Murder Is Uncooperative (11 page)

"No!” I hadn't realized that Ben had woken up and been listening to our conversation. He came running into the living room, tears streaming down his face. “No, I don't want to move again. I like it here. I like having my own room like a big boy. I have friends here. We move too much!”

He was right. In his short life we had moved from the house I shared with his father to my Dad's townhouse, and now to the co-op. Each move had disrupted his life and changed his routines. And it was true he had made friends in the co-op. There were several little boys his age who he had met in the playground.

“It's all right, Ben,” I reassured him. “Grandpa and I were just talking.” Looking at my father, I shrugged. “It seems the men in my life have spoken. I guess we're not moving.”

“I wouldn't worry, Becky,” Dad said. “That D'Onofrio fellow seems like he knows what he's doing. I'm sure he'll figure it out.”

He winked at me. “And if he doesn't, maybe you can solve the crime. You always were a big fan of Nancy Drew.”

M
UCH LATER, AFTER DINNER
and Ben's bedtime, I had a chance to think about the questions D'Onofrio had asked. He was asking about a plaque. I didn't remember seeing anything like that the night Les had died.

But I did remember seeing something like that on the first day I visited the co-op. There had been a metal plaque celebrating the opening of the co-op. I had tripped over it and then moved it out of the way.

Was I a suspect? If that piece of metal had been involved in Les's death, were my fingerprints still on it?

On Monday, I dropped Ben off at his pre-school. Dad was out, so I had the apartment to myself. I settled down at my desk to get some work done.

But I couldn't concentrate. I kept thinking about the questions D'Onofrio had asked about the plaque. I had assumed Les had been killed by the boxes falling on him. Could someone have hit Les with the plaque or some other weapon, and then toppled the boxes to make it look like an accident? Was it murder?

I would have to follow up with D'Onofrio, now that I'd remembered about the plaque.

As I picked up the phone to call him, I glanced out the window and saw the homeless woman pushing her cart down the street. I thought it was so sad that she treasured her odds and ends but had given away something that might have some value. I grabbed the pendant from the desk drawer. I had polished it and it looked quite lovely. The angel gleamed on the small oval pendant and the chain was clean. Surely she would want it back when she saw it. I grabbed my keys, slipped on some ballerina flats and headed outside.

But when I got to the front door, I couldn't see the woman on the street. Had she gone behind the co-op, looking for bottles in the garbage cans or recycling bins? Vancouver has a pretty good recycling program. But some people couldn't be bothered to return their bottles and cans for the small amount they could get for them. Local “binners” made money by retrieving the drink containers from garbage bins around the city.

I looked up and down the lane but didn't see the woman. The co-op's garbage bin blocked my view a bit, so I walked closer to it.

A china plate lay next to the bin, still smeared with a few streaks of something. The pretty ivory plate was rimmed in pale blue, with a scattering of flowers in pastels. It was similar to the china I had seen Gwen and Mariana use but the pattern seemed different.

What wasn't pretty was the very large black rat that scurried away as I came close to the garbage bin.

I shuddered at the sight of it.

Had someone been leaving food out for the homeless woman? Or were they feeding feral cats in the neighborhood? I'd even heard of people leaving food out for the raccoons that populated the neighborhood.

I didn't want to touch the plate if the rat had been eating from it. But I knew it wasn't responsible to just leave it in the lane, attracting more rats and other pests. I pulled a tissue from my pocket and used it to pick the plate up. I considered tossing the plate into the bin. But it was obviously worth something and probably belonged to someone in the co-op.

As I went back into the building, gingerly holding the plate with the tissue, I heard a sound from the office. I was surprised to see Ruth at her desk, working on her computer.

“I'm glad to see you're back,” I said. “How are you doing?”

She looked up at me, her eyes a little unfocused, obviously still thinking about the work she had been doing.

“Oh, hi, Rebecca. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure that I was coming back. But I wanted to finish the financial statements. And Gwen assured me she'd had the blood cleaned up.”

I gulped as I remembered the way the office had looked the last time I had been here. Now it was tidy and clean. There were still lots of loose papers and files, but they were stacked neatly on one of the desks at the back of the room. The other desks were clear. And the large boxes that had lined the wall were gone. There didn't seem to be any signs of the blood that had covered the floor.

“It looks nice in here. They did a good job,” I said.

Ruth shrugged. “I guess. I'm not sure I'll ever feel comfortable in here. But I feel like I owe it to Les to try to keep things together, at least until they hire a new manager. He helped me a lot.”

I was dying to ask for more details about her relationship with Les. She had seemed kind of grumpy every time I was there, and not particularly good at her job. This dedication to helping the co-op didn't seem in character.

Seeing my face, she laughed. “Oh, yeah, I know this place. Once Gwen told the board Les had listed me as the contact on his personnel file, everyone started speculating about my relationship with him. Like I said at the funeral, I guess most people think I'm his illegitimate child or his mistress. Or both.”

I smiled. As I had learned from Jeremy, the co-op rumor mill was very active on that topic. I was curious myself, but it didn't seem polite to pry.

“His wife was good friends with my mom. And we kept in touch after she died. So Les was almost like family. But that doesn't mean there was some kind of sneaky reason Les hired me.

“Don't they think I'm good at my job?” she asked suddenly. “Is that why everyone seems so suspicious about me and Les?”

I didn't know what to say. It was what people thought. I had thought that myself.

"Yeah, I can tell that's what they think,” she went on, seeing the look on my face. “I know I'm not good with people. I couldn't be bothered with all that touchy-feely 'building community' stuff Les did. But I'm good with numbers. Les hired me as coordinator to help fix up the books and get the files in order. And I'm doing that. I've got the books totally straightened out, and I'm working on the filing system. Les knew he wasn't good at that. But he had the people skills. We made a pretty good team.”

She sniffed.

“You wouldn't believe the files. Les just had stuff in piles, as you saw. But I'm finally getting everything in place.” She smiled. “I feel like I almost know the co-op as well as Les did, after I've sorted through all those papers.”

“I noticed that most of the boxes are gone,” I said. “Did you file all that?”

“No, they're back in the storage room.” She frowned. “At least some of them are. I think the police took some boxes. Or maybe the cleaners did? I hope the cleaners didn't get rid of them. I think a lot of that stuff can go, but I wanted to sort through it all. There were files going back to the beginning of the co-op. I'm sure there are some we should keep.”

“Actually, I'm interested in some of the old files. I offered to help Gwen write a history of the co-op. But I've only looked through one box so far. Are there others I could take?”

“Sure,” she said. “I can get them out of the storage room. But can it wait awhile? I want to look through them myself. Les was looking into something before he died. I know he was worried about something and was going through some of the files.”

She sniffed again. “Do you have a tissue?”

I shook my head. I had picked up the plate using the only tissue I had. I realized I was still holding the plate.

She shrugged and wiped her nose with her hand. “I still get upset about Les. I'd known him since I was a little kid.”

I held out the plate I had found in the alley. “Do you know if someone from the co-op is leaving food outside? I found this plate in the lane. I've seen a homeless woman around and wondered if someone was leaving food for her.”

Ruth looked puzzled. “I've never heard of someone doing that. But, as I said, I don't pay much attention to what the people in the co-op are doing. Still, it seems pretty stupid to just leave a plate outside. Did you find it on the ground?”

I nodded.

“Maybe someone's feeding the feral cats that live around here. Or the raccoons? People think they're cute. But they really shouldn't. Raccoons are wild animals and the food could attract more of them. Or even coyotes. We sure don't want raccoons and coyotes hanging around the back where the kids play.”

“It's already attracted a rat,” I said. “That's bad enough.”

“Yuck,” Ruth said. “We sure don't need that. I'll ask Gwen about it. Maybe she'll know who it belongs to. It might be even be hers. I think she has china that looks like that. Or maybe Mariana. They're both always bringing food down to the office for us. It would be like them to feed a homeless person. But I don't think either of them would just leave a plate lying around in the lane. Leave it with me and I'll ask them.”

“It's filthy,” I said. “I'll just wash it off and bring it back. I think I hear someone coming to talk to you.”

I thought I had heard footsteps approaching the office but the hallway was empty when I looked out. “Sorry, I guess I was hearing things,” I said. “I'll be back later.”

Back in my apartment, I filled the sink with soapy water and slid the plate in. Not wanting to take any chances, I added a
splash of bleach. I left the plate to soak and went to the bathroom to wash my hands carefully. Seeing the rat had really creeped me out.

Looking at my watch, I realized it was time to pick Ben up at his preschool. I hadn't made much progress on the work I had planned for today. I'd have to get some work done once Ben was in bed.

Dad had taken the car so I needed to hurry to get to the preschool in time. When we got home, I found my father and Mariana in the front room.

“I ran into Mariana at the community center,” he told me. “I was just leaving the pool when I saw her coming out of the library. So I offered her a ride home.”

“I would have walked back if I knew he was going to offer me a glass of scotch when we got here,” Mariana said, swirling some ice cubes in one of the crystal tumblers my mother had given to Dave and me as a wedding gift. “I could have burned off some calories in advance.”

“Surely there can't be many calories in a glass of scotch,” my father said.

I almost laughed out loud. Before he developed arthritis my father had been very active. He and my mother had spent a lot of time walking, cross-country skiing, and swimming. With his long, lean frame, he had never worried much about his weight. And he still spent as much time swimming and walking as he could.

My mother had been very petite and I don't remember her ever talking about dieting.

I didn't think Dad realized that Mariana probably expected him to make some kind of polite remark that she didn't need to lose weight. But he surprised me.

“I probably shouldn't say so, but you look pretty good.”

Mariana's laugh tinkled like the ice cubes in her glass. “Well, that's very flattering, Angus, but I have to make sure the calories in don't exceed the calories out. We have to think of those things at our age, don't we?”

“Speaking of calories,” I interrupted. The sight of my father flirting was a little unnerving. “I'm about to make dinner. Would you like to join us, Mariana? It's only spaghetti, I'm afraid. We tend to eat meals that appeal to a four-year-old, at a four-year-old's dinnertime. But there should be plenty.”

“Yes, we'd love to have you, Mariana,” my father urged. “I'm sure a sophisticated woman like you usually dines much later, at a more sophisticated place. But I have to say my daughter makes a pretty good plate of spaghetti.”

“Mom makes meatballs!” Ben added. “She says she learned how to make them from my Grandma, so they're extra special.”

“Well, if you're serving extra-special meatballs, I don't see how I can resist the invitation,” Mariana said, smiling at him.

So, with dinner and getting Ben to bed, it was late by the time I realized I had forgotten to ask Mariana if the plate was one of hers, or if she knew who it belonged to.

And I had meant to return the plate to the office.

I decided it was too late. Ruth would surely have left the office by now. It could wait until later, I decided.

I was pleased to see an email from Dave the next morning, with a newspaper article attached. Dave wasn't the most reliable person, so I was glad to see he had actually followed up on my request for articles on the girls who had gone missing from the co-op.

I clicked eagerly on the attachment. “H
AVE YOU SEEN THESE GIRLS
?” was the headline from the
Province,
the morning tabloid newspaper.

HAVE YOU SEEN THESE GIRLS?

Jessica Anderson and Amy Cole, both 15, have been missing since yesterday afternoon. Anyone with information is asked to contact the police.

And that was it. I looked back at Dave's message, hoping I'd missed another attachment. This was obviously the very earliest article, when the girls had first disappeared. But I already knew they had disappeared. I wanted to know what had happened to them. I was staring at my computer screen in frustration when my phone rang.

“Did you get that article I sent you?” I heard Dave asking.

“Is that all you could find?” I asked, trying not to sound critical.