Murder Is Uncooperative

by Merrilee Robson

  “Of course,” she said. “I should have thought of that. You must be dying for one.”

  As she headed to the side of the room where the women from the church were serving coffee and tea, Carol took my arm and led me over to some chairs.

  “Do you mind if we sit down a moment?” she asked. “I've been standing for hours and I'm not really used to these shoes. You're from that co-op, aren't you,” she went on. “What's going on at that place?” She looked at me with some urgency.

  “I don't really know. The police are looking into it. I know Ruth said that Les had been worried about something before he died. But, maybe both deaths were just accidents. The boxes fell on Les, and Ruth might have had food poisoning from something she ate.”

  “They think it was mushrooms,” Carol said. “Apparently there are lots of them growing this time of year. They said people often mistake the poisonous ones for the edible wild mushrooms.” Her face was gray.

  “Lots of people get sick,” she went on, “but they usually don't die. Ruth had a weak heart—a birth defect. She'd had surgery when she was a baby, and we thought she was fine. But the doctors said her heart just wasn't able to handle it when she started vomiting so violently.”

  “Were they hallucinogenic?” I asked. “Or might she have thought they were?” Ruth was, after all, barely out of her teens and young people did often experiment with drugs. Then I mentally kicked myself for being tactless again. The last thing I wanted to suggest to a bereaved mother was that her daughter's death was her own fault.

  “No, apparently not. Just some local poisonous toadstool thing,” she replied. “Anyway, Ruth might have tried drugs with her friends at a party. I'm not the kind of naïve mother who thinks their kids would never try drugs. But at work, at the office? Doesn't sound likely, does it? And she wasn't the kind of person who went out picking wild mushrooms under the trees. She was a typical city kid—thought food came from Safeway, if she had to think beyond believing it just turned up magically in the fridge.

  “Besides, it's a bit of a coincidence, wouldn't you think?” she said, looking at me sceptically. “Two deaths in the same office?”

  I realized how ridiculous I sounded, clinging to hope that my nice new home had not just been the site of two murders.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “There's something going on. But I don't know what.”

  “Les loved that place,” she said, smiling. “They didn't pay him a lot, but he was always talking about what a great community it was and how proud he was to be working at a place that was making a difference in people's lives.”

  “Yes,” I said, smiling back at her. “I've heard Les talking about the co-op. And I was certainly very happy to find a home there. My father and son love it there. It really made a difference to our family, so I know why Les was so proud of the co-op. But now . . .”

  “It was good for Ruthie too,” she said. “Oh, I probably shouldn't say that now, but she was happy working there. You may have noticed that Ruth's social skills weren't that great. When she was younger, I thought she was just shy, but recently she was diagnosed with mild autism. Perhaps Asperger's syndrome. She was getting tested, and we were looking at ways to help her cope better. But she's really good with numbers, and she's proud of being able to help Les sort out the books and the office.”

  She stopped suddenly. “I can't stop talking about her as if she was still here. Isn't that silly? I wonder when it will sink in.

  “Anyway, about the co-op . . . they were both happy there. But you're right, there was something bothering Les before he died. Something about someone who lived there or who used to live there. I never paid much attention.”

  The woman who had been with Carol was coming back, carrying a teacup and a plate of small sandwiches. Carol hurried to finish what she was saying.

  “Ruth used to laugh at him and say that there were problems with all the people in the co-op, that Les just couldn't see it. But after he died, she started to think about what he had said. When she went back to the co-op, she planned to look through the files to see if she could figure out what had been bothering him.”

  “Did she?” I asked. “Did she know what was wrong?”

  “I never found out what it was,” Carol said. “But I think she was figuring it out. My girl was never very good at understanding what makes people tick. But when she wanted to figure something out, she went at it without stopping. I talked to her the day she died. She called to tell me she was planning on working late. She said she had an idea about what was worrying Les. She told me not to bother with dinner for her. Someone had left her some food, so she wasn't hungry.”

  “Did she say who had brought the food?” I asked. We knew Gwen had brought muffins earlier but someone else could have stopped by too.

  She shook her head.

  “Unfortunately not. The police asked that too.

  “But you see,” Carol finished as the other woman approached us with the tea and sandwiches. “You might be clinging to the idea there were a couple of bad accidents in the co-op. But I know they were both murdered.”

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-Eight

  I moved away from her, pondering what she had said. What was going on in the co-op? And would it all end now that both of the staff were dead? Or were we all in danger?

  I was so deep in thought I almost walked straight past Jeremy.

  “Hey,” he said. “I don't make a practice of trying to pick up girls at funerals. But do you want to go grab a coffee now? It looks like your excuses have already left.”

  I smiled at him. He was making an effort to lighten the mood and make me forget the confrontations with Gwen, Mariana, and Aaron. Despite my misgivings about him, it was just what I needed.

  “I think that's a great idea,” I told him. “Just let me get Gwen's platter. I promised I'd bring it back for her.”

  The platter was no longer on the table so I hurried into the kitchen. I found it already washed and waiting on the counter. I checked for the small piece of tape on the bottom of the platter with the name Arsenault written on it. It was a lovely piece—creamy china with gold trim, a dark blue band, and delicate swirls of dark blue flowers and green leaves. It looked very old and very precious. I held it gently. I remembered she had said she inherited some china from her grandmother. I knew she must treasure this piece, both for its beauty and for the family connections.

  “I'm glad I found this,” I told Jeremy.

  “Oh, yes.” Jeremy said. “I recognize that. She uses it a lot when she brings food for potlucks.”

  “I wish she hadn't just left it here then. She must have been very upset when she left.”

  “Yes, she said she just wanted to get away. She thought people must be watching her and thinking she killed Ruth.”

  “Well, I'll have to be really careful with it.” The plate slipped a little in my hand. It had been warm in the kitchen and my hand was sweaty. “Oops.” I said, taking a firmer grip on the platter. “I'd better be more careful. Gwen would probably kill me if anything happened to it.”

  “An unfortunate choice of words, under the circumstances,” Jeremy said. It took me a moment to realize he was joking.

  Jeremy had brought his car too, so we agreed to meet at one of the Italian coffee shops near the co-op. He was already at a window table when I arrived. He smiled at me as I walked in. His chestnut hair gleamed in the sunlight coming through the window. He didn't have the very pale skin some redheads had. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His arms still had a golden tan, and the hairs on his arms shone with more gold.

  What had he said when he asked if I wanted to go out for coffee? Something about picking girls up at the funeral? So was he interested in more than having a friendly coffee with me? I should have liked the idea. But I remembered that he had possibly lied to me about growing up in the co-op. I wondered if I should confront him about it.

  We gave our order—a latte for me and a long espresso for h
im. He leaned across the table in our sunny corner.

  “So, how's the co-op history project going?” he asked. “There should be lots of material for it but, knowing Les, it won't be in any logical order.”

  “I've only been through a couple of boxes,” I told him. “There should be lots more. I think the police have finally finished going through the office and Gwen was going to get someone in to clean it up.” I grimaced. “But I don't think I'm quite ready to go back in the office. I keep thinking of finding Les and Ruth.” I shuddered at the memory.

  “There should be other boxes in the storage room,” Jeremy said. “You could go through those first. I've got keys to that room, so I can let you in. And, when you're ready to tackle the office, I could go with you. Make sure you're safe.”

  “Thanks for the offer. I want to finish it soon. Gwen didn't say if she had any particular deadline for this project but I do want to get it done for her.”

  “Yeah, I think it's worthwhile to document some of the stuff that happened in the co-op. I know I didn't have much of a clue about what happened in the meetings when I was a kid, but it was still a pretty cool place to grow up.”

  I was silent for too long. “I was sure you told me you moved into the co-op with Aiden after your divorce,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah, sure. I did,” he said. “But I guess I wasn't clear. My parents moved into the co-op when I was really little. We moved out just after I turned fourteen. Dad got a job teaching at a community college up north, and we moved away. They're still up there, but they're thinking of moving back down to Vancouver now that Dad's retired. I think they'd like to spend more time with Aiden.

  “Anyway, I came back down to Vancouver when I went to art school, and I stayed. And when I got divorced, I was looking around for a new place to live. Things in Vancouver were getting really expensive then, although not as bad as they are now. So I called the co-op. They had a vacancy, and I think Les spoke up for me with the board. He'd known me since I was little, and I think he liked me. Anyway, we moved in, and the rest is history.”

  I couldn't believe the wave of relief that washed over me. Jeremy hadn't lied to me after all.

  “Dave told me Cara grew up in the co-op too,” I said.

  “Yep, same story. She's a bit younger than I am, but I remember her as a little kid. I think her parents moved in just before she was born. In fact, I don't think she ever moved out. She got married quite young and was able to move into another unit in the co-op. Her daughter's lived there since she was born too. Cara's mom died a few years ago, but until then she was able to help out with Cara's daughter quite a lot. They were very close. And a real co-op family.”

  I wondered if that was why Cara had looked upset when Mariana was talking about her son and grandson coming back to the co-op to live. Cara must be missing her own mother as much as I was missing mine. I couldn't seem to get along with Cara, but I could sympathize with her all the same.

  “Say, that might make an interesting anecdote for the co-op history, don't you think?” Jeremy went on. “How the co-op sometimes has been home for generations of families. Could be interesting. You could interview me and Cara—Eddie if he comes back.” I must have looked puzzled because he explained, “Eddie Cole—Mariana's son. He grew up here too. She keeps saying he's going to move back.”

  He frowned a little. “I guess he's coming back soon. Les was concerned Mariana's been in a three-bedroom apartment for a number of years on her own. He was suggesting she move to a smaller apartment. But if Eddie's coming back that won't be a problem.”

  I had been suspicious of him before, wondering if he was lying about living in the co-op, or if he might have left the threatening note. But he had been so open just now, I decided to venture a question.

  “Did Eddie have a sister?” I asked.

  “Yeah, sure, Amy. Stepsister really, her dad married Mariana when Amy was quite little and adopted Eddie. I guess Mariana adopted Amy too. Then he had a heart attack and died. That was really sad. I know Amy had a hard time with that. Her mom had died of cancer when she was small and then her dad goes when she wasn't even a teenager.”

  It was hard to lose a parent at any age, I thought. But I pressed on, anxious to satisfy my curiosity. “I found something about Amy when I started researching the co-op history. I actually found some newspaper clippings about a murder.”

  He looked solemn. “Yeah, Jessie. She was Amy's friend. I knew her a little bit. But all that happened after my family moved up north. We heard about it, of course. It was all over the news. But I didn't really know what was going on. And it's not exactly the kind of thing I could talk to Mariana about.”

  “I wasn't sure if she was Mariana's daughter,” I said. “I saw a newspaper clipping of the parents when the girls went missing, but the woman in the picture didn't look at all like Mariana. In fact, the paper kept referring to her as Marian.”

  “Well, I always called her Mrs. Cole. But, yes, Amy was Mariana's daughter. And Mariana did look different then. She was quite heavy, I remember, but I think she tried to lose some weight, or at least eat better, after her husband had that heart attack. Too late for him, but maybe it helped her a bit. She had a heart attack herself a few years ago. That's when she finally quit smoking and lost some more weight. She looks a lot better now and dresses differently too. I think when Gwen moved in, Mariana liked the kind of clothes she wore and started dressing a bit like her.”

  I had noticed that Mariana and Gwen quite often dressed in a similar style. “Maybe they just shop at the same stores. I know my mother used to complain that it was sometimes hard to find clothes she thought were appropriate. Even I find that sometimes. A lot of the stuff in the stores seems designed for teenagers.”

  “Maybe,” Jeremy said. “But I think Mariana did change after Gwen moved in. Before that she dressed a bit trashy. Too much makeup and skirts that were too short.”

  “I didn't think men had such an eye for fashion,” I teased.

  “Hey, I do call myself an artist,” Jeremy said. “And I do notice women, or at least some women.”

  His smile was very attractive. But I suddenly noticed the time and realized I needed to get back home.

  “Thanks for suggesting this,” I said to him. “I guess we both needed cheering up after the funeral. Not that this has really been a cheerful topic.”

  “I'm not sure you want to rake up all the stuff with Jessie for the co-op history,” Jeremy cautioned me. “She didn't live in the co-op. And Amy's disappearance was sad for her family and friends, but it was a long time ago.”

  “But don't you wonder what happened to her? She was one of your friends,” I said.

  “Not really,” he replied. “We lived in the same place. I'd sometimes play basketball or something with her brother when we were little. But I really spent more time with my friends from school. But, if you want to find out more about Amy and Jessie, you could ask Cara. She was a few years younger than they were but they'd sometimes hang with each other.”

  Everyone was urging me to talk to Cara. I might have to.

  We agreed to get together again, and I went back to the co-op.

  I was a bit nervous about seeing Gwen again, but I wanted to return her platter right away.

  Her eyes were red when she answered my knock on her door. But I was relieved to see she smiled at me in greeting.

  “Oh, Gwen, are you all right?”

  “I'm fine, Rebecca,” she answered. “I was just so upset about everything. First Les, now Ruth. Now we don't have any staff. And I just know no one else will want to work here, at least until we find out what happened to them. I guess we can get by with the board doing the work for a while but not for long. I just don't know what to do.”

  She started to cry again, and I moved into the doorway to give her a hug, somewhat hampered by the platter I still held.

  She laughed at my awkwardness. “I'd better take that. Thanks for bringing it back. I don't have much to remind me of my grandmo
ther. I probably shouldn't use it as much as I do. I shouldn't have left it at the funeral, but when Mariana said she was ready to leave, I just wanted to get out of there.”

  I thought of the china plate I had found by the dumpster, the one that Betty had taken. It was a different pattern from the platter, but I wondered if they belonged to Gwen too. But after the incident this afternoon I wasn't about to ask her.

  And I wanted to ask her if she had spoken to Sergeant D'Onofrio. But I wasn't going to bring up that topic either.

  I found Mariana with my father again when I got home. They were sipping his single malt scotch. I would need to get him another bottle soon. Maybe that could be his Christmas present, although I might have to get him several bottles if I could afford it.

  “Hi, Becky,” my father said. “Mariana said she brought Gwen home early, but we both expected you home quite a while ago.”

  This was the downside of living with my father. He tended to want to know where I was going and when I was coming back. Fair enough when he was looking after Ben for me. But Ben was with his own father this weekend. My dad sometimes made me feel like I was still sixteen.

  “Did the reception go on for so long?” Mariana asked.

  “No, I left a little after you did. I stopped for coffee with Jeremy.”

  “That red-haired guy who was here for Thanksgiving?” my father asked. “Well, it's nice that you're making friends in the co-op, Rebecca. But surely you could have driven Mariana home first.”

  She really must be starting to mean something to him, if he was getting protective of her.

  “Now, Angus,” Mariana chided him. “Gwen just needed to go home early. She's been very upset lately. She's worried about the co-op and what we're going to do about staff. I'm not sure anybody's going to want to work here until the police find out what happened to Les and Ruth. It was no problem to come home in a cab.”

  “It was kind of Mariana to bring Gwen home,” I said. “I just talked to her, and she's still very upset. I was glad I stayed though. I had a chance to tell Ruth's mother how sorry we all were.”