Coming Unclued (23 page)

“You appreciate my support? What are you, running for office?”

“Don’t be snarky. I’m trying to be heartfelt.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well thank you for your appreciation.”

So much for that. We were neither of us big on overt displays of emotion. “Really,” I said. “I know that you’re taking a big risk for me.” I gave a little sniff. “I’ll never forget it.” We walked along a little longer. “I’ll never forget it because I’ll be sitting alone in a jail cell with nothing else to think about for twenty years.”

“You’ll probably have a roommate,” said Julie. “Are you crying or is your nose running?”

“Oh I don’t know. Both. I was so sure we had this figured out and now we’re back to square one. Except the David thing. Hilda might really have known something. I’m going to work on that.”

“And we know that Sophie may have been interested in Harry for his money.”

“Oh please. Big surprise. Why else would she be with him? I need to talk to Angie. And Douglas.” The thought of another interrogation exhausted me.

“Oh shit,” said Julie. “Quick. Put your head down.”

A police car pulled up behind us, its lights flashing. My hands began shaking so much the mincemeat tarts were dancing around on the paper plate. The officer on the driver side rolled down his window and yelled “Stop right there!”

Did he mean ‘Stop or I’ll shoot’ or was he just strongly suggesting that we stop? I didn’t wait to find out. Without thinking, acting purely on instinct, I ran down the driveway of the closest house. I could hear Julie calling my name and the police officer yelling for me to stop but I had lost all control of my faculties. I tossed the tarts and just ran. The driveway led to a small fenced backyard with a wooden gate. I ran through the yard toward the fence, as fast as I’ve ever run, yanked open the gate, slammed it behind me and found myself in an alleyway that backed on to all the houses on the street. An empty alleyway, with no place to hide. I ran down the alley looking madly for an escape hatch, a magic tunnel that would whisk me to safety. And then I saw it. A woman who had been sitting in her red Toyota, warming it up, got out of the car and headed through back to her house. She left the car running. She must have forgotten something. I sprinted toward the Toyota and jumped in. A car thief. Me, the woman who till now had not even a traffic ticket on her record. I squealed down the alley, praying the police hadn’t set up a roadblock. At the end of the alley I turned onto a narrow residential street and tried to think where the nearest main drag was. I had to get out of this neighborhood. With trembling hands, I drove down a narrow street and pulled up to a four-way stop. A four-way stop with a police car on my right and one directly facing me. I came to a complete stop and put on my right signal light. I was shaking so badly I was afraid I was going to lose control of the car, or if not the car, my bladder. The police cars paid no attention to me. I made the turn and was out on Ellesmere along with all the other rush hour traffic. Taking a long, slow breath, I checked my mirrors for police lights and tried to calm down and explore my options. There weren’t a lot. I had no money, because I couldn’t use the bank machine and I had stupidly forgotten to borrow some cash from Julie. The police would be watching the homes of anyone close to me, and I was driving a stolen car that must have been reported by now. I had to ditch the car, but where? Was it safe to go back to Diane’s? There was a grocery store about six blocks from Julie’s street. If I tucked it in there it would probably be morning before anyone noticed.

The Loblaws parking lot was predictably busy with shoppers grabbing a few groceries before going home for dinner. I pulled in beside a beat up delivery van and turned off the ignition. But where to go? And where were the mincemeat tarts? Damn it, I’d dropped them. I leaned back against the headrest and shut my eyes for a few minutes, trying to focus on my next move, but my mind was a blank. And my feet were freezing. Actually, to be precise, my foot was freezing. I looked down. I was missing my left boot. It must have come off during my escape and I’d been so fired up with adrenaline I never noticed. Now, as the car was getting colder, it was very noticeable. I had to get out of this car and far away. What were the chances anybody would notice a woman in a scraggly grey wig and ratty fur coat, limping and wearing only one boot in the dead of winter? I braced myself to open the door when I noticed a red leather purse sitting on the passenger’s seat. The woman must have left it there when she ran into the house. I grabbed it. In for a dime in for a dollar. Carpe diem.

I trudged along the sidewalk, cutting down to a side street as soon as I could. A few people gave me a bemused stare, but one of the many advantages of living in a large city is that it takes an incredible amount of odd behavior to send up any alarm bells. A one-booted woman with a crooked wig limping down the street in a ragged fur coat just didn’t make the cut.

I was hungry. Part of a muffin, a shortbread cookie and a mincemeat tart were not enough to keep body and soul together, though on the upside, being a fugitive must be doing wonders for my weight. But I needed a real meal, some hot food that would make me feel normal and human again. There was an excellent Thai restaurant a couple of blocks from Julie’s street. Could I risk it? I could. I had to.

The restaurant was empty except for the woman who ran the dining room and her daughter, who was sitting at a table doing homework. I ordered some Pad Thai and took a seat in a corner, away from the windows. Money. I needed money. I opened the purse and looked through the wallet. Amelia Fortier was the car’s owner and she had forty-two dollars in her wallet. I wrote down Amelia’s address from her driver’s license so I could return the money once this was all over. When I paid for my food I handed the woman the purse. “I found this on my chair,” I said. “Someone must have left it here.”

I cut through a backyard and limped toward Diane’s house, along the edge of the ravine, my left foot numb with cold, each step on the frozen ground reverberating up my leg. I reached the gate to the backyard and slowly opened it, praying that it wouldn’t squeak. No squeak. I opened the gate wide enough to stick my head through. Everything looked safe though it was impossible to tell what the neighbors were doing. Hopefully they were gathered slack jawed around their TVs.

I hobbled across the yard and up the back steps as quickly as I could, given that my leg was throbbing and I could no longer feel my foot. After fumbling with the key I lurched through the back door into the kitchen and slid down on the floor. The Pad Thai was calling to me but I knew I had to do something about my frozen foot. There was every possibility I was in the first stages of frostbite. It needed a good soak in hot water. It would hurt but the circulation would get moving again. A hot bath. At this point nothing would feel better than a hot bath. A hot bath and a plate of Thai food and my brain would start functioning again.

I limped upstairs and into Diane’s bathroom, put the container of food on top of the toilet and started filling the huge soaker tub. I peeled my sock off and stuck my foot under the hot running water. Oh the pain. My foot was hard and swollen and an odd shade of grey with streaks of light purple, not dissimilar to a leg of lamb that had been forgotten in the freezer for too long.

Once my foot had thawed enough that I could, with some effort, wiggle my toes, I stripped off my clothes — Rose’s clothes — and hung them on the hook behind the door. Unfortunately, that pale blue pantsuit was going back on once I finished the bath. Maybe I could borrow something of Diane’s to wear, though she was very tiny and fit and liked to wear tight clothes that showed off her firm body. Perhaps she had some old maternity clothes in the back of her closet. And what was that under her bathroom counter? Oh my God. A bar fridge in the bathroom. Diane really knew how to live. I grabbed a screw top bottle of Merlot, opened it and poured myself a big glass. Ooops I forgot. I wasn’t going to drink again. Just one glass. One glass to thaw me out and take the edge off my troubles.

The tub filled in no time and I climbed in. The hot water felt glorious. I leaned back against the bath pillow, and ate a couple big bites of Pad Thai. There was a TV on the wall across from the tub. I stood up, grabbed the remote and powered it up. An old rerun of Mary Tyler Moore was on. How could you not love Mary? What would Mary do? Well she wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. Mary would never get so drunk she ended up in bed with Lou Grant. A dead Lou Grant. And if she did get in trouble, somehow she and Rhoda would work everything out, have a few laughs and soon Mary would be back striding down the street tossing her hat around. Good ol’ Rhoda. She was such a great friend to Mary. Oh this wine was so good. Julie was a lot like Rhoda. I needed to call Julie and make sure the police hadn’t arrested her for consorting with a felon.

I reached over and grabbed my new cell phone from the top of toilet where I’d left it and checked my contacts list. Only Julie. I pressed her name and settled back in the tub. My foot was feeling pretty good, almost normal, though I still didn’t have full mobility in my toes.

“Jesus,” said Julie, picking up after one ring. “Where the hell are you?”

“Where the hell are you?” I asked. “Were you arrested? I shouldn’t have left you like that.”

“No. No. It was a false alarm. They were looking for Boo. There’d been a sighting in the neighborhood. They were yelling at some guy behind us walking a puppy. I’m at home.”

“Oh.” I thought about that for a moment. I stole a car and a purse and lost my boot for nothing. For a fake Boo sighting.

“How did you explain me running away?”

“They didn’t even notice you.” She lowered her voice and spoke very slowly. “Where are you? The police have been here. They had a search warrant. It was terrifying. They made me sit on the couch while they searched the whole house. So where are you?”

“I’m at Diane’s,” I said. “I needed a bath.”

Julie said nothing. I may have knocked the speech out of her.

“I haven’t turned on any extra lights,” I said, “and I’m staying away from the windows, but I had to get warm. Long story.”

“Oh I can’t wait to hear it,” said Julie. “Listen, I think you have to turn yourself in. This isn’t going well, and by not going well I mean it’s disastrous. The police are getting very antsy and we’re no closer to figuring this out.”

I took a sip of wine. The water was getting cool, as was my food. “Julie, I know we have to talk but my dinner is getting cold. Can I call you back?”

“Oh absolutely,” said Julie. “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Julie hung up without saying goodbye. She was right. I had initially run from the police because I was terrified and I somehow thought I could clear my name. If anything, however, I was even further from that than I had been before I first shimmied out of her basement window. Impersonation, grand theft auto, break and enter. The money out of the wallet. I had put Julie in danger, my son was beside himself with worry, my bad karma is probably what did Hilda in and to top it off my foot looked very odd. No, by no stretch of the imagination was this going well. And then I heard the front door open, the stomping of feet and muffled voices and things started to get a whole lot worse.

Voices. Who the hell could that be? Not Diane. People don’t decide to return home early from New Zealand. The police? How did they get in? I jumped up and grabbed a towel. How to hide? I pulled the shower curtain across and quickly placed the wine glass and bottle in the cabinet under the sink. The Pad Thai. They would be able to smell it. I dumped the rest of the carton in the toilet, shut the lid and tossed the empty carton under the sink. Naked and damp, I gave my feet a cursory wipe on the bathmat and dashed into Diane’s bedroom. They were coming up the stairs. Whoever it was was coming for me. I looked around desperately. The walk-in closet. It didn’t have a door. And why didn’t it? She had a wine fridge by the toilet and she couldn’t put a door on her closet? The bed. I could hide under the bed. I lunged across the room and lying flat on my back managed to squirm under the bed. And, at that moment, I had an epiphany; or in Oprah speak, I had an Ah Ha moment. Lying naked under Diane’s bed on her surprisingly filthy carpet, shivering from cold and fright and waiting for the police to drag me out by my heels I had the Ah Ha moment of all Ah Ha moments. My life was shit. Complete and total shit and it was entirely my fault. I hadn’t followed my glee or bliss or whatever the hell you’re supposed to follow; I’d taken the path of least resistance and that path had led me to this.

“Oh my,” said a girlish voice. “Your old bedroom.” The voice came closer and then sat on the bed. I could see black, spike heeled boots from my excellent vantage point. “Your old bed.”

Your old bed?

“Come over here Nate,” a sultry voice said.

“You’re naughty,” said a male voice. “I like that in a woman.”

Oh Jeez. He likes naughty. Please. It was the ex. The ex with the chunk out of his ass —what was his name — Nathan. The ex sat down on the bed, and the only sound was a symphony of slurping as the lovebirds feasted on each other’s mouths.

“Those jeans don’t look very comfortable,” the ex said. “Why don’t I help you take them off?”

No. No. Please don’t. He did, which just goes to show, that however bad things are going, there’s always room for it to get worse. So I lay on my back, my nose an inch from the bottom of the bed and reflected on my situation. Not good, was my first thought. My second thought, and admittedly it was a fleeting one given the circumstances, was that my breasts were definitely not getting perkier with age. Flat on my back I now looked like a ten year old boy. Eeeew — they were starting. And they were noisy. What could I do? I closed my eyes and thought of England.

“Ummm. That was nice,” I heard over the marching palace guards in my mind.

And fast. At this juncture I had to count every blessing.

“Why don’t you go grab whatever it is you want,” said the woman. “It kind of gives me the creeps being here.”