Coming Unclued

by Judith Jackson

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Don’t be so dim. She’s a heavy sleeper.”

  I glared at Rose. “Not this heavy.”

  “Check her pulse.”

  “I checked. It’s not pulsing. Now stop talking. Someone will notice us.”

  Rose was speechless for a moment as she digested this latest development. “Well, you’re quite the Angel of Death aren’t you? What was it that took her?”

  “I haven’t done an autopsy. I’m guessing natural causes.”

  “Must have been all of the excitement,” said Rose. “She doesn’t get out much.”

  The choir was hitting the last few high notes and the minister was heading toward the pulpit to say his final words. “You’re going to have to stay behind,” I told Rose. “Prop up Hilda while I blend into the crowd.”

  “Don’t you think we should report this?” asked Rose. “We can’t just leave her here to” —she lowered her voice — “fester.”

  “We’re not leaving her here,” I hissed, trying to keep my voice down. “I will leave. You will stay here. After I am well away from here you will notice that your old friend has passed on and you’ll alert someone. Okay? Do you understand?”

  “Well okay, but how about you try and remember who it is who keeps sending folks to their great reward. How am I going to meet up with you?”

  “I’ll be in touch,” I said. “I’m going to go talk to the son.”

  “Hmmm,” said Rose, mulling this over. “Can’t see that fella climbing four flights of stairs to stab someone. Don’t think his heart could take it.”

  “I just want to ask him some questions. I’ve got to start somewhere and I’m sensing he has some animosity toward his father.”

  “Good pickup,” said Rose. “You’re a natural at this.”

  “Thank you,” I said as I watched Mr. Potter’s casket rolling down the aisle, with the minister and Sophie following behind. Where was the rest of his family? Was Sophie all he had?

  “Look at her,” whispered Rose. “No tears — her makeup’s still perfect.”

  “Maybe she’s all cried out,” I said.

  “Maybe you’d better stop giving folks the benefit of the doubt,” responded Rose. “Everyone’s a suspect. Remember that.”

  “I’ll remember,” I said, glancing back at the cops. “Now I’m going to stand up and you have to squiggle over so Hilda doesn’t fall.”

  “Lord honey, I’m way too old for squiggling,” Rose sighed, but she did her best to shimmy across the pew as I stood. Hilda flopped against Rose as we changed positions, but it would take a practiced eye to notice anything untoward. “We’ll be fine,” said Rose, as she picked up Hilda’s hand, perhaps to confirm for herself that Hilda was truly gone. “And keep me apprised of your goings on,” she said. “I’m an asset to this investigation.” She pointed at me to assert her view that she was indispensable, but because she was holding on to Hilda, it was poor Hilda’s limp little hand that she used to accentuate her point. “Call me,” she said, shaking Hilda’s hand at me. “And hunch,” she hissed. “Hunch.”

  I blended in with the exiting crowd, skirting the police, looking for Julie. Where was she anyway? Across the street from the church there was a little parkette with a wooden bench. Perfect. I would sit there and watch for Julie. I’d be safe. It was pretty clear that my disguise was quite effective. No one had given me a second glance. I hunched across the churchyard, trying to achieve the perfect blend of elderly and innocuous. It had turned into a beautiful December day. The sun was shining and it was just cold enough to be crisp and invigorating rather than damp and miserable. How much sky did prisoners get to see? What if they put me in solitary confinement for my own protection and I never saw the outdoors? How would I get my Vitamin D?

  I took Andrew’s phone out of my pocket to call Julie, wishing I’d paid more attention to police procedurals on TV. Could they trace these calls? I seemed to remember something about cell phones being easy to trace but I couldn’t remember any of the details. Anyway, didn’t matter. They’d think it was Andrew. What was happening with Hilda? Julie wasn’t answering. I started texting instead. Where are U? I typed. Walk up Church St. Meet me at first Starbucks. Don’t be followed.

  This was downtown Toronto. No chance we’d have to go more than a couple of blocks without encountering a Starbucks. I would just have to hope that no one was following Julie or that if they were, she’d be able to lose them.

  “Excuse me,” a voice interrupted, “do you mind if I take your picture?”

  What? My picture? I looked up. A young woman with very dark hair and very pale skin, wearing a down vest, mini skirt and hiking boots was pointing a camera in my direction. “I freelance for The Star,” she said. “I’m doing a piece on the elderly and how they’re embracing new technology. You know, they’re not all stuck in their ways the way some people think. I saw you sitting over here texting and I was wondering if I could get a picture of you.”

  Why me? This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. “Please don’t,” I said. “I don’t photograph well. But thank you.”

  “Oh don’t be silly. You look adorable. You might make the front page of the Life section,” the girl said in a sweet voice. “All your friends would see it. Think how exciting!”

  Was she patronizing me? Little whippersnapper. Like I’d never had my picture on the cover of the paper!

  “No thank you,” I said. “I don’t approve of self promotion.” I gave her a dismissive wave. “Now run along. I’m busy.” What the hell? Old ladies were allowed to be cranky.

  The church had pretty much cleared out by now. Everyone seemed to be quickly heading for their cars rather than milling around chatting the way people usually do after a funeral. Wasn’t anyone staying for the reception? There weren’t any hugs, any “Oh my, I haven’t seen you for ages. So sad. Poor Sophie.” Just a large group of people, quickly heading for their cars, none of whom seemed to know each other. Did Mr. Potter have any real friends or were these all people who only knew him through business? The poor man was excruciatingly dull, cheap, petty and had breath so bad it seemed to stick to your clothes. I couldn’t imagine that he had a wide circle of close friends. A group of Secure Future employees eventually emerged from the church and took up position on the sidewalk, happily chatting. I missed them. Some of them anyway. Angie was wearing a new black coat, very elegant looking. What had she said when I went into the office? She knew where the bodies were buried. Was that Angie just being her usual cynical self or did she really have some dirt on Mr. Potter? I put her on my mental checklist of people to interrogate.

  The sound of an ambulance siren getting closer stirred the interest of the few people who hadn’t yet left the churchyard. Hilda. I’d completely forgotten about her. Poor Hilda. My God, what kind of person was I becoming? An elderly woman breathes her last while resting on my shoulder and a few minutes later I’ve completely forgotten about it. The ambulance squealed to a stop in front of the church. There was a bustle of excitement as people stopped in their tracks to watch the drama unfold. Rose appeared at the doorway of the church, waving her cane at the paramedics. From a distance she looked awfully animated. Was it possible that Hilda hadn’t been dead, that I’d misinterpreted and the ambulance was here to rush her to the hospital?

  I quickly texted Julie. Are you in there? Still Alive???

  I watched anxiously as the paramedics rushed into the church. Perhaps I had completely messed up. Was it possible poor Hilda hadn’t even been dead? Maybe the pulse of the very elderly is so weak that it’s not discernable to the uninitiated.

  Finally. A text from Julie. I’m still alive. Your seatmate is not.

  Well there. Hilda was dead. Why all the fuss then?

  Will meet you in 20 minutes she texted. Head north. First Starbucks.

  Alright then. Some progress. We were moving forward. Or heading north at least.

  Ten minutes later I was sitting at a small t
able in the corner of the shop with a delicious latte and a very dry blueberry muffin, nervously watching the door and wondering if Julie was going to appear. If the police were on the lookout for me, one would assume they would be watching Julie. I tried to remember anything I had read regarding the budget of the Toronto police department. Did they have the manpower to assign someone to follow Julie around? I could only hope they were stretched to the limit surveillance wise. There was a stack of newspapers on the chair next to me and I realized I had no idea what had happened in the world since Sunday morning. Normally I’m a bit of a news junkie, but that was a luxury from a more innocent past. I grabbed a handful of the papers and started leafing through them. Both The Star and The Globe had the same front page story. A five year old girl, Madison, had been playing in her yard with her new puppy and when her mother briefly ran into the house to grab the phone, a stranger walking by abducted the dog. Little Madison was safe, but Boo, her Minidoodle had disappeared. Both papers had similar pictures. A sad eyed blonde waif looking desolately up at the photographer, a leash with no puppy attached hanging from her hand. What kind of person would steal a child’s puppy — and at Christmastime?

  “Can you believe this?” I said to Julie, and she dropped into the seat across from me.

  “Hmm. Very touching,” said Julie. “Count your blessings. Thanks to that puppy the St. Nick Knifer, has been relegated to the back pages. Thank God you didn’t stab a dog. The whole city would be out looking for you. Nice funeral don’t you think? Heart warming.”

  “I wasn’t really paying attention. I was kind of focused on the elderly dead woman leaning on my shoulder.”

  “That was sarcasm. It was the chilliest funeral I have ever attended.”

  “Was there any word on what happened to poor Hilda?”

  “Heart attack they figure.”

  “Quiet one. I never even noticed. She just started getting heavier.”

  “You might want to work on your powers of observation.”

  “I did notice one thing that was very interesting.”

  “What?”

  “The son. He was wearing slippers, which I noticed because even if you hate your father you’d think you’d put on shoes for his funeral. In any case, there was a red blotch on the toe of his slipper. Blood. I noticed it when he went by.”

  “Interesting,” said Julie, breaking off a piece of my muffin and popping it in her mouth. “Given his girth you might want to entertain the possibility of it being ketchup.” She stared into space a moment. “Or red wine. Or strawberry pie.”

  “It was blood. Very distinctive. Don’t you find it interesting that a man who clearly despises his murdered father has blood on his slipper?” I took a sip of my lukewarm latte.

  “Him? He broke out in a flop sweat just walking down the aisle. You figure he broke into your condo?”

  “I said it was interesting; it’s worth looking into. I didn’t say I had found the killer.”

  “Well good,” said Julie, somewhat mollified. “It could possibly be an indication of something if it was blood. I’m still thinking it’s more likely to be ketchup.”

  “We need to talk to him. Also, Hilda said that Mr. Potter took all of her friend’s money. Her friend David. And his cat didn’t get any.”

  “His cat? She was practically on her death bed,” said Julie. “Maybe not quite all there.”

  “Hilda was in full possession of her faculties,” I lied. “I think it could be important. We need to find out who this David was.”

  Julie stared out of the window and tapped her index finger on her chin. “I hunted down the taxi. Called a bunch of cab companies and said I left my wallet in the back seat. Anyway, it was City Cab that dropped you off. The dispatcher checked with the driver. There were just the two passengers.”

  “Shit.”

  “And the police are watching me. Not following me everywhere, but they’re watching. I’m going to get us new cell phones. Just a couple of cheap pay as you go ones and I’ll get us numbers under false names. That should buy us a little time in that area.” She gave me a tight smile. “I don’t know Val. I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing. Maybe we should just trust the scales of justice. This could be really dangerous. I couldn’t live with myself if you get —” she paused for a second —“hurt.”

  “If I get killed. Shot by an overzealous cop.”

  “Yes.”

  “While I don’t relish the idea I don’t know that it’s so much worse than life in prison.”

  “Where each day is like a year, a year whose days are long. Oscar Wilde.” Julie had excellent recall when it came to apropos quotations. Well I had a few I could pull out of the hat as well.

  “‘You don’t kill people you don’t know. That’s a rule’. Dumb and Dumber.” I’d watched that movie probably twenty times with Evan when he was a kid. “It was someone who knew him.”

  “Well his son appears to know him and has formed a none too lofty opinion. I guess we should start there.”

  “Okay. Start there how?”

  “Honestly. We find his address. We go to his house, which, given his attire I’m thinking might be a room over a tavern. We then interrogate him, he divulges all and we go to the police, tell them we have solved the crime and life goes back to normal. Except that you may, possibly, be out of a job.”

  “Good. I was worried we didn’t know what we were doing.”

  “We need to split up,” said Julie. “I’ll go pick up a couple cheap cell phones, Google the prodigal son and we’ll meet up later after I’ve made sure I’ve shaken anyone who may be tailing me. If anyone is tailing me.”

  “What will I do?”

  “Lay low. Do some research. Make some notes. But mostly just make sure you’re not seen by anybody who might be looking for you. How about we meet in the lobby of the Reference Library on Bloor at 3:00?”

  “Sure. I’ll be there.”

  “Be careful.” Julie turned around and looked at the counter. “I’m starving. Maybe a few of those mini glazed vanilla scones for the road.”

  “Don’t let my little situation affect your appetite. You have to keep your strength up.”

  After Julie had picked up her snack, I waited a few minutes and headed out into the cold, pulling Rose’s fur coat close around me and walking in the old-lady shuffle that was becoming second nature. At first I was very nervous, worried that everyone was looking at me, thinking I looked vaguely familiar, but Rose was right. People paid not a whit of notice to me. I walked by a comic book store and stopped to look in the window. I’d been to this shop many times when Evan was younger, looking for obscure, out of print Superman titles to add to his collection. I missed Evan and was worried about him. How was he coping, with his mother on the lam? He must be awfully anxious as well as embarrassed. I needed to see him; make sure he was all right.

  I had a couple of hours. I’d walk over to Evan’s apartment. I hightailed it in a spry elderly lady fashion along the sidewalk, enjoying the exercise and winter sun and letting my mind wander. Perhaps I’d be lucky and catch a reassuring glimpse of him. Although I’d loved having Evan live with me, at the beginning of September he became quite insistent that he needed to find his own place. That must have been when he met Mikel. After a fun summer where he was out a great deal, he suddenly seemed restless and agitated, and spent a great deal of time excusing himself to make and receive phone calls.

  I turned off Bloor St. and on to the quiet side street where Evan now lived in a grey, lumpish, low-rise that, while lacking in ambiance, meets his primary criteria of being cheap. Too cheap perhaps. There was an exterminator parked out front. I stood on the sidewalk across from the building, staring at the front door and wishing that Evan would appear. I didn’t necessarily need to talk to him but I did want to see him and reassure myself that he was managing to muddle through this. I concentrated as hard as I could on willing him to come out the front door. I must have overshot the ESP because the door opened and both
Mikel and Evan came out. They were chatting amiably — what did one chat to Mikel about? But when they reached the sidewalk, Evan bent down and gave her a kiss and they separated. She was very short. Almost dwarfish. I hadn’t really noticed before. And what was she doing at his apartment in the middle of the day? Shouldn’t she be at the office, diligently working on my case?

  I decided to follow Evan for a while, carefully of course, so that he wouldn’t see me and run the risk of getting any more involved with my problems than he already was. He wasn’t wearing gloves or a hat, and I felt cold for him. I couldn’t see what he had on his feet, but it was probably running shoes. He’d always had an aversion to making any concessions to his wardrobe to suit the weather. So I hustled along the sidewalk, head down, trying to keep up with his long-legged pace, when WHAM, I felt a sharp pain and found myself flat on my back, aching, possibly seriously maimed, staring up at the cloudless sky.

  CHAPTER 19

  A panicked looking teenage boy, a hoody obscuring much of his face and with a nose running from the cold, was staring down at me. “Are you okay? Someone call an ambulance!”

  Oh please. That was all I needed. An ambulance. The police. Maybe a fire truck for good measure. I struggled to stand up, but there was a bicycle on top of me. And then a drop of something suspiciously wet hit me directly between the eyes.

  “Move your bicycle! And blow your damn nose. Do you think I want your snot dripping on my face?” Turns out I was a very cranky elderly woman.

  “Okay. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.” The boy hustled to pick up the bicycle, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he scrambled around. “We need an ambulance!” he yelled.

  I staggered to my feet, gasping for breath and holding on to my wig that now felt a bit askew. “Stay off the bloody sidewalk. You’re a menace. Knocking over old women. You could have killed me.” Oh Lord, I was attracting a crowd. Damn kid making such a fuss. My luck to be run down by a do-gooder teen.

  “I’m fine folks,” I said. “Nothing to see here.”