Coming Unclued (30 page)

“Oh,” said Rose. “I try to attend all the big funerals. It’s kind of a hobby. Got to keep your mind active as you age. The word jumble helps too.”

“A beautiful woman I hear,” said Julie.

“Well,” huffed Annette. “She’s had a lot of help if you know what I mean. A lot of help.”

“Of course,” said Julie knowingly.

“All fluff, no meat,” said Rose.

There was silence in the room, as well there might be after a comment like that.

I whistled into the phone. These two didn’t have a clue how to interrogate a hostile witness.

“I am so sorry,” said Julie. “My mobile just went off. Could I just excuse myself for a moment — I’ve been expecting an important call.”

“Camilla?” asked Rose.

“Of course,” said Annette.

“I won’t be a moment.”

About fifteen seconds later I heard a harsh, “What? What do you want? Why are you whistling?”

“I’m trying to help,” I said. “You’re getting nowhere. I’m freezing out here and you’re lolling about in there asking her how she became such a valued volunteer.”

“Like you could do better,” said Julie. “This is a delicate operation.”

“Ask her about Douglas — Douglas and Sophie. See if she knows anything. And ask about Mr. Potter being a crook. And poor David and stealing from the cat.”

“No problem,” said Julie, through what sounded to be a clenched jaw. “Shall I ask her if Sophie and Douglas were shagging? How does that work for you?”

“Perfect.”

Julie didn’t respond, but I could hear her heels clacking on Annette’s floor. I whistled into the phone again.

“What?” snapped Julie. “What do you want now?”

“See if you can grab me something to nibble on,” I said.

There was no response from Julie.

“How’s Charles and the boys?” I heard Rose say.

“My apologies,” said Julie. “You must excuse my rudeness. So busy down at the DBE. You can imagine. We’re all going to London in the spring to attend a tea party at the Palace. We’re so looking forward to it. Such a jolly group to travel abroad with but I’m just knackered trying to get everything organized.”

“Oh yes,” said Rose. “A smashing bunch of gals.”

“And we’re all so excited to meet the Queen.” Julie paused for effect. “Again.”

“Oh my,” said Annette. “You’ve met the Queen?”

“Just briefly,” said Julie. “But such a profound experience.”

“Isn’t one of those boys married to a Sophie?” asked Rose.

“There is a Sophie who’s a member of the family. Edward’s wife,” said Annette.

“Wonder if she messes around?” mused Rose.

“Helen,” said Julie. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure the royal Sophie wouldn’t be involved in something like that.”

“Certainly not the royal Sophie,” said Annette.

“Oh you’re bad,” said Julie, with a girlish giggle. “Not the royal Sophie. How about the not so royal Sophie?”

“That’s another story,” said Annette. “Poor Harold. If he only knew what that woman was doing behind his back. I tried to tell him but he wouldn’t hear a word against her.”

“How’s about her and that orange fella from the office?” asked Rose. “I noticed at the funeral that they seemed awfully close. Real close if you know what I mean.”

“Oh you must mean Douglas. Orange. That’s funny. He does go a little overboard with the tanning,” said Annette. “Oh the women all love Douglas.”

The women certainly don’t all love Douglas.

“So he and Sophie are friendly are they?” asked Rose.

“Well I’m not one to gossip but they’re extremely tight if you get my meaning,” replied Annette. “Can I get anyone a warm up?”

Don’t let her change the subject. You’re there. Douglas. Douglas and Sophie.

“I could do with a tich more,” said Rose. “Just a top up. That’s good.”

There was silence for a moment until Julie piped up. “Do you intend to devote more hours to Meals on Wheels now that you’re retired?”

Oh my God. Once again she’d been thrown off track. Douglas. Douglas and Sophie. I concentrated as hard as I could, trying to will either Julie or Rose to ask something, anything, that might actually further our investigation.

“We don’t want to keep you,” said Julie. “I think we should have enough for the article.”

“Douglas!” I screamed into the phone.

There was a silence and then, “Well excuse me!” said Rose. “That sponge is repeating on me. Terrible digestive problems I’ve had lately.”

“What was that? What exactly is going on here?” asked Annette.

“We really must be going,” said Julie. “I have to pick up my nephew from school. Douglas. Heh heh. What a coincidence. His name is Douglas. Just like at your office.”

I curled up in a tight little ball in the backseat as the vision of a cement cell with a little tiny barred window danced before my closed eyes.

“I’ll see you out,” said Annette, in a frosty voice. Well, I warned them; I emphasized that she was no fool. Of course she knew something was up.

“Splendid,” said Julie. “How sporting of you.”

“Pull me up will you Julie,” I heard Rose say. “Well, we’re off. Back out into that ghastly weather.”

Annette said nothing. The Briticisms were no longer seducing her.

“Thank you so much,” said Julie. “We’ll send you a copy of your interview in the post.”

“You do that,” said Annette, and the door slammed.

I lifted my head from the seat of the car just high enough to get a glimpse of Julie and Rose strolling down Annette’s path.

“I think that went well,” said Rose. “We got some good information and I don’t think she suspected anything.”

“Until Val screamed into the phone,” said Julie.

Oh that’s right. It’s my fault. Those two couldn’t interrogate a five year old with his hand stuck in a cookie jar.

I remained flat on my back and silent as Julie and Rose got back into the car.

“So we know Sophie was probably messing around on Harry,” said Julie, in a cheerful, everything’s all right, let’s get on with this voice. “So there’s something.”

“Good work,” said Rose, peering into the back seat. “We were on a roll there and you go and ruin it. Douglas! Lord. She must have thought we were crazy. Just when we had her talking.”

I tried to say nothing. It was beneath me to lower myself to the level of these two but I couldn’t remain silent. It was beyond endurance. “That’s right, it’s my fault. Calling Rose Relen wouldn’t have alerted her.
Do you collect knives?”
I asked, doing my best imitation of Rose. “Pathetic.”

“Ungrateful brat,” said Rose. “Where to next Julie? I think we should pop in on that Sophie. See what she’s got to say for herself.”

“No!” I said. “Are you crazy? She probably has police protection. Not to mention that you’re terrible at this.”

“We’re just getting our sea legs,” said Rose.

“What do you think Val?” asked Julie. “Because believe me, I’d much rather drop you off at a police station or the lawyer’s office.”

I mulled this over for a moment. “How about we do a drive by? Just to see. Do you remember where he lives? Lived?”

One night, while coming home from a movie I’d had Julie do a detour by Mr. Potter’s house so I could bitterly espouse the unfairness that he should live in a mini-mansion while I, the second smartest person in my grade six class, toiled in a windowless cubicle for four dollars an hour more than I would make as a Walmart greeter.

“I remember,” said Julie. One thing about her, she has a good sense of direction.

“Well that one didn’t kill him,” said Rose. “We can cross her off the list.”

“How can you possibly know that?” I asked. “You got no information out of her other than that she didn’t have a high opinion of Sophie. I thought you’d be good at this Rose — all those mysteries you read.” I wanted her to know just how disappointed I was in her performance. “I was expecting better from you.”

“Like I said, we’re just warming up.”

“She’s right,” said Julie. “Annette didn’t kill him. She was in love with the guy.”

Perhaps. Deep down I never really believed Annette was capable of murder, and certainly not capable of murdering Mr. Potter. I mulled this over for a bit as we inched our way through traffic. Harry Potter was a conniving creep who cheated the elderly. Sophie and Douglas were having an affair and Mr. Potter maybe knew about it and was convinced Sophie was on the verge of leaving him. Douglas was planning to push Mr. Potter out of the company. Ergo, who the hell killed the little bastard? What was I missing?

“What are we missing?” I called out. “It had to be someone at the party and the way he was hacked up, it was someone who really hated him. Loathed him. We’ve eliminated Annette, and his son and ex-wife. So who does that leave? It had to be Sophie or Douglas. There’s nobody else. Let’s face it, no eighty year old climbed up four flights of stairs in the middle of the night and murdered him.”

“We can’t completely rule that out,” said Julie. “One of my neighbors climbed Kilimanjaro last year and he’s seventy-nine.”

“And I climb up to visit you now and then,” said Rose.

“Not in the middle of the night,” I grumbled. “Anyway, no regular eighty year old.”

“Regular people don’t usually commit murder,” said Julie calmly, as she made a sharp right hand turn.

“Oh regular folks kill people all the time,” said Rose. “Every day. We’re all capable. Don’t kid yourself.”

We were all silent as we mulled this over.

“We’ll check out the tarty wife,” said Rose. “Maybe she’s crazy. That’d account for the amount of clean up needed after the murder. Would you look at that beagle?” Rose banged her finger on the window. “It’s got two heads.”

“Ignore her,” I yelled to Julie. “Keep your eyes on the road.”

“Oh — no — false alarm,” said Rose. “My mistake.”

“Good,” I commented, staring blankly at the ceiling. “I was afraid I was going to miss seeing the famous two-headed beagle of Forest Hill.”

“We’re almost there,” said Julie. “Has anyone formulated a plan? Of course if we’re going to follow precedent I suppose we should just barge in and wing it.”

“What do you think about Annette?” I said. “Do you think she’s bitter, pining for Mr. Potter all those years? What does she have to show for it?”

“She has a nice house and her cats and her volunteer work,” said Julie. “What do most people have to show for a life?”

“Nothing. Not a thing,” said Rose. “I’ve got a lot of books and a bag of cremains I can’t even find.”

“Do you ever regret that you didn’t have children?” I asked her.

“Oh, I don’t know. I never really hankered to be a mother but I’d liked to have been someone’s Moo-Moo.”

Moo-Moo?

“Moo-Moo?” asked Julie.

“That’s what we called my Gran.”

Would Evan’s children only know me as the woman they visited in jail? Would they be dragged every Christmas and Easter to see their incarcerated Grandma? Their imprisoned Moo-Moo.

As if reading my thoughts Julie said, “You could be a grandmother soon Val. Evan and Mikel seem pretty serious.”

Reason enough to stay out of jail.

“They’re not serious,” I protested. “He barely knows her.”

“That the older woman he’s seeing?” asked Rose.

“She’s not older,” I said. “Duller, for sure, but she’s about his age.”

“My friend Sylvie — you ever meet her? She’s the one that had the stroke — only the left side though — she saw your Evan kissing some older woman a few months back. Lots older. Could have been his mother older. I think he goes for the old ones.”

“It couldn’t have been Evan,” I said. “He hasn’t been dating any older woman.”

“That you know about,” said Rose.

“We’re here,” said Julie, pulling up to the curb and cutting the engine. “Stay down Val. There could be police around. That’s the house over there.”

“Very nice,” said Rose. “Tasteful.”

“Built with the blood and tears of his dying clients,” I said.

“She’s quite the one for the drama, isn’t she?” said Rose. “Hey hey. What’s that? There she is, the tarty wife. The tarty wife and the orange fella. We’ve hit pay dirt. I told you we were on a roll.”

“What are they doing?”

“They’ve got suitcases,” said Rose, in an excited voice.

“They have suitcases Val,” said Julie. “She’s locking the door. They must be going somewhere.”

“Where are they going?” I called out. “We have to find out.”

“Why?” asked Julie.

“Because this could be big.”

“Forgive me for sounding dim,” said Julie, “but I’m not sure how knowing where they are going will change anything. They don’t have the bloody knife in the trunk of the car.”

“No,” I said in my surliest voice. “One of them left that on my knife rack.”

“Well it was your knife,” said Julie.

“Look at them,” said Rose. “Kiss kiss. Have they no shame?”

“They’re kissing?” I had to see this. I poked my head up between Julie and Rose.

“Stay down!” commanded Julie. “Yes, they’re kissing. Just a quick one.”

“A peck,” said Rose. “Still, it’s unbecoming in a widow of less than one week.”

“They’re getting in the car,” said Julie. “What should I do?”

“Follow them!” Rose and I commanded in unison. And we were off. Following Douglas and Sophie.

“Do you think they’re going to the airport?” I asked of no one in particular. “What kind of people are they? Maybe they’re heading off on an illicit vacation. And so soon. So soon after committing murder and ruining my life.” I stared at what looked to be a piece of a pickle stuck to the ceiling. “And Mr. Potter’s life.”

“And at Christmas,” said Julie. “I don’t understand people who don’t want to be home at Christmas.”

“How come I’m wanted by the police and those two are prancing off for a romantic holiday? Answer me that.”

“Do you really want me to answer?” asked Julie.

“The police think you did it,” said Rose.

“It was a rhetorical question!”

We drove for about ten minutes, Julie doing an excellent job of tailing Douglas and Sophie.

“They’re taking the exit to the highway,” said Julie. “What do I do?”

“Follow them!”

“Well how long am I supposed to be tailing them? What if they’re heading up north, up to Muskoka or something?”