The Guy Upstairs

"I’ve called you paranoid before but baby, are you all right?" Grammy asked in that voice she used when one of the cousins had an unsuccessful court hearing.

Dori plugged in her house key but before she could give it a twist, the door swung open. Her heart paused for a second and then resumed at a pounding gallop.

"I locked that before I-"

"Hoo! What have you been drinking?" Grammy waved her hand under her nose just as the alcohol smell flowed out and smacked Dori in the face. It was like someone had rearranged a liquor store with an ozi. 

"Did you bring your cell phone?" Dori ordered, unzipping her hoodie and then unclipping her holster. She'd put her off duty weapon on after she'd left the therapist's.

"Damn girl, what you packing?"

Grammy pointed to the Sig Sauer in Dori’s holster.

"You can't have it," Dori said. 

"That a 45?"

"9 mm."

"9 mm? Pshh! That's for pussies." 

"Stay outside. I may need you to call the police.

When Grammy didn’t answer, Dori turned to see her pulling a piece out of her purse. "Your grammy don’t need no damn cell phone for defend herself." 

Mouth hanging open, Dori watched her grandmother march into the kitchen. She then had the presence of mind to say, "Put that thing away!"

Grammy’s eyes glittered at the prospect of a rumble. In her youth, she’d carried a switchblade in her banana curls. "Mija, you let me handle this!"

Dori stepped in, careful to keep out of her grandmother’s range. "Seriously, put it down and- Wait, you smelled it, too?"

"I’m not that old!" Grammy lowered her gun. "God damned safety! Can’t trust these stupid things."

Even though everything was as she’d left it this morning, someone had been in this house. Dori knew it. 

She bypassed Grammy fiddling with her gun, figuring it was safe as long as the safety was engaged. She checked the answering machine that once again had been turned off. She walked into the butler’s pantry and the mud room at the back of the house. The back door was locked. She looked up the servants’ staircase and listened for anyone moving upstairs. When she walked into the main hallway, the three lights had been turned on.

Holstering her Sig, Dori went back into the kitchen. The smell had dissipated.

"Show me how to take off this safety thing," Grammy demanded.

Dori took the .45 out of Grammy’s hand, slid the chamber open and emptied the round into her hand. She removed the ten-round magazine and pocketed it and then flicked the safety off with her thumb.

She handed it back to Grammy who blinked with indignation. "There you go."

"Give me back my bullets."

"Is that registered?"

Grammy pursed her lips. "We shouldn’t leave the groceries outside."