The Geranium Girls (18 page)

The doorbell rang an hour later as Beryl was smoothing lotion onto her legs. She looked out the kitchen window and saw the Poulin’s truck parked in the lane.

“Yes?” she called through the back door, pulling her terry cloth robe tightly around her.

“Poulin’s! For the house next door? I was told to pick up the key here?”

“Could you please step back so I can see you out of the kitchen window?” Beryl shouted.

What she saw when she peered outside was a sturdily built young man, not more than twenty-two, looking up at her. Beside him stood the uniformed cop who gave her a thumbs-up gesture with both hands.

She opened the door to the young exterminator and gave him Clive’s key.

“Sorry,” she said. “There’s been some trouble.”

“That’s okay, ma’am,” he said.

Beryl put on a sleeveless dress, ivory coloured, and then threw a peach tee shirt on over top after catching a glimpse of her arms in the bathroom mirror. She didn’t like the look of them.

The phone rang and she picked it up.

“We got him,” Frank said.

Beryl sat down where she stood in the middle of her living room floor and began to shake.

“Are you there, Beryl?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” she whispered.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

She hauled herself up onto the couch and lay down. Jude and Dusty joined her there, sitting on her chest with their faces as close to hers as she would allow.

Frank came over within the hour. They sat down at the kitchen table.

“He lives on Taché, at the river end,” Frank said, “in a house left to him by his aunt, Hortense Frouten Keller.

“You know what he said when he opened the door to us?”

“What?”

“‘It’s about time.’ That’s what he said. As though we were a bunch of idiots. I acted gruff, but I sure felt stupid. You solved this for us, Beryl.”

“Yeah, I guess I kind of did, didn’t I? With Stan’s help. And Clive’s. And Herm’s. And Rachel’s. And yours. You believed me when I told you about the crazy goings-on around here. That was really important, Frank.” Beryl’s eyes filled up.

“Yes, I did that, I guess,” Frank said. “I feel like that’s about all I did.”

Beryl got up to turn the air conditioning off. It was cold in her house. She splashed cool water on her face and pressed a small towel against her eyes to absorb the tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of Frank again.

“So what was he like, this Joe Keller?” she asked when she came back.

“Well, I guess you know him as well as, if not better, than I do at this point, Beryl. I mean you’ve had actual conversations with him, haven’t you?”

“Yeah…I have. It just seems so bizarre now that I know he isn’t who he said he was. Like, if I saw him now he might not even look the same.”

“He looks the same, all right. Just like he did that day in the park. Like a regular thirty-something guy, kind of handsome, even. But with a horror story inside his head. He’s a lone wolf if I ever saw one. He can’t name anyone as a friend or even an acquaintance.

“He’s had this particular janitorial job for a couple of years. And he’s also worked as a security guard and as a night watchman in other places, mostly around St. Boniface. In the summer he just works part time at the school, so he’s had a lot of time on his hands. With those types of jobs, he’d have time on his hands anyway, wouldn’t he, to brood and imagine and plan who knows what?”

“Yeah,” said Beryl. “I guess.”

“You know what set him off?” Frank continued. “The pots of geraniums at Hermione’s place. Having to walk by them every day to get anywhere. They reminded him of his Aunt Hortense who he really hated. She used to grow geraniums. She sounds like a real prize.”

“Was she tall and thin?”

“Yeah, tall and thin, with sparse hair. And bossy. Hermione reminded him of her. She was his prey but she was hard to trap. He just hadn’t gotten to her yet. He made do with the other women, with her customers, as he bided his time, till he saw his chance with what he thought of as his real trophy.”

Beryl shuddered. “Thank God Herm’s okay. Does she know about all this yet?”

“Yes. I talked to her on the phone. She’s pretty upset, as you can imagine. She’s going stay out there with her friends for a few days. She said to say hi; she’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay. Good. So Beatrice and Diane were tall and thin and connected to the shop.”

“Yes.” Frank fiddled with the salt shaker, trying to balance it on its edge in a little pile of salt he had poured out onto the table.

“God,” said Beryl. “Tall and thin with a love of geraniums. How arbitrary is that?”

“And bald. Yeah. Pretty arbitrary.” The salt shaker tipped over and caused Beryl to jump.

“Beatrice and Diane weren’t even bald,” she said.

“No. But, like I said, he made do. He followed them. Hermione didn’t give him a good opportunity; at least she hadn’t yet. He seems to like to kill outdoors. She doesn’t jog, or even walk, it seems.”

Beryl smiled. “No. She’s the opposite of an exercise freak. Jesus. Thank God.”

“He said he hadn’t even noticed the shop till this summer when all the geraniums appeared outside. He’d been walking by it for years without giving it a second thought.”

The salt shaker banged onto the table again.

“For goodness’ sake, Frank!” Beryl said and snatched it out of his hand.

“Sorry,” Frank said.

The doorbell rang again. It was the Poulin’s guy returning the key.

“I laid some traps,” he said, “but he’s gonna have to get the holes in his house fixed if he wants to stop the problem. The place is in bad shape.”

“I’ll tell him,” Beryl said. “And I’ll try and get him to do something. I know it’s bad.”

“I seen worse,” the Poulin’s guy said and was on his way.

“Frank?” Beryl asked. She could see he was getting ready to leave.

“Yes?”

“What about the stuff that happened around here? The cat collar and the furnace pegs and everything?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I don’t have anything to tell you about that yet. I will, though. I’m going back to see him again. We had to get the worst of it over with first. The killing part. I’m sorry, Beryl. I know how important those other things are to you. To me too, actually.”

“It’s okay, I understand.”

“We do know that he does make a habit of walking in St. Vital Park on Saturday mornings. We had checked that out right at the start, with other regular Saturday morning walkers and joggers. He didn’t lie about that. It was sheer coincidence that he was walking by shortly after you discovered Beatrice’s body. Or, as he called it, ‘sheer luck.’ He wasn’t there to hurt you.

“And it came to him on the spur of the moment to pretend he was Joe Paine, the veterinarian. He’d heard of him and how well-liked he is. He figured a vet would seem trustworthy to a young woman such as you. As long as you didn’t know the real Joe Paine, that is.”

“Wow. Yeah, I did trust him at first,” Beryl said. “For maybe an hour or two.”

“A prostitute was murdered about eighteen months ago,” Frank said. “We’re thinking there’s a good chance she may have been killed by this guy too. It was a strangulation. With a nylon scarf.”

“Charise Rondeau,” Beryl said.

“Yes.”

“Jesus.”

“Yes. We’ll see.”

“And he’s lived right here in the neighbourhood all this time,” Beryl said. “That’s scary.”

“Yup, it sure is.”

Beryl opened the drawer in her kitchen desk and found Frank’s handkerchief lying on top of Beatrice Fontaine. She gave it to him. And the photograph as well. She knew that Frank would take good care of it, keep it out of Sergeant Christie’s hands.

When Frank left, Beryl phoned Dhani at the pharmacy and he came right over. He made toasted tomato sandwiches for them, using local tomatoes, and afterwards they drank a little brandy.

The evening turned cool. They opened the doors and windows and even built a small fire in the stone fireplace. They cozied up side by side on the couch. Beryl had changed into a nightgown.

She explained everything that had happened, including her own knowledge of Hermione’s connection to the killer.

Dhani seemed to understand how she hadn’t wanted to confide in him about it. It was one too many connections and he acknowledged that he would have freaked.

“I wouldn’t have confided in me either,” he said, and kissed the top of her head. “Your hair smells good. Like spring.”

Understanding that connection helped. The geraniums, the tall, thin, sparse-haired aunt. But Dhani still wanted to talk about the other ones: Beryl being the one to find Beatrice, Beryl knowing Hermione, and Dhani’s knowledge of a pharmacist who knew Beatrice.

Beryl didn’t think she could stand to think about those other connections. And said so.

“I want to go over to Hermione’s place and make it nice for her before she comes back,” she said.

“I’ll help you,” Dhani said. “Let’s plant new flowers.”

“Ones that aren’t geraniums,” Beryl said. “I doubt Herm will want to grow geraniums again, ever.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Dhani?”

“Yes?”

“If I have a party, will you come to it?”

“Of course! I’ll help!”

Beryl laughed and leaned her head against his shoulder. “You’re very helpful today.”

Dhani breathed in the scent of her hair. They sat quietly for a time.

“Let’s have a bath!” Beryl said.

“You’ve already had one,” Dhani said. “I was thinking of asking if I could use the shower.”

“Of course you can. But then let’s have a big hot bath, the two of us. And lots of bubbles.”

“Yes. All right.” Dhani didn’t seem so sure.

“It’ll be great!”

“Yes. Okay.”

When Dhani returned from his shower Beryl was asleep on her side covered with an afghan. Dusty and Jude were curled up in the space next to her heart. Dhani adjusted her blanket and sat down in the easy chair with the
Winnipeg Free Press
and another finger or two of brandy.

Frank dropped by Beryl’s house the next afternoon, Saturday, to fill her in on more details.

“Do you want to be honoured?” Frank asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he said, “sometimes members of the public are honoured for helping the police in some way. You definitely qualify. I’d like to put your name forward for a civilian citation, but I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

“What would happen?”

“Oh, a little ceremony, probably your picture in the paper, maybe on TV, a memento of some kind. A few of the higher-ups would want to shake your hand.”

“Could you let me think about this, Frank? I’m inclined to think I’ll pass, but I’ll let you know for certain in a day or two.”

“Sure.”

“I kind of figure solving the crimes was the least I could do seeing as it was my fault in the first place.”

“What?”

“It was me who convinced Hermione to put her flowers outside.”

“Beryl, that’s crazy. Have you spoken to Hermione about this?”

“Yeah. She thinks I’m crazy too.”

“If you think that way,” said Frank, “you could end up blaming yourself for practically everything.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Beryl.” Frank sighed. “That’s a heavy load, to say nothing of totally nuts.”

“Yeah. I think maybe I’ll seek help.” Beryl gave a little laugh.

Frank agreed that it might be a good idea.

The day remained cool after the drop in temperature the night before. The sky was bright blue. There was the slightest hint of fall in the air. They sat out back in the screened-in porch with the two cats nestled between them on the couch as Frank filled Beryl in on what he had been able to get out of the interrogation of Joe Keller.

It was all Joe: he dressed up like an old woman, like his Auntie Cunt, as he called her; he deadheaded the lobelia; he attached the collar to Beryl’s cat; he moved her furnace pegs; he slept in Clive’s bed.

And he left behind the
Pilot Mound Sentinal
. That was the one thing that he hadn’t intended to do.

He confessed to it all, as well as to the murders of Diane Caldwell and Beatrice Fontaine. No hesitation. It all just poured out of him.

“Auntie Cunt?” Beryl said.

“Yes. I’m afraid so.”

They didn’t mean to. And they didn’t mean anything by it. But they got to laughing, the two of them, long and hard. They laughed till Beryl couldn’t remember what it was that set them off and till Mort shouted over from next door, “Everything okay over there, is it?”

And then Frank continued with his details. “According to Joe, his aunt picked the name Keller because of an article she’d read about a deaf, dumb and blind kid. That’s how he described it. She’d read it in a magazine. I guess he means Helen Keller. The aunt must have admired her. Joe stutters when he talks about the aunt. And his voice gets high sounding.”

Both the dead women had been joggers. Joe had followed them to the parks and killed them there with his aunt’s scarves. In broad daylight. It was easy, he said: a piece of cake, a day at the beach, a walk in the park.

The geraniums that died, the ones that weren’t smashed, had been invaded by vine weevils. Joe had gone to some trouble and expense to get them.

Beryl wondered why he picked that particular insect. Vine weevils are all females. There is no male of the species. She wondered why she was cursed with remembering so much useless information.

“Why did he do the stuff at my house, Frank? It’s more like mischief than anything else. Except the breaking-in part. That’s a bigger crime.”

“He took an interest in you. He’s been following you ever since the day you found Beatrice. That was his first sighting of you.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Those were his exact words: I took an interest in her. Except he said ‘a interest. I took a interest.’”

“So, how about when I saw him at the folk festival and Wally’s funeral? Did he know Wally? Is he a fan of folk music?”

“No and no. He was at both places because of you.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yes. But, somehow, I don’t think you were in danger, Beryl. I don’t think he would have hurt you.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t.”

A smoky breeze blew through the screen — the result of the first of the stubble burners, perhaps. Dusty sneezed.

“It’s funny you used the word mischief when talking about what he did around here,” Frank said. “As well as being charged with first degree murder and break and enter, he is being charged with mischief.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Goodness.”

“Yes.”

Frank scratched Dusty behind his little brown ears and the cat closed his eyes and purred.

“There’s this one room in his house,” Frank said. “With all kinds of paraphernalia: straps and chains. Bondage stuff.”

“Oh my.”

“Yes. Harnesses, latex masks with holes only for noses…”

“Jesus.”

“Yes. He used to invite prostitutes to his home. There are bondage videos, little harnesses for genitals, a cage. I think he actually slept in the cage himself sometimes.”

“I don’t think I’m up to hearing any more right now, Frank.” Beryl wrapped her arms around herself.

“Of course. I’m sorry. I should get going, anyway,” Frank said. “I promised my kids I’d take them to the Bridge Drive In this afternoon.”

“What about the hooker who died?” Beryl asked.

“He’s being coy about that,” Frank said, “but we’ll find a way to prove it if he doesn’t confess. I fully expect he will.”

He stood up to go. “Beryl?”

“Yes?”

“If it hadn’t been the geraniums it would have been something else. He had already killed once; he was primed to do it again. Charise Rondeau deserves to have her killer found. And you’ve done that. I hope you can get around to feeling good about some parts of this.”

“Thanks, Frank.”

“So long, then.”

“Frank?”

“Yes?”

“If I have a party, will you come?”

“For sure.”