“At least the lobster looks edible,” said Sophie.
“Not with your fingers darling.”
“Oh don’t be so uptight. Sometimes you’re worse than Harry.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m just teasing. Here, have a bite.”
Douglas, the office germaphobe, must have steeled himself to eat off Sophie’s fingers.
“Yummy isn’t it.”
“Not bad,” said Douglas. “A little dry. And stop comparing me to Harry. You promised you wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh don’t be so sensitive. I’m in such a good mood. This place is hysterical. It’s just what we needed after this crazy week. It’s almost like you knew we were going to need a good laugh.”
“Hysterical?” asked Douglas.
“I love it. It’s like the Clampets bought a country inn. I have to take some pictures of that lobby to show people.”
She needed a good laugh after her husband was brutally murdered. Well I suppose you would, but still.
“This place came highly recommended,” said Douglas.
“Oh I’m sure it did sweetheart. It’s a riot.”
“The review,” said Douglas, in a terse voice, “from a very reputable website said that it’s a droll place for the hoi polloi to spend Christmas in the country. I’m surprised your friends haven’t heard of it.”
There was a pause and I could hear someone lifting covers off the dishes over top of my head.
“Shrimp cocktail,” said Sophie. “My grandmother used to serve us shrimp cocktail. You booked a hotel that’s perfect for the hoi polloi?”
“Nothing but the very best for you darling.”
“Ahh,” said Sophie. “Hence the decorated by Sears motif. I thought they were being ironic.”
Snob. Probably a murderous snob.
“You said you liked the decor.”
“I liked the decor when I thought the decor was ironic. Do you not see the difference?”
“I’m sorry,” said a petulant Douglas, “if my choice of accommodation doesn’t meet the standards you’re accustomed to.”
“Don’t be silly darling. Come here — give your baby a kiss. Harry and I always went to Bali or Phuket or some other overexposed tourist trap for Christmas. This is really so much nicer, just the two of us in our little studio cabin with this nice practical laminate floor, where there’s no chance we’ll run into anyone we know. If we went somewhere decent I’d likely see friends and I’m so tired of all the whispering and staring. Here, let’s sit down and eat this lobster before all the flour in the sauce starts to coagulate.”
Wow, she was quite the number. Douglas was in way over his head. There was a sharp pain in my lower back, almost like I was being stabbed. Now there was the irony Sophie was looking for. I tried to remember my Lamaze breathing. Short fast breaths, wasn’t that it? Hard to remember since I only went to one pre-natal class. If Lamaze helped with childbirth surely it would help ease the pain in my throbbing back. I took a few fast breaths. Nothing. If anything it jarred my back. I gave a quiet little moan. Not loud enough to be heard, but just enough to ease the pressure. Please, I prayed, please talk about how you killed Harry so this incredible pain, pain beyond the endurance of most humans, will not be in vain.
“At least if we eat in our room we won’t have to run into those ridiculous women from the sleigh ride. Eliza Doolittle there, rambling on about Harry. Did you ever?”
“We have to get used to it,” said Douglas. “The idiot goes and gets himself murdered, we’re never going to hear the end of it.”
Gets himself murdered. That’s right. By you.
“Oh I know,” sighed Sophie. “If they would just catch that dim-witted secretary and throw her in jail then people would forget about all this murder business. The whole thing is so tacky, I don’t know how much longer I can bear it.”
This wasn’t the conversation they were supposed to be having. It was almost as if they really believed that I killed him.
“Don’t worry darling. As soon as they catch Valerie this will all blow over. The woman is an imbecile. It is mind boggling to me that the police can’t find her. What does that say about them? If they’d put me in charge of the investigation she’d have been locked up days ago.”
The pain in my back had now reached such a throbbing crescendo it was difficult to concentrate on what they were saying. My neck was beginning to cramp and a sharp pain was emanating from my shoulder and shooting down the entire right side of my body.
“Blah blah blah Digoxin.”
Digoxin. That’s a heart medication. What were they saying?
“Every damn day I replaced it with Vitamin D. He had it with his ridiculous hot chocolate in the morning. You know how vigilant I was. I just keep replaying this, over and over again. Why couldn’t he have just had a heart attack like he was supposed to, instead of dragging the police into it like this? He should have been dead months ago instead of ruining my Christmas season with this mess. If you had only watched him that night.”
“Not again Sophie. I’m not going through this again. He slipped away when I was in the washroom. What could I have done? When I came back he was climbing into the cab.”
“You could have dragged him out. How could you let him go home with that woman? That picture of her in the paper. She looked like a trailer park bum and kicking that poor cat. Now everyone’s staring at me thinking Harry was having an affair with someone like that. It’s so humiliating when he could have had a nice simple heart attack.”
Trailer park bum? I think she means trash. This was all wrong. Why weren’t they talking about how clever they were to get away with murder?
“In the long run this all worked out for the best. We’re completely in the clear. And it will all be over soon darling. Believe me, I worked with the woman for four years. She’s not smart enough to stay hidden for long.”
I am plenty smart. I was simply not motivated, as a clerical worker, to toil at my maximum capacity.
“Oh I can’t eat this,” said Sophie with a sob. “I’m trying to be a good sport I really am, but look at this. Thousand Island dressing. Would it have been so difficult for them to make a nice vinaigrette?”
“How about I call a couple of the restaurants in town?” asked Douglas. “For the right price someone will deliver out here.”
“Oh darling — could we?”
“It’s only money sweetheart, and we have plenty of it now.”
A few minutes later the cart and the iceberg lettuce and me had been pushed back outside. As soon as Douglas slammed the cabin door shut, I fell out of the cart onto the snowy ground. I was curled up in a fetal position, whimpering. I had never known such pain. Had anyone ever known such pain and survived? Through one half-opened eye I could see the lights from the lodge. It looked so warm and welcoming and so very far away. I tentatively straightened out my spine by a few degrees. Okay, there was some movement. I slowly rolled over on to my back. Very painful, but I was now about six inches closer to the lodge. Could I roll all the way there? Why bother? I had followed every lead and it had led me to this. Sophie and Douglas were a hideous couple but they hadn’t killed Mr. Potter. They’d tried, but they’d failed. I didn’t have the strength to investigate any further. Maybe I would just lie in the snow. In this cold, it wouldn’t take long for me to freeze to death. The sun would come up and I would be there, frozen to the ground, a martyr. Maybe years from now someone would uncover the truth behind Harold Potter’s murder and I would be vindicated. A law would be named after me, Valerie’s Law, which would state that the police couldn’t jump to conclusions just because they happened to find a dead body and a murder weapon in someone’s apartment. Law students would study my case and be inspired by my brave suffering and untimely death. And, oh yes, Walter would be ridiculed and stripped of his license for not trying harder to defend me.
Maybe I would just lie in a frozen heap and think about food until I drifted off into the great beyond. Fr
esh bread. Hot, grainy bread, straight from the oven, dripping with butter. Flakey biscuits and blueberry streusel muffins and banana bread. No, not banana bread. I was never eating banana bread again. In the next world there must be endless amounts of wonderful food. If there was a next world. What if there wasn’t? Or, worse, what if there really was a hell? No, I was getting delirious from the cold. Of course there wasn’t a hell. But still. What if? I’d made a lot of questionable choices this past week. How many Commandments had I broken? I’d lied and stolen and hadn’t always done onto others as I’d have them do unto me. Was that a Commandment or the Golden Rule? I hadn’t killed anyone or committed adultery, but still, what if there was no opportunity to plead my case? What if the Evangelicals were right and as soon as you died some angel with a clipboard decided if you were a heaven or hell bound candidate. Maybe I would try just one more time to get on my feet. With great effort I rolled over on to my hands and knees. My fingers were so numb I could barely feel the snow. That couldn’t be good. Was that a sign of frostbite? What if I survived, but had to have some fingers amputated; or my nose permanently turned black like those people who got lost on Everest?
Enough. Bracing against the cart, I forced myself to my feet, but the pain in my back made it impossible to stand up straight. Hunched over, like an upside down letter U I plodded toward the lodge, every step an exercise in forbearance. How had my life come to this? I was such a good person, at least in comparison to so many other people. Just a few feet away, there were vile Douglas and Sophie curled up in their tacky little not ironic cabin, Douglas mentally counting his money and Sophie trying her best not to focus on the laminate floor, while I trudged through the cold, dark night, back to the lodge.
CHAPTER 31
Something, other than the excruciating pain was twigging at me. What was it? There was something, lying there on the frozen ground, that had jarred a memory, but my partially frozen brain couldn’t compute. I stumbled along, trying to take gentle steps, being careful not to slip. If I slipped I quite possibly would die from the pain. It was very difficult to see. Where were all those country stars that were supposed to light up the night? Ahh — I was there. I was almost there.
“You all right ma’am? Can I get that door for you?”
Yes you can. And please carry me to my room. Gently. Very gently. “Yes, thank you,” I mumbled, without looking up. I didn’t have the strength.
I should have looked. I missed the step, tripped and slammed into the door frame. The reverberation up my spine was a sensation like I had never felt before. I slumped against the door, trying to breathe and fighting the urge to cry.
“Ma’am?”
“What?” I snapped. Couldn’t he see I was in pain?
“Do you need help? Should I get someone?”
“I’m fine.”
Why did I say that? I’d never been less fine. Why must I always be so brave? I took a couple of steps so that I was inside the lodge. At least it was warm, though it was probably too late to save my extremities.
“You sure I can’t help you?”
“Uhh,” I grunted and waved the man away.
Perhaps I could remain in the entranceway until Julie or Rose wandered by, bloated from their delicious dinner.
Without the doorframe to lean against, however, I didn’t have the fortitude to remain standing. I slumped over and sank to my hands and knees. In this position my back didn’t hurt quite so much. I crawled forward a few inches. Painful, but workable. Maybe I could do this. I would crawl through the lobby back to our room.
I inched my way across the shockingly dirty floor. There were cheery sounds of a piano and people singing Deck The Halls coming from somewhere close by. The hoi polloi making merry.
“Excuse me,” the voice said, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Well obviously I wasn’t all right. “I’m fine,” I gasped. “Do you happen to know where the elevator is?”
“It’s over there by front desk. Do you need some help?”
“I’m fine,” I repeated. “My back went out. Nothing to worry about.” It hurt too much to lift my head. “Am I going in the right direction?”
“Just head due north,” said the voice.
Did he think I was carrying a compass?
“I’ll walk beside you so you don’t get off course. Does this happen often?” the man asked.
Constantly. I’m constantly found on my hands and knees in hotel lobbies.
“No,” I gasped.
“A little to the left. There you go.”
Peering through my orange bangs I could see the elevator doors.
“Could you press the button for me? The down button.”
“Sure,” he said, jovial as all get out. “Bet you’ll be glad to get back to your room.”
Truer words were never spoken.
“Hell of a cold snap out there,” he said, “though I don’t mind. It’s cheerful.”
Just what I was thinking. Cheerful.
“Hmmm. Very Christmassy.”
The elevator doors opened, and a family dressed in bathing suits and towels appeared.
“Could you hold the doors?” I asked the man. “And thank you,” I said. “I’ve got it from here.” I crawled into the elevator and the family scrunched against the walls, desperate to get away from the crazy lady. “Basement?” I grunted. “Are we going to the basement?”
“We’re going to the pool,” said one of the kids.
“Gabby,” admonished her mother, in a ‘don’t talk to the crazy lady voice.’
“Is it in the basement?”
“Yes,” said the father.
Okay. Good. No one said anything as the elevator sank into the basement. There was a conspicuous silence permeating the space.
The elevator doors creaked open and the family huddled in silence as I crawled out. “It’s my back,” I yelled. Honestly, had they never encountered the disabled before? I crooked my neck and managed to see an arrow pointing in the direction of the guest rooms.
I crawled past the ice machine and the laundry room and a staff room, where a chambermaid sitting on a beige couch gave me a bored look before going back to her book. It was exhausting, crawling was.
Room 111. That was us. Our home away from home. Bracing myself against my knees and one arm, I knocked on the door. “Open up,” I called.
After an interminable amount of time Julie finally opened the door.
“Where were you?” she asked. “We were so worried when we got back and you weren’t here.”
“Move,” I snarled, and inched past her.
“Why are you crawling? Should I even ask why you’re crawling?”
I didn’t answer her, nor did I have to crawl far. I crept to the middle of the room, which was about a five second crawl from the door, and carefully eased myself down onto the worn carpet.
“Careful,” said Rose, “There’s some unidentified stain right there by your nose. I can’t believe there’s people who pay good money to spend Christmas in a little room like this.”
I was past caring about stains.
“Probably semen,” continued Rose. “I saw a program about it on one of those news shows. All over the walls too. Hotels are terrible for semen.”
Julie stepped away from the wall she was leaning against. “How would semen get on the walls?”
“Tell her Val,” said Rose, clicking off Jeopardy.
Julie bent down beside me. “Are you okay? Where were you? We were so worried.”
“Not worried enough. You were watching Jeopardy. Why weren’t you out looking for me?”
“We were just saying,” said Rose, “That as soon as the final Jeopardy question was over we’d come find you, and then you knocked on the door and crawled on home. Perfect timing.”
“Did you bring me any dinner?” I bleated.
“We did,” said Julie, in a cheerful voice. “A nice omelet.”
An omelet? I’d almost frozen to death and they bring me an omelet.
“I smelled meat when I was crawling through the lobby. Where’s my meat? Where’s my pork loin?”
“Oh it was so good,” said Rose. “They didn’t have enough left to make up a plate for you but the cook fried up a nice omelet when we told him you couldn’t make it down to dinner.”
“Where have you been?” asked Julie, in an insistent voice. “And why are you lying on the floor?”
“Where’s my damn omelet? I’m starving. Douglas and Sophie didn’t kill him.” I eased myself over on my back, and bent my knees. “They tried to kill him but they’re so stupid they messed it up, so someone else beat them to it.”
“That’s a shame,” said Rose. “Bad luck all around.”
“How’d you find this out?” asked Julie.
“Detective work,” I said. “Expert detective work. I put my life at risk.”
“Well here’s your dinner,” said Julie, sitting down beside me with a plate. “This will make you feel better.”
I opened my mouth. “Stick some in. I don’t have the strength to lift a fork.”
Julie forked off a piece of omelet and placed it in my open mouth. “Isn’t that good?” she asked.
“It’s all right,” I grumbled. “Not what I’d pick for my last meal as a free woman. I was dreaming about that pork. How was it?”
“Hmm. So tender, and with the best gravy,” said Rose. “And tiny, crispy roast potatoes. I don’t know how they got them so crispy on the outside and so soft inside.”
Julie fed me another bite. “What else did you bring me?” I asked. “What’s for dessert?”
“Jello,” said Julie, in a soft voice.
“Jello? I could be incarcerated tomorrow and you bring me hospital food!”
“The chef thought you were sick and that’s why you couldn’t come to the dining room. He wanted to send food that was easy to digest. We were hardly going to tell him the truth.”
Blah blah blah. Whatever. I turned my head to the side and eyed a tiny mushroom growing out of the carpet.
“Are you okay to eat on your own yet?” asked Julie.
Coming Unclued Page 27