by Dale Mayer
He collected his tools scattered near the devil stove. “I’ll give you a shout when I can get back again. Maybe at that time you can decide what you want to do.”
“I want the secondhand electronic one. Any chance we can do it for one hundred dollars, taxes and delivery and installation included? Oh, and carting off this old one?” Now Doreen knew why Nan had given her the money tonight.
He tilted his head, hesitated, studying the stove. “What the hell. Yeah, I can do it for that. But it has to be the stove I fixed. And, if my wife has sold it, then I don’t know where to get one for you right now,” he warned. “We also need to run a new electric line for the stove.”
“How much for that?” she asked hesitantly.
“Not sure but it shouldn’t be much. In these older homes, the breaker panel is usually in the basement or crawl space,” he said with a smile.
She nodded as relief flooded her stomach. In her current reality, she could do without the demon gas stove. But she probably needed one to eat properly, according to Mack. And surely it was cheaper than takeout and a whole lot better for her to eat at home too. Plus the electric stove wouldn’t scare her, so she might want to use it.
The foods of her past were a long way away, but, if she could make a simple decent soup, it would help her feel like she’d accomplished something and was broadening her menu choices.
Within minutes the repairman had packed up his bag and walked out the front door. Doreen followed him and relayed her thanks again. She found Mugs waiting quietly on the front porch. Obviously he had given up on her opening the back door for him. She left the front door open for him as she stood on the front porch steps, realizing the crowds were gone. She glanced over at the repairman. “Was anybody out here when you drove in?”
He frowned up at her. “Where?”
She waved a hand toward the front yard, where all the lookie-loos had been. “In the driveway and up along the road, standing and staring at my place?”
He studied her as if she’d lost her mind.
Maybe he hadn’t heard the news about the recently solved murders. Some people refused to read newspapers, saying it’s all bad news and how they can get the highlights with a ten-second glance via the internet. Unfortunately Doreen couldn’t avoid the dead bodies she had found last week. Or the nosy reporters and gossiping neighbors thereafter.
“No, can’t say there has been.” He smiled. “Wait for my call.” And he left.
If he drove off out of the driveway a little too fast, maybe it was to be expected. He probably thought she was loony tunes. Then again, he’d been trying to get Nan to replace that stove for years. So he understood exactly how free-spirited Nan was and would likely think Doreen was exactly the same.
Then a big yellow cat bolted out of nowhere and into the house. Goliath was back. Doreen sighed. And this is my new life.
As she turned to enter her home, a middle-aged woman walked up her driveway. She had a fierce determination in her step, as if she’d seen Doreen standing here. Doreen frowned at her, but it didn’t seem to stop the woman. She came charging up the front steps where Doreen stood, numbly looking on. “May I help you?”
“Yes. You can stop asking questions about Betty Miles.” The woman reached up and smacked Doreen hard across the face. Then she turned and left.
Doreen stood in the open doorway, her hand to her cheek, tears in the corner of her eyes, staring at the retreating indignant woman. She was middle-aged, plump, dressed in an old-fashioned skirt. Her shoulder-length hair bobbed with every step. “What the hell was that for?” she whispered. But Mugs and Thaddeus and Goliath had no answers.
Chapter 12
Doreen slammed the front door shut, her cheek still stinging. Through the living room window, she stared at the woman storming off, trying to get an idea of who she was and what had been her problem. The stranger continued to the end of the cul-de-sac, turned left, and kept going. Her back was stiff with righteous indignation, and her footsteps were clipped, her arms swinging at her side as she plowed forward. Likely half of Doreen’s neighbors saw the altercation or at least the woman’s angry departure.
So much in Doreen’s life sucked right now. For what had been a lovely start to the day, this was an ugly ending.
She walked back into the kitchen, realizing all her joy at having one hundred dollars to spend was gone too. She should probably be grateful the repairman had accepted the deal—or at least verbally. That didn’t mean he still had the refurbished one available, but she hoped so. The thought of having a broken gas stove was even more terrifying. What if the gas leaked? She understood he said something about being a gas fitter, but that meant nothing to her.
And there was the unknown cost for the wiring. She winced and put it out of her mind.
She did know how to make a good cup of coffee though, if she could follow the instructions Mack had given her. And right now, after that undeserved slap, she could use a cup. She found her notepad with the instructions and carefully tried to make a pot of coffee based on Mack’s newest detailed steps.
She walked to the fridge, opened it, winced, and closed it. There was seriously nothing to look at inside. No cheese meant crackers with peanut butter. She headed over to the cupboard. Even the animals ate better than she did. She sat down with her meal at the otherwise empty dining table.
Her phone rang just then. She glanced at the Caller ID and growled. “What do you want?” she answered.
After a seemingly surprised silence on the other end, Mack asked, “Is there something you should be telling me?”
She slumped her chin onto her free hand and propped herself up on the table. “I figured that’s why you were calling. The news must have traveled to you already.”
“What news?” he snapped.
She kicked her feet up on the next chair and leaned back. “Some stranger walked up to me while I was at the front door, saying goodbye to your repairman friend, and she told me to stop asking questions about Betty Miles, and she whacked me hard across the face.” She heard Mack’s harsh intake of breath.
“Are you okay?”
Kudos to him for being concerned about her safety first and foremost. That was part of what made him such a nice man. “Yes. It still stings though. I don’t know why she did it. I don’t even know who she was.”
“Can you describe her?”
“Matronly, probably thirty or forty pounds overweight, maybe mid-forties, wearing a skirt, blouse, and a long cardigan.” She shrugged. “I can’t tell you much more than that.”
“That describes a good one-quarter of the population of Kelowna.” He laughed.
“Only there’s nothing funny about this,” she said in a morose tone. “It was a terrible shock.”
“You want to press charges?” Mack asked, serious all of a sudden.
“No, she was obviously very distraught. I just don’t know about what.”
“If she told you to stop asking questions about Betty Miles, chances are she’s related to Betty in some way.”
“But Betty went missing thirty years ago, Mack.”
“If she’s a family member or was a good friend or somebody who was caught up in that investigation, the passage of thirty years doesn’t matter. It still hurts today,” he said quietly. “I know, for you, it’s a fun puzzle to solve, something to distract you from the ills in your own world, but you’re raking up old ground that can cause pain to any number of people.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said quietly, turning her attention to the darkening sky outside her kitchen window. Just then the coffeemaker beeped. She hopped to her feet. “I’m hoping I made a decent cup of coffee. I followed your instructions.”
“Good. It sounds like you could use a cup right now.”
“Yeah, not to mention the fact that the gas stove can’t be fixed.”
“Ouch,” he said. “That sucks. Did he give you a cost estimate on a replacement?”
“He said he had an older secondhand ele
ctric one—if his wife didn’t sell it—and he would handle everything, including installation and hauling away my old one, for one hundred bucks.”
“That’s cheap, really cheap,” Mack said in surprise. “Normally I trust him, but that sounds very cheap. Maybe I should give him a call and see if that electric stove is okay.”
“How dangerous could it be? I thought the gas stove was bad enough. I don’t even want to be in the kitchen right now. What if the gas is leaking?” She could hear the rumble of Mack’s laughter as it left his chest. She frowned at him through the phone as she poured a cup of coffee and held it close, sniffing it. “I get that I always say stupid things, but it’s really not fair that you get to be amused when I’m not.”
“Sorry, it’s just the way you say things that makes me smile.”
“So, what’s so funny in this case?”
“He’s a gas fitter. He would have capped off the gas line, and you’ll be safe there. Considering the age of that house, maybe an electric stove is safer. But, then again, I don’t know what the wiring looks like.”
“Wiring?” She turned to look at the kitchen. “I know it’s an old house. So you’re saying the wiring is not safe either?”
“I’m not saying anything of the kind,” he said hurriedly. “Don’t worry about that now.”
She took an experimental sip of her coffee. Not bad. She had only made two cups’ worth, in case it didn’t turn out right. Plus she couldn’t expect to drink more and sleep tonight. She wouldn’t mention all that to Mack as he’d just laugh at her again. “Now I get to worry about strangers walking up to my house and smacking me across the face,” she grumbled. “And how would she have known I was asking questions?”
“You know what the Mission’s gossip is like, especially with your current notoriety.”
“It was just the two of us talking, although I did talk with Nan today.”
“There you have it,” he said in exasperation. “That old folks’ home is the worst for gossip.”
“And gambling. Although I haven’t heard Nan mentioning any of that this week.”
“I’m surprised she mentioned it at all. Did she tell you that I had to warn her to stop?”
“Officially? As in, she did something illegal?” She shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like Nan.”
“How about making bets on some people’s love lives? Or making bets on who’ll have a baby first? Or making bets on when somebody is going to die?”
“Okay, taking bets about people dying is not nice. But those about babies being born are just having some fun.”
“That’s all fine and dandy, until she acts like a bookie out of that old folks’ home.”
At that, Doreen sat back and thought about it; then she giggled. And giggled until she was laughing to the point that tears ran down her face. “Oh, my goodness. I can so see her doing that.”
“Exactly. And when people lose, they get upset. And, while Nan’s raking in the money, other people are losing their money, and that’s when people get mad and complain.”
“I rather imagine that any money she makes will be used to help others somehow,” she said with a smile. “Like she gave me one hundred bucks today.”
“Yeah, but that was probably because she heard your gas stove was out of commission.”
“I doubt she needed to hear anything,” Doreen said. “She didn’t have to. She already knew. Apparently your repairman has been telling her for years how she should get a new stove. He said he mentioned the hundred-dollar repair estimate to her several years in a row.” She frowned. “Do I have to give you the hundred dollars because it might be Nan’s ill-gotten gains?”
He chuckled. “No, you don’t have to give me the money.”
“Good. I need more to cover the repairman’s fees for wiring as it is.” She brought the circle of conversation right back around again. “By the way, why did you call?”
“To see if you stayed out of trouble this afternoon. But I gather you didn’t. And also to hear what Willie said.”
“Who is Willie?”
“The repairman,” Mack said in exasperation. Then changed the subject entirely. “Did you find anything out about Betty Miles?”
“Oh, so now you want to know what I might have found out?”
“Doreen,” he said in warning. “Don’t start.”
She raised both hands in frustration, even though he couldn’t see it. “Only what Nan told me. Just that she was a runaway teen, blah, blah, blah, blah.”
He chuckled. “So, in other words, all the same stuff you already knew.”
“Yes. I’ll see what the library has to say. They should have the newspapers from back then still on microfiche.”
“Is it really that important to you?”
“I’m curious. I feel like I found a piece of her history,” she said quietly. “And I don’t think things like that should be forgotten. She’s never been found, has she? Just her arm? Right? Nobody’s been charged with her murder?”
“No, yes, and no. But that doesn’t mean the case is closed. No unsolved murder case is ever closed. At least we’re presuming she was murdered.”
“She certainly didn’t cut off her own arm,” Doreen said sarcastically. “But I guess what you’re saying is, she might have died in an accident.”
“Or by natural causes. And someone wanted to hide her death. We can’t assume anything at this stage.”
“Well, if I find anything at the library, I’ll tell you. But, in the meantime, it’d be great if you could look into the cold case and see what details are there. Like about that ring.” She took a long swallow her coffee.
“That much I did already,” he said.
“You mean, you found something, and you didn’t say anything?”
“I’m the detective. You’re the busybody, remember?”
But it was said without rancor. “Maybe, but, just to clarify, I was a help last time. I could be a help this time.”
“There is no this time,” he argued.
“Are you going to tell me what you found?” She poured herself the last of her coffee. She would completely ignore everything he said about staying off the case. If there was one thing in her life she needed right now, it was something to do. Something that brought her a sense of satisfaction—something interesting and something exciting. She’d had enough of her soon-to-be ex-husband’s exciting business dinner parties for a long time. All she wanted now was something that was fun. She felt like she should join a knitting club, where everybody could sit around and discuss the evidence. But she wouldn’t. She didn’t even know how to knit. And she didn’t know anybody else who would care to delve into these murder mysteries with her—other than Nan.
“The ring,” Mack said. “There’s one mentioned in one of the thefts at the time, and the description matches the ring I found.”
“Meaning, it’s connected. Do you think Betty might have stolen it?”
“It was a very sophisticated theft. If she was involved, she certainly wasn’t the only one.”
“But,” Doreen added, “Nan said there was gossip about how Betty’s best friend, Hannah, had given Betty a pretty fancy ring.”
“That’s hearsay, Doreen. Don’t put much stock in it.”
“Still, if Hannah gave the ring to Betty, then Betty wasn’t involved in the jewelry thefts.”
“We’re following up on some leads to see where the evidence takes us.”
“So you’ll tell me what you find out?”
“Active investigation, Doreen,” Mack said and hung up.
Chapter 13
Friday …
The next morning Doreen got up after a night full of crazy dreams of people slapping her for no reason. Her cheek hurt just enough that she wondered how many times she’d slapped herself to make it seem more real—or to wake herself up from one of those horrible nightmares.
As she showered and dressed—with all the animals joining her in the bathroom, which she noted with a headshake�
��she couldn’t stop thinking about the crazy woman who’d walked all the way over to slap Doreen across the face. She could almost hear the neighbors in her cul-de-sac snickering. Not that she could see them. … They were too smart for that. As if she hadn’t had a rough-enough couple of weeks, but to have something like this happen … As much as she wanted nobody to have seen it, she knew that was an impossibility. According to Nan, nothing was a secret here—at least for long. Doreen was inclined to agree with her grandmother.
But, if that was the case, why had nobody seen what happened to Betty Miles? Because, if the nothing-goes-unnoticed logic applied today, it applied even more so thirty years ago. Today people were much less inclined to talk to their neighbors.
Thirty years ago, neighbors were a much closer-knit group. They did things together; they were concerned, watched out for each other’s kids. There was an innocence back then. But now, with the internet, newspapers, media personnel, and everyday horror stories about pedophiles and serial killers and kidnappings, people were even more cautious, kept to themselves more. That was a disconcerting thought. And it brought up yet another wave of disappointment in her own life.
She had never had children. She wasn’t sure if she ever would, but her biological time clock certainly ticked away without any prospective father in sight. And, no, she wasn’t going there with Mack. She could have children at her age and later, but, by the time she got married and had a baby, she’d be that much older. Besides, what kind of a mother couldn’t even cook?
Shaking her head and getting back to the present, she still had no answers to this current puzzle. She walked downstairs, the animals in tow because they all wanted to be fed. She had figured out that if she fed all three at the same time, there were less issues of the cat eating the dog’s food or the bird eating the cat’s and the dog’s food or … Plus separating their eating bowls helped.
So Doreen put three of Nan’s leftover teacups in the hall closet within each pet’s bag of food. She scooped up one of each, carried it the kitchen, and dispensed them as quickly as she could, returning the teacup scoops to the closet.