Murder Is Uncooperative

by Merrilee Robson

  I tore open the box Gwen had given me last night.

  I hoped to find something more about the missing girls. But the new box contained nothing more than sets of minutes and old photographs.

  Many of the pictures had nothing to indicate when they were taken or who the people were. They were the same kind of photos I'd seen before—members at meetings, with a large cake celebrating a co-op anniversary, summer picnics outside, and parties held in the common room.

  I smiled at one picture showing a group of young people in front of a basketball hoop that must have been newly installed.

  I looked closer and saw that one of the children looked like Amy Cole, one of the missing girls. She was standing beside a hulking teenage boy. This picture was one of the few with names noted on the back. Yes, that was Amy in the picture and the boy beside her was listed as Eddie Cole. Her brother, I assumed.

  A small blond girl was named Cara. The last name was different, but she might have changed her name when she married. I looked closely at the picture. The triangular face and small stature were familiar. I was sure it was Cara. The hair, though fair, was not the almost white blond her hair was now. “Unusual for hair to get blonder as you grow up,” I muttered to myself. So Cara had grown up in the co-op.

  My attention was caught by a redheaded teenager who looked very much like Jeremy's son Aiden.

  I quickly checked the names on the back of that picture, finding that it was, indeed, Jeremy.

  But I was sure Jeremy had told me he had moved into the co-op when his marriage broke up. Was I mistaken? Or had he lied?

  I felt tears in my eyes. Frustration, I told myself. But I could feel my heart beating too quickly as I tried to ignore the fact that one of my neighbors had left me a threatening note and the man I was starting to think I was interested in had possibly lied to me.

  I brushed the tears away and tried to cope the way I dealt with everything, by trying to understand it, to find out what was going on. It was what made me a good reporter, I told myself. It was what made me strong.

  I put my feelings aside and looked through all the papers, putting the minutes in order of date and trying to sort the photos by subject. I didn't find any more pictures of Jeremy. And I didn't find anything more about the missing girls. Although I was impatient, I knew I was going to have to wait to see if Dave could find out anything more from the newspaper's archives. That would have to wait until tomorrow at least.

  And the co-op office was closed today for the Thanksgiving holiday. I would have to be content with what I had.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-One

  I was surprised when Dave called a few minutes later and asked if he could take Ben for the day. This wasn't his weekend to have him, and I had expected him to be spending time with Cara.

  “There's this new movie out I think Ben would like. I thought I'd take him to see it, then have dinner out somewhere.”

  I'd read about the movie he'd suggested. It was supposed to be suitable for kids but with jokes that adults would appreciate too. The animation was supposed to be stunning. I had thought about taking Ben to it myself, but the cost of movies meant we didn't go as often as we wanted to.

  I had planned on taking Ben to the playground. But I wasn't going to stop him from spending time with his father. Dave had missed several of his weekends with Ben lately and I knew my son missed his dad.

  “Sure, that'd be fine.” Ben was awake by then, so I arranged a time for Dave to pick him up and then passed the phone to Ben so he could talk to his father.

  As I expected, Ben was excited about the idea of seeing the movie and spending time with his dad. He was jumping around in his bedroom. I thought a little time spent outdoors would both calm him down and give him the exercise he wouldn't get at a movie theatre, or the burger or pizza place his father would no doubt take him to later.

  Clouds were starting to blow in, but it wasn't raining yet. I could see a few children in the play area at the back of the co-op. When we got down there, Ben was thrilled to see Aiden. He ran over, eagerly chatting about the movie he was going to see.

  Jeremy stood up from the bench where he'd been sitting at the edge of the playground. Thinking about the note I'd found, and the picture of Jeremy in the co-op so long ago, I hesitated before joining him. But his smile was so welcoming, I thought my nervousness was ridiculous. Jeremy had been so friendly. He couldn't be responsible for the note. And I must have misunderstood what he'd said about moving into the co-op after his di-

  I walked over to join him.

  “Dinner was great last night,” he said. “Thanks again for organizing it.”

  His gorgeous smile was welcoming. I still felt nervous, wondering if I should ask him about the picture I'd found. But I hesitated. If someone was trying to warn me not to investigate, then announcing I was still looking into things would be stupid.

  “It was nice, wasn't it?” I said, trying to sound casual. “And everyone helped too. So it really wasn't much work at all. Thanks for bringing the wine, and the casserole. I'm pretty sure Ben ate some of the sweet potatoes as well as the marshmallows. He was always so easy to feed when he was a baby. I never had much of a problem getting him to try new things. But now he's turned fussy. And he's usually such an easy-going kid.”

  Jeremy didn't seem to notice anything amiss in my manner. “I think Aiden went through a picky stage at about the same age,” he said. “Fortunately he's going through a growth spurt right now, so he pretty much eats everything. Not that he doesn't have favorite foods, though. I think he'd live on hamburgers if I let him.”

  I laughed. I really thought I could like this guy. It was crazy to think he had anything to do with the note. “With Ben, it's pizza,” I said. “He thinks pizza is just about the best thing on earth. Spaghetti is almost as good, but broccoli or salad, not so much.”

  “I think I felt the same about vegetables when I was his age. I remember my mom making me stay at the table until I ate at least some of my peas. I used to really envy this kid I knew who had a dog. One little slip from the plate to the floor and the vegetables were gone.”

  I thought that part of Ben's problem was that his dad didn't make him eat balanced meals when they spent time together. But I wasn't going to share that with Jeremy.

  “I guess I just need to keep giving him healthy food and hope he eats at least some of it,” I said. “I look forward to him growing out of the picky stage.”

  “Cheer up,” Jeremy said. “Once he reaches puberty, you won't be able to keep food in the house. I remember when I was that age and my mom complaining about how much groceries cost every week. I guess I'll have to start saving up for when Aiden's that age.”

  I looked at my little boy, laughing as he tried to use the teeter-totter with the much bigger Aiden. He kept rising to the top and shrieking with protesting laughter until Aiden pushed off and let him down again. It was hard to imagine him as a gangly teenager, eating mounds of food and growing quickly. I hoped his dad and I would be able to cope with the teenage hormones.

  Jeremy had given me the perfect opening to ask if he had lived in the co-op as a teenager. But then he went on.

  "So,” he said. “I gather you used to work at the Sun.”

  “Yeah, I was a reporter for a few years. I liked it. It was always exciting. Now I'm doing contract work, mostly writing and editing for corporate clients but also some articles for magazines and newspapers.”

  “That's a coincidence,” Jeremy said. “I'm self-employed too. I do graphic design—mostly ad or newsletter layout, or designing logos and packaging. But I get to do some illustrations. And I paint when I have the time. I like the freedom of being self-employed, but it's been a bit tough finding work in the current economy.”

  “Tell me about it! But working from home makes it easier to spend time with Ben when I need to. And moving into the co-op has really helped us. We were spending so much to rent the condo we lived in. And the stairs were really hard for my father. Th
e co-op was really a life-saver for us.”

  “Yes, it's been a good place to live. And to raise kids in. Aiden likes the co-op a lot. And of course . . .”

  Again there was a chance to ask him about the picture. But we were interrupted by shouts from the two boys. They had moved to the swing set and were yelling at us to watch how high they could go.

  “Of course,” Jeremy went on, “Les was a bit concerned because Aiden spent a lot of this summer with his grandparents in Ontario, his mother's family. You know we've had a bit of trouble with over-housing in the co-op? Some of the children of the older members have grown up and moved out. So the members are living alone in two or three bedroom apartments. And they don't want to move, but the co-op is trying to encourage them to downsize to a smaller apartment. So Les was a little concerned when Aiden wasn't around for a couple of months. It's up to the board to set a good example. Anyway, Aiden is back at school now, and he lives with me every second week. So I guess I can keep my two bedrooms.”

  I sighed. “Yes, I heard about that policy. Apparently one of my neighbors wanted my apartment for her daughter and grandchild, even though there are only two of them. She seems to hold me personally responsible for the fact that they didn't get into the co-op.”

  “Ah, yes. Naomi. I think we've all heard her on that subject. It's too bad but don't worry about it. I think everyone understands why your family got that unit.”

  We lingered there for a while, chatting. I kept thinking I could ask if he had grown up in the co-op, or at least had known some of the children. But somehow I couldn't think of how to frame the question without making it sound like an accusation.

  Some intrepid reporter, I chided myself. I suspected that some of my fears were of endangering what was a new friendship and might be more. And I looked at his engaging smile and thought he couldn't possibly have anything to do with the note or Les's death.

  And then I told myself that it wasn't the first time a man had lied to me. But thinking of Dave reminded me it was getting close to the time he had arranged to pick Ben up.

  I stood up, calling to Ben.

  “It was nice talking to you,” Jeremy said. “We should do this again some time.”

  My head was a mess of conflicting thoughts as we headed back to the apartment. But I found myself smiling. Jeremy was fun to talk to. And maybe our friendship would develop into something more. In any case, it was good to know he was a graphic artist. I'd have to look at his portfolio. I quite often collaborated with artists on the layout of some of my projects. Maybe some of his clients could use a good writer. We might be able to forge a useful work alliance, if nothing else.

  If he wasn't a murderer.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-Two

  I eyed Ben's clothes when we got back to the apartment. He'd been running around the playground with Aiden, but he seemed clean enough to go out again without changing. I threw a change of clothes into a bag for him. I didn't think Dave would have a full set of clothes for Ben at his apartment. A chance encounter with a mud puddle or an upset tummy could be a disaster as far as a four-year-old was concerned. Better safe than sorry. I added one of his favorite books, an apple, and a granola bar too.

  Dave arrived on time, and there was the usual bustle of getting Ben's jacket and saying goodbye. Dad had been napping while we were at the playground, but he came out to give Ben a goodbye hug.

  I sat down at my desk again and started to make notes for an outline of the co-op project. I hadn't come across any information from the very early days, but I knew I wanted to start with the origins of the co-op. I had heard that cooperative housing in Canada started in 1968, with numbers growing rapidly throughout the 1970s and 1980s. The baby boomers, the large generation of people my father's age born after the World War II, were growing up and starting families, creating a need for more housing, particularly in the large urban areas. Lobbying from cooperative organizations to a supportive federal government led to funding programs to help create affordable homes.

  I hoped I could find some materials from the very early days when the co-op was just starting. Or perhaps Gwen could let me know which members had been in the co-op since the beginning. I knew I could get some basic historical material about the start of housing co-ops in general from the local cooperative housing association. But I really wanted some personal stories from early members. I thought that would make the history a lot more engaging.

  I knew that my own story—a single mom in desperate need of a rental home I could afford—was likely repeated over and over throughout the years. But the co-op had also sheltered new Canadians arriving in the country as refugees, women and their children leaving abusive relationships, and people with HIV/AIDS during the dreadful years when the disease swept through Vancouver's gay community. Seniors and disabled people needing accessible housing had also found a haven here.

  I hoped telling some of the individual stories of how people came to live here would be more interesting than a simple accounting of how the co-op started.

  I was sorry again that Les was gone. I'm sure he could have told me the sort of personal stories I was looking for.

  I hoped I could find others willing to share their stories of the early days.

  When Dad came back, he had Mariana with him. “Hi, Becky,” he called. “I ran into Mariana in the hall. We're just going to have a drink. Do you want one?” He was heading for the kitchen and the bottle of his single malt scotch. I'd given it to him for his birthday, and he usually limited it to special treats. This was the second time he'd offered it to Mariana.

  “No thanks, Dad. I'm in the middle of some work.” I wanted to give the pair some privacy. Although my father was devoted to Ben and spent a lot of time with me, I knew he had been lonely since my mother died. It gave me a bit of a pang to see him show an interest in another woman, but I thought it was for the best. I liked Mariana, and it was nice to have her around. We would always miss my mom, but we needed to get over the grief and move on with our lives. I knew my mom had wanted, more than anything, for us to be happy.

  “We're thinking of going out to dinner later,” Dad said. “Just one of the Italian places up the street. Do you want to come?”

  Dad's invitation seemed genuine, but the way he phrased it, we're thinking of going out to dinner, do you want to come, was certainly quite different from let's all go out to dinner. I thought I got the picture.

  “No thanks, Dad. Dave should be bringing Ben back soon. I'd better wait for him. And I've got lots of work to do, anyway. Now's a good chance to do it, with Ben out with Dave.” I thought I'd got as far as I could with the co-op history for now but I did have some more work for clients I needed to do. And I could spend time on some proposals for a few other potential clients I hoped I might do some work for. “We have plenty of leftovers, so I can just grab something to eat when I get hungry.”

  I did manage to get a lot of work done before Dave brought Ben back. I hugged my son and sent him to get ready for bed.

  "So, I've been working on that co-op history,” I couldn't resist saying to Dave as he turned to leave. “I think it will be pretty interesting. But remember you're going to ask the librarians if they have any more information about that story I asked you about.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he replied. “I don't know how fast they can find anything. You know it's not really a priority. In fact, they're doing it as a favor to me. It's not really the kind of thing they're supposed to do.”

  I knew from experience how charming Dave could be when he wanted to be. I could imagine him turning that charm on the staff who worked in the newspaper archives. I supposed I should be glad he was able to help me out.

  “I told Cara what you were working on,” he went on. “She remembers the two girls and that something happened to them. But she was pretty young at the time. She says she remembers the kids talking about it and everyone being scared. She thinks the parents were trying to shield the kids a bit and not talking about it, so she does
n't remember it very well. But you might want to talk to her about it.”

  I was pretty sure Cara wouldn't really want to talk to me. Helping me out wasn't likely a big priority for her. But I might try, if I couldn't find information another way.

  Later, after Ben was in bed, I made myself a sandwich with leftover turkey. I was feeling a little sorry for myself.

  I wished Dave hadn't talked to Cara about what I was working on. And I hoped she hadn't told too many other people in the co-op about it.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-Three

  I waited impatiently the next morning, trying to concentrate on my paid work and not fretting about whether Dave would be able to find out anything more about the two missing girls.

  But he called earlier than I expected. “The librarians were able to find some stuff,” he said. “Apparently it was easier than they thought it would be. They said this was a big story at the time. There was lots of coverage. Then it all sort of faded away.

  “I'm going to email you some stories. I wonder if I should tell someone at the City Desk,” he went on. “If there's a tie between the current death and what happened back then, that would certainly be news.”

  “Maybe . . . look, Dave, could you hold off on telling them for a while? I don't know if it's anything, but I was the one who started this. And I'm on the scene. Do you think the paper would be interested in something from me, if I pitched it to them? I mean, I used to be a pretty good reporter. And I could use the money, if I could get an assignment. Or maybe a job? I tried to get rehired a while ago but they said they weren't hiring.”

  “Well, Bec, I don't know,” he said. “I don't think the paper is hiring. But it could be a great story. I can see that, even if I'm totally into this sports beat. The paper usually wants staff to cover stuff but they might buy something if it was a really great story and you've got a personal angle. You might be able to pitch it to them if you could figure something out. That'd be cool. Anyway, I'll send you the stuff I found. But you keep me posted, okay? If there's a story here and they find out I've been keeping it under wraps, I could be in trouble, you know. We're all supposed to be loyal to the cause.”