeling about her when I met her at your house. She was very off-putting and phony. Even her English accent seemed fake to me.”
I proceeded to tell her everything Will and I had learned about her. That prior to coming to live with us she had no social media presence, that neither of us could find anything about her so-called diplomat father, and that she’d stolen her laptop from a lovely retiree who lived in Redlands, in the disguise of someone else. And then I told her about poor Bear, how we were positive she’d tried to poison him. Her sick revenge for us taking her computer and returning it to its rightful owner.
Grandma looked aghast. “That girl is a danger to you and your family. We must get rid of her!” A pause. “Does she have any food allergies?”
I shook my head. “Not that I know of.”
“Hmm.” Knitting her brows together, she looked deep in thought.
“Oh my God, Grandma! You’re not thinking of poisoning her?” Though I had to admit I relished that deliciously wicked thought. The perfect revenge. She poisoned our dog; let’s poison her.
She laughed her rich, throaty laugh. “No, darling, of course not.” Then, pursing her lips, my elegant grandma toyed with the lovely pearl necklace she always wore and gave me a diabolic smile. “But we are going to take her down.”
I listened to her plan and smiled a devilish grin.
And wondered: Had I inherited her fiendish mind?
FORTY-TWO
PAIGE
The following day was Thanksgiving. Grandma preferred to serve the meal, which she always had catered, in the late afternoon. The call time: 4p.m.
While my grandma was in the kitchen supervising the caterers, the rest of us sat in the elegantly appointed all-beige living room, surrounded by priceless Rothkos, Pollocks, and Picassos. A fire was blazing. The bust I’d sculpted of my grandma sat proudly on the fireplace mantel, joining my grandparents’ masterpieces. The tantalizing aroma of the holiday meal wafted in the air, making me hungry and second-guessing my decision to go vegan as the roasting turkey smelled so good.
Over hors d’oeuvres and beverages (assorted cocktails for the adults, sparkling apple cider for the kids), I learned that flamboyant Uncle Trevor, a renowned window dresser for department stores around the world, had just flown in from London.
“What were you doing there?” I asked, awed by his boundless energy. He didn’t seem jet-lagged at all.
“I had a gig with Harrods. I decorated their windows for Christmas.” He took a sip of his Manhattan. “I wish you could see them! A total winter wonderland. So faaabulous!”
In my periphery vision, I could see both my dad and Aunt Cecilia rolling their eyes. The shark-like businessman and high-powered divorce attorney scorned my uncle’s “frivolous” occupation. Plus, they were jealous as Trevor, her youngest, was so clearly my grandma’s favorite.
The three siblings, each two years apart—with Cecilia the oldest at fifty—had never gotten along growing up. They still had a contentious relationship. My father’s family was as dysfunctional as our own. Yet, I had to love them. They were my only relatives—my only grandparents. My mom was an only child and her parents, who had no siblings, had perished in a terrible fire just before she met my father. Their house had burned to the ground, leaving no memories behind. Nor any online information. Clement and Dorothea Taylor had ceased to exist. And my mom didn’t like to talk about them because it made her too sad.
“Trevor, how exciting!” she said, cutting into my thoughts. My mom adored my bon vivant uncle as much as I did. “By the way, our exchange student is from London.”
I turned to Tanya, who looked bored and totally zoned out. “Tanya, do you like Harrods?”
She jolted. “Huh? I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
I repeated my question.
