Knowing Penelope

by Donna Carrick

  No sender name, but the auto-signature attached was a logo for Zoe’s Palace, a downtown strip club and known hangout for dealers.

  The message was received on December 24 at 8:25 pm, the night before Jordan went missing.

  I printed it. I’d definitely be paying Zoe a visit.

  Next, I listened to Jordan’s phone messages, taking care not to delete any in case he showed up alive and well and wanting to check his voicemail.

  As I’d thought, the voicemail was full. There were three messages offering superb duct cleaning services, two promising to install new windows and doors, one asking for a contribution for the NDP, one from Julie, just asking him to call, and one from Bill.

  At least I assumed it was Bill. He didn’t leave a name, but he did leave an amount. Fifteen hundred. Cash. To be paid in full.

  And he left a time, 7 pm. I’ll be there at 7, the message said. Have the $1500 ready in cash. Or else. The voicemail had tagged the message as “received December 24th”.

  It was the “or else” that gave Bill away. It was the same wording he’d used in his email. As clichéd as it was, it was still too much coincidence for this girl.

  I set the receiver onto its cradle, resting my hand on it as I tried to piece together a likely scenario.

  Maybe Jordan didn’t have the $1500. Maybe he’d gone to ground to avoid meeting with Bill. Not that Bill wasn’t a nice guy. His voice sounded nice. Well, not so much ‘nice’ as ‘scary’.

  Yes. Definitely scary.

  Had Jordan decided to take a Christmas vacation rather than spending Christmas Eve with an obvious mob-muscle man?

  Or had he dropped in at Zoe’s Palace to meet ‘the gang’ for a drink? Maybe he was still there.

  I glanced around the room, taking in the stacks of paper on every surface.

  It would be a shame not to spend at least a little time going through them, since I was here anyway.

  I reached for a page. A look at it told me Jordan was paying his phone bill. So he presumably had an income.

  The next item was his internet invoice, likewise paid up to date.

  As were his credit card, his on-line gambling tab and his cable TV.

  This was one highly-functioning drug addict.

  So why duck out on Bill?

  Surely he could have put off paying his credit card for a month. That payment alone would have covered what the mob-man was asking for.

  It didn’t make any sense.

  I looked again at the stack of paid invoices. All had been paid well in advance of the due date.

  There was only one reasonable explanation.

  Mattie must be paying his bills.

  I’d bet my skinny jeans on it.

  I pulled my smartphone out of my pocket and dialled her number.

  Her voice sounded strange on the phone, like she didn’t want to speak freely.

  “Is Delilah still there?” I asked.

  “Yes. We’re about to have dinner.”

  “Can she hear me?”

  “No.”

  “Ok. In that case, I’ll ask you a question, and you just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Mattie, were you paying Jordan’s bills?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does Delilah know that?”

  “No.”

  “Were there any gambling debts?”

  “Yes.”

  “Big ones?”

  “No. I have to go now. We’re having dinner.”

  Mattie put the phone down and I heard the click. Then, almost imperceptibly, I heard the second click.

  Damn! Delilah had been listening on an extension.

  I opened a ‘notes’ file on my smartphone. Using the tiny keyboard, I tried to map out a plan. It seemed highly unlikely that we’d find Jordan, as least until he wanted to be found. But I’d made a promise to Mattie, and I intended to keep it.

  My notes were rough, but I knew what they meant.

  First, I’d have to pay a visit to Zoe’s, if only to find out whether Jordan ever did show up there.

  I’d have to get in touch with Julie, by replying to her email, and ask to meet with her. She might have some insight into Jordan’s circle of friends.

  I’d email Bill while I was at it. Just a cryptic note, from Jordan, to see what reaction I got.

  I needed to have a straight talk with Mattie. She said the gambling debts were not large, but of course she hadn’t been free to elaborate. I had a sneaking feeling between the drugs, gambling and whatever else Jordan had been up to that Mattie was footing a pretty significant bill.

  It probably wasn’t hurting her. My sense was that she had a good financial buffer.

  Just the same, Mattie had a good reason not to want Delilah to know she’d been supporting Jordan.

  Big Sister was not going to like it.

  Hmmmmm….

  I wondered.

  Was that the first time Delilah had listened in on Mattie’s conversations?

  My Aunt Rachel has a saying: A goose will honk and a duck will quack.

  And Delilah was a sneak. She’d already proven that.

  Maybe she already knew about Mattie paying Jordan’s bills.

  How would she feel about seeing her inheritance being syphoned off by a drug addicted gambler who couldn’t keep himself in toilet paper?

  My guess was she’d be ticked.

  All those years of waiting for Daddy’s money to come through, patiently watching Step-Mom live the good life of fine clothes and pottery classes and luxury living. Knowing there was plenty to come, in time.

  Only to see her baby brother squander the lion’s share.

  Would anything be left for Delilah? Or would she get the short end of the stick again?

  Yes.

  I’d definitely pay a visit to Zoe’s Palace.

  But first….

  My bike was parked in the visitors’ lot. I started the ignition and donned my helmet, heading back in the direction I’d come from.

  When I arrived at Mattie’s, Delilah had already left.

  Mattie didn’t come to the door when I rang the bell. I dug in my pocket for my keychain, quickly locating the extra key Mattie had given me “in case she locked herself out”.

  Delilah wouldn’t have known I had it.

  How could Delilah know that, if anything happened to Mattie, it was me, rather than her step-children, she placed her trust in?

  I found Mattie on the kitchen floor. She’d splashed tea on the tabletop when she fell. She was still breathing.

  Beside the teacup was a single white sheet of paper, with one sentence scrawled in Mattie’s usually graceful handwriting:

  I’m sorry, Jordan.

  I dialled 9-1-1.

  The paramedics were able to revive Mattie and induce vomiting. It took awhile, but at the hospital they got her stomach pumped and were able to save her life.

  She told the police how Delilah must have slipped drugs into her tea.

  I guess Delilah thought it would go down as suicide.

  After all, Mattie was grieving over the loss of her troubled step-son. She was experiencing guilt over her failure to keep Jordan on the straight and narrow.

  We later learned that Jordan had visited his sister on Christmas Eve. She must have thought it strange that he could afford to bring her an expensive gift, given that he didn’t have a job.

  But, of course, she knew where the money came from.

  She’d killed Jordan that night and somehow dragged his body to her car. He was slight, thanks to years of substance abuse and poor eating habits. She’d driven to the countryside and found an isolated spot to drop him off. He wouldn’t be found till spring, if then.

  At least Mattie’s money would be safe from his abuse.

  And, with Mattie out of the way, Delilah would finally have her inheritance.

  It might have worked. She might have gotten away with it.

  Luckily for Mattie, though, she has a friend in low places.

  Prepared

  “Helen,�
� she said, “I've come to prepare you.”

  The woman spoke in an urgent voice. Her hair was a mixture of silver and gold, advancing years in denial, given the lie by timeless blue eyes.

  Helen had never seen her before, but she seemed familiar.

  Helen woke with a start and squinted at the bedside clock. 2 am. No sounds, other than the natural creaking of an aging house -- old, but with good bones.

  Then she remembered. Zee had called at 11 to say she would be staying overnight with her friend Claire. Helen guessed her daughter was likely spending the night with her boyfriend, Sam, but Zee was a young woman. She could do as she pleased.

  Helen was grateful that, at the age of 20, her daughter still called when she wasn’t coming home. Zee never gave her cause to worry.

  She’d raised Zee to be an independent woman. Her daughter was strong, beautiful and thoughtful.

  Helen reached for her crutches and strapped them on. She was careful to use both when she was home alone. How embarrassing would that be, to fall down in the bathroom with her drawers around her ankles?

  She did her business and washed her hands, ruminating on the face from her dream. So familiar, and yet she couldn't place it. A depth of kindness in those eyes.

  She shook her head, unable to match the face to memory. She glanced in the mirror at her own blue-grey eyes and golden hair. Well, chemical gold, but still vibrant, thanks to Zee. Zee would not allow Helen to let herself go.

  Leaning on her left crutch, she reached for a brush and smoothed the tangles before heading back to bed.

  The physical struggle of moving on crutches stirred her heart in an uncomfortable palpitation. The moment passed. Soon she was asleep.

  “Helen, please listen to me.” The woman touched her shoulder.

  “What do you want?”

  “Your Father sent me to prepare you.”

  A quiet rage took hold of Helen, tightening her fists. She stood tall, as she often did in her dreams, without crutches, without pain. A force to be reckoned with.

  “Don't mention my father,” she said. “He was a wife-beater, a child molester and a drunken bastard. I don't have time to remember him.”

  “Your heavenly Father is sorry for your suffering, Helen. He knows pain has been a part of your life.”

  “How can He call himself a loving God? My entire life has been about misery. From those early years of abuse, to this illness that makes me a burden. A burden to the husband who left me, and now to his child.”

  “You're not a burden, Helen. You are loved. And your life," the woman added, "has not been all about pain.”

  “That's true,” Helen nodded, her anger subsiding. “I have Zee. I am thankful for that.”

  “Helen,” the woman said, “I need to prepare you...”

  “It's all right,” Helen said. “I've been prepared for years. Since this illness claimed me. Tell Our Father He can take me when He's ready.”

  “But Zee....”

  “Zee will be all right,” Helen said, suddenly calm. "She knew this would happen. I've always been honest with her, taught her to be strong.”

  Helen smiled at the thought of her daughter. Zee was doing well at University. Helen had prepared her for this day. She never wanted to be a burden to Zee. It was time to let her girl have a life of her own.

  Throughout the years of bitterness and sorrow, there had always been one gift. Zee. Helen's pride and joy, her offering to the world.

  Knowing she would leave behind such a fine young woman made it easier for Helen to face mortality.

  “I've become tired of this struggle,” she said. “Tell Our Father, if He can forgive me for being a stubborn, angry fool, then I can forgive Him for giving me this pain. I'm ready to make my peace.”

  “Helen," the angel said, for she must be an angel, so lovely, with such kindness in her sad eyes. She looked like someone Helen knew. "Please hear me. You need to be prepared.”

  “It's ok,” Helen said, letting the dream-angel drift away. “Whenever you're ready, take me to Him. I'm prepared.”

  With a feeling of contentment, Helen took her leave of the angel, allowing her mind to wander into other rooms, other dreams….

  **

  “I'd like to leave now,” Zee said, glancing over her shoulder at a young man on the other side of the room.

  “Are you ok?” Sam asked. “You seem preoccupied.”

  “I'm all right. Just tired. It's late. I've got classes tomorrow.”

  “Did you call your Mom?”

  “I told her I was staying with Claire.”

  “Good. It's noisy in here. I'll go outside and call a cab.”

  Sam kissed Zee on the forehead. She was one in a million, beautiful, kind, studious and loving. He was a lucky guy.

  She watched him leave the party, hoping he wouldn't be gone too long.

  “Hi, Zee.”

  She nearly groaned out loud as the other man approached, but good manners kicked in and she managed to restrain herself.

  “Hi, Richard,” she said.

  “Who's the guy?”

  “That's my boyfriend, Sam.”

  “Some boyfriend. No offense, but he looks like a girl. Why'd he ditch you?”

  “He's calling a cab. We're leaving. Now you'll have to excuse me.”

  Zee stood. She could feel her Scots-Irish blood rising. Her mother hadn't raised her to tolerate this kind of nonsense. Richard had been a nuisance for weeks, but now he was becoming insufferable. She didn't want to make a scene, but she would if she had to.

  “Take it easy, Zee’” he said. “I just want to talk. You've been avoiding me.”

  “Stop following me, Richard. I saw you at the library today.”

  “I was studying,” he said. “It's a free country.”

  “Excuse me,” she said, trying to push past him.

  Richard held her arm. “You never gave me a chance,” he said.

  “Let go of me.”

  The knife’s blade was sharp and mercifully swift. She hardly felt it slide past her rib-cage and into her heart. Her hearing became muted and at the same time strangely acute. She was aware of horrified shouts as her friends looked up in alarm.

  Her blood crashed in her ears, drowning out their cries. Her closest friend Claire rushed to her side. She watched as someone ran to get Sam. He pushed through the crowd and knelt, in time to hear her whisper.

  “My mother....”

  Appearances

  “No, that’s all right, Val,” Janie said. “Life does, after all, go on. I’m glad you and Carmen thought of me, being in the neighbourhood and all. Stop by and we’ll have coffee.”

  Janie put the phone down and glanced around the living room. It was still tidy from the other day.

  The kitchen was clean but dishevelled. She ran hot water and washed the dishes, starting up the coffee maker. Replacing the lid on a small bottle, she put it away in the cupboard.

  **

  “How did she sound?” Carmen said.

  “Quite chipper, actually. It’s as if nothing happened. Did you see her the other day, chatting with that handsome Minister and his wife? Talk about keeping a stiff upper lip.”

  “Everyone copes with these things differently. I don’t envy Janie, all alone in that big house. Shepp was her world.”

  “Hmm…”

  “You disagree?”

  “Well,” Val said, “it’s not like they were together all that long. She snapped him up like shoes on sale.”

  “You think she married him for his money?”

  “He sure as hell had enough of it. And she was dirt-poor, working her ass off to make ends meet at that hole-in-the-wall bookstore.”

  “Her luck turned around, didn’t it?” Carmen said. “Right after they married, she managed to line up an agent and a publisher. Then winning that big literary award…”

  “Did you see Shepp’s kids, Lacey and Ron, at the funeral? How old are they?”

  “They’re both still in University, so t
hey must be in their early twenties.”