Coming Unclued (32 page)

“Here darling,” said Douglas, presumably to Sophie, “Put this blanket over your knees. It’s getting quite chill.”

Quite chill?

“Julie,” said Sarah, “do you want to come over here and share our blanket?”

Yes that would be perfect Sarah. Why don’t I hunker down directly across from the two people who ruined my life? “No thanks,” I muttered, doing my best to disguise my voice.

“Oh here,” said Sophie. “I’m sorry. Have some of this one.”

Sophie leaned over and spread part of their blanket over my knees. Nice. She slaughters her husband, yet worries that a stranger might be feeling the cold.

In a flash the sleigh set off, dashing through the snow, bells jingling.

“Hi,” said Sarah to Douglas and Sophie. “I’m Sarah Abbott. Isn’t this fun? I feel like I’m in a Norman Rockwell painting.”

Oh no. Sarah was one of those people who felt compelled to bond, to have some kind of a relationship with everyone she came into contact with. Please tell me we weren’t all going to have to introduce ourselves.

“Douglas Gimble and my fiancé Sophie.”

Fiancé? I hunched into my coat. Maybe I could pretend I was asleep.

There was a moment of silence which apparently Sarah found unbearably uncomfortable. “We’re not together,” she said with a little chuckle, indicating the real Julie.

“I’m Julie and that’s my friend — she probably won’t talk much.” At this Julie gave a merry laugh. “She’s had a little too much to drink. Probably isn’t even awake.”

“It would be a shame if she missed the sleigh ride,” said Sarah. She reached over and poked me on the knee. “Wake up Julie. You’re on a sleigh!”

I gave a little cough to indicate I was awake. Well this was a predicament. While I wanted to confront Douglas and Sophie, a sleigh ride over hill and dale didn’t seem the most opportune time. “You have to decide,” I heard Sophie whisper to Douglas. “I’m calling Nicholas as soon as we get back. We can’t hold him off any longer; it simply isn’t fair to either of us.” Actually, maybe this was opportune. I inched a little closer to Sophie so I didn’t miss any of this.

“Don’t put me under the gun Sophie.” He sounded upset. And under the gun. Hah! Under the carving knife was more like it. My luck had finally turned.

“Look at how they’ve lit up all the trees with those little white lights,” said Sarah. “Beautiful.”

“It should be nice for what they charge,” said Douglas.

“Oh I know, but so worth it to have someone actually serve me Christmas dinner for a change.”

That would be nice. Maybe after Douglas and Sophie turned themselves in I could get Evan to come up here for Christmas.

“I’m putting my foot down Douglas,” hissed Sophie. “This has gone on long enough. You have to call. Be a man.”

She wants him to call the police and confess. Deep down Sophie was probably a good person, dragged against her will into killing her husband. She did offer me part of the blanket.

“Fine,” said Douglas. “But we’ll both have to live with my decision. Are you sure that’s what you really want?”

“I trust you darling.”

Well she shouldn’t.

“I’ll call him.”

“Thank you darling.” Out of the corner of my eye I could see Sophie snuggle in closer to Douglas and put her head on his shoulder. “What are you going to say?”

“Aren’t you the curious one? I want to surprise you.”

“Oh please …”

“Okay. I’m going to go with the medium grey.”

“Oh sweetheart, that’s perfect. Exactly what I’d hoped.”

Medium grey? What did medium grey have to do with murdering anyone? Mr. Potter wore a lot of boring grey suits. Under florescent lights his skin might be said to have a grey undertone. I glanced over at Julie to see if she was catching this.

“I was so afraid you were going to go with the white. Harry would have picked white.” I could feel Sophie give a little shudder.

Douglas put his arm around Sophie and pulled her close to him. “Everything is going to be different from now on. I’m not Harry. I would never choose a white grout for those tiles.”

“Grout?” squealed Julie.

Exactly. Grout?

“I’m sorry,” Julie said. “I couldn’t help but overhear you. I thought you said grout.”

“We’re renovating the master bath in our new house,” said Sophie. “Douglas decided on the medium grey for the grout. He’s a genius with colors.”

“Imagine that? Grout,” Julie said to me. “They’re talking about grout Julie.”

“Would you look at all the stars?” said Sarah gazing in rapture at the sky. “Have you ever noticed how many more stars there are in the country compared to the city?”

“Actually, that’s a common mistake,” said Douglas. “There are exactly the same amount of stars, it’s just easier to see them in the country because there’s no light pollution.”

Sarah gave him a tight-lipped smile. That’s Douglas for you, spreading goodwill wherever he goes.

“Did I hear you say Harry?” asked Julie. “You don’t hear that name often here in Canada. But did you hear about that poor man that was murdered in Toronto? His name was Harry.”

“Terrible,” said Sarah. “But I guess that’s what you get for sleeping with your secretary.”

“He certainly wasn’t sleeping with that woman,” exclaimed Sophie.

“Oh did you know him?” asked Julie.

“We knew of him,” said Douglas. “A close friend of ours worked at his office.”

“Really?” inquired Julie. “So what’s your take on the murder?”

“Clearly that horrible woman murdered him,” said Douglas. “And then the idiot police let her escape.”

“I’d heard she’s a lovely, cultured, educated woman,” said Julie.

Thank you Julie. I actually am quite cultured. I’m always contemplating going to the symphony or to a play instead of sitting around in my pajamas watching House Hunters and when all this is over I’m probably going to do it.

“Cultured?” squeaked Sophie. She really had the most unappealing voice. High and squeaky like Minnie Mouse.

A friend of mine worked with her,” continued Douglas. “Apparently she often came to work in dirty clothes. One time she actually had chunks of pasta on her sweater.”

“And she smelled,” added Sophie.

Okay, that was it. There were limits. I’d have to jump in here and defend myself. One time, one time, I spilled some spaghetti on myself at lunch and failed to notice and no one at the office bothered to tell me, because that’s just the kind of uncaring place it was. And I certainly never smelled. Well, maybe that one week when I had a trial membership at a gym at lunch and didn’t have time for a shower because Mr. Potter would be standing at the door tapping his watch if I was even a minute late. But it was hardly a pattern.

“We had someone like that at my office,” chimed in Sarah. “Terrible. And the windows didn’t open.”

Honestly, this was beyond the pall. As if anybody would have had to open a window because of me.

“My goodness,” said Julie. “They never mentioned anything about her aroma in the paper.”

“Don’t get me started on the media,” said Douglas. “I’ve been told I can be quite a bore when I get going.”

Douglas could be quite a bore walking across the office to get a cup of coffee. Had he been telling reporters I was slovenly as well as incompetent? Was the next headline going to be
Stinky Secretary Slithers Away
? Poor Evan. His mother was not only an alleged murderer but now people would think he’d been raised by a woman who needed fumigating. He would probably be blamed for infesting his building with the bedbugs.

“Well I think it was a miscarriage of justice,” said Julie. “From what I’ve read that poor woman had no reason at all to kill her boss. It’s clearly a set-up. She’s been framed.”

I tried to peer around to see how Sophie was reacting to this. Mr. Potter had only been dead for a week. Regardless of her affair with Douglas, it must be wrenching for her to discuss her husband’s grisly murder so soon after the fact. Unless, of course, she wanted him dead or did the deed herself.

“Whatever,” said Sophie.

Whatever? Did she really say that? How could she be so cavalier? Why didn’t I have a tape recorder? She was practically admitting that she killed him.

“Who’s getting dropped at the main lodge?” called the driver. “Everyone?”

“We have a private cabin,” said Douglas. “Cabin One.”

“Okay,” said the driver. “I’ll make a stop at the lodge and then drop you at your cabin.”

“Lovely,” said Sarah. “Sleigh to door service.”

“A private cabin?” asked Julie. “That sounds nice. Do you have to book those far in advance?”

Good question. How long had they been planning this romantic getaway?

“We booked back in September,” said Douglas. “They get snapped up pretty quickly.”

Ah hah! This wasn’t a last minute getaway after the murder. They’d been planning this for months.

“A cabin,” said Julie. “Sounds romantic. You two look so happy. When’s the wedding?”

“Very soon,” said Sophie in a chipper voice.

“That’s why you’re so happy,” said Sarah. “You’re not married yet. Kidding! Don’t mind me. I’m terrible.”

“Here we are,” called the driver as we pulled up to the front of the lodge. He hustled down from his perch and placed the stool on the snow so we could safely disembark.

“Enjoy your cabin,” called Sarah as she climbed off. “Perhaps we’ll see you at dinner.”

Dinner. I’d forgotten about food. So unlike me. I was starving. Famished. They probably had excellent food at this place. I climbed out of the sleigh, careful to keep my back to the happy holidaymakers.

“Room service by the fire for us,” said Douglas. “Lobster pot pie.”

Hahh. Lobster was out of season. How gauche.

“C’mon,” said Julie, lurching up behind me. “Let’s get back to the room without anyone seeing you. Keep your hood up. Rose is going to be worried.”

We entered the lobby and it really was quite lovely. A huge, high-ceilinged room with a blazing fire and plaid couches that looked quite comfortable. There was a Christmas tree in the middle of the room decorated with popcorn and cranberries. A real ‘Olde’ fashioned Christmas.

“Hellooo,” came a voice from the bar.

It was Rose, not looking terribly worried about us, sitting on a bar stool sipping a bright red cocktail. “I got parched waiting for you,” she said as we came over. “That room they gave us isn’t any place for an old lady to be left alone.”

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Julie.

“Depressing,” said Rose. “You don’t want to know. We should have booked ahead.”

“It doesn’t matter about the room,” I said, in a brusque voice. “That’s not why we’re here. I’m going to nail Douglas and Sophie to the wall and then we’re getting out of here.”

“Aren’t you the ray of sunshine?” said Rose, taking a sip of her drink. “And keep your voice down.”

“My voice is down.”

“Oh have a drink,” said Rose. “That always puts you in a good mood.”

“She’s already had a drink,” said Julie. “A few drinks. And look where that got us.”

“Where did it get us? We had a lovely sleigh ride and now we know what color grout Douglas chose for the bathroom.”

“Don’t talk to me about grout,” said Rose, shaking her head.

We both stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to finish the thought, but that was it. Don’t talk to her about grout. Okay. We were warned.

“So what next?” asked Julie.

“Dinner,” I said.

“It’ll have to be room service.”

“There’s no room service in the lodge,” said Rose. “Only in the cabins. And the dining room meals are served family style. Big long tables so everyone can get to know everyone else. I’ve cased the place. Ask me anything.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” said Julie. “What a ridiculous place. Val, you’ll have to stay in the room. We’ll bring you back something.”

“I am faint from hunger,” I snarled. “I need to” — My tirade was interrupted by the sound of a mooing cow.

“That’s the dinner bell,” said Rose. “Cute huh? Prime Rib or pork loin tonight. I’m thinking I’ll go with the pork. There’s going to be caroling around the fire later.”

“Okay,” said Julie. “We need to eat. Val you go back to the room. Rose, do you have keys?”

Rose passed me a key. A real old fashioned key, not a key card. “Room 111. We’re in the basement by the laundry room,” said Rose. “And there’s only one bed. A double.”

“This is getting better all the time,” said Julie.

The crowd in the lobby had dispersed, heading toward the dining room and their roast of pork, and parsley potatoes and probably pumpkin pie, my favorite, for dessert.

“Are there any vending machines?” I asked.

“Vending machines,” scoffed Rose. “What kind of low-endy place do you think this is?”

“Bring me back a plate,” I said to Julie. “A big plate. Don’t skimp.”

“I’ll see what I can do. You need to get to the room and stay out of sight.”

With my hood still up, I gazed around the lobby, looking for the basement stairs. The smells wafting in from the dining room made me weak in the knees. Perhaps I could just stroll by the kitchen, see if there was something to grab. What could be the harm?

I slunk around the edge of the large lobby, followed a tall fellow in a chef’s hat down a long corridor and located the kitchen by the clanging and banging. I leaned against the wall in a corner, in hopes a stray morsel might be lurking about. One of the chefs rushed by, with what looked like a Rorschach test of blood on the front of his apron while a pony-tailed waiter stood over a tray of brownies, scratching his head.

“Get outa here,” snarled a passing chef to the waiter. “Think I want your goddamn psoriasis flakes in my food?”

Psoriasis flakes. The image was enough to momentarily quell my appetite.

“Who’s waiting on those assholes in Cabin One?” yelled another chef.

Assholes in Cabin One. That would be Douglas and Sophie.

“I am,” answered a sweet faced girl of about nineteen, who was busy arranging plates on a large tray.

“Take a cart,” said the chef, dragging over an ancient wood-trimmed room service cart. “Here, put those in here.” The chef lifted the top of the cart and put the covered plates inside. “I don’t want that dick calling me to gripe that his lobster potpie was cold. Do you have the candles?”