But Tilly had a problem. A year ago she had found a spare key in the Professor’s desk to that bookcase. Curious, she had unlocked and opened the glass doors and took a few out to look at them. The first one was a volume of Bleak House by Charles Dickens. This surprised her. Why would this be so special when she remembered dusting one very similar to it on the Professor’s book shelves? Just to be sure, she went to the shelf holding all of Charles Dickens’s books. She pulled it out and compared the two. She couldn’t see much difference. Someone had scribbled the name Charles Dickens on the inside flyleaf of the book from the locked bookcase, but it seemed to her that the one without any writing in it should be worth more.
Several days later an idea came to her. She was squishing along in the rain with one wet foot because her right boot had a leak. She was on her way to a shoe store to get a new pair when she passed The Emporium, a used book store. A sign in the window attracted her attention, “We Buy Used Books.”
So over the months that followed, Tilly would take a book from the locked bookcase, replace it with another book like it, and take it to the Emporium to sell. At first the owner had looked at her with some suspicion, but he said she reminded him of a favorite aunt, and when she told him she was a widow and was trying to get a little extra money by selling her husband’s books, he had accepted her story and offered her twenty dollars for the book. She accepted the amount gratefully. It seemed a lot for an old scribbled in book.
With each book she took, she was careful to skip around amongst the authors to make it less obvious, and she now looked at each one with new interest. She couldn’t imagine a book by anyone with a name like Charles Lamb to be worth very much, especially such an old one, but the bookstore owner had given her twenty dollars for that one, too.
When Tilly was no longer able to find books with the same author and title, she substituted books that were similar in size and binding. The Professor never seemed to notice the missing books. It could be because his eyesight was failing. For a while he would have Tilly read to him, but that didn’t last long. He got restless and annoyed with Tilly’s slow reading. She used one stubby forefinger to follow the words, words she mispronounced no matter how many times he corrected her, so he had resorted to ordering books on tape from the library, which Tilly willingly picked up for him.
What should she do? None of the original books were left in the glass-fronted bookcase, and Tilly would be the only suspect when it was discovered they were gone. She would have to replace the money, but most of the almost two thousand dollars she had received was gone, most of it on lottery tickets. Would she go to jail? She’d lose her comfortable job with the Professor. The only way she could save herself was if the Professor died.
Now Tilly may not have been much of a reader, but she did watch TV, including crime shows, and she knew that killing someone and making it look like a natural death was not an easy thing to do. Even suffocating someone with a pillow could be proved to be murder.
Maybe it look like a burglary? But there were no guns in the house, and she’d never shot one in her life. Besides, she’d learned that gun sellers kept records so any gun she bought could be traced to her. Knives? She’d need an alibi. Where could she go to establish one? Most burglars came at night, and she had no family and very few acquaintances where she could just show up some night. It would look strange. She never went anywhere after dark.
Poison was out, too. She was the only one who fixed his meals, and he rarely had visitors anymore so she couldn’t count on anyone coming before the appraiser showed up. Besides, who would want to kill the Professor? He didn’t have any enemies, and the only family he had were a great-niece and a great-nephew, and they didn’t live anywhere near. It had been several years since either one of them had visited.
Some medicines could kill. But the Professor took nothing but a heart medicine, and she doubted if that would work. If it didn’t, either he or the doctor would wonder what had happened to the pills if he had to reorder early. As for Tilly herself, she had always been strong and robust. In fact, after the Professor’s heart attack, she had often helped him get out of bed and into the bathroom. Tilly’s medicine chest held only some vitamins and a small bottle of aspirin. Tilly knew an overdose of aspirin could kill, but she didn’t see how she could administer that or even if she had enough to do the job.
Poor Tilly.
The following morning when the Professor came down, she had it. Drowning. Every morning before breakfast, the Professor went out for a walk around the pond behind the house. Sometimes he even did two laps. Before his heart attack he had done even more. It wasn’t a large pond. She had always thought it foolish since she wasn’t much for exercising, but now she was glad that he did. After his walk, he’d stop to feed his koi. She couldn’t understand why he liked his fish so much, either. It wasn’t as if they were furry or affectionate in any way. Not like a cat or a bird.
This morning she watched from the kitchen door until he’d finished his second lap, and then she joined him on the small dock. He glanced up at her in surprise. She hadn’t been out here since the first time he had shown her the fish years ago.
“I’ve come to look at the fish,” she said as she walked up behind him.
He grunted in answer, and then let out a yelp when she pushed him in.
He struggled and managed to swim the few strokes back to the edge of the dock. He grabbed hold of the edge, sputtering and gasping. She knelt down as if to give him a hand, but instead grabbed his wispy hair, and pushed his head under. It was easier than she thought. He fought for a short while. Finally, he went limp. She waited a few more minutes before letting go and watched as he floated face down in the water while a few curious koi nibbled at him.
Then she went back to the house and started his breakfast. Today instead of his usual oatmeal, she fixed him bacon, eggs and toast. She fixed herself the same breakfast, too. When she had eaten and put her dishes to soak, she went out and pulled his lifeless body from the pond. Then she went in and called 911.
On the day of the funeral, the Professor’s great-niece and her husband picked Tilly up to take her to the funeral home. They had chosen to stay at a nearby hotel rather than the Professor’s house. Tilly settled in the backseat of their car, a little uneasy by its size and its soft leather seats. She had never ridden in such a car.
As the car moved smoothly away from the curb, the Professor’s great-niece turned around. She asked Tilly about the Professor and his death and what Tilly would be doing now. Tilly’s answers were stilted and brief. The great-niece turned around and talked to her husband.
Tilly felt shy. She was intimidated by their obvious wealth. Was she dressed all wrong, too? Maybe she shouldn’t have worn the little black hat with a half veil. The great-niece wasn’t wearing anything on her styled blond head, and she wore a stylish light blue dress. The last time Tilly had worn her black dress was at her mother’s funeral twenty years before. Actually, it was the last funeral she had attended. Maybe people dressed different at funerals now.
Tilly hung back so the others could go in ahead of her. She carefully signed her name in the guest book in the hall and took one of the little religious cards for the mourners. It had a picture of Jesus on the front. She didn’t know the Professor was a Christian. She had never heard him mention anything in the way of religion. She turned the card over and looked at his date of birth and date of death. He was eighty-nine. In two months he would have been ninety. If he were still alive, maybe she would have made a birthday cake for him. She could have put nine candles on, one for each decade. Of course, that would only have been if someone had called with birthday greetings or sent a card since she had never written his birthday down anywhere, and the Professor had never mentioned it. She couldn’t remember any cards or calls for several years now. Maybe those who remembered his birthday were dead now, too. She slowly read the prayer on the back of the card. She didn’t want to go in and bid a final good-bye to the Professor.
The church was
empty except for a balding man standing at the head of the casket. The great-nephew. He’d lost a lot more hair since his last visit. She took a deep breath and walked up to the casket. The Professor looked so still, his skin so gray. She was glad his eyes were closed. Sometimes he had slept with his eyes slightly open. She turned away.
The Professor’s great-nephew took her hand and smiled at her. He thanked her for all the good care she had given his uncle over the years.
Tilly nodded and took a chair near the back where she could see and yet not be noticed. The flowers were bright spots of color in a room with gray walls, gray carpeting and soft lighting. There weren’t very many flower arrangements. The Professor’s great-niece and great-nephew greeted the few callers who came. The great-niece’s husband had taken up residence in another room with his Blackberry, so Tilly sat alone.
The Professor was to be cremated, so there was no procession to the cemetery. The funeral director had brought in a minister to say a few words. Since he had never met the Professor, the eulogy was brief. Tilly could have told him about the Professor if she’d been asked. She knew the Professor better than anyone else. Sadness seeped into her bones. What about her own funeral? Who would come? What would be said about her?
Later, back at the Professor’s house, the lawyer met with the few beneficiaries of the Professor’s will. The house went to the great-nephew along with a sum of money, and the furniture went to a great-niece with another generous amount.
“And to my faithful housekeeper, Tilly Swindler, I leave my collection of first edition and signed rare books that can be found in the locked bookcase. Enclosed is the list. This should allow her to live comfortably for the rest of her life,” the lawyer read.
Tilly sat frozen. The lawyer pulled out the list. “Here’s A Dissertation Upon a Roast Pig by Charles Lamb. What a strange title to be worth so much, six hundred seventy-five dollars. Hmmm. Here’s another one by him, Tales from Shakespeare: Designed for the Use of Young Persons. It’s worth five thousand dollars.” His eyes skimmed down the list as he shook his head. “Wow! As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner is worth over thirteen thousand dollars. Professor Higgins must have thought a lot of you.”
Tilly’s vision blurred before she passed out.
__________
Gloria Alden lives on a small farm in Northeast Ohio with her collie and other assorted animals. Like the Professor, her library shelves are overflowing with books. She belongs to Sisters in Crime, Guppies, two writer’s groups, and two book clubs. She’s a retired teacher with a Masters in English and has had a short story and numerous poems win awards.
KOI PALACE, by Heidi Saunders
As it turned out, it was Maya’s looks, not her brain, which snagged her the job at the Koi Palace. She came by her almond eyes and black hair via her Korean ancestors, but the owner, Mr. Chen, seemed confident he could pass her off as Chinese to restaurant patrons.
Maya smoothed her work uniform—a frilly apron over a faux-silk sheath that narrowed precariously at the ankles—and glanced at the wall clock. Feeding time again. She didn’t have anything against fish per se, but hungry koi were another matter. The constant pulsing of their round gaping mouths, as if gasping for air, repelled her. Her hostess position at Louisville’s newest Chinese restaurant required her to serve the clammy moochers twice a day.
Not that she had any right to complain. At least she had a job, unlike her indolent ex-boyfriend, Rob. A stagnant economy and military hiring freeze had forced Maya to accept an unpaid position at nearby Fort Knox. At least the internship with the Information Decoder department utilized her computer science degree. To cover her bills, nights and weekends found her at the Koi Palace.
When she’d been hired last week, Mr. Chen had explained her duties: greet and seat the customers, feed the fish, and let him know when any guests arrived asking for him by name. Those guests were to be seated in booth six near the front door. After their meal, Chen would personally serve them fortune cookies from a special trove he kept in his office. A treat for his favorite friends, he said.
Maya headed for the kitchen to retrieve desiccated fish food sticks. As she returned with the tray for the koi, children left their parents to follow her to the sunken pond in the center of the restaurant. A wrought iron fence surrounded the pond and kept children from falling in. An aroma of mildew and fish excrement hung in the humid air. Maya passed food sticks to the kids to throw into the water, which churned with writhing bodies lunging for the treats. The platter finally empty, Maya handed out plastic-wrapped fortune cookies from her apron pocket.
The noon feeding done, she headed for the hostess station and saw someone leaning against the podium watching her. The welcoming smile forming on her lips faded at sight of the dented motorcycle helmet dangling from the man’s fingers. Rob stood there, thick hair pulled back in a ponytail, leather-clad arms crossed.
Maya walked toward him. His dark eyes never left her. She bent to slip the tray onto a shelf under the podium then stood to face him.
“Maya.” Rob’s voice, deep and seductive.
Her voice came out higher than usual. “What are you doing here?”
“Relax, I’m just here for lunch.” He scanned the curves accentuated by her outfit. “You’re looking well. I had no idea you worked here, or believe me, I’d have been in sooner.”
An unbidden flutter twisted inside her. There had definitely been a strong attraction between them during their six weeks of dating. Then, after graduation last month, he’d joined a local biker gang and spent all his time with them instead of looking for a job. It was so out of character that she’d hoped he’d snap out of it. He hadn’t, and a week ago she’d broken up with him.
She squared her shoulders. Their relationship was over. He’d chosen a lifestyle she couldn’t accept. “Please leave.”
His grin only widened. Aware that her boss’s office door was ajar, Maya steeled herself to remain professional. Teeth clenched, she forced a fake smile. “Welcome to the Koi Palace. Just one today?”
“I’d like a seat near the front door, please.”
Of course he would. So he could stare at her as she worked, no doubt. She grabbed a menu and led him to a front table.
She barely had time to return to her post before two stocky Asian men in black trench coats entered. Like Mafia thugs in a Hollywood film, Maya thought. The shorter one had a chunk of front tooth missing. In heavily accented English, he asked for Mr. Chen. Maya showed them to booth six then hurried down the short hallway to her boss’s office.
Maya knocked gently on the doorjamb. Mr. Chen, his thin frame seated behind his desk, shot her an impatient look. “What?”
His reedy voice held an undercurrent of repressed rage, as if he had better things to do than manage a restaurant. Maya wanted to have as little to do with him as possible. She spoke calmly. “Two men asking for you, sir.”
For a moment Chen tensed, then nodded and waved her away.
These were the first special guests since Maya had started her hostess job. Curious, she surreptitiously watched them in between seating other clientele. Both were Chinese, she was pretty sure. Despite the seafood the Koi Palace was famous for, they ordered only one bowl of soup each.
She begrudged a glance at Rob, seated across from booth six. He leered back. Although his waitress had already placed his check and fortune cookie on the table, he nursed a cup of hot tea, showing no inclination to leave.
Maya let out a frustrated breath and placed an X on the chart. She’d seated two men in the back room. Though in civilian clothes, their short hair and muscled physique suggested soldiers on weekend furlough from Fort Knox.
A commotion started behind her at the cashier’s counter. An angry client lodging a complaint, something about dirty silverware and threats to call the health inspector. Not her responsibility. Mr. Chen emerged from his office to deal with the gesticulating man.
One of the special guests in booth six waved at her. No, he was looking past h
er, trying to capture Chen’s attention. The guest jabbed a thick finger at his watch. They were ready to leave and wanted their fortune cookies. Those things tasted like sandpaper to Maya, but the customer always knew best. She turned and gestured to Chen.
Her boss excused himself and ducked into his office. He returned with a small tray with two cellophane-wrapped fortune cookies on it. The complaining customer’s voice rose to a shout. Trapped, Chen held the tray out to Maya and pointed with his chin at the two men in booth six, then turned his attention back to the yelling patron.
She took the tray and headed around the koi pond, wobbling in the high heels Chen made her wear. For a brief moment she was out of sight of her boss and the impatient special guests. What was different about the fortune cookies from Chen’s office, anyway? They appeared to have similar red lettering on the cellophane wrapping. As she raised the tray to examine the packets, her foot slipped on a dropped fish food stick. Before she could regain her balance, the tray tipped and one of the cookies fell into the koi pond. A foot long orange and white koi grabbed it and nosed it under a rock.
Maya froze. Mr. Chen was still arguing with the customer behind her. Her boss had been emphatic that his special guests receive the fortune cookies from his office. She could lose her job over this, and in this economy it might take her months to find another. She’d fall behind on her college loans, be unable to pay rent on her apartment. With a twinge of guilt, Maya drew a fortune cookie from her apron pocket and placed it next to the other on the tray. With luck, no one would notice the switch.
When Maya reached their booth, Chipped Tooth grabbed the packets, stuffed them into his pocket, and they left.
“Are those two here often?” Rob asked.
Maya jumped at the sound of his voice. She’d forgotten he was sitting across the aisle. “I’ve never seen them before.” She hurried back to her station to seat a waiting family.
Fish Tales: The Guppy Anthology Page 18