Frozen Identity

by Sharon Mierke

  “Well, Nathan,” I said, “it appears Flori’s cousin, Victor, wasn’t exactly a model citizen.”

  Nathan laughed. “It appears he wasn’t a model crook either. Kind of an embarrassing police record, I’d say, wouldn’t you?”

  I grinned. “I think if someone compared me to the Apple Dumpling Gang, I’d give up crime and try something else.”

  Nathan’s face turned serious. “I really didn’t understand that remark. What’s an Apple Dumpling Gang, anyway?”

  Sometimes I forget how ancient I am. “Never mind. I have an idea - why don’t you search through all the records on Andrew or Victor Fleming and try to fit them into some kind of time frame? Do you think you could do that? I can’t help but wonder why Victor decided to start calling himself Andrew. Unless, of course, it has something to do with what Jake said.”

  “What did Jake say?”

  “That he used Andrew to confuse all the people who were trying to collect money from him.”

  “That does make sense, doesn’t it? I wonder if one of them discovered that and killed him.”

  I smiled. “Do you really think they would come all the way out here and put him in a fish shack? I’m more inclined to think those kind of criminals would do it some other way. You know, like a knife in a back alley. Now, getting back to what we need to find out, do you think you could come up with some more information on Andrew and Victor?”

  “Sure, I can do that. No problem. Why don’t I put them on my tablet? It might be easier for you to read.”

  “Why don’t you print them out on good old fashioned paper so I can lay them on the table, side by side?”

  “Oh well, you don’t have to get huffy about it, Mabel. Are you sure you want them hardcopy?”

  I stared at him or perhaps it was closer to a glare. “Hardcopy? If you mean paper, then that’s okay with me. Why can’t you just say paper?”

  “Well, I can say paper, Mabel, but it’s good to keep up with the times, you know. For example, all those hard covered second-hand books you have in your store are now called hardcopies.”

  “Wonder of wonders. Is there such a thing as softcopies? What are paperbacks called now?”

  “I’m just saying, that’s all. Now, if someone comes in and asks for books in hardcopy, you’ll know what they mean.”

  “Thank you so much, Nathan. However, since that’s all I have in my store, I’m sure I could figure it out.”

  I stood up. “It’s almost ten now so it’s time to call it quits for the night. Do you think you’ll have that finished by tomorrow?”

  Nathan looked at his watch and then at my clock as though I didn’t know how to tell time.

  “We’re stopping already? Why don’t we work on this until eleven, Mabel? We’ve hardly got started.”

  “Nathan, when you hit your mid-sixties or a bit older, you’ll understand. You can finish it tonight at your place and come over to the store on your break in the morning. How does that sound?”

  With a sigh, he pushed the cat off his lap. Ginger gave him a nasty look. Cats, you soon discover, are not able to conceal their true feelings very well.

  Nathan tucked his laptop under his arm and walked to the door.

  “If you think of something else you’d like me to do, call me. I gave you my cell number the other day. Don’t call the landline because my mom is probably going to bed early too.”

  After putting on his jacket, wrapping his scarf around his neck, and saying goodnight, he walked out into the night. There seems to be a wider chasm nowadays between the old and the young than ever before. I believe much of it has to do with all the new technology and the new fangled words. I just got used to the new phone Flori insisted I buy a few years ago with all its call waiting and call display but now I have to call my telephone, a ‘land line’? I don’t think so.

  It sounds a little too much like landmine to me.

  Chapter Eight

  As soon as Nathan was safely out the door, I decided to take a soak in my tub. I’m not sure if I have complete body arthritis but from the end of October to the beginning of April, I ache and feel cold. The only remedy appears to be submerging myself in very warm bathwater accompanied by a lovely glass of gin and sweet vermouth. Wine seems to do the trick too. Not that I pour the drink in the water, you understand. I sip the gin or wine. After a half hour, I am warm inside and out.

  Flori is vehemently opposed to this. She not only disapproves of gin but she is worried that I will lose consciousness and drown. I told her my cats would watch out for me but she didn’t appreciate the irony in that. (My cats are not the swimming kind.) My self-righteous friend, however, guzzles wine down as if it were a glass of cold water on a hot summer’s day.

  The next morning, I left for the shop a few minutes early. The weather seemed to be warming up. I hadn’t listened to the forecast but I can guess almost as good as the weather girl. The only difference is I don't look like her. Nathan is always after me to check it on my computer. I’m telling you, that boy must take his laptop or iPad or whatever, into the shower with him. Anyway, I see no point in changing my habits; besides, the weather report will be just as wrong on my computer as it is on my radio or television set. I thought it was warmer by the fact that the cats stayed out about four minutes longer than the day before.

  I was anxious to get there and get the coffee perking. It would be good to see Flori again. Maybe if I saw her, and she looked the same as ever, I could stop worrying.

  The coffee was ready, the store was a pleasant seventy degrees, and it was almost half past nine. I was in panic mode. Flori is never late. I am not exaggerating. In fact, she arrives early for everything - even her babies all came early. That is the type of person she is. Because I never lock the back door to the shop, she often comes before me and has the coffee on when I get there. I was about to phone her when the door opened and in she walked.

  This was also not Flori. Flori bursts through doors. A feeling of sadness crept over me as I watched her turn, and she gently closed the door.

  I must say that she had applied her usual makeup but it wasn’t done with the same precision that it normally was. Flori has always taken great pride in her hair and makeup. When she started dying her hair orangey-red at fifty, I thought it was a phase she was going through. The phase, however, has stuck so it is still on the red side. It seems to fluctuate between dark auburn and bright orange. For the time being, it was in the orangey mode. The style has changed several times but now it was back to being curly and utterly unmanageable. Without a word, she removed her purple down-filled coat, handed it to me, and unwound the matching scarf from around her neck. I smiled and took both of them to the back.

  She also tends to be drawn to brightly colored clothing and flashy jewelry. This morning, she was wearing her turquoise knit sweat pants and a matching top, which was covered in small shiny gold and silver studs in the shape of a rose. A very big rose. She wore her dangly turquoise earrings that one of her children brought back to her from Mexico.

  I was wearing my usual neatly ironed white long-sleeved cotton shirt tucked into my freshly washed jeans. Because of the weather, I had on a gray cardigan sweater, and under my jeans, I wore black wool tights. Flori isn’t too fussy about the way I dress. She claims it isn’t really dressing if you don’t think about it beforehand, choose your items with care, and be color coordinated. I am sure she has never owned a white shirt in her entire life.

  When I came back into the room, she was still standing.

  “Flori, sit down,” I said. “I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. Are you cold? What's the matter?”

  She sighed. “Mabel, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m sure I’m losing my mind.”

  I put my arms around her, which is not easy when she is so much bigger than I am. I usually let her do the hugging.

  “Flori, you aren’t losing your mind. It’s all the stress that you’re going through now. When this mess with Junior is cleared up, you’ll be fine again
. Just wait and see.”

  She smiled. “No, it isn’t that. I forgot the cinnamon buns. Didn’t you notice that I came without them?”

  Well, in all my worrying about my friend, I had completely forgotten the buns too.

  “Flori, I didn’t even notice. Don’t worry, I had breakfast. It isn’t that I’ll starve, you know. Come and sit.” I gently pushed her towards the chair. “You relax and I’ll bring your coffee to you.”

  She sat down with sort of a thud, which is normal for her, and sighed, which is not normal. Normally, if she even imagined that any of her children were in trouble, she would sit down and the tears would come pouring out of her eyes. I always have two boxes of tissues ready for her.

  I brought the coffee to her in the mug she liked the most and I sat down in the other chair.

  “Flori,” I said. “I’m really worried about you. Don’t you think you should make an appointment with Fritzy?”

  Flori sighed again. “No doctor is going to help, Mabel. This is something that I have to deal with and I have to deal with it my own way. My son is probably guilty of murder. Not that I think he planned it or thought it out.” She took a sip of her hot coffee and looked at me. “He isn’t a killer, Mabel; he’s just plain stupid sometimes.”

  At this point, I waited for the wailing and tears to come. Nothing. I was shocked.

  “So, let me ask you this, are you coping by not crying? Is that your strategy?”

  Flori stared at me for a moment as if trying to comprehend what I’d said and then replied, “I think so, Mabel. I think that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m coping.” She smiled. “Is that okay with you?”

  “Anything that makes you feel better is okay with me.” I grinned back at her. “It does take some getting used to though. I even went and stocked up on tissues just for you.”

  Flori put her head back and laughed. I believe that was the most wonderful sound that I’d heard in days.

  Chapter Nine

  After Flori’s laugh, we settled down to a lovely morning. I tried hard not to bring up the subject of her cousin’s murder, but after about an hour of plain ‘nothing’ talk, Flori brought the subject up herself.

  “You know, Mabel, I always thought that Victor would get into trouble, just like I always thought Junior would get into trouble. Of course, I never dreamed that they would get into trouble together. Victor was always a strange person. He is younger than me, you know. I remember when they came to visit once, he was maybe ten, but he scared me. Funny how I remember that, isn’t it? I remember because he grabbed my cat by the tail and said he was going to swing it in the air. I was so terrified. I ran into the house to tell my mother. Well, Victor’s mother, my Aunt Bessie, came out and, boy, did she give it to him! And, you know what, Mabel? She took a willow switch to his backside and he never batted an eyelash. To this day, I can still hear her whipping him. I started crying and I guess Aunt Bessie couldn’t stand the sound of my wailing so she stopped. I’m sure she was going to beat him until he cried and, to be honest, I think she would be still beating him today. There’s no way that boy would’ve cried for her.”

  “He sounds scary even as a child. I guess back then parents never thought of other ways to discipline though, did they? What about now? Did he still have that same type of personality when you saw him this time?”

  “This time it seemed more like I was talking to a stranger. After all, I hadn’t seen him or talked to him in years. And then to have the nerve to ask for money - more than what I had. I told him that I could give him two hundred dollars but that was it. That’s about all I could give and not have Jake find out. The money didn’t really bother me. I figured he must have gambled or something and owed it. It could’ve been for drugs or alcohol but I was too nervous to ask.”

  “Were you afraid of him?”

  She nodded. “I was. He was cold and unfeeling. I guess you become like that when you live that sort of life. It takes a lot of nerve to ask someone you haven’t seen in a long time for money even if you are a relative. I could never do that. I’d rather starve. To top it all off, he didn’t believe I wasn’t rolling in money. I can’t figure out why he would think that. No one in Parson’s Cove is rolling in money.”

  “But, Flori, why would Victor even come all this way to Parson’s Cove to ask you for money? That makes no sense. I’m sure he could’ve got a loan from somebody. Or, borrowed it from some of his brothers or sisters. Or, even stolen it. Why come to you?”

  She shook her head. “I know, Mabel. It doesn’t make any sense. None of it.” She looked at me as if ready to cry. I was hoping that she would. It would make me feel so much better. “No,” she said. “There was some reason for Victor coming to Parson’s Cove and I’m sure it wasn’t just to get two hundred dollars from me. My son must know why but he won’t say.”

  “Or maybe he really doesn’t know. By the way, did you notice that long scar on Victor’s cheek?”

  She looked blank for a moment. “Scar? You know, Mabel, he could’ve had one. I really couldn’t see him all that well in the dark.”

  “You mean you never got a good look at his face? He didn’t come to your house? How do you know it was your cousin, Flori?”

  “Well, who else could it have been?”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea. It was only a thought, that’s all. Don’t let it worry you, Flori.”

  She placed her cup on the counter with a definite bang, placed both hands on the armrests, and pulled herself up.

  “Okay, Mabel. That’s it! I am sick and tired of sitting around feeling sorry for myself. It’s time you and I figured out this mystery.”

  “You mean, you’ve been sitting at home and crying?”

  She looked at me with a wounded look as if I had hurt her feelings for even suggesting such a thing. “No, I haven’t been sitting around and crying. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t been feeling sorry for myself though. The fact is I haven’t been doing anything. Nothing. It’s time for us to get moving.”

  “Well, where did you want to start?”

  Flori put her hands on her hips and glared at me. Not menacingly, but still a definite glare.

  “Don’t give me that, Miss Wickles. I know very well that you have not been sitting here on your fanny all this time. Come on, tell me what you’ve got so far.”

  Usually, Flori is the one telling me to mind my own business, not to get involved, to leave things as they are. I suppose it makes a huge difference when it’s your own flesh and blood that has his neck in the noose, so to speak. That, of course, I did not say aloud.

  “First of all, Flori, sit back down. You know I can’t talk to you when I have to keep looking up. Also, I’m pouring us another cup of coffee. We need the caffeine to keep us wired.”

  She sat down and I prepared the coffee - one milk for me and a double triple for my friend.

  We drank in silence for a few minutes.

  Finally, Flori spoke up. “I sure wish I’d remembered those cinnamon buns.” She peered at me over her cup. “I haven’t been eating like I should lately either, Mabel. My whole life has been turned upside down.”

  “I know, Flori.” I reached over and patted her arm. “All right, let’s get started. I don’t have too much to go on. I hate to say it but there’s so much evidence against Junior.”

  “That’s what I figured. That’s why I wasn’t getting my hopes up.” She sighed in resignation. “Well, give me an example of some of this evidence.”

  “For example, there’s an eye witness who saw Junior running from the shack into his truck.”

  I waited for her reaction. She was as stalwart as a soldier on the front lines. Never blinked.

  “An eye witness? Who could that be? Who else would have been out there on the lake in that bad weather?”

  “It was someone new in town. John Smith.”

  Her eyes got bigger. “John Smith? What was he doing out there?”

  “You know him?”

  “Well, I don�
�t know him but I know who he is. He works at the lumberyard. Jake had coffee with him once at Main Street Café.”

  “Really? Someone said he kind of kept to himself. What did Jake think of him?”

  Flori screwed up her lips while she thought. “Funny you should ask because Jake said he asked too many questions.”

  “You’re kidding. What kinds of questions did he ask?”

  “Well, Jake thought he asked too many personal ones. It seemed that he wanted to know about everyone in town. Even you, Mabel.”

  “Me? What on earth would he want to know about me?”

  Flori burst out laughing. “That’s what I thought too. Somehow, Mabel, he knew about the murders that you’d helped solve. Jake said when John realized that he was getting uncomfortable with all the questioning he laughed and said that he was just a curious person.”

  “That makes him even more suspicious.”

  “More suspicious? Why? What else has he done?”

  “His name, Flori.”

  “His name? What’s wrong with his name? You know a criminal with the same name?”

  “No, but let’s face it, how many John Smiths do you know?”

  “John Smith?” She gazed up at the ceiling fixture as if it was going to start belching out names. “Well, there used to be a John Smith who owned that little corner gas station years ago. You know, the one close to the highway. Then, there was a John Smith who worked with Jake for several years. He retired and moved to Arizona.” She looked back at me. “Why do you want to know how many John Smiths I know?”

  “Never mind, Flori.” This was going to be more difficult than I thought. It was easier working on a case when Flori was bucking me all the way.

  “I really don’t get it, Mabel. And, I don’t know why you seem to be upset with me.”

  “I’m not upset with you. The fact is, Flori, that John Smith is a good name to use when you don’t want anyone to know who you really are.”

  “Aww.” The light bulb went on. “So, in other words, it could be an alias. Or, an a.k.a.”