Coming Unclued (13 page)

Mikel was rocking back and forth and running her hand through her hair. “Val, I really have to counsel you not to hide if the police show up with an arrest warrant. That isn’t going to help your case and we would have to tell them where you were hiding. There’s better ways to go about this.”

“I certainly wouldn’t tell anyone where she was,” said Julie.

“What better way?” I inquired. “Please, enlighten me. Julie could I have another drink?” I looked around at the faces. “Mocktail. No alcohol. Don’t worry. No need to hide the carving knives.”

“Mom, come on,” said Evan. “No one was thinking that. We’re all just very worried and a little jumpy.”

“Everyone please sit down,” said Julie. “I’ll get the drinks and we can all settle down and figure this out.”

We all just stood there, uncomfortable, not knowing where to sit. Who’d have thought having an alleged murderer in the house would be so socially awkward?

“Is dinner ready?” I asked. “Why don’t we go sit at the table? Just think Julie. Your potpie could be the last meal I eat as a free woman.”

“Don’t be so depressing,” said Julie. “You’ll have lots more meals. Decent meals.”

Evan started herding us toward the dining room table, making sure that he had me on one side of him and Mikel on the other. Heather sat across from us and immediately picked up the silverware and polished it on her napkin. “I just got a text from Walter,” said Mikel, looking at her phone. “They’re going to make an arrest, but not until tomorrow morning. The police are just watching the house so they know where you are Val.”

“No no,” I said. “They’re not making an arrest tomorrow. I’m going in for a discussion tomorrow at ten. Walter knows all about it. He’s sending an associate. We’ll clear everything up then.”

Well I sure knew how to shut up a room. Everyone stared at their placemat, sipped their drinks, or stared off into space.

“They have absolutely nothing to go on! They can’t arrest me. What kind of country is this?” I was in shock.

“What about bail Mikel?” asked Evan.

“It depends on the charge,” said Mikel. “But I don’t think they’d hold Val without bail. She has no priors, and she has family and friends to keep her here. They’ll take her passport of course.”

“I’ll talk to Dad,” said Evan.

Enough. It was time for me to assert myself. “Talk to your dad about bail? Forget it. I’m not going to be beholden to him like that. But while we are on the subject of your father, why hasn’t he been in touch? I expected more from him.”

“Mom, he has been in regular contact with me. He is very concerned about you. You’re the one who insisted he leave you alone, you know, after the incident with Sylvia.”

Well even so. We were married for twenty years. You’d think he’d have sent flowers or a fruit basket or something. “Can we talk about something else for a minute? My head is swimming.”

I glanced across the table at Heather who looked a little strained. She seemed to be assessing Mikel. Probably wondering how a woman so lacking in adornment could hang on to a man.

“The thing is,” said Mikel, finally addressing something directly to me, “You don’t have any motivation.”

“That has been a life-long issue for me Mikel.”

“I mean for the murder. There’s certainly plenty of circumstantial evidence, and you had the opportunity, but what would be your motive? Juries like to see a motive. You’ll have to excuse me Val, I’m just thinking out loud here. If the AG’s office can’t find a motive they might be willing to reduce the charge. Walter might even be able to get it down to manslaughter.”

Julie plopped the potpie down in the middle of the table and started serving it up. “She had no motive because she didn’t kill him. Got that everyone? Ah hell, I forgot to make the salad. Everyone please just pretend there’s a nice green salad to go with the pie.”

We all watched in silence as Julie slopped the potpie on to our plates. Heather finally broke in. “Surely lots of people have been convicted without motive.”

“It’s just harder,” said Mikel. “It’s something for Walter to work with.”

Well praise be for that. “I’m not sure Mikel,” I told her, “but I think they’ll probably go with the theory that I am irrational and violent when drunk.”

“You wanted a raise,” said Heather. “You were really ticked off that he turned you down. And you told me he was very insulting to you — he called you a moron or something in front of everybody after you shredded those documents.”

“Honestly,” said Julie. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’m trying to help,” responded Heather, as she delicately removed a piece of gristle from her mouth and placed it on the side of her plate. “I’m suggesting theories that the prosecution might be looking at.”

“How much grumbling did you do about the raise Val?” asked Andrew. “Did many people at the office hear you?”

“You know how discreet I am. They probably all heard me. I actually whined more about him abolishing Treat Friday and the police have already questioned me about that.” I took a bite of potpie and chewed for a moment. “Wouldn’t that be a headline for the
Sun
? Secretary kills boss over donut ban. With a picture of my big old butt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your butt,” said Julie. “And you don’t even like donuts that much. That was never your problem.”

“Will you testify to that in court?” I asked her.

“We’re not getting anywhere,” said Evan. “We need to buckle down. I don’t want to just sit back and hope that Walter can come up with some Hail Mary pass.”

The conversation continued around me as I looked around the table. Who here even believed I was innocent? Julie perhaps. Evan was blinded by his loyalty to me. Andrew was so rational that he was likely swayed by the evidence against me, yet so kind he couldn’t really believe ill of anyone he cared about. Heather’s take on the situation was hard to read, but Mikel almost certainly thought she was eating potpie with a killer. What was it about me that suggested I was capable of such an act? I was crabby on occasion, though usually only when shopping or in heavy traffic. I was known to be quite testy when hungry and I’d assaulted a couple of people, but really, what had I ever done that left people so convinced that I was capable of murder?

And what would happen if the police stopped looking for the real murderer but Walter did manage, through some kind of underhanded legal maneuvering to get me off? People would always think I was the drunken killer that got away with it because of her fast-talking lawyer.

We all poked at our dinner and made desultory conversation. “Doesn’t anybody have any ideas, any suggestions as to what we can do?” asked Julie.

“Like what?” replied Heather. “Barricade the house and refuse to let them take Val?” She poked at her plate for a moment, deftly removing the crust and placing it to the side of her plate. “What about the taxi driver who brought you home?” she asked. “He might know something. I mean let’s face it Val, that wizened old man isn’t someone you would normally be attracted to. Hey — maybe there was a third person in the cab. What about that? A third person who came home with you? Maybe that’s why you were so friendly and invited him up. Your boss just happened to be part of the group.”

She was brilliant. I loved Heather. Beneath the façade of a shallow beauty, she really was a first class mind. Mind you there were only two glasses on the coffee table that morning, and Annie and her oaf of a boyfriend hadn’t seen anyone with us, but still — it was a possibility. “Yes!” I exclaimed. “What about that? Maybe there was a third person. The police probably haven’t even looked into that, they’re so busy obsessing over that knife on my counter.”

“Oh Val,” said Mikel. “I’m sure they’re conducting a thorough investigation.”

By Christ she was annoying.

Julie clearly agreed with me on that, judging from the look on her face as she addressed Mikel. ”The thing is Mikel, if they are planning to arrest Val it means they think she did it. And if they think she did it they’re not out there looking for the person who really did it.”

“Exactly!” I said. “That’s what I’ve been saying. How are they going to find the murderer if they arrest me?”

“I think we need to put more faith in Walter,” said Mikel. “He has an amazing track record.”

“It’s true,” said Julie. “Remember that guy that shot his wife in the back when she was putting out the garbage and he said he thought she was a bear. Now he’s back at work like nothing happened.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Except that everyone thinks he’s a cold-blooded murderer who shouldn’t be walking the streets.”

Julie put down her wine glass. “It’s better than being the cold-blooded murderer who was incarcerated for twenty years.”

Were those my only choices? What about finding the real killer? So this was it. My life as I knew it was coming to an end and I had wasted so much of it, frittered it away as if I had all the time in the world to make my mark. And now I had; I was front page news.

We retired to the living room for dessert. Mikel disappeared down the hall to the washroom and we all silently watched her go.

“You should tell her to drink more water,” said Heather. “Her skin is so dehydrated. It’s a shame.”

Evan just gave Heather a dismissive look. Confrontation wasn’t his style. Mikel came back from the washroom and sat down close beside him on the couch. Evan rubbed the back of her neck. Her dry, scaly neck. They looked comfortable with each other. Maybe I should give her a chance.

“This is delicious Julie,” said Heather holding a tiny spoonful of the ice cream and Baileys.

“I wasn’t sure if you ate dairy,” said Julie.

“Oh sometimes,” said Heather. “Just socially. But this is so good. Worth the damage.”

“So what’s our next move?” asked Evan. “You’re probably going to be arrested tomorrow Mom. That’s the reality and you need to mentally prepare for it. It’ll be fine; it’ll be stressful but we’re going to make bail. And after that we have to make sure that Walter has a solid defense.”

“And what will that defense be?” I asked.

“It’s not your job to come up with a defense Val,” said Heather. That’s why you have a hotshot lawyer.”

“Your defense is going to be that you didn’t do it,” said Julie.

“It would help if there was anyone else who was even vaguely suspicious,” mused Andrew. “There must be someone we can pin it on.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “Since I had nothing to do with it, other than for some reason inviting Mr. Potter back to my condo and providing the bed that he was killed in, there is a murderer still out there. He could strike again!”

A couple hours later, after a good deal more discussion that went nowhere, everyone finally left and I lay on my lumpy basement bed staring at the water spot on the ceiling, trying to clear my mind of all the turmoil. Meditation, however, is not really my thing. The longer I stared at the spot, the more it started looking like Santa Claus. And of course Santa Claus led me back to Mr. Potter, all dressed up, going out to cheer up sick children. Not that he actually cheered them, but that wasn’t entirely his fault. I worked with the man for almost five years. He always seemed so — blank. A bland, grumpy man in late middle age who liked sailing and gardening. Who would want to kill him? I had to concentrate, think this through. He must have had enemies. He was rich. Rich by my standards anyway. Or comfortable, as Sharon would say. Very comfortable. Did the comfortable all have people who wanted to kill them? I tried to focus on this conundrum, but if I lay on the bed much longer I was going to fall asleep.

I woke up because I needed to pee. What time was it? It felt late. Middle of the night late. I crept upstairs to use the toilet and peeked out the living room window. A police car was still parked across the street and an officer was standing outside the car having a cigarette. Were the police allowed to smoke when they were on duty? Maybe I should report him. I tiptoed into the bathroom where the sound of Andrew’s snoring conveniently drowned out the flushing of the toilet. I needed to check the time. The clock on the DVD player was flashing 12:00. I looked out the window again and saw a full-grown raccoon followed by her three babies amble across the road. The cop watched them, then flicked his cigarette in their direction and got back into the car.

I went back downstairs and checked my cell phone. It was one-thirty. I probably had a good five or six hours before the police came looking for me. I wondered if they were going to handcuff me and march me out of the house with all the neighbors watching or if it was going to be a more discreet operation. I lay back down on the bed but there was no way I was getting back to sleep. I couldn’t let them arrest me. The people closest to me didn’t seem too sure of my innocence. I’d have no chance with a jury. They’d see pictures of Mr. Potter’s bloody little body in my bed and hear how I’d casually carved off a piece of banana bread with the murder weapon and that’d be it. Ignoramuses. There should be some qualifications for serving on a jury, proof that a person could see past the obvious, see the subtleties of a situation. So what were my options? Say I’d killed Mr. Potter in a fit of drunken insanity, do ten years, be an exemplary prisoner and then get on with my life? Not a chance. I didn’t kill him and I wasn’t going to say I did. And I’m not the kind of person who would thrive in prison. I had no interest in tutoring the other inmates, or getting a law degree or becoming a world-class bodybuilder.

I rolled my head to the side and gazed at the window. The little basement window with the cobweb in the corner that led to the back of Julie’s house. The back of the house with no fence, so a person, if she wanted to, could crawl out the window, slink into the neighbor’s yard or down into the ravine and escape into the cold December night, free as a bird.

I was seized with an energy I hadn’t felt in days. In years. I had a mission, a purpose; I was going to save my own life. In desperation I looked around the room for something to pack some supplies in. On the top shelf of the closet was a basket full of mementos from Alice’s childhood. There were some books, a few toys and a pink Little Mermaid backpack, a souvenir from a movie she was obsessed with when she was five. I grabbed the backpack and noticed a toy gun amongst the toys. Alice and Evan had loved playing dress up and Julie never worried about a little gun play amongst friends. What the hell? You never know when a woman on the run might need a toy gun. I stuffed it in the backpack and shoved in a couple of shirts I’d borrowed from Julie, some underwear and socks, my reading glasses and a few toiletries. My heart was pounding. I contemplated writing a note for Julie and sliding it under her bedroom door, but no. The less she knew the better it would be for her.