by Dale Mayer
Doreen chuckled. “I’m eating, honest.”
“What you need is to start cooking.”
“On Monday I’m learning to make an omelet.”
Nan’s gaze lit with interest. “Omelets? Interesting choice.”
“I miss eggs,” Doreen confessed. “And I haven’t bought any because I don’t know how to cook them. I tried them in the microwave, and that was a nightmare.”
“How did you cook it?” Nan’s face was suspiciously bland.
“I put it in and cooked it for eight minutes,” she said. “I was pretty sure that’s what the recipe said that I read on the internet.”
“So you just set it on the tray for eight minutes?” Nan looked at her in surprise. And then she giggled. “Don’t tell me. It exploded, right?”
Nonplussed, Doreen looked at her. “How did you know?”
At that, Nan howled. “That would have been quite a mess.”
“It was terrible,” Doreen said. “Egg was everywhere.” She grinned herself. “I’m glad I’m providing you with lots of entertainment these days.”
When she could stop laughing, Nan reached across and patted her granddaughter’s hand. “I’m so happy you’re close by. I haven’t had this much fun in decades.”
Even though the laughter was directed at her, Doreen was happy to see her grandmother so bright and cheerful. “You can laugh at me all you want, as long as you keep feeding me.” She popped another bite of the carrot cake in her mouth. “This really is divine.”
Without a word, Nan went back into the kitchen, and, when she stepped back out again, she had a piece all wrapped up that was twice the size of what Doreen had eaten and the other half of the sandwich. “You take this home with you. You’ll enjoy it more than I will.”
Doreen moved it off to the side. “I won’t say no.” They finished their tea in companionable silence, and then she said, “I should leave and call the consignment store. Time to face the music and see if we’ve gotten anywhere with some sales.” She hesitated. “Somebody—and, no, I don’t remember who suggested it—said maybe you had antiques in your house.”
“Yes, there are …” Nan nodded. “When you get time, you should have someone appraise them.”
“If you don’t mind, maybe I will. Maybe something very valuable is there.”
“Be positive,” Nan said. Her phone rang inside her apartment. She got up and said, “I’ll be right back.”
While Doreen watched her grandmother go into her bedroom, she finished her tea. She didn’t know how long she had before the most recent gossip filtered through the old folks’ home, but she wanted to be gone before anybody heard about Doreen finding another dead body. Just then her phone rang. It was Mack.
“I’m about to come over,” he said. “Are you at home?”
“Not yet,” she said, standing up. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I stopped off at Nan’s to have a cup of tea.”
“You didn’t tell her, did you?”
“No, and I was just thinking how I need to leave quickly,” she said, “before they know anything here.” She picked up Mugs’ leash and scooped Thaddeus onto her shoulder, calling Goliath to join them. “I do have to say good-bye to her though.”
“If she’s not there beside you, you can bet she’s getting the latest gossip,” he said in an ominous voice. “You can’t tell them anything.”
“I wasn’t telling her anything,” Doreen said. “You must learn to trust me.” And she hung up. As she turned, she saw Nan was back, her eyes bright with interest. Doreen groaned. “I have to run, Nan. Thanks so much for the cake and tea and the sandwich. I’ll call you later.” She kissed her grandmother on the cheek and ran across the grass before Nan had a chance to ask anything. In the background Doreen heard a man speaking.
“Did you ask her if she knows anything about the body?”
“No, no, no. I didn’t get a chance to ask. I think Mack called her and told her to be quiet.”
Doreen got into the car, gathering her pets inside, and, with a wave to Nan, reversed out of the parking lot. Soon afterward she pulled into her driveway, ignoring all the reporters, their cameras flashing while calling out questions. She rushed inside, shooing the animals ahead of her. Once safely in her home, she let the animals all go their own way. “Holy crap, you guys. We are about to have more chaos again.”
Thaddeus perked up. “Chaos is good. Chaos is good.”
She turned to glare at him. “Chaos is not good. Chaos is not good,” she emphasized. Her phone rang just then. She looked down to see it was Nan. She sighed and answered it. “Nan, I just got home. What’s the matter?”
“Well, since you ran off so quickly, dear, I didn’t get a chance to ask you about the body.”
“What body, Nan?” she asked.
“The one you must have found that Mack was giving you trouble over,” she said. “Dear, we really do need details.”
“What details and why?” she asked, her suspicions growing.
Nan chuckled. “For the bets of course. Call me back when you can.” And she hung up.
Chapter 5
Doreen tossed her cell phone on the countertop and screamed at the empty kitchen in sheer frustration. After a moment she felt better. Only Mugs had decided he should accompany her in this ritual and was still howling. As he slowly stopped, she could hear Thaddeus kicking up a fuss, marching across the table, crowing and cawing, like he was singing some kind of a crazy-ass tempo. That was probably what she had sounded like to him.
She tossed her purse and jacket beside her phone and walked over to the coffeepot. “It is definitely time for a cup of coffee,” she muttered to herself, deliberately not counting the cost of her increased coffee habit.
She also knew that Mack would arrive soon, asking her questions. He always drank her out of coffee. But still, he also made a mean pot. Even though she’d tried everything she could, and it was good coffee that she now made, he had that magic touch. It occurred to her that maybe what made it better was how she didn’t have to do it herself. That was a consideration, since she still had fond memories of all the coffee she used to have in her former life, none of which had ever been prepared by her hand. Living in a multimillion-dollar house with a rich lifestyle had a lot of perks. And delightful coffee every day whenever she wanted it was one of them.
She ground the beans, filled the carafe in the back of the coffeemaker, and pushed the button for it to start. Then she walked over to the fridge and opened it up. If nothing else, she should put away the carrot cake and sandwich. She really wanted to eat the cake because it was so damn good. But half of that was because she was so stressed.
Finally, when the coffee was done, she grabbed a cup, pushed open the back door, and stepped onto the veranda. It was old and creaky, but the place was hers, and right now she needed that solace.
With the animals following along in her wake, she wandered down the garden. It was only here in her backyard, finding private space where nobody else could interfere, that she managed to destress. Almost on automatic pilot, her feet took her to the creek. She perched on the log close to her property but just ever-so-slightly on public access. There she sat, watching the water trickle down the creek bed. It was so soothing.
Mugs walked into the creek until his big thick feet were covered in water and drooped his head down so he could take a drink. Of course his ears drooped down with him, so they sank into the water too. She sighed. “Mugs, could you at least lift them out of the way, so they don’t get wet every time?” He just gave her a sad basset-eyed look and kept doing what he was doing. She said, “I guess I should be happy you’re not going for a complete swim.”
With his typical disdain of everything that Mugs did, Goliath sat perched on a rock, his tail wrapped around him in a perfect formation. The cat stared down at the water in fascination but with an equal amount of revulsion. She couldn’t imagine him ever fishing. He was just too dainty, even though there was nothing dainty about him. But he hated wa
ter. And, at the same time, it seemed like he couldn’t leave it alone. She wondered how he ever reconciled his relationship with that stuff.
Thaddeus, on the other hand, walked up and down the log she was on, calling to Mugs, “Drink the water. Drink the water.”
She chuckled at him.
He cocked his head, looked at her, preening in the fresh air. He really was a lovely addition to her family. She’d never considered having a bird as a pet before. She had to clean up after him, as well as after the cat and the dog, but she enjoyed the bit of housecleaning she now did. The vacuum was pretty old, but luckily it still worked, and that was all she cared about. Knowing that this was her place made a huge difference too.
Hard to believe she’d been here for a couple of weeks now. The house felt like home. It still smelled like Nan, yet musty, mixed with old dust. Doreen was slowly getting it into better shape, which was a miracle, considering she had no money for that. It boiled down to good old hard work.
Doreen had brought up the antiques with Nan but had forgotten to ask her if she knew the history of any of the pieces. Doreen also needed to find an antiques specialist. Hopefully to advise her if some of these pieces were valuable.
Speaking of which, … Doreen walked back to the house and stepped inside to retrieve her phone from the countertop and dialed Wendy’s number at the consignment store as Doreen headed back to the log at the creek. “Hi, Wendy. This is Doreen.”
“Hi, Doreen,” Wendy said gaily.
She was always so happy. Doreen was kind of jealous of her in a way.
“What can I do for you?” Wendy asked. “Or do you have more clothes to bring in?”
“Actually I don’t,” she said, “although there might be a bit more. I still have the master bedroom to go through.”
“Oh, my goodness. Was all that stuff you brought before from the spare bedroom?”
“Yes,” Doreen said with a half laugh. “It was.”
“Goodness. You should sort through the rest and bring it to me,” she said. “I’ve sold several of the pieces and one of the fur coats. Now remember. I don’t pay anything to you for a while. I pay ninety days out, in case people return items.”
“No, no, I understand that,” Doreen said quickly because she hadn’t in the least understood that at all. Wendy had probably explained it to her, but, as Doreen’s former husband would say, she just didn’t get money. She wasn’t stupid; she just didn’t realize how these cycles worked. “So you’re saying that, after ninety days, you’ll call me and tell me how much money there is for me?”
“Yes, and then I pay on the fifteenth of the next month after the ninety days. It’s a lot of accounting, particularly when my customers are allowed that ninety days to bring something back.”
Doreen trusted Wendy. Whether that was the right thing to do or not, Doreen didn’t have a whole lot of choice. “What did you sell the fur coat for, by the way?” she asked curiously. “We didn’t really discuss prices on any of the items I brought in.”
“Nope, but I think I’ve sold about one-hundred-dollars’ worth of stuff for you already,” she said, “and that’s without the fur coat. I sold it for one forty-five.” Her voice turned distracted as she said, “I can look it up for you, if you like.”
“No, no,” Doreen said in delight. “I’m just glad to hear you’re selling some of these items. Very encouraging,”
“And,” Wendy said, “hopefully we’ll double or triple that amount before the ninety days are up. Especially if you bring in more stuff, maybe we can get you a bit every quarter.”
“That’s a good idea.” Doreen brightened. “Now I’m looking for an antiques dealer in town.”
“I don’t know about a dealer,” she said, “but Fen Gunderson owned his own antiques shop. He’s retired now, but he has an excellent eye. If you’re looking for some advice, you should talk to him.”
“And where would I find him?” she asked.
“He lives in Upper Mission.”
She’d been in Kelowna long enough now to understand where she was living was the Mission and to the south of her house was Upper Mission. It made no sense to her geographically. But, hey, she didn’t determine the boundaries of the area. “I will look him up and see if he’ll talk to me.”
“He’s easy to find. He volunteers at the Mission Bible Thrift Store. You can always find him in the back testing toasters and any other godforsaken appliances people bring in.” Wendy went off on a happy laugh. “He’s a sweetheart though. I’m sure he’d love to come to Nan’s old house and see what she’s got. He could definitely tell you which pieces are valuable.”
“That would be ideal,” Doreen exclaimed. “I have no way of knowing what’s valuable and what isn’t.”
“Exactly,” Wendy said. “I do have people at the store waiting for me now. So, when you get a chance, go through some more clothes and come over, even if you just want to visit—you’re always welcome.”
She hung up, leaving Doreen sitting beside the river. She looked back at the old house that needed a new roof and at the veranda that listed sideways. Yet, she smiled. It was hers. It was a roof over her head. With a little bit of work and a whole lot of goodwill and elbow grease, she would do just fine.
When she heard her name called out, she shouted back, realizing she shouldn’t have done that. It could be anybody. And anybody tended to be reporters.
Immediately she heard a disgusted sound from behind the fence of her neighbor. “What are you doing hiding out back there?” he/she asked.
Doreen frowned. She had yet to figure out the sex of that speaker based on that unisex voice. She’d met the man of the house, and, as far as she understood, a wife lived there. But Doreen had yet to meet her. And this disembodied voice from the backyard talking to her had never identified itself, so Doreen didn’t know if it was the husband or the wife.
“I’m not hiding out at all,” Doreen said in exasperation. “I’m out here enjoying the creek.”
“Dirty thing,” the voice said. “And stop yelling. You’re disturbing my nap.”
Doreen raised both hands and shook her head. Even here apparently, minding her own business in her own backyard, she was a problem. But, as she looked toward the house, she saw Mack step onto her veranda. She smiled and waved, then stood. Thaddeus raced toward her. She bent down and let him climb onto her hand and lifted him to her shoulder. Mugs barked joyfully at their visitor.
Goliath looked at them all with that disdainful and haughty lord-of-the-manor look that seemed to say, You don’t expect me to greet everyone, do you? Just because you do …
Mugs, on the other hand, already raced madly toward Mack. Mugs apparently thought Mack was just fine. As a watchdog, he sucked, usually barking after she heard a knock on her door. However, he’d had his uses these last few days, so it was all good. Besides, she loved that adorable mutt. He was family. He’d been there for her through thick and thin, and she loved his jowls, every wrinkle of them.
As she walked toward Mack, she held up her cup. “There’s a fresh pot of coffee.”
His face lit up. He turned and disappeared into her kitchen.
She chuckled. “Who’d have thought my one and only friend in this town would end up being a police detective?”
She was still smiling until her gaze landed on the brown dirt patches across her garden.
Mac stepped outside. “Now what’s bothering you?”
“The mess your men left,” she snapped. She strode up the veranda steps and glared at him as she entered her kitchen. “They should fix it.”
“We’ve discussed this already,” he said in exasperation, “many times over. They’re not fixing anything.”
“They’re the ones who ripped apart all of my backyard.” She put down her cup and filled it. He’d taken the largest mug in the house, so there was barely enough for her to have another cup. With her coffee in hand, she walked to the kitchen table and sat down.
“They didn’t dig it up. They remov
ed a dead body hidden on your property.”
“But I didn’t hide it,” she said with logic. “So that’s got nothing to do with me.”
“Forget it,” he said with a shake of his head, joining her at the table. “You’re not getting free gardening work done for you by the RCMP.”
She sighed and propped her chin on her palm. “So what did you find out about the case?”
“There is no case.” He pulled out a notepad, put it on the kitchen table, and scooted his coffee cup back. “So let’s get your statement.”
“Right,” she said.
She repeated what she’d done from the time she’d seen the couple in the garden shop, right through to when she found the body. When she finally ran dry, she realized she’d drunk the rest of her coffee. She stared longingly at the empty pot.
He glanced at her and then at the pot. “Go put on another one.”
She shrugged and sat where she was.
“Are you trying to get me to put on a pot?”
She gave him a wide-eyed innocent look. “Of course not. Why would I do that?”
But he didn’t seem to believe her. He stared at her, then said, “You make a great pot these days. What difference does it make who prepares it?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, settled back in the chair. “I just don’t want any more.”
He finished his cup, looked at it, and said, “If you don’t want any more, do you mind if I put on another pot?”
She leaned forward eagerly. “No, no. You go ahead.”
He glared at her. “You’re being foolish. Your coffee is every bit as good as mine is.”
“Do you think so?” she asked. She watched as he took exactly the same steps as she had done to brew coffee.
When the coffee dripped happily, he sat back down again. “Yes, your coffee is every bit as good as mine is.”
Thaddeus, at that point, disappeared into the living room. When he got bored, he returned and hopped up onto her knee, climbed up her arm onto the table. He walked to her cup and pecked at it. She shooed him away and moved the cup. “He just started doing that. I don’t understand why.”