Murder Is Uncooperative (19 page)

Aaron loomed up behind us. Kevin hovered behind him.

“So now you're telling people that Gwen had something to do with Ruth's death. And you told that police officer that I got to the office before you.”

“You did get to the office before me, Aaron.” I tried to keep my voice calm.

“That's not how I remember it.” His voice was getting louder. “It seems you're just looking around for anyone to blame. First me, then Gwen. But everyone knows we never had any problems before you moved in!”

He was yelling by then. His face was red and veins were standing out on his neck and forehead. People were turning to stare at us. I backed a step away from him.

Kevin was patting Aaron's arm and trying to calm him down.

“Now, now, Aaron,” he was saying. “I know you're upset but it's not Rebecca's fault.”

Jeremy joined him in trying to calm Aaron down.

“Let's go outside,” Jeremy said. “I bet you're dying for a cigarette, aren't you.”

Jeremy and Kevin urged Aaron outside. People in the crowd stared at me for a moment, and then they started to chat to each other again.

I saw Mariana coming towards me, and I walked over to meet her.

“Gwen's upset. We couldn't find that police officer,” she said. “She wants to phone him and tell him about the muffins but she doesn't want to do it from here.”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “I'll just go get the car.”

She looked me in the eye. “No, Rebecca, she's really upset. I think it's better if I just take her home in a taxi. She just wondered if you could bring her platter back to the co-op. It's on the table with the last of the pastries on it. She has her name written on a piece of tape on the bottom.”

“Yes, of course I'll bring it. But I could just get it now and put the pastries on another plate. I could drive you both home right now.”

“Rebecca, I don't think she wants to see you right now. She'll get over it. I know you didn't really mean to make it sound like she killed Ruth, but that's what she thought you were saying.”

“But you—”

I broke off as she patted my shoulder. “It'll be fine. But I should get back to her and get her home. I'll talk to you later.”

I stood alone in the middle of the room, cursing myself. I usually thought of myself as sensitive and considerate of other people. But I certainly hadn't handled that well.

I thought back to our conversation. I'd been certain that Mariana had first brought up the idea. And I'd thought she was suggesting that we tell D'Onofrio about it. But that was silly. She did
mention food poisoning in general. She'd certainly been concerned about Gwen. Another example of me just charging in, trying to find something out without thinking it through. Fools rushing in.

I seemed to be working on ruining my relationship with the few people in the co-op I'd hoped were becoming my friends. And there certainly were enough people in the co-op who were ready to dislike me. I didn't need more.

I thought about leaving. But I still hadn't paid my respects to Ruth's mother, Carol. I hoped she hadn't noticed the commotions I'd caused with Aaron and Gwen.

I found Carol standing with the same woman she'd been with in the church.

I took her hand. “I'm so sorry for your loss,” I said, knowing the conventional words couldn't begin to help. I thought about Ben and tried to imagine how I would feel if anything happened to him. I didn't really even want to think about it. How could this woman cope with the loss of her daughter?

I wasn't sure Carol would remember me from Les's funeral, but she turned to the woman who stood beside her. “Would you mind fetching me a cup of tea?” she asked.

“Of course,” she said. “I should have thought of that. You must be dying for one.”

As she headed to the side of the room where the women from the church were serving coffee and tea, Carol took my arm and led me over to some chairs.

“Do you mind if we sit down a moment?” she asked. “I've been standing for hours and I'm not really used to these shoes. You're from that co-op, aren't you,” she went on. “What's going on at that place?” She looked at me with some urgency.

“I don't really know. The police are looking into it. I know Ruth said that Les had been worried about something before he
died. But, maybe both deaths were just accidents. The boxes fell on Les, and Ruth might have had food poisoning from something she ate.”

“They think it was mushrooms,” Carol said. “Apparently there are lots of them growing this time of year. They said people often mistake the poisonous ones for the edible wild mushrooms.” Her face was gray.

“Lots of people get sick,” she went on, “but they usually don't die. Ruth had a weak heart—a birth defect. She'd had surgery when she was a baby, and we thought she was fine. But the doctors said her heart just wasn't able to handle it when she started vomiting so violently.”

“Were they hallucinogenic?” I asked. “Or might she have thought they were?” Ruth was, after all, barely out of her teens and young people did often experiment with drugs. Then I mentally kicked myself for being tactless again. The last thing I wanted to suggest to a bereaved mother was that her daughter's death was her own fault.

“No, apparently not. Just some local poisonous toadstool thing,” she replied. “Anyway, Ruth might have tried drugs with her friends at a party. I'm not the kind of naïve mother who thinks their kids would never try drugs. But at work, at the office? Doesn't sound likely, does it? And she wasn't the kind of person who went out picking wild mushrooms under the trees. She was a typical city kid—thought food came from Safeway, if she had to think beyond believing it just turned up magically in the fridge.

“Besides, it's a bit of a coincidence, wouldn't you think?” she said, looking at me sceptically. “Two deaths in the same office?”

I realized how ridiculous I sounded, clinging to hope that my nice new home had not just been the site of two murders.

“Yes,” I agreed. “There's something going on. But I don't know what.”

“Les loved that place,” she said, smiling. “They didn't pay him a lot, but he was always talking about what a great community it was and how proud he was to be working at a place that was making a difference in people's lives.”

“Yes,” I said, smiling back at her. “I've heard Les talking about the co-op. And I was certainly very happy to find a home there. My father and son love it there. It really made a difference to our family, so I know why Les was so proud of the co-op. But now . . .”

“It was good for Ruthie too,” she said. “Oh, I probably shouldn't say that now, but she was happy working there. You may have noticed that Ruth's social skills weren't that great. When she was younger, I thought she was just shy, but recently she was diagnosed with mild autism. Perhaps Asperger's syndrome. She was getting tested, and we were looking at ways to help her cope better. But she's really good with numbers, and she's proud of being able to help Les sort out the books and the office.”

She stopped suddenly. “I can't stop talking about her as if she was still here. Isn't that silly? I wonder when it will sink in.

“Anyway, about the co-op . . . they were both happy there. But you're right, there was something bothering Les before he died. Something about someone who lived there or who used to live there. I never paid much attention.”

The woman who had been with Carol was coming back, carrying a teacup and a plate of small sandwiches. Carol hurried to finish what she was saying.

“Ruth used to laugh at him and say that there were problems with all the people in the co-op, that Les just couldn't see it. But after he died, she started to think about what he had said.
When she went back to the co-op, she planned to look through the files to see if she could figure out what had been bothering him.”

“Did she?” I asked. “Did she know what was wrong?”

“I never found out what it was,” Carol said. “But I think she was figuring it out. My girl was never very good at understanding what makes people tick. But when she wanted to figure something out, she went at it without stopping. I talked to her the day she died. She called to tell me she was planning on working late. She said she had an idea about what was worrying Les. She told me not to bother with dinner for her. Someone had left her some food, so she wasn't hungry.”

“Did she say who had brought the food?” I asked. We knew Gwen had brought muffins earlier but someone else could have stopped by too.

She shook her head.

“Unfortunately not. The police asked that too.

“But you see,” Carol finished as the other woman approached us with the tea and sandwiches. “You might be clinging to the idea there were a couple of bad accidents in the co-op. But I know they were both murdered.”

I moved away from her, pondering what she had said. What was going on in the co-op? And would it all end now that both of the staff were dead? Or were we all in danger?

I was so deep in thought I almost walked straight past Jeremy.

“Hey,” he said. “I don't make a practice of trying to pick up girls at funerals. But do you want to go grab a coffee now? It looks like your excuses have already left.”

I smiled at him. He was making an effort to lighten the mood and make me forget the confrontations with Gwen, Mariana, and Aaron. Despite my misgivings about him, it was just what I needed.

“I think that's a great idea,” I told him. “Just let me get Gwen's platter. I promised I'd bring it back for her.”

The platter was no longer on the table so I hurried into the kitchen. I found it already washed and waiting on the counter. I checked for the small piece of tape on the bottom of the platter with the name Arsenault written on it. It was a lovely piece—creamy china with gold trim, a dark blue band, and delicate swirls of dark blue flowers and green leaves. It looked very old and very precious. I held it gently. I remembered she had said she inherited some china from her grandmother. I knew she must treasure this piece, both for its beauty and for the family connections.

“I'm glad I found this,” I told Jeremy.

“Oh, yes.” Jeremy said. “I recognize that. She uses it a lot when she brings food for potlucks.”

“I wish she hadn't just left it here then. She must have been very upset when she left.”

“Yes, she said she just wanted to get away. She thought people must be watching her and thinking she killed Ruth.”

“Well, I'll have to be really careful with it.” The plate slipped a little in my hand. It had been warm in the kitchen and my hand was sweaty. “Oops.” I said, taking a firmer grip on the platter. “I'd better be more careful. Gwen would probably kill me if anything happened to it.”

“An unfortunate choice of words, under the circumstances,” Jeremy said. It took me a moment to realize he was joking.

Jeremy had brought his car too, so we agreed to meet at one of the Italian coffee shops near the co-op. He was already at a window table when I arrived. He smiled at me as I walked in. His chestnut hair gleamed in the sunlight coming through the window. He didn't have the very pale skin some redheads had. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His arms still had a golden tan, and the hairs on his arms shone with more gold.

What had he said when he asked if I wanted to go out for coffee? Something about picking girls up at the funeral? So was he interested in more than having a friendly coffee with me? I should have liked the idea. But I remembered that he had possibly lied to me about growing up in the co-op. I wondered if I should confront him about it.

We gave our order—a latte for me and a long espresso for him. He leaned across the table in our sunny corner.

“So, how's the co-op history project going?” he asked. “There should be lots of material for it but, knowing Les, it won't be in any logical order.”

“I've only been through a couple of boxes,” I told him. “There should be lots more. I think the police have finally finished going through the office and Gwen was going to get someone in to clean it up.” I grimaced. “But I don't think I'm quite ready to go back in the office. I keep thinking of finding Les and Ruth.” I shuddered at the memory.

“There should be other boxes in the storage room,” Jeremy said. “You could go through those first. I've got keys to that room, so I can let you in. And, when you're ready to tackle the office, I could go with you. Make sure you're safe.”

“Thanks for the offer. I want to finish it soon. Gwen didn't say if she had any particular deadline for this project but I do want to get it done for her.”

“Yeah, I think it's worthwhile to document some of the stuff that happened in the co-op. I know I didn't have much of a clue about what happened in the meetings when I was a kid, but it was still a pretty cool place to grow up.”

I was silent for too long. “I was sure you told me you moved into the co-op with Aiden after your divorce,” I said.

“Oh, yeah, sure. I did,” he said. “But I guess I wasn't clear. My parents moved into the co-op when I was really little. We moved out just after I turned fourteen. Dad got a job teaching at a community college up north, and we moved away. They're still up there, but they're thinking of moving back down to Vancouver now that Dad's retired. I think they'd like to spend more time with Aiden.

“Anyway, I came back down to Vancouver when I went to art school, and I stayed. And when I got divorced, I was looking around for a new place to live. Things in Vancouver were getting really expensive then, although not as bad as they are now. So I called the co-op. They had a vacancy, and I think Les spoke up
for me with the board. He'd known me since I was little, and I think he liked me. Anyway, we moved in, and the rest is history.”

I couldn't believe the wave of relief that washed over me. Jeremy hadn't lied to me after all.

“Dave told me Cara grew up in the co-op too,” I said.