Free A Crusty Murder by J. M. Griffin

disagreements, so smile and get over it, both of you. Melina, your gran is just trying to look out for you. Seanmhair, you really shouldn’t be a matchmaker.”
    “Fine, fine,” Seanmhair said with a slight chuckle. “Find your own man, then.” She slipped her coat on and said she’d be at the card game until later in the evening.
    As Seanmhair opened the rear door, I called after her, “Stay out of the strip club, I mean it.”
    A chortle was her only response before she shut the door with a loud click.
    “Your grandmother goes to a strip club?” BettyJo asked with wide eyes and a shocked expression.
    “One of her card playing men friends convinced her to join him at the strip joint on Allens Avenue. He got a lap dance and she watched. She’s quite taken with the place,” I said. “My God, what am I going to do with her?”
    BettyJo laughed so hard at the visual I’d just handed her, tears streamed from her eyes, and she held her sides.
    Catching her breath, BettyJo admitted, “Glad she’s not my problem. This must be a phase she’s going through.”
    “Hell, she’s not a teenager, you know,” I shot back. “What if the place gets raided and she’s arrested?”
    BettyJo looked away and then said, on a sober note, that the strip club was raided about every two months. With an abrupt change of subject, she offered to go with me to deliver the leftovers to the homeless shelter. I thanked her, and we packed up and headed out.
     

Chapter 9
    The homeless shelter, taxed beyond reason by the huge number of displaced people, was always bustling. We entered the building by way of the back entrance, where deliveries were made. I could see young children waiting in line for a meal and my heart squeezed tight in my chest.
    I looked at my meager offerings and apologized to the manager, “Sales were so good today that this is all I have left. It seems you’re overloaded with people, or is it that I’ve arrived at the busiest time?”
    “We get a larger than usual crowd at this time of day. Don’t feel bad. We appreciate everything you bring us, Melina. I wish all the food shops and restaurants would be so kind,” the manager said. “The numbers are growing, space for sleeping is at a premium, and I have no doubt it’ll get worse with this economy.”
    I nodded, glanced at the long line at the food table, and said I’d try to bring extra next time. I got a smile and thanks for the offer. As I turned to go, I caught sight of BettyJo’s face. Her expression, one of horror, was only matched by her pallor. Sickly white, BettyJo gaped at the line of displaced people. Some wore dirty clothes, others were more kempt, but wore sad looking attire.
    “What’s the matter?” I whispered to BettyJo.
    “I think that’s my mother in line for food.” BettyJo pointed to a woman who resembled her so greatly. There would be no mistaking the two were related. “Holy shit, I can’t believe it. My father said she’d died when I was away at school. That lying bastard,” BettyJo murmured.
    I nudged BettyJo and said, “Let’s get out of here, before you make a scene. We’ll wait out front for her to come out. You can talk to her then.”
    We exited the building and I drove around to the front. I found a place to park not far from the front door where we could wait.
    “Are you sure that’s your mother?” I insisted on knowing.
    “I haven’t seen her since I was twelve, but yeah, it certainly looks like her, with many a year added, of course.” BettyJo turned in the seat. Looking me straight in the eye, she asked, “How could my father, damn him, do that to us? How could he allow my mother to become a homeless, poor, bedraggled, and downtrodden woman?”
    Her wide eyes, pale face, and angry countenance, left me edgy and fearful of a scene. Could the woman be her mother? Maybe she just looked like her. I hoped for the latter, rather than the former, for BettyJo’s sake, if nothing else.
    The shelter door opened a