by Reagan Davis
Sophie and I walk toward Phillip’s van as he gets out of the driver’s side with a takeout bag in his hand. Laura’s soup.
“Phillip, I’m so sorry,” I say.
I tell him Laura looked peaceful and comfortable in her chair, like she was asleep. And I thought she was, until I realized she wasn’t.
I hug him tightly and he begins to shiver, either from the cold or shock, or both.
We can’t go in the house, so I text Eric and tell him that Phillip is here and ask if I can take him to my house. Moments after I hit Send, a uniformed officer comes over and offers us a ride.
Chapter 4
I thank the police officer for driving us to my house in his warm patrol car. Neither Phillip nor I are in a fit state to drive.
I settle Phillip on the sofa in the living room. While he relieves Sophie of her leash and sweater, I get us a box of tissue and send a text to Connie letting her know what happened with Laura and asking her if she can stay at the store until it closes.
Connie: Oh my! That’s awful! Has anyone told Phillip?
Me: Yes. He’s with me. He came to Laura’s house to bring her lunch and now we’re at my house with Sophie.
Connie: Please tell him we’re here if he needs anything. Take care of him and you <3
Phillip is crying silently and cuddling with Sophie.
I offer him a drink, and we decide we could both use a caramel coffee with a shot of Irish Cream Liqueur. I leave him and Sophie while I go into the kitchen to make our coffees.
I place his coffee on the coffee table and join him on the sofa.
“Phillip, is there anyone I can call for you? Anyone who needs to know?”
I’m rubbing his back, and he’s rubbing Sophie’s back.
“Glenda, her sister needs to know, but she’s on her way here. I can’t tell her while she’s driving, it’ll have to wait until she arrives.”
“Is she going straight to Laura’s house?” I ask.
“Yes. I don’t think I can call her and redirect her without letting on that something is wrong,” he explains, choking up and taking a moment to compose himself. “I can’t text her while she’s driving, so it’ll have to wait.”
I nod.
“Phillip, do you remember telling Eric and me that Laura answered the phone when you were getting ready to leave her house this morning?”
He nods.
Her phone was in the kitchen. How did it get from where she was sitting to the kitchen?
“Do you know who she was talking to?” I ask.
Whoever it was might be the last person to speak to Laura before she died. Maybe they heard something that could shed some light on what happened between Phillip dropping her off and Eric and me arriving at her house.
“No.” Phillip shakes his head. “I have no idea. It sounded like they were planning to come over, though. I heard Aunt Laura say something like, ‘yes, I’m ready for company. What time do you want to come over?’ You know Aunt Laura, a social butterfly.” He chokes up again and we sit in silence for a few moments.
“Did you and Laura have a coffee or anything when you dropped her off? I mean, maybe she ate or drank something that made her sick?”
I’m thinking about the empty mug next to her and the clean mug in the dish rack.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “She had breakfast at the hospital before they discharged her, and I brought her a coffee from Latte Da when I picked her up. She drank it while we were waiting for the nurse to bring us a wheelchair and tell us she could leave. I threw the empty cup in the recycle bin in her hospital room. Aunt Laura only has one coffee per day, and she rarely eats between meals. She is quite disciplined with her eating habits.”
“She left the hospital in a wheelchair?” I ask. “She didn’t use her knee scooter?”
“It’s hospital policy,” Phillip says. “I had the scooter in the van just in case, but she left in a wheelchair. When I dropped her off, she used the knee scooter to get to the porch, then I helped her into the house, and she used the knee scooter to get to her chair. She got skilled at using it quickly. There’s no way she’d be able to stay still for six weeks, so the knee scooter was a necessity. I was careful to leave it right next to her when I set her up in her chair.”
I’m pretty sure this is exactly what he told me earlier. It may look like she died peacefully in her sleep, but my instincts tell me Laura’s death wasn’t as peaceful as it seems.
Chapter 5
The sound of a car door closing gets my attention and I look through the living room window.
There’s a patrol car in the driveway, and Eric is walking from the driver’s side to the passenger side. He opens the door, and a woman about twenty years older than me, and about ten years younger than Laura, gets out of the car. She has short auburn hair and her gait reminds me of Laura, so I assume she must be Laura’s sister, Glenda. Eric closes the car door behind her, and they walk toward the front door.
“I think this might be Glenda,” I say.
Phillip turns his head and cranes his neck to see the porch.
“That’s Glenda,” he confirms.
I open the front door before they ring the doorbell. Eric and Glenda both come in and I take their coats. I introduce myself to Glenda and tell her I’m sorry for her loss.
Glenda and I have never met. Like Laura, she grew up in Harmony Lake, but she moved to Ottawa in her twenties and has only been back since to visit. Our paths haven’t crossed on any of her visits. I lead her to the living room where she and Phillip both cry when they see each other.
“Glenda, you’ve had a long drive, can I get you anything? We’re having coffee, but there’s tea, water, pop, and I can get us some snacks.”
I want to do whatever I can to make them both comfortable.
“Thank you, Megan. It was a long drive. I’ve been on the road since before sunup. I don’t drink coffee, I could never get used to the taste, but I’d love a glass of water.”
Eric follows me into the kitchen, and I make him a coffee with regular cream. No Irish Cream Liqueur for him while he’s working.
I purposely take my time getting Glenda’s water so she and Phillip can have a few minutes alone.
“Other than Glenda, did anyone else show up at Laura’s house?” I ask Eric.
“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head. “A few curious neighbours came near the house to ask if everything was OK and ask what’s happening, but no one came to the house specifically looking for Laura, except her sister.”
He takes a sip of coffee.
“Why do you ask? Was she expecting someone else to show up?”
“Maybe,” I say.
I tell Eric what Phillip told me about Laura’s half of the phone conversation. Then I mention how the phone mysteriously found its way to the kitchen after Phillip left.
“If we need to find out who called, we can check her phone records, or her call display,” he says.
He said, ‘if we need to find out,’ like finding out who called might not be necessary, which makes me believe he doesn’t think her death is suspicious.
I get Glenda’s glass of water and we join her, Phillip and Sophie in the living room.
Glenda has taken my spot on the sofa next to Phillip and Sophie. With Sophie nestled in between them, they’re both petting her, and she’s loving the attention.
Eric puts his coffee on the table next to his chair, unbuttons his suit jacket, and sits down.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says to Phillip and Glenda.
They both give him a weak smile.
“We’re still waiting for the coroner to arrive and give their opinion, but it appears that Laura passed away peacefully, likely of natural causes. But until the coroner confirms the cause and details of Laura’s death, we have to treat the house like a crime scene. The house won’t be accessible to anyone until we release it.
“How long will that take?” Glenda asks.
“Probably a few days,” Eric respo
nds.
Phillip and Glenda nod.
“Did Laura have any chronic health issues that you’re aware of?” Eric asks.
He retrieves his trusty notebook and pen from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and uses his thumb to press on the top of the pen. It clicks open.
“No,” Glenda says. “She’s always been the picture of health. Even as she’s gotten older, she hasn’t developed any of the health conditions many elderly people seem to get. The broken leg and the surgery for it are the only health issues I’m aware of.”
She turns to Phillip.
“She had a cold in December, but that’s the only health problem I know about,” Phillip says.
“You know, an uncle on our father’s side died from a blood clot less than a day after he had surgery. He was otherwise healthy,” Glenda says. “It was about thirty years ago now. I think he was in his mid-sixties and had surgery to fix a knee he’d injured falling off a bike.”
“Are blood clots hereditary?” Phillip asks.
Glenda and I both shrug and look at Eric.
“I have no idea, but I’ll mention it to the coroner,” Eric says, then he jots down another note in his notebook.
“I don’t know either,” Glenda says, “but it’s the only other family death I can think of that was sudden. And the circumstances are similar.”
“Glenda, were you planning to stay with Laura while you’re in town?” I ask.
“Yes.” She nods. “I came here to help her until she had the cast removed.”
“Well, now you’ll stay with Kevin and me,” Phillip says, putting his hand on top of Glenda’s.
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble, Phillip.” She puts her hand on top of his hand which is already on top of her other hand.
He insists. She doesn’t want to impose. He insists again. She’ll only stay because he insists. He insists that he is insisting she stay, and after a rapid exchange of courteous banter and social etiquette, it’s settled. Glenda will stay next door with Phillip and Kevin.
I offer to keep Sophie as long as necessary. I assume Glenda wants to take her, but Sophie can’t stay at Phillip’s house with Kevin there. Staying next door with me is the next best thing, and I’m more than happy to keep Sophie as a roommate for as long as possible.
Phillip and Glenda are ready to go back to Phillip’s house. He needs to call the store to give Noah instructions for closing up, and they both have friends and family they need to contact about Laura’s passing.
The four of us decide that Eric and I will go to Laura’s house to get Phillip’s van and Glenda’s car and drive both vehicles back to Phillip’s house.
I walk Phillip and Glenda next door to Phillip’s house and collect their keys. Then I come back to my house and get in the patrol car with Eric.
“You know,” I say after we pull out of my driveway, “until I met you, I’d never ridden in a police car in my life. I didn’t even know what the inside of a police car looked like. Since meeting you, I’ve ridden in a police car so many times that I’ve lost count.”
“It’s OK, Megan. You don’t have to thank me for making your life more interesting.”
I laugh for the first time today.
When we get to Laura’s house, Eric gets out of the car and one of the first responders ambushes him and starts flirting with him before he even has a chance to close the car door. I don’t know why this shocks me, but it does.
Of course, women flirt with him. He’s hot. The fact that he’s also smart, funny, and kind, helps too. Heck, if I knew how to flirt, I’d probably flirt with him too.
He’s trying to walk to the passenger side to open my door, but she’s slowing him down, so I get out of the car, close the door and meet him halfway.
I drop Phillip’s keys into his hand and watch the paramedic as she giggles, twirls her hair, and talks about some cool, new club in the city.
I admire her flirting skills. I have no flirting skills. If I had to flirt to survive, I wouldn’t make it. I’d die while trying to seduce someone with my awkwardness.
I drive Glenda’s four-door, silver sedan and park it in Phillip’s driveway. Eric sidesteps the coquettish paramedic and follows me in Phillip’s van.
I knock on the door and give both sets of keys to Phillip. I tell him to call me if he needs anything. We hug and I walk across the snowy yard to my house where Eric is waiting on the porch. He tells me a patrol car is coming to pick him up.
“Come inside and wait for your ride,” I say. “I don’t want to stay out here in case I’m struck by lightning or attacked by a shark.”
He laughs.
I gasp and put my hand over my mouth. It was an awful thing to say, an inappropriate reference to earlier when I thought both events would be more likely than finding another dead neighbour
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was insensitive under the circumstances.” I unlock the door and we escape from the cold into the warm house.
“No, it’s not, Megan. It’s important to keep a sense of humour in this job. It makes it easier to cope with the hard stuff.”
“But this isn’t my job,” I remind him. “And I don’t want discovering dead bodies to become such a normal occurrence in my life that I’m able to laugh it off.”
“I know. I get it. I forget sometimes that you’re a civilian. Are you OK? I can cancel the patrol car and stay a while. Or, I can call Connie or April to come over?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you.”
We take a seat in the living room.
“It’s easier this time,” I explain. “Probably because she wasn’t murdered and I’m not a suspect. Right? I’m not a suspect?”
“There are no suspects, Megan. It appears she died of natural causes.”
“Right,” I say. “About that, there were a few things at Laura’s house that didn’t look right to me.”
“I’m listening,” he says.
I tell him about the coffee mug on the drying rack by the sink and point out that Phillip is way too particular to leave it there. Phillip cleaned the house before Laura came home and he wouldn’t have left the mug on the drying rack, he just wouldn’t.
Then I tell him about the empty coffee mug on the table beside Laura, and how Phillip told me twice today that he left her with a glass of water not a mug of coffee. I tell him Phillip is adamant Laura only drinks one cup of coffee per day, and she’d had a coffee when she was waiting for them to discharge her.
“Maybe Laura made herself a second cup of coffee today, decided to treat herself,” he suggests.
“How?” I ask. “Her knee scooter was in the kitchen. Phillip insists he left the scooter beside her chair, within her reach. Do you think she walked from the kitchen back to her chair with a cup of coffee in one hand, on a leg with a compound fracture and a plaster cast?”
“I noticed the scooter next to the kitchen table, but not until after the paramedics arrived. I assumed they moved it so they could access Laura more easily,” he replies.
His gaze drops to his lower left, something I’ve noticed he does when he’s thinking.
“Or someone else put it there, so Laura would be helpless and unable to move. And they put her phone there while they were at it, to make sure she couldn’t contact anyone,” I speculate.
I tell him about the light purple envelope on the kitchen table with the sticky note stuck to it. Phillip wouldn’t have left it there, and it wasn’t with the other mail. The envelope didn’t have a stamp, so it wasn’t delivered with the other mail.
A patrol car pulls up in front of the house. We get up and walk to the door.
“I think between the time Phillip dropped her off, and you and I showed up with Sophie, someone else was in the house with Laura,” I surmise.
Sophie perks up when she hears her name.
“That doesn’t mean she was murdered,” he points out. “Thanks for telling me all this.” He opens the door.
“Lock
it behind me,” he says and leaves.
I close the door behind him and lock it.
Chapter 6
Wednesday January 8th
The lights are on inside Knitorious when Sophie and I arrive just before opening time. We go inside and find Connie already there.
“Hello, my dear! Would it be all right with you if I have a small meeting at the store today?” Connie asks. “The alumni association wants to get together to discuss how we can memorialize Laura at the reunion-fundraiser. We don’t have much time to plan something.”
Connie is part of the alumni association, and so was Laura.
“Of course!” I say.
It will always feel strange to me when Connie asks my permission to do something in the store that she built and owned for almost forty years. It’s not like I would ever say no to her.
Shortly after we open, I’m helping a customer substitute the discontinued yarn her pattern recommends with a current yarn that will give her the same result, when I hear the bell over the front door jingle, and I see Mrs. Pearson come in.
Mrs. Pearson is a knitter and a member of the alumni association. She goes straight to Connie at the long, wooden harvest table behind the cash register, so I assume she’s here for the alumni meeting, not as a knitter.
My customer finds just the right yarn for her project. While I’m ringing up her purchase, I overhear Mrs. Pearson telling Connie how upset Brian Sweeney is about Laura’s death.
Then Connie says, "Of course he is, they were so close."
Who is Brian Sweeney and what was his relationship with Laura?
I finish the transaction, wish my customer a good day, and wander over to the harvest table. I wait for a lull in their conversation, so I can ask who Brian Sweeney is and what his relationship was to Laura.
“Brian is from Harmony Lake,” Connie tells me. “He grew up with us. He and Laura were best friends from the time they were small until the spring of our senior year of high school, when they suddenly stopped talking, and started avoiding each other.”
“No one knows what happened that made them stop speaking,” Mrs. Pearson adds, “but they never spoke again. Laura left right after graduation to take an eight-month secretarial course in Montreal.