by Dale Mayer
With her thoughts going around in circles, Doreen tossed and turned in bed, wishing she could go back to sleep, only to finally give up and hop into the shower. She stayed under the hot water longer than necessary, just because it felt good. Her muscles hadn’t produced the aches and pains she had expected, probably because of what she’d experienced when she had been doing Penny’s garden not all that long ago. Maybe she was getting used to it, and her body was fitter and toned.
Still, once she was dressed, she picked Thaddeus up off his roost, with him squawking gently in her ear as they walked downstairs. Goliath was once again occupying his own perch on one of the bottom risers to her stairs, staring at her, his tail flicking, as if to say, Don’t even bother asking me to move because I ain’t going to.
She grabbed the banister and hopped over his step, but that left Mugs a step above. Goliath howled and Mugs barked, as she turned to watch the two face-off. She groaned. “Come on, Mugs. Just jump over him, like I did.”
Mugs looked at her, then looked at Goliath, and did a half-hearted jump with his back legs catching Goliath in the belly, as they both slipped down the stairs onto the floor. Howling, Goliath jumped up and raced away.
Doreen laughed at their antics but headed straight for the coffeepot. She needed it today more than anything. She couldn’t quite understand what message that early morning question was trying to prod from her brain. But, as she leaned against the counter and waited for a cup of coffee, she reminded herself how she hadn’t been to the library on this case. And she really should go see just what information was available on the store and the family. There should be archives of newspaper articles, if nothing else. They were terrible to search for though.
She’d have to go through paper by paper, but still Kelowna only had the one major paper. Of course now everything was digital, so there were a couple competing new sites, but back then, forty years ago, there was only the one. Any major news from here would also have been picked up and noted in the Vancouver Sun paper.
As soon as the coffee was done, she poured herself a cup, nudged open the rear kitchen door, and stepped out onto the deck.
Goliath raced out and headed toward the same plants he’d been interested in yesterday.
She frowned at that. “What is it about Heidi’s plants that bugs you?” she asked. “Is it just that they are different?”
Mugs barked at her several times, as he wandered through and lifted his leg on one in particular. She scolded him for it because a urine burn like that could kill a young transplant.
She raced over and watered it, trying to rinse it off and to thin down the urine. Mugs walked back to the grass with an offended air.
Goliath, on the other hand, wove through each of the transplants, marking each of them with his fur. She didn’t understand that at all.
Knowing she couldn’t go to the library without real food first, she headed inside and made some toast. As soon as the animals came in for their food, she would lock the doors and head out. She’d wasted enough time already that the library should be open when she finished eating.
Sure enough, by the time she was done and had the kitchen cleaned up and her second coffee down, she fed the animals so she could slip out easily. She grabbed her purse and headed toward the garage, locking all three animals in the house and resetting the security system. She backed down the driveway and headed to the large library only a few minutes away. As she pulled in to park, the parking lot was empty. However, the parking lot for the huge fitness center in the same area was overwhelmingly stuffed.
She groaned, muttering to the air around her, “Like I need that with my gardening projects.” Turning her back on the big fitness center looming before her, she headed into the library and smiled at the librarian.
This librarian, younger than the one Doreen often saw in the evening, looked up with a smile. “Aren’t you out bright and early this morning?”
Doreen just nodded and smiled, then headed to the back corner, where the microfiche was kept. She settled down to work, determining the years she needed to search through. It was not the easiest task, but she had a cup of coffee with her, even though it technically wasn’t allowed. It was a travel mug that closed completely, so she had kept it in her bag the whole way, but she took it out now and placed it on the table beside her, slowly working through the newspapers with her notepad at the ready.
She found several articles about Aretha’s marriage, about the burglary, followed by the fire, and the bankruptcy. They all had the same information though. She took screenshots of each, so she had the information for later, sending them off to her email. With that done, she went back and searched through the papers about Aretha’s life, her parents, and then tried to find something on Abelman. She didn’t have much about him yet.
Apparently he was relatively new to Kelowna, and his parents were from the lower mainland. In one of the articles though, she caught note of a sister. But the article was written so ambiguously, she wasn’t sure if it was his sister or somebody else’s. It came up several times, but still Doreen couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Sometimes people wrote without defining who the subjects were clearly enough. She took a picture of it, so she could mull it over later. Nowhere else had she ever heard mention of a sister.
And, sure enough, none of the other articles said anything. She found nothing about the divorce, but there was a note about the car accident. It was just a simple black-and-white statement about the loss of an iconic local family. Both parents had perished in the crash. As Doreen kept reading on several years later, she very nearly missed it, but she found a byline in the obituary about Reginald Abelman. It didn’t say suicide specifically though.
She frowned at that, took another photo, and kept going. She would have to confirm with Mack if it was a suicide. And she didn’t know that Mack even had that information available. But who knew? In her heart she felt terribly sorry for Aretha’s circumstances, but she also understood Nan’s position about how Aretha, being a mean and difficult person, likely deserved everything she got.
Because of her own life, Doreen could understand how hard a shift it would have been, going from being a wealthy and prominent and well-respected woman, to suddenly being a nobody, now surrounded by scandal and drama.
Speaking of which, Doreen scrolled through, looking for mention of the insurance company. She found a few mentions of Hobart’s Insurance Company but nothing major. Nothing about a court case either.
She wasn’t at all surprised since that was hardly newsworthy, and, if the insurance company hadn’t wanted anybody to pick it up, it probably would have been pretty easy to squelch a story. They obviously wouldn’t pay a claim, or a lawsuit, if they didn’t have to, and those million little footnotes on insurance policies would get them out of having to pay for all kinds of things. She did find a marriage notice for Aretha again, just a simple little notification. She took a photo of it though because it gave Doreen dates and times, and she marked it all down on her notepad.
She scrolled aimlessly for another forty-odd minutes, then realized she just wasn’t picking up anything new. And once she ran out of microfiche, it would go to digital anyway. She took another big sip of her coffee, packed her notepad away into her big purse, then lifted the cap off her coffee and drank the last of it, since it was cool now.
Stowing the cup in her purse, she got up and decided she probably ought to pick up a couple books. At least something to justify her time here.
As she wandered up and down the aisles, she thought she heard somebody whispering. She peered through the books to the other side to see two women with their heads together, both gray-haired ladies, talking. As Doreen got closer, it was like they sensed somebody was here, and they broke apart.
Doreen came around the corner with a bright smile. “Oh, look, I’m not alone after all,” Doreen said happily. “This place seemed like a graveyard this morning.”
Both women just looked at her.
She smiled, shr
ugged nonchalantly, and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” and she went past them, looking down more aisles of books.
They happened to be in the biography section. Something she had never really gotten into. She couldn’t understand why she should read books about other people’s lives. It would just make her feel worse about her own. It always seemed like other people were doing things, living life, whereas she was just existing. Too bad there wasn’t a biography section for local Kelownians—now that would have been interesting.
On that note, she walked over to the librarian and asked if there was such a section. The woman looked at her in surprise and then nodded. “We do have a small group of books on that topic.” She led her to a different section that was all about Kelowna.
With a smile, Doreen thanked her and took a look. And, sure enough, there was one on the journalist Bridgeman Solomon’s life. She snatched that book and smiled. “I thought bios were written after people died. It’s hardly fair when you’re still hanging on to the last threads of your life,” she said, “but, hey, this might give me insight into why you ended up doing the kind of work you did.”
With that book in hand, she picked up one of the new releases prominently displayed on a big shelf where she first walked in. It was a good author, and she would enjoy it. She took her two items to the front desk, where she was checked out. She leaned closer to the librarian. “I know I’m relatively new here, but I was just wondering who the two ladies were who were here.”
The librarian smiled. “That was Mrs. Applegate and Mrs. Gundon. They come almost every morning.”
“Ah,” Doreen said. “It sounded like they were gossiping more than looking for books.”
“I think they come here just to do that,” she said. “Both of them have husbands who aren’t very interested in reading, so this is their way of getting out for a bit.”
“You should open a coffee shop inside the library,” Doreen said. “You guys would make a killing.”
“We’re run by the city,” she said, laughing, “so we’re constrained by all sorts of government rules and regulations. A coffee shop is already in the mall, so we can’t compete with them.”
Doreen smiled, then laughed. As she headed outside, she grabbed her notepad and jotted down the names, Applegate and Gundon. Interesting. Too little old gray-haired ladies, gossiping in the library. Doreen frowned as she thought about it, wondering about Mack’s cases. She wished she knew more, but, of course, little old ladies tended to die when they hit the end of the road. There was nothing criminal about any of it.
She headed back to her car, dropped her books on the front seat, and drove home. As she pulled up into the driveway, another vehicle pulled up beside her. Frowning, she got out and walked to the truck parked on her driveway.
A stranger jumped out and gave her a smile. “You must be Doreen,” he said, reaching out a hand.
She smiled. “I am, indeed. And who are you?”
“I work in dispatch,” he said. “I got the word you’re looking for decking materials.”
Chapter 22
Tuesday Midmorning …
Doreen’s eyebrows shot up. “Absolutely,” she said. “What have you got?”
“Mack said you’re looking for decking boards and some more two-by-fours. I’ve also got a gallon of Varathane,” he said. “That stuff is freaking expensive, but I don’t have any more use for it. I did a deck for my mom in Vernon, and she insisted I take all the leftover materials away from her place. So now I’ve got all these extras and no use for them.”
Doreen was delighted as she walked to the back of the truck to see quite a few two-by-fours and like six or eight decking boards. “You know what? At this rate,” she marveled, “I almost have enough to do the job.”
“Good,” he said. “Because we all end up with leftover stuff, and it’s a pain to hold on to or seems wrong to take to the dump. So we can’t do anything but pass them on.” He handed her a gallon that wasn’t quite full but had quite a lot in it.
He said, “That’s the stuff you need to treat the surface of these boards, if you want to. Particularly if you’re putting up railings and stuff.”
She smiled in delight, and then he handed her rollers and a paintbrush.
“Paint, you and I do not get along,” he stated with a grin. “I don’t want to keep these. I don’t want them crowding up my garage. If you want to take that, I’ll grab the wood.”
And, good to his word, he stacked up the two-by-fours atop the decking boards. He must have done this for a living at some point because he took all of them out in one big swoop and put them on his shoulder. Doreen led the way to the side of the house and showed him the rest of what they had collected.
“This is looking mighty fine,” he said. He put down his load and walked around to the backyard, where he could see the big area they had excavated the sod from. “That’ll make a huge difference for you. You’ll be able to put a table and chairs and even a barbecue grill on a deck that size.” And then he saw the creek and smiled. “I had no idea these properties were on the river. That is beautiful.”
“That’s what I thought,” Doreen said. “I just haven’t had a chance to sit outside much and enjoy it.”
“That’s because you keep getting into everybody else’s cases.” He chuckled. “My name is Donnie, by the way, and I am an old friend of Mack’s. I’ve heard about you two and all these cases you’re closing.”
“Well,” she said, “I have to admit that I do love a good puzzle.”
“You can always work on these dying old ladies,” he said. “A third one dropped dead this morning.”
Doreen stared at him in surprise. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “I took the call myself,” he said. “Speaking of which, I promised Mack I’d get these supplies over here today. I wanted to do it right away so I didn’t forget, but I’m going home again now to get some sleep. I work the graveyard shift.” He gave her a wave, hopped in his truck, and backed out of her driveway.
She was stunned, not only at his generosity in delivering these materials for her, but also the fact that a third little old lady had died. Immediately her mind went to the two in the library. She didn’t know what was going on, but it was darn hard to ignore it all. She was fascinated, to boot.
She walked inside the house, letting the animals outside. Mugs had been barking like a crazy dog from inside because the stranger had been with her, and she hadn’t let him out. She really hadn’t had a chance to.
She went back to her car and unloaded the library books and grabbed her purse. She didn’t want more coffee, but it would go so well with her newest research to do, now that she was further fascinated by these recent cases Mack was working. Her biggest concern was that, if somebody was targeting these older women, Nan might be in danger. Doreen did not want that at all.
She picked up her phone when she got back in the kitchen and texted Mack. A third old lady died?
He sent her a frowning emoji.
She smirked and texted back. Yes, I heard.
When her phone rang, and she answered, he snapped, “How?”
“How what?”
“How did you find out?”
“Donnie was here. He dropped off a bunch of two-by-fours, more decking boards, and three-quarters of a can of Varathane.”
There was silence on the other end. “I gather he got the call this morning,” Mack said in a resigned tone.
“Yep,” she said. “So this is of your own making.”
“Not my making,” he said. “I didn’t have anything to do with the case.”
“It’s interesting though.”
“No,” he said. “It’s not interesting.”
“I suppose we have to wait to see if it’s suspicious circumstances again?”
“Yes,” he said. “Remember. Old people die all the time.”
“Yes, but that’s three gray-haired old ladies all in a row,” she said.
“Not all that odd,” h
e said. “It could be three gray-haired men next time.”
“Maybe.” She frowned. “Do you think something’s going on?”
“I hope not,” he said. “What have you found out?”
“The only new information I found on the gems, after spending hours in the library this morning, is that it looks like Abelman had a sister. It’s mentioned once that his parents were in Vancouver with his sister. It’s possible his sister came for a visit from time to time.”
“That’s possible,” Mack said. “It doesn’t really matter now though, does it? Since they’re all dead.”
“That’s the problem with cold cases,” Doreen said. “I can’t get answers from a grave.” And then she remembered something else she’d meant to ask him. “Speaking of which,” she said, “is there any way to check Reginald’s death certificate to see what the cause of death was?” She could hear him scratching down a note on the other end.
“If I can get to it,” he said, “I’ll take a look.”
“Thanks. I just want—you know, like you said—to make sure I don’t assume anything.”
He gave a snort at that. “You assume way too much as it is.”
“Maybe,” she said, “but I’m learning.” And, with that, she hung up on him this time.
She grinned, put down her phone, and headed out to her garden. The deck wouldn’t get done by itself, and she needed to get as much other work done as she could, so she didn’t waste time when Mack came to help her.
Several hours later she had almost all the garden weeded. She hadn’t started the transplanting or dividing and splitting on the right-hand side yet, but she was looking at the rest of it, feeling like she was almost there. She’d taken the edger and gone around the section where the deck was and widened it a bit more. She wasn’t too sure what to do with the step section but thought that would probably need something done with it too. She would wait on Mack for that. Then she got out the lawn mower, mowed everything, and marked off where she’d like to get some patio stones. While it was on her mind, she sent Mack a text. Anybody got patio stones? I could use a path down to the creek.