The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3

by Alexie Aaron

  “Wha...Canada?”

  “Yeah, all the best comics come from Canada, but, Mom, I think that the Irish may be better.”

  “Sarcastic wit.”

  “Self-depreciating wit.”

  “Ah, that’s because there isn’t anything to do there,” Paz summed up. “I have a mate from there, Montreal. When he isn’t complaining about the crown, he’s cracking me up.”

  “Is he a student?” I asked.

  “Nah, I think he’s a Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman.”

  “Really? How did you meet him?”

  “British museum. I hang out there when I’m home. Never know whom you’ll meet. He was chatting me up. I accused him of being an American, so he showed me his badge.”

  “Technically, Canada is in America, North America,” Noelle corrected her.

  “You know what I mean,” Paz growled.

  “Mom meets a lot of people in the community bands she’s in. But they’re all old.”

  “Like your mother?”

  “Hey now.”

  “Nah, real old, like Angie.”

  “Yah mean they have enough air to blow a horn?”

  “Come on you two.”

  “You.” I shook my head. “Get off my bed, I am getting some sleep. Hopefully tomorrow we’ll get your bloke’s information. I really need to find Donald’s killer and find a way to neutralize Bruno before he spoils my vacation.”

  “Neutralize, like kill him?” Paz said in awe.

  “No, but...”

  “Cayne said you carved that guy up like a Halloween Pumpkin.”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  “Cin, here is a question more for the morning than late at night, but since I am thinking it now, might as well say it. Could you kill someone?”

  “Yes, if I was defending myself or protecting a loved one. I think that I would have to do what I had to do. Afterwards I would probably puke.”

  “I could do it.”

  “You think so, Paz?”

  “I think us women, we have the female lion in us. We are very passive until we or our little ones are put into danger. Then we strike, and we strike big.”

  “You guys are scaring me. Great, another night of nightmares,” Noelle complained.

  “Are you still having nightmares?” I asked my daughter.

  “Yes, not as much as when I was a teenager, but I still have a lot of them.”

  “You think too much.”

  “I know, but it is what I do.”

  “I think it is all that past life stuff personally,” Paz offered. “I think you have to work out all that miserable stuff out of your soul, baby.”

  “Don’t you call me baby, midget.”

  “That’s it off my bed. Go argue over there. Night, girls.”

  They left and were surprisingly quiet. I looked over and both girls had on their headphones, each listening to their own choice of music. Music is such a vital part of growing up. There’s music to calm you down, some to make you want to dance, breakup music (sad or angry), and there is music to make you feel every emotion possible. That is the music I like to play. Sometimes during a performance I actually cry. I’m fortunate that I sit far into the row because sometimes I am just so moved I let the music carry me away. Like tonight, I have a tune in my head that will gain me entrance into the land of dreams. I rolled over and hugged my pillow. My eyes closed to the strains of “Gymnopédie No. 3” by Satie.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Paz and Angie were conspiring in the kitchen. They kept looking over at me and whispering. I finally had enough and walked in there.

  “What?”

  “You’re wearing the same outfit again. That’s three days now,” Paz pointed out.

  “Pardon me, but I have lost three pairs of shoes and one ensemble. The bog smell wouldn’t come out no matter how many times I washed it, and there aren’t any stores handy.”

  “You look so blah.”

  “Okay, what do you think I can do considering the three women in this house are all tiny? Father Michael is a bit attached to his habit, I don’t see him loaning it to me.”

  Angie walked over and turned me around. “I may have some things you can have, but they’re vintage.”

  “I don’t understand, vintage?”

  “She means they were her mother’s. Honestly, get a clue,” Paz contributed.

  “So you want to play dress up with me?” I groaned.

  “Go on be a sport. Give us something to do while we wait on the phone,” Paz said through a mouthful of biscuit. “Angie will get you some clothes, and I will do your hair.”

  “Noelle, I’m surprised you’re not in on this.”

  “Father Michael and I are going down to Sennen Cove. I want to show him the cliffs. Paz lent me her car.”

  “Be careful and remember he’s a priest and not the flying nun.”

  “Ahem,” his voice came from behind me.

  I didn’t turn around. I was caught and blushed red as a beet.

  “If my aunt calls, take down the number, and I will get back to her. Tell her I’m cliff climbing, she will be no doubt jealous. She has been a climber for years.”

  “She sounds very interesting. Between Angie and your aunt I don’t know if I could keep up with, to quote Tom Brokaw, the greatest generation.”

  They left, and I was left to the mercy of Paz and Angie.

  ~

  Angie had her mother’s things stored in a cedar-lined armoire in the fourth floor attic. We had the advantage of the sunlight to take the gloom out of the space. Angie pulled open the doors and the odor of cedar enveloped us. Carefully she moved her hands over dresses and skirts. She pulled out several that she thought would fit. The dresses had muted floral prints and full skirts. Some of them were from the flapper era, and each had a matching purse or hat.

  She pulled out a red wool coat, and a bundle rolled out and fell at our feet. It was a canvas sack about thirty inches tall. It felt like heavy cloth inside. Angie opened the bag and peered in.

  “Oh look at this.”

  She pulled out some needlepoint seat cushions. They were rolled over heavy paper.

  “My mother was working on new covers for the dining room chairs. She started this project in 1920 and was still working on them when I was in the hospital. She never finished. Anna was very frugal; she reused some of the manuscript paper that we had made errors on to roll the finished seat cover on. See this one is the ‘Happy Farmer’ by a Leonard Toad. He must have been a student. I don’t think he did well, and judging from what I see here he wouldn’t.”

  She pointed out mistakes in key. I acted like I could tell by nodding my head smartly. She rerolled the seat cover and put it in the bag with the others. Angie tied the bag and pushed it back under the dresses. She opened up a drawer and clapped her hands.

  “We have struck gold!”

  The major find was shoes, delicate little leather slippers large enough for my size nine feet. Paz encouraged her by oohing and ahhing over everything.

  “These things are too nice,” I cautioned.

  “I would rather see them on you than behind glass in a museum. My mother loved clothes. She did regret leaving behind all her concert ensembles, but I think she made up for them here.”

  Paz nosed around and found another armoire. “What’s in this one?”

  “Go ahead and open it.” Angie stood back and watched her.

  Paz opened the doors to more clothing. This time they were small and petite. “Are these yours?”

  “Yes, go ahead and see if anything fits.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, but don’t be too disappointed, you won’t find anything fancy in there. I was a very practical girl.”

  We waited till Paz had an armful before heading down to the dorm room to try on the clothes. Angie had found some things she thought Noelle would fit into, and she placed them on her bed.

  I smiled, thinking she didn’t want Noelle to feel left out when she
returned.

  Anna Bathgate and I were the same size. It wasn’t too surprising since we both had some German peasant blood in us. Everything I put on made me feel beautiful. I chose a rose-colored cotton housedress to wear today. I slid on pale pink shoes and twirled around letting the full skirt fill with air.

  “You look like a bell!” Paz said. She had chosen to wear a yellow twin set with white pants she and Angie were having a disagreement over.

  “Capri pants,” Paz said.

  “Peddle pushers,” Angie insisted. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in Capri pants.”

  “Whatever they’re called, you look so different.”

  “Whatcha mean by that?”

  “It is a softer look than your usual, zippers and leather.”

  “Here, look in the mirror,” Angie directed her.

  Paz took one look at herself and screamed. “I look like my mother! Bloody hell!”

  “Well, your mother must be very beautiful. I think Billy would just melt if he saw you in this,” I said. “The yellow is very nice with the purple streaks in your hair.”

  Angie joined in, “And look how the little pearl buttons on the sweater compliment the piercing in your ears.”

  Paz twisted this way and that scrutinizing her form in the mirror.

  “Think of it this way, you’re a new and improved vision of your mother,” I said offhandedly. “I wish I looked more like my mother. She’s petite and beautiful. I’m a stretched out version of her. She was probably mistaken for Judy Garland when she was your age. Now she lights up the room when she enters. Her eyes are full of mischief, all the time. My son has my father’s green eyes, but no doubt the twinkle of mischief in them came from my mother.”

  “Well, me mum’s not a bad cracker at that. If I was to get a small pearl to put on my eyebrow piercing...”

  “I think I may be able to help you. Come along, girl, and we will search my this-and-that box for an errant seed pearl.” Angie guided Paz out of the room and towards the stairs.

  I had just pulled my hair up into a curly knot when I heard Angie scream. I found the women on the stairs. Angie was almost in a faint and was being supported by Paz on the landing.

  “What happened?” I asked out of breath. Angie pointed to the windowsill where a ginger cat sat resting in the sun. I walked up to the cat and carefully reached out and touched it. I turned to Angie, “It’s real.”

  “Hey,” called Noelle from the second floor landing. “Has anyone seen a cat? It ran in when Father Michael was holding the door.”

  “It’s up here, we found it.” I picked up the purring cat. It smelled of the outdoors, and its fur was matted here and there. “I would say this is a stray.” I kept petting it, watching the color come back into Angie’s face.

  “I thought...” Angie started.

  “I know me too. It isn’t a ghost. Ginger here just decided that Bathgate needed a good house cat. If the animals are coming back then so are the mice.”

  “So you’re saying this ginger cat ought to stay?” Angie said.

  Paz relaxed her grip on Angie. “I think the cat has decided to stay. Looks like gingerbread to me. You ought to call it Ginger or something dull and classic like that. I am going to leave you two to the cat naming.” She headed down the stairs. “Noelle, close your eyes, I have a surprise for you.” Her voice faded away as she headed down the hall for the first floor staircase.

  “You look like my mother holding that cat,” Angie’s eye’s misted. “The dress, the hair and the cat. Here give me that rascal.” She lifted it up. “It needs a good cleaning, and I think we better think of another name.”

  “Why?”

  “Ginger is a girl’s name and this is a tom.” Our eyes connected over the cat. “Tom it is then. Come along, Tommy, yer going to get some milk.” Angie walked down the stairs carrying a much-contented tomcat with her.

  I followed, but was waylaid by Father Michael who asked me to come into the blue room. His ears and cheeks were pink from the cool ocean wind. He kept passing his notebook back and forth between his hands.

  “Are you all right?”

  “The phone was ringing when we let the cat in. It was my aunt. She told me the FSS finished the autopsy, and she wanted me to call them so I could hear the report first hand. So I did.” His eyes were tragic, and he kept looking up as if asking for guidance.

  “Here, first sit down.” I cleared a mass of clothing out of the rocker. “Take your time and compose yourself. I’ll run down for some tea or...”

  “No, that’s okay. I can do this, but I will sit down.”

  I pulled the dressing table chair over and sat as close as I could, a difficult maneuver considering the rockers.

  He began, “They found areas that suggested he was in a fight. His skull was battered and his arms and hands had trauma to them. They found a bullet in his or what was left of his stomach. The report suggests he was shot in the stomach, which is a very painful wound. He must have been dragged to the bog as the heels of his shoes were worn. Then he was thrown into the bog alive. He asphyxiated on the sludge that dragged his body down.

  “He died alone still fighting. Probably didn’t occur to him he couldn’t save himself.” His eyes filled up and he turned away from me and looked out the window.

  I didn’t know what to say. “Michael, your faith will give you the answers that your heart is searching for. I don’t know anything about what happens after we die, but I can tell you something. He never left here. He kept fighting. He looked after Angie, he saved me, and it was his music I heard. You and your aunt need to take him home. Bury him in Savannah. Bring him home, he needs to move on.”

  “He died so brutally. He should have died of old age, receiving last rights…”

  “Only God knows what our end will be.” I felt so inadequate talking about God with a priest. I only knew what I carried inside of me. “Your uncle was a good man. I’d like to think there is something more than this black and white existence.”

  He sat back and closed his eyes and rocked. I got up.

  “I'm going down to get you some tea.” I left him rocking.

  Angie was fussing over the cat in the kitchen, and the girls were following Angie’s instructions on some baking project. Paz had an apron on so large that it wrapped twice around her small frame. Noelle had flour on her face. I made two cups of tea and stopped at the bar and added a little Irish to both cups. Walking upstairs I chided myself for being so harsh. I guess I could scratch grief counseling off my talent list.

  He was still rocking, looking out the window. I handed him the tea. Michael took a small sip. His eyes shot open.

  “Did you add a little tea to the whisky?”

  “Maybe. Listen I’m sorry. I have a big mouth and very little control over it.”

  “You meant well, and you have some valid points. I think you don’t quite get what I or my comrades are about. I would like to have equal time with James Joyce. You only read one account of Jesuits, and it was an Irish account.”

  I took a sip. “Fine, when we’re out from under all of this I will give you as long as you want, but don’t try to convert me. It’s been tried before, and people just get frustrated and stop talking to me.”

  “I am made of sterner stuff.”

  “You never had a parish did you?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Because if you did, you would understand that death isn’t a by the book occurrence. The grieving don’t want to hear the ABCs to any faith. They want comfort. You can’t be thinking Donald is damned because he didn’t get his last rites. Policemen die without last rites. Not to mention the military. I see you’re not thinking too clearly. Maybe you should call whoever gives you guidance. Bet you your rosary that I’m right.”

  “And what will you be putting on the line?” he asked sarcastically.

  “My car.”

  “You must be pretty sure of yourself.”

  “I’m sure. I don’t bet my car on anything
I can’t win.” I walked over and dug into my purse I had left in there with my clothes the night before. “Here, take it.” I handed him one of my precious phone cards. “Ninety minutes on me. Call.”

  I left him and headed back downstairs. I picked up the papers I had left on the table and added Donald’s autopsy information to one of the pages.

  Noelle walked in with a plate full of biscuits as they call them here. They were warm and comforting.

  “Thought you could use these.”

  “Was I that loud?” I asked taking a cookie.

  “I was on my way to my room when you gave the Father a lesson on religion. I turned around and notified Angie we had a cookie emergency. Paz wanted to help, so don’t blame me if they taste odd.”

  I bit into one. It was buttery and light. “My compliments.” Noelle leaned over and hugged me.

  “This isn’t what you expected when you came over was it?”

  “No, but life is never what one expects is it? Would it be ungrateful of me if I took the cookies and a flask of tea and whisky and headed over to the Two-way River? I need to think.”

  Noelle smiled nodding. “I’m going with you because if you think too long, you won’t be able to find your way back. I’ll bring a book. You won’t hear a peep out of me. Ah, change your clothes. I don’t think Angie would like to see her mother’s dress full of grass stains, not to mention what you could do to those shoes.”

  “Yes, Mommy, right away.” I got up and went upstairs to change. I broke a bra strap in my haste. I didn’t want to disturb the father by going into his room to get another one, so I opted not to wear one. Who was going to know? I would just button up my shirt and voila! I was saggy but respectable. I left the dormer and quietly walked down the stairs. I tiptoed past the blue room and down the last flight of stairs. To my joy, Noelle had a small hamper packed. I walked over to the table and grabbed my papers. I would do some thinking along with my drinking.

  ~

  Noelle led the way exclaiming over the wildflowers that decorated the sides of the path. I gazed upon my grown daughter with pride. The same accident of gene arrangement that had created Alex manly and intelligent had created this petite voluptuous and likewise intelligent woman. Luke and I had nothing to do with it I was convinced.