by Leena Clover
Henry looked morose as she came to the door.
“I was jealous, you know,” she admitted. “I couldn’t stand it. I was jealous of her in that instant. And now she’s dead.”
“That’s not your fault, Henry,” I soothed.
At least I hoped it wasn’t.
Becky and I went straight back to the diner.
“That’s some story, hunh.”
“Let’s not tell anyone yet,” I said.
Becky can keep a secret when needed.
My stomach was growling and I hoped Jon had some gumbo on the stove. I needed to go over what Henry had said, and I couldn’t do it on an empty stomach.
Chapter 12
Tony was waiting outside the library the next day. It was our standing lunch date. I wanted to blow him off.
He hugged me and kissed me on my forehead.
“Meera…”
“Save it. I know you’re sorry.”
We walked to the food court and stood in the stir fry line. I loaded the tiny Styrofoam bowl with mushrooms and pineapple, then added water chestnuts, onions and broccoli. The peppers came next and they toppled over onto the tray.
“Want to get two servings?” Tony smiled.
“What’s the fun in that?”
The Chinese guy at the counter rolled his eyes when he saw me.
“No food on tray. Charge extra.”
“That bowl’s getting smaller day by day,” I huffed. “Don’t go light on the chicken.”
The man muttered something in his native language. We finally found a table and settled down.
“When are you seeing Fiona again?”
Tony looked uncomfortable.
“I might look in on her at the bank.”
“And you’re gonna apologize in front of all those people?” I frowned. “Better go see her at home.”
Tony shrugged.
I didn’t know what I was doing. I hadn’t gone out even on a casual date in months. Tony was a big boy.
“Anything new?” Tony asked between bites of his beef and broccoli.
“Oh, I almost forgot.”
I brought him up to speed with Henry’s latest revelations.
“That’s big. Dot must have been on cloud nine.”
“For a day or two,” I mused. “A trip to England wasn’t in the cards for her.”
“Are you going to tell Walter?”
“I don’t think so. He will find out soon enough.”
“Guess who’s going to be really happy?”
We nodded. Atticus Brown had hit the lottery.
I grated vegetables at Sylvie’s later that evening. They would go into the veggie burger. This burger is so hearty you won’t miss the meat.
Becky and I were talking about nothing in particular.
“You let Tony ask her out? Are you mad, Meera?”
“It’s high time he did something for fun.”
Becky flung her arms in the air.
“You’re hopeless, Meera. You and him both.”
Becky has a not so secret wish to see us get hitched. That’s not happening in this lifetime. Not if I have anything to say about it.
I stopped at the gas station on my way home. Tony came out and we sat on the tailgate in his truck.
“I went to see Fiona.”
“And?”
Tony’s face changed and he burst out laughing.
“She forgot too. She just drove home to Texas on Friday night, like she does every week. And she spent the weekend thinking how she stood me up.”
“Well now, aren’t you just perfect for each other?”
Tony munched the burger I had brought for him.
“This is so good, Meera!”
I smiled a bit. I have never been low on confidence.
“Say you want something from me, Tony. What will you do?”
“I’ll take it. I don’t need your permission.”
“No, no. Not you. I mean say one person wants something from the other.”
“Get to the point.”
“You’ll remind me of something I hold dear, right? Could be an object, or a secret…”
“And then I’ll threaten to destroy it?”
Tony was beginning to get the hang on it.
“And?”
“Maybe I will ask for money? You think someone was blackmailing Dot? Is that where this is going?”
“I don’t know for sure. What I’m saying is there must be more than one note.”
“A note asking for money?”
I shrugged.
“You want to ask Walter?”
“I want to search Dot’s room. But I don’t want to involve Walter in it.”
“Maybe you should take Stan’s help.”
“That’s a good idea.”
I was home ten minutes later. Motee Ba was stirring a curry on the stove.
“Dinner’s a bit late today.”
“No problem, Motee Ba. More time for my shower.”
I gave her a hug and went to my room.
Stan sounded frustrated when I called him.
“She was what? Dot Brown was going to leave Swan Creek for good?”
Stan expressed his surprise at the variety and amount of information I had managed to unearth.
“I can call Walter Brown,” he agreed. “Tell him you’re on an errand for me.”
“That sounds like the best approach, Stan,” I told him. “Walter’s not doing that good. Chances are he knew nothing about the note. Why give him any more grief?”
“Depends on what you find out, Meera. If Dot Brown was killed for some secret she was harboring, we won’t be able to keep it quiet.”
“Let’s get to that point, Stan.”
We agreed I would go to Dot’s and search for any letters or notes she may have received.
Dinner was subdued. Everyone was quiet. My guess was they were all thinking of Sally. This is exactly what I was afraid of. We had all battled with her absence one way or the other for all this time. Could we handle it again?
Tony and I drove over to Walter’s in my lunch hour. I had picked up a sandwich at the deli for him.
I knocked on the door and heard a feeble response. I pushed it open. Walter sat in his chair. By the looks of him, he hadn’t showered or changed his clothes since I last saw him.
“We brought lunch!”
I jiggled the sandwich container. Walter brightened a bit.
I searched the kitchen for a clean plate. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes. Wads of soiled paper lay about on the floor.
I set the plastic container in front of him and opened the bag of chips that came with it.
“I don’t mind eating out of this,” he said.
Tony started scraping the dirty plates and loaded the dishwasher.
Walter was finding it hard to swallow the food.
“When was the last time you ate, Mr. Brown?”
He shrugged.
“Some girls brought over a meatloaf and mashed potatoes…”
“That was me. And that was days ago. Haven’t you eaten anything since then?”
I went over to the fridge and opened it. It was empty.
“What happened to all those casseroles the ladies brought over?”
“The boy trashed them.”
“But why? And what does he eat?”
Walter shrugged again. “Haven’t seen him.”
I coaxed him to finish the sandwich. He was beginning to perk up a bit.
“What brings you young folk here?”
“Did Stan Miller call you, Mr. Brown?”
“That policeman? He left a message about sending someone.”
“That’s what I am here for. I’m helping the police in their investigation.”
Walter Brown leaned toward me suddenly. He clutched my arm and spoke in earnest.
“Find Dot’s killer. Find out who did it to her. She didn’t deserve to go like this.”
“I promise. I’ll do everything I can to get justice fo
r Dot.”
I felt a rush of sentiment and I tried to control myself. I took Walter’s hand in mine.
“Pappa told me you used to visit us a lot. Why don’t you come over for dinner?”
“How will I get there?” he looked lost.
“I can come pick you up, Mr. Brown.”
He nodded uncertainly. I made a mental note to take him over to our place soon.
“So can we look around?” I asked.
He gave me the nod, and closed his eyes. Tony had finished cleaning up the kitchen. I couldn’t be more proud of him.
“Where do we start?” he asked.
“Let’s go to her room,” I whispered.
Dot’s bedroom had a retro theme. Not the kind you pay an expensive designer for. Everything in it was really old. At least forty years old. A large walnut four poster bed stood in the center. The rose patterned wall paper was faded so it was hard to tell what color the roses had been.
“You take the night stand, I’ll look in this armoire.”
Tony pulled open the night stand drawers, and began looking through them methodically.
“Nothing here…” he said after a while.
“Don’t forget the jewel drawer,” I pointed.
Tony tried to pull out the tiny drawer at the top of the night stand. It was stuck. He looked around for something to bust it open.
I turned my attention to the armoire. It was made with solid wood in need of polish. My grandparents call it an almaaree, what the British call almirah. I pulled the doors open, feeling a bit weird about violating someone’s personal space.
Two dresses hung at one side. I recognized them because I had seen Dot wear them several times over the years.
A drawer split the space, running from end to end. There were shelves at the bottom, containing neatly folded clothes. I pulled out the drawer. There were some books and an old purse. There was a faded baby blanket, a keepsake from her son’s childhood, I guessed. There were no envelopes, letters or notes.
I put everything back in its place and turned to Tony. He was sitting on the bed with an expectant look on his face.
“Nothing!”
“Maybe she had a home office?”
We went outside and looked around. A rolled top desk was pushed up against a wall. I didn’t waste any time looking through it.
“Meera, look!”
Tony brought my attention to a drawer full of paper. It looked familiar. I pulled a sheet out and rushed to a window. I peered at the paper in the sunlight.
“This is blank,” I said, handing it back to Tony.
“Doesn’t it look familiar to you?”
I looked at the paper again and realized what Tony was saying.
“What does it mean?” I cried out.
Tony shushed me and tipped his head toward the window.
“Let’s go!” he mouthed.
I put one sheet of the paper in my pocket, and said goodbye to Walter.
“I’ll come pick you up one of these days, Mr. Brown.”
He looked confused.
“Are we going somewhere?”
I just smiled and patted him on the shoulder. I couldn’t get out of there soon enough. Tony was backing his truck out of their driveway when Atticus Brown drove in. His car looked like it came out of the junkyard. It was way worse than my Camry.
I turned to fling open the door. Tony caught my arm.
“Let him go, Meera.”
I pulled my arm out of Tony’s and jumped down. I wanted to give Atticus a piece of my mind.
“Hello, Little Lady!” his face curved into a smile.
It was more of a sneer, actually.
“You need to take better care of your father.”
“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t.”
“Do you want him to die too?” I blurted out.
Atticus turned red.
“Watch your mouth, missy.”
“Looks like he hasn’t got out of that chair in days. And he was starving.”
“The ice box is bursting with those glass dishes,” Atticus growled.
“No it’s not. It’s empty.”
I stood with my arms on my hips, daring him to contradict me.
“Walter says you threw all the food out.”
Atticus scratched his head.
“Did I?”
Even two feet away, I could smell the stench of stale beer coming off him.
“You need to clean up, Mr. Brown.”
“What the heck?” he said sullenly. “Why should I? What do I have to look forward to?”
“You never know,” I said and turned around.
I could feel Atticus staring at my back. How would he handle his sudden windfall?
Chapter 13
I shelved books for the rest of the day, thinking about what we had found at Dot’s house. Why had the paper in the desk looked familiar? Was it something I was remembering from my school days?
Stan came over to the diner later that evening. Wednesday was our Indian Blue Plate Special night. I loaded a plate with Basmati Rice Pilaf, fried Indian potatoes, pakora fritters and chicken kabobs. I drizzled my special minty yogurt sauce on top of it all.
Stan closed his eyes and took a deep whiff.
“Just what I need after a hard day, Meera.”
He picked up a fork and tucked in. Stan worked on the Miller farm next door since he was a teen. He’s been in and out of our kitchen, mooching snacks and meals since as far back as I remember. He is no stranger to Indian food.
He finally came up for air.
“Any luck at Dot’s?” he asked.
“You tell me, Stan!”
I didn’t waste any time bringing him up to date.
“And you don’t like something about that paper?”
He slid his empty plate to one side. He opened a file he was carrying and pulled out something. It was the note that we had found on Dot’s body.
I had an aha moment.
“That’s the same paper!” I cried.
Stan caught up right away.
“Are you saying the paper this note is written on and the one you found in that desk are the same?”
I nodded.
“They look the same to me.”
I pulled out the paper I had purloined from my pocket. We placed them side by side. They seemed to be an exact match.
“We can send them for analysis, but that will take a long time. I’m convinced these are the same, Meera.”
I sat down with a thud. A nasty thought stole into my mind. Stan looked at me, willing me to voice it first. I waited him out.
“Dot wrote the note,” he said flatly.
We had both reached the same conclusion.
“Dot Brown wrote the note. That means she was threatening someone.”
“Or blackmailing them,” I finished.
“Why would she do that?” Stan asked.
“Money!” We both burst out again.
I was quiet for a moment.
“We know they weren’t rolling in money. And Dot was getting desperate about going to England.”
“What about that money she’s coming into?” Stan wanted to know.
“That’s all very recent. Maybe she stopped when she found out about it.”
“She could have had the note in her pocket,” Stan mused, “from some time before. But she didn’t intend to deliver it.”
“Right,” I nodded. “Who knows how long she’s been writing them?”
“Must have been for some time. It takes a while for things to escalate. Killing someone is not the first reaction to a threatening note.”
“Depends on what the person has to lose,” I said shrewdly.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Meera.”
Stan stood up and waddled to the door. He promised to call me later with any updates.
I thought back to what I knew about Dot. She was such a fixture in our town. She had always been on hand to help with any charity, or take up a cause. As Attic
us said, she was an educator. She had worked tirelessly for the betterment of people.
What had driven her over the edge? What had caused such a good person to write nasty notes to people?
I made sure Becky had everything in control in the kitchen and headed home. The kitchen was in disarray with no one in sight. I ignored the mess and walked straight into the shower. My stomach rumbled and I prayed Motee Ba had made something I liked for dinner.
I walked into the kitchen in my robe, eager to tell Motee Ba what I had found. Sally was at the table, chopping tomatoes. I did an about turn.
“Your mother’s back,” Motee Ba said unnecessarily.
Sally smiled.
“Tameta Nu Shaak,” Motee Ba pointed, referring to the tomato curry she was making for dinner.
This is a simple, spicy curry with fried noodles. The crispy noodles are dunked in the curry just before serving. It’s my favorite. Now I wasn’t so sure. What did Sally know about Shaak?
Dinner was upbeat. The Patel men sat in a line on one side of the table. Jeet stole glances at Sally and was all smiles. Dad looked up too once or twice. Pappa was nodding and laughing, enjoying his food.
“Where was she all this time?” I asked Motee Ba as she combed out my hair later.
She parted my hair down the middle and slid it over one shoulder. She started plaiting the other half.
“Don’t know. I didn’t ask her.”
I swelled up in frustration.
“Patience, Meera. You need to be more patient.”
“So she can walk out any time and you’re okay with that?” I asked sullenly. “Is this her home, or is she a guest here?”
“This must be hard for her too.”
“Of course it is Motee Ba. She has no idea who we are.”
My grandma was quiet.
I told her about my day. She was shocked when she heard about my theory.
“Dot Brown never harmed anyone. She didn’t have a bad bone in her body.”
“But this is what we found, Motee Ba. I would have said the same if Stan had come up with this. But I’m the one that found that paper.”
“Why would she do that?” Motee Ba asked.
“For money, I guess.”
“Dot’s been living on a shoe string budget all her life. Why would she do this now?”
“She flipped,” I said with a shrug. “Every person has a limit. Maybe she’d had enough. And she just wanted to go to England.”