Coming Unclued (12 page)

“So what’s next?” I asked him. “The police want to interview me down at the station tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

“Yes, Mikel informed me of that,” said Walter. “Unfortunately, I have a previous engagement, but one of my colleagues will attend with you as counsel.”

“Are they going to arrest me?”

“It’s my opinion they are going to wait for all the forensics to come back. Mind you, I think they are going to move quickly on this one. When’s the funeral?”

“I don’t know. Wednesday maybe.”

“Probably Thursday they’ll come for you. That’s my guess.”

“On Thursday I’ll be arrested?” I was in shock. It was really happening.

“Or sooner. As I’ve suggested, it depends what the lab turns up. But if they find your fingerprints and the victim’s blood on the same knife, I’m thinking they’ll be confident enough to issue an arrest warrant. But look, you called 911. You’ve been nothing but cooperative. No criminal record.” He gave me a little smile. “I can work with that.”

My heart was pounding again. Of course they were going to find my fingerprints on the knife and who else’s blood but Mr. Potter’s would it be? It’s not as if I’d slaughtered a chicken recently. I had to get out of Walter’s office before I had a full blown panic attack. I said goodbye and thank you in the most dignified way I could muster. When I reached the door I turned around and asked him, “Tell me the truth, do you think I’m guilty?”

“I don’t make those kind of judgments. It’s immaterial to me whether you are guilty or innocent.”

“But you think you can get me off?”

“I will certainly take my best stab at it.” At least he had the grace to look a little embarrassed at his choice of words. “We’ll do the best we can for you. Mikel is a valued member of our team.”

It was still bitterly cold outside, but I felt like walking. I huddled inside the shabby brown coat I’d borrowed from Julie and soon cursed myself for not wearing gloves. I needed something to warm me up and fortunately in downtown Toronto there is a coffee shop on nearly every corner. I stood in line behind a woman who must have been buying donuts for the entire office and seemed to be overwhelmed by the responsibility. The restless stamping of my feet did nothing to hurry her along. I finally got my coffee but I was too agitated to sit down and drink it so I headed back out into the cold. The downtown streets were full of people, heads down against the wind, grim looks on their faces as they went about their business. Why weren’t they relishing their freedom, reveling in the knowledge that they weren’t going to be living out their years in a ten by ten cell? If they gave me fifteen years I’d be over sixty when I got out; an old woman. Or an oldish woman. Definitely late middle-age. And jail was probably very aging. As I waited at a red light, I noticed a beautiful old church and decided I would go in and say a prayer. I hadn’t been to church in years and wasn’t exactly a true believer, but these were desperate times. I climbed the steps of the church and yanked on the heavy wood door but it was locked. Weren’t churches always open so that people in despair, like me for example, could find solace? Was solace only for Sundays at ten-thirty? I sat down on the chilly steps and finished my coffee. My nose was starting to run from the cold and I didn’t have a Kleenex. I sniffed loudly and watched as an attractive young mother and her son walked down the street toward me gaily chatting away. The little boy looked much like Evan did when he was four or five and I gave him a friendly smile. The little boy whispered something to his mother, then darted over, put something down beside me and ran back to his mom. His mother gave him a little hug and rubbed his head. Two dollars. He gave me two dollars. To that sweet little boy, I was a runny nosed, ugly-coat wearing homeless woman in desperate need of a meal.

What the hell? I used the two dollars to buy a donut and spent the rest of the day just wandering around downtown; free, anonymous. The picture in the paper had been so wretched, no one on the streets seemed to recognize me.

It was late afternoon when I arrived back at Julie’s. It was already dark enough that Christmas lights were beginning to come on and Andrew’s elves were hard at work. I brushed the snow off the front steps and plunked myself down, contemplating not for the first time, what my life would have been like if I’d married a man like Andrew. Would I have been happier or was my discontent so ingrained that I would have blamed my inertia on him and the marriage fallen apart anyway? Julie must have looked out the window and seen me sitting there because she came out, her coat on, carrying two highball glasses and sat down beside me.

“Non-alcoholic punch like substance,” she said, as she handed me a glass of something red.

I took a sip. “Tasty. Very tasty.”

We didn’t say anything for a while, just sat and sipped our drinks and watched the snow fall inside the bubble and thought our separate thoughts.

Our not very weighty thoughts. “Do you know how to make biscuits?” Julie asked.

“Sure.”

“Good. Evan and what’s her name, the new girl and Heather are coming to dinner. I’m making a chicken pot pie but I don’t have any Pillsbury for the topping so maybe you could whip up something.”

“Heather? That’s not like you.”

“Oh I couldn’t avoid it. She’s been calling me all day to see what’s happening. She pretty much invited herself. Let’s go inside. I’ve got a fire going and we can brace ourselves with another glass of punch.”

Julie had the Christmas tree lights on, carols were playing softly in the background and Abby was sleeping by the fire. It was so cozy that I started to get choked up.

“Sorry,” I said. “Everything makes me cry now.” I hung Julie’s coat up in the closet and wandered over to peruse the decorations on the tree. A ratty toilet paper roll Santa Claus with half a beard was front and center. I turned to her and smiled. “Kindergarten.”

“Umm. After that Santa Claus the teacher called me in to say that I needed to work on Alice’s gluing skills. The stupid thing is I took it seriously and sat down with her every day for weeks and worked on gluing.”

“It is pretty terrible. Evan’s was much nicer.”

“An artist she’s not, but a lovely girl she is.”

“Definitely.” Alice was travelling in Australia and wouldn’t be home for Christmas. We would all miss her. “What time is everyone coming over?”

“Soon. I’d better go throw something together in the kitchen. Andrew’s down in the basement with a new typewriter. Why don’t you go down and keep him company until I need your biscuit making expertise?”

Andrew’s hobby was collecting old typewriters. He has the largest collection in Canada and except for a woman in Connecticut, the largest in North America. The Connecticut woman was a real burr in Andrew’s side since her father had worked for Underwood and had a lot of connections in the business. Andrew felt that this unfair advantage should somehow disqualify her.

I made my way down Julie’s rickety stairs to the basement, where Andrew had his workshop. “Hi Andrew,” I called to him as I threaded my way around the vacuum cleaner, past the box of old toys, through the laundry room and into his workshop.

“Hi Val. How goes it?”

“Oh, been better. You got a new one?”

He smiled. “A Hermes. I’ve been looking for one of these for years.” He looked so pleased. “How’d it go today?” Andrew asked, as he peered at the innards of the typewriter through magnifying glasses.

“I met Walter Fink. He’s going to take my case.”

“Well that’s good. He’s the best isn’t he?”

“Hmmm. He’s kind of a dick.”

“A dick who could help you.”

“This is true.”

An hour later, after a pleasant, meandering conversation with Andrew, I was helping Julie finish up in the kitchen as the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” said Andrew.

“I should have just bought something frozen,” said Julie as she opened the oven door to check on the potpie. “Who really wants something homemade by me?”

“No one. Absolutely no one. Please tell me that at least dessert will be something store bought.”

“Ice cream with liquor poured on. Very classy. Even Heather should approve.”

“What kind of ice cream?”

“I don’t know.” Julie went over to the freezer and opened it. “Smarties ice cream.”

“Smarties ice cream is not classy except possibly to a four year old.”

“In a wine glass with some Bailey’s its surprisingly elegant. And tasty, which after all is the point of dessert.”

Andrew came into the kitchen with Evan and Mikel in tow.

“Hi Mom,” said Evan, giving me a big hug. “Hi Jules, these are for you.” He passed her a box of chocolate covered cherries. “I know you like them.”

“Oh, I do. Thanks honey. You’re such a good boy.”

I beamed at him. He was such a good boy.

“Boy?” said Mikel. “He’s twenty-three.”

It was going to be so difficult for me to establish a warm, motherly relationship with this girl.

The doorbell rang again as we all headed into the living room. “That must be Heather,” said Julie. “Wouldn’t you know she’d be right on time?”

“Heather?” asked Evan.

“Julie was feeling benevolent tonight,” I told him. “She’s putting aside old grudges for the Christmas season.”

“Not because of Christmas,” said Julie. “Because of you. We need to brainstorm and you never know. There is always the remote possibility Heather might have an insight that doesn’t involve microdermabrasion.”

Julie and I greeted Heather while everyone else went into the living room. Heather was her usual whirl of kiss kiss, hug hug and was bearing the perfect bottle of red wine. Expensive, but not ostentatious. For a casual dinner at a friend’s house — if Julie could be called a friend — she was wearing high black boots, a black mini skirt and a gorgeous, tight fitting red sweater. She looked fantastic. “Did you realize there’s a police car parked outside?” Heather asked, as she handed Julie the wine.

“Really?” I said, as both Julie and I peered out the front door. There it was. A police car parked under the streetlamp, with one officer inside looking back at us.

“Do you think they’re coming to arrest me?” I was panicked. I’d thought I had more time. More time for the police to come to their senses and realize I couldn’t possibly be the culprit. More time to savor my freedom.

“He’s just sitting there,” said Julie. “They’re probably watching the house to make sure you don’t make a run for it.”

I felt weak in the knees and had to lean against the wall to ensure I didn’t keel over. Julie gently moved me out of the way of the door and then gave me a long hug. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’re going to fix this.”

Evan must have sensed something was up because he wandered into the foyer. “Everything all right?” he asked. “Hi Heather.”

“Evan. Hello. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“Evan and his friend Mikel,” I said.

He gave her a quick smile and turned his attention to me. “You okay Mom?”

“There’s a police car outside,” I told him. “I’m not sure what he wants but it’s possible they’re going to arrest me.”

Evan opened the front door to ascertain for himself that there was indeed a police car in front of the house. “Assholes,” he muttered. “I’ll get Mikel to call Fink and see if he knows anything.”

“Fink?” asked Heather.

“Walter Fink,” I said. “Mikel works with him and he’s taken my case.”

“Is that a good idea?” asked Heather. “As soon as I hear someone is a client of his I automatically assume they must be guilty.”

“Everyone already assumes I’m guilty and he knows how to get guilty people back on the streets where they belong.”

“You’re not guilty,” said Julie in a firm voice. She took Heather by the arm and gave her her sternest look. “She’s not guilty.”

“I never said she was! I’m just saying …”

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I know what you mean.”

We all went into the living room where Mikel was in the corner on the phone and Evan was hovering over her. Heather looked taken aback by Mikel. “It’s a family name,” I told Heather.

“Un huh. She’s with Evan?” she whispered.

I nodded and could see Heather giving Mikel the once over and dismissing her on the grounds that Mikel’s hair could use some highlights and fashion clearly wasn’t one of her interests.

Mikel hung up the phone. “Walter’s at a basketball game. I can’t get hold of him.”

“I think we all need to calm down,” said Julie. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Everyone just sit down and relax.” And then there was a sharp knock on the door.

“Hide!” hissed Julie.

“All of us?” I asked.

“No not all of us. It’s not a surprise party. You. Go hide. They’re not taking you.”

“No no no,” said Mikel, visibly horrified. “She can’t hide. You can’t hide her.”

“That’s harboring a felon,” said Heather.

“My mother is not a felon,” said Evan through clenched teeth.

Without really thinking about it I ran across the living room, clamored over the back of the couch and squeezed in behind it. I could hear Julie opening the door as I slid sideways down the wall and landed in a heap on my hip bone. As soon as I was crushed in behind the couch I felt surprisingly calm. The police probably weren’t going to unholster their guns, pull Julie’s couch out from the wall and yell, “Ah Hah!”.

It was a good hiding place. For the first time in two days I felt safe.

Julie came back into the living room and asked, “Where’s Val?”

Someone must have pointed to the couch because Julie came over and pulled the couch away from the wall. “I may have overreacted,” she said, staring down at me. “It was a neighbor telling us that Andrew’s elf bubble has deflated.” I struggled to my feet, brushed the dust bunnies off my pants and looked around the room. Everyone looked a little uncomfortable. Watching a forty-seven year old woman scramble over the back of couch to hide was maybe a little too pitiable for this crowd.

“You okay Mom?” asked Evan.

“I’m fine,” I said, picking a clump of dog hair off my sweater. “Do you ever vacuum back there Julie?”

“I didn’t know you were coming,” she said. I gave the couch a push and maneuvered myself into a more dignified position.