Coming Unclued Page 5

  Harpy. Me. So he may have been right that it was an act of aggression to not mention that he was eating the dog’s treats.

  In any case, this time I’d trust my instincts. I knew I didn’t kill Mr. Potter. In the past I may have had a few drinks and slapped a woman and kicked a movie star and embarrassed my loved ones, but there is no way I picked up a knife and stabbed my boss to death. I didn’t do it. Someone, for some reason, broke into my apartment and killed Mr. Potter. And I was going to find out who.

  CHAPTER 6

  Andrew appeared on the doorstep while Julie was talking to Evan and gave me a cheerful wave. He was wearing baggy jeans hitched up above his waist, an old cardigan and red slippers. Like Julie, sartorial elegance wasn’t his thing. After Julie ended her call with Evan I let her have a brief confab with Andrew before I got out of the car.

  “Val!” Andrew immediately came over and gave me a comforting hug. That’s one of the great things about Andrew. He’s not a man who would turn his back on a friend just because she had allegedly stabbed her boss. I loved Andrew. Andrew is the type of guy I would have turned my nose up at back in my callow youth, which is why, of course, I ended up with Jack. Andrew’s a low key man who enjoys puttering and gardening and collecting old typewriters and reading suspense novels. He eats whatever non-delicacy Julie puts in front of him and then cleans up the kitchen. And he’s fun to talk to. He’s interested in people and what’s going on in the world. Julie’s lucky and she knows it.

  “Hi Andrew,” I said, returning the hug. “I’m warming to the elves. Kind of tacky, but cheerful.”

  “Ahh tacky schmacky.”

  He says things like tacky schmacky.

  “Let’s get in the house,” Julie said. “I’ll put some tea on. Evan is on his way over. He’s bringing Mikel. Who would do that to a child? Anyway, why didn’t you tell me she’s articling for Walter Fink? That could prove very helpful.”

  I was in no mood to admit my only child had neglected to mention he had a new girlfriend. But maybe Mikel could help. Walter Fink was probably the best known criminal lawyer in the city. He was renowned for taking on lost causes — murderers, rapists and embezzlers who were obviously guilty — and ensuring the scumbags were released back onto the streets. I personally didn’t approve of him. I don’t care that in a civil society everyone deserves a right to defend themselves. I don’t know how people like Walter Fink can sleep at night.

  And this whole Mikel thing was irksome. Evan and I were very close. What was he doing with a new, squeaky voiced girlfriend who I’d never heard about?

  As soon as we opened Julie’s door we were greeted with tail wagging good cheer by Abby, Julie’s golden retriever. I missed having a dog. My Lab, Thumper, died about five years ago and I never got a new dog once I moved into the condo. During Evan’s somewhat turbulent teenage years and the malignant end of my marriage Thumper was such a joy, because at least someone in the house was happy when I walked in the door. Maybe I’d get a new dog. A sweet guard dog who would scare off any knife-wielding maniacs.

  In our neighborhood, cozy is real estate speak for a living room too small for a full size couch, but Julie’s really was cozy. There was a wood burning fireplace, lots of bookshelves and comfortable seating. It was the kind of room you could put up your feet and put down your drink and not worry about shoes or coasters. I collapsed into an armchair by the crackling fire.

  “I’ll put tea on,” Julie said. “Val, you fill Andrew in on everything.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “Only the bare bones. I want him to hear your take on things.”

  I looked over at Andrew, on the sofa, patting Abby who was curled up beside him. “My take on things is that I’m screwed.”

  “It doesn’t look good,” Andrew admitted.

  “Maybe I should flee the country.”

  “And go where?”

  “Anywhere. Anywhere I won’t be making license plates for the next twenty years.” I thought for a moment. “Or is that just in movies?”

  “I think that’s just in the movies.”

  “Maybe I could start up a library like in the Shawshank Redemption.” I thought for a moment. “They probably all have libraries now. And the Internet. And big screen TVs. Netflix.”

  “Doesn’t sound that bad actually,” said Andrew, with a little smile. “You wouldn’t have to cook.”

  Julie came in with a plate of fruitcake and plunked it on the coffee table.

  “Is it homemade?” I asked her.

  She looked at me as if I was crazy. “Certainly not homemade by me.”

  Unlike much of the population, I happen to love fruitcake. My mother was renowned for her fruitcake. One year, when I was a teenager, she made three loaves in September and put it away on a shelf in the hall closet to mellow or ferment or whatever fruitcake does. Every couple of days I would go in and cut off a slice. By late November all the fruitcake was gone. I put the last wrapper in the garbage and tidied up the shelf, as if it had never been there. My mother went ballistic come December when she went to retrieve it. “I know I left it here.” I, of course, was incredulous when she asked me if I knew anything about it. Like I would take her stupid fruitcake. My mother has a family history of early onset Alzheimer’s. It was something she worried about. She scoured the house, looking for that cake, worrying that her mind was beginning to go. And I let her. Years later I fessed up and she told me that she was sure it had been my father, hiding it so that she would think she was losing her mind. They divorced soon after the fruitcake incident, though she assured me there was no correlation between the two events.

  Andrew took a slice. “Ummm. Delicious Jules.”

  “Thanks.”

  She gets credit for shopping.

  “We should go over what you’re going to tell the police,” said Julie.

  “I’m going to tell them the truth. I remember nothing. I can picture being at the Christmas party, sitting beside Mr. Potter and having a glass of wine. He was nattering on about something and I kept my nose in my wine glass to avoid his breath. That’s it. That’s what I remember. There’s nothing more I can tell them.” I gave Julie a weak smile. “I don’t know why they don’t just let it go.”

  Julie brought in the tea and we nibbled on the fruitcake while we went back and forth over what we knew to have happened.

  The doorbell rang. I braced myself. This was going to be so hard for Evan.

  Andrew got up to answer the door and I could hear murmuring in the hall.

  Evan strode into the room. Like always, when I hadn’t seen him for a bit, I felt a surge of love at the sight of him. Tall, dark and perfect was my son.

  “Mom, are you okay?” Evan came over and gave me a long hug. “Mom, this is Mikel.” He turned to introduce the young woman who had come in with him. Mikel looked … pleasant. I don’t want to be one of those mothers who think no woman is good enough for her son, but Mikel looked — a little mousey. Nondescript.

  “Nice to meet you Ms Valentyn.” Nondescript except for that voice.

  “Call me Val. Nice to see you Mikel.” I was friendly. Cordial.

  “Sit down everyone,” said Julie. “There’s some nice fruitcake here. What else can I get you?”

  “Thanks Julie,” said Evan. “Mom, how’re you doing? What exactly is going on?”

  I was already getting tired of telling this story. I knew Julie had given him a brief rundown, and that was all there was to tell. Everyone was waiting for me to come up with some revelation that was going to fit all the pieces together. There was no revelation forthcoming.

  “It’s like Julie told you honey. I don’t have any more details. I wish I did.”

  “What was he doing there?” asked Evan. “Were you —?”

  “No!”

  “Mikel left a message for Walter. She’s hoping he’ll look at your case or be able to recommend someone.”

  “Thank you Mikel. That’s very kind of you.”

  “We’ll need to
get you someone right away Val,” squeaked Mikel. She was really annoying me. There was just something about her. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe it was that she was dating my son.

  “Perhaps not,” I said. “Maybe they’ve already found the killer and we’re worrying for nothing.”

  Everyone looked a little uncomfortable. Everyone. You’d think I committed some horrible faux pas. Farted while being introduced to the Queen. No one could even look at me. It was galling. These were the people who were closest to me in the world. Except for Mikel of course. And for that matter, why had Evan brought a virtual stranger over to participate in our family crisis?

  “I want to get something straight here,” I told them, my voice strong and steady. “I did not kill Mr. Potter. I do not have it in me to kill someone, regardless of how many drinks I had. Anyone who thinks otherwise can just leave right now.”

  I guess the leave-right-now part was kind of ridiculous. We were in Julie’s house. They were hardly all going to head out into the cold and leave me there warming myself by the fire.

  “Mom, no one thinks you did it.”

  “Yes you do. You absolutely think I did it.”

  “Okay. No one thinks you meant to do it. You know — these blackouts — and you have done a few things —”

  “So I slapped your bitch of a stepmother! I’m sure she deserved it.” I was angry now. And a little crazed.

  Mikel looked horrified. I guess she wasn’t expecting her new boyfriend’s mother to be a foul-mouthed murderer. Unfortunately she wasn’t horrified enough to actually leave. Instead she decided it was time to take the legal bull by the horns. “There is precedent for a defendant getting off because of an alcoholic black out. Did you take any sleeping pills?” she asked hopefully, “Or do you suffer from depression?”

  “I am feeling a little down right now, but no I didn’t take sleeping pills.” I was using my snippy voice, my don’t bother me with your stupid questions voice. Mikel didn’t seem to notice, but Evan gave me a peevish look.

  “Well blackouts have been used as a defense. And you do have a history. This could be worse.”

  “How could it be worse Mikel?” I asked sweetly.

  “Mom, she’s just trying to help.”

  “I know Evan. I was just inquiring as to how my situation could be worse. I’m simply curious as to how, legally, things could be worse. I guess if the police had actually caught me in the act and snapped a picture it could be more incriminating.” I stared into space as if I was contemplating other ways my situation could be more desperate. I really was too snarky. No question about it. I vowed to turn over a new leaf once this was all over.

  The conversation rambled and swirled and for the most part I tuned it out. I was drained. Eventually I must have nodded off because Evan startled me by taking my arm and giving me a little shake.

  “We’re going to take off Mom. We want to make some phone calls.” Enough with the we. Was the boy incapable of making a move on his own?

  “Okay. Thanks for coming over.”

  “Jeez mom. Of course I would come. Look — I want you to call me any time there’s more information. Or if you just want to talk. Don’t keep me out of the loop.”

  “Sure hon. Oh, and look, the police are probably going to contact you because you have a key to my place. They just want to tie up any loose ends.”

  “I don’t have a key. I lost it a few months ago, right around the time I moved out.”

  “Really? You never said. Where’d you lose it?”

  “Mom. Honestly.”

  “I’ll have to let the detective know. Maybe the killer found your key.”

  Mikel felt compelled to pipe in at this point. “Was the address on the key Evan?”

  “No — I wouldn’t — no.”

  “Then it doesn’t make sense that any one could have picked it up and used it. How would they know what door it opened?” Mikel was quite the penetrating legal mind. How would they know? Unless they tried every door in the city. Maybe that’s what happened.

  “Well I guess you’re right Mikel,” I said. “So much for that lead. When the police contact me, I’ll let them know you don’t have a key.”

  Evan gave me another hug and Mikel gave me a light little pat on the arm. I sank back down in my chair as Andrew walked them to the door.

  “What about the people on your condo board?” asked Julie. “There’s the whole master key thing.”

  I scrunched my face, trying to look as if I was envisioning the people on the board. Actually it was just me and Rose. “There’s Rose. And someone else — maybe that new guy on the first floor. The one with the seeing eye dog. He mentioned something about wanting to get involved.”

  “Well clearly it wasn’t them,” said Julie in her no nonsense way. “But maybe someone got hold of your key. Someone with motive.”

  Someone with motive. Well at least Julie was allowing herself to consider the idea that someone other than me, the deranged drunken lunatic, had stabbed Mr. Potter. Who did have the master key? It must be Rose.

  “Do you think the police bothered to check if Rose still has the key?” I stared into the fire for a moment. “I’m going over there.” Rose and I were very friendly. She clumped up the stairs every now and then, to prove she still had it in her, and she often stopped in for a visit.

  “Oh Val. Wait until tomorrow. It’s been such a long day. You just need to relax and start fresh after you’ve had some time to process all this. I’m going to go rustle something up for dinner.”

  Dinner at Julie’s. Now there was motivation to get out of the house. Julie is an old style British cook. Old style in that she cooks exactly like her mother did. She is aware that Britain now has great chefs and innovative restaurants, and that most families no longer eat boiled chicken and mash. She just doesn’t care. She sees no correlation between being a good wife and mother and being a good cook. So Andrew and Alice sit down to beans on toast or mince and chips with nary a complaint.

  “I’ll be back for dinner,” I told her. “I’m just going to run over and talk to Rose. Maybe knock on a few doors to see if anyone saw anything.”

  “Are you taking my car?”

  “I’ll walk. It’ll help me to clear my head. And I want to pick up my own car.”

  “Okay. Be careful.”

  “Hey, I’m the one people need to be afraid of.”

  “That is not as amusing as you might think.”

  CHAPTER 7

  A walk in the crisp weather of a late December afternoon felt surprisingly invigorating. When I arrived at my building the police and press and nosy neighbors had all departed. I glanced up at my balcony just as the timer turned my Christmas lights on. They looked so pretty and twinkly and cheerful that I choked up a little. I wanted to be there, curled up on the couch reading a book in front of my gas fireplace. Except my condo was now a crime scene and my beautiful bed was covered in blood. Or so I assumed. Did the police take care of cleaning that up or would I have to do it myself? It seemed like the type of thing my tax dollar should cover.

  The front door still opened without the security code. I guess the prospect of a murderer on the loose hadn’t worried my fellow residents so much they were rushing to call a locksmith. Or perhaps the police had assured them that I would soon be behind bars so they had nothing to worry about.

  I expected to see Rose in the lobby. Most days she was there, reading a magazine or doing Sudoku which she insisted kept her mind sharp, refusing to let anyone scurry by without a little conversation. She didn’t like to be cooped up. Some days her friends dropped by and there would be three or four elderly women, lounging around, chatting it up. It annoyed the hell out of Heather. “It looks like we live in a nursing home,” she always grumbled. It did rather look like the lobby of a nursing home some days, but these women were pretty vigorous and always seemed to be having a good time. I’d joined them a couple of times for a quick game of euchre and they’d wiped the table with me. Heather, howev
er, could barely look at them without shuddering.

  I knocked on Rose’s door and in a moment I could hear the thump of her cane coming down the hall. Rose could walk quite well without a cane, but she liked having something to wave around. She thought it made her look jaunty.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me Rose. Val.”

  Rose quickly opened the door. She was a tiny little woman, but as she liked to say, “Full of piss and vinegar.”

  “Val. I’ve been so worried about you. Can you believe all this? Come in. I’ll put on the tea.” Tea was Rose’s answer to everything.

  “I can’t stay Rose. Julie is expecting me for dinner. I just wanted to ask you a few questions. I guess you’ve heard what’s going on.”