Coming Unclued Page 6

  “Honey. Heard? I saw them take out the body. It was pretty stiff. Rigamortis I guess. Who was he?”

  “My boss. Mr. Potter.”

  “The nasty little man with the breath?”

  “Well — yes. He wasn’t nasty exactly. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.”

  She lowered her voice. “Did he get touchy with you? A little too friendly?”

  “I didn’t kill him!”

  “Well who did? He was in your bed! Everyone’s saying you killed him — self defense of course. No one thinks you meant anything by it.” She lowered her voice. “Not with intent.”

  You’d think people had never heard of the concept of innocent until proven guilty. “I didn’t kill him. With intent or otherwise.”

  “Oh dear. Well of course you didn’t. Come on in and tell me everything.”

  I followed Rose into the living room. Her condo was about the same size as mine, but it looked smaller. Rose hadn’t done much purging when she downsized from a large house to 900 square feet and seeing as she chose to entertain in the lobby, she didn’t really need a lot of open floor space. Rose was a voracious reader and she had clearly never parted with a book or used a library. There were hundreds of books in her living room. I moved a stack and sat on the couch. “You sure you don’t want tea honey?” asked Rose.

  “No, I’m fine. Just had some. I just want to ask you a few questions.”

  “You and everyone else. Here. Have a chocolate. My nephew brought them over.”

  She passed me an open box of chocolates. At least half of them had bites out of them. Rose saw me hesitate. “I’m picky about my chocolates,” she said. “But try one — some of them are quite tasty.”

  I picked out one that looked promising and took a bite. Turkish Delight. Disgusting. Why would they even put those in the box? “Just toss it back in if you don’t want it,” Rose told me. Ah — what the hell? I put it back, and took another. Caramel. My favorite.

  “Life’s a box of chocolates but you have to weed out the crap,” said Rose.

  She was quite profound, in a fashion.

  “So talk. Tell me how you got yourself into this pickle.”

  “I can’t remember. Too much wine last night. But I’m certain I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Well you might be certain. Don’t know about the police. An officer came by and put the gears to me. He was asking all about you and I’ve gotta say, I got a bad feeling about it. He asked about the master key to all the condos but I showed him the safe and the key’s still there, snug as a bug.”

  “Well shit,” I said. “I was hoping someone had taken it.”

  “Sorry Val. If I’d known I could have got rid of the key.”

  “Rose, you can’t do anything like that. That’s tampering with evidence. Misleading. That’s very illegal.”

  “Oh Phuhh!” she sneered. “I stand by my friends. You just tell me what you need me to do.”

  Good to know. “Which cop was it?”

  “Well I don’t know. Husky fella. Nice looking.”

  I tried to picture the nice looking husky one she was referring to.

  “The guy with the big shiny face and the skinny little legs?” I asked.

  “That’s the one,” said Rose. “Not bad. I do like a man in uniform.”

  “He wasn’t in a uniform.”

  “No? I never noticed.”

  “In any case,” I continued, “Anyone could have killed him. We were at a party last night. Anybody could have followed us home. The front door wasn’t locked. And why isn’t it fixed? What am I paying condo fees for?” My voice started pitching higher with each sentence.

  Rose leaned over, picked out a chocolate, took a bite and after a moment’s contemplation decided it passed muster and settled back in her chair. “Look, I’m on your side here, but you need to face facts.” She picked up her cane and tapped one of the piles by my feet. “Hand me that notebook will you?” I passed her a spiral bound notebook. “And a pen — do you see a pen anywhere? Wait. I’ve got one.” She opened the notebook to a blank page. “Did your door show any signs of forced entry?”

  I’d forgotten. About eighty percent of Rose’s many books were mysteries. Mysteries set in villages in England where elderly ladies solved crimes while the local constabulary floundered about. She probably saw this as the opportunity of a lifetime.

  “Unfortunately, there was no forced entry. Look Rose, I need to ask you some questions.”

  “Ask away honey. I just want to get my notes down on paper. My memory’s not what it was. He was stabbed. Where was the murder weapon? Was it still in the body?”

  “They haven’t found the weapon.”

  “Really? That’s very helpful.”

  “Why is it helpful?” And why was I answering these questions again? And what was pressing into my back? I reached around and pulled an umbrella out of the crack in the back of the couch.

  “Oh good. I was looking for that,” said Rose. “It’s helpful because the police have a weaker case if they don’t have a murder weapon with your fingerprints on it.”

  “Oh I think they’re pretty confident that Mr. Potter being in my bed makes for a pretty good case.”

  “We’ll see about that.” She pointed her pen at me and gave me a piercing glare. “You’re sure you didn’t kill him?”

  “Positive. Would I kill a man? I don’t even like the look of a rare steak. I’ve been thinking of becoming a vegetarian. Would a vegetarian kill someone?”

  “Well there is that. Mind you, Hitler was a vegetarian.” She pointed her pen at me again. “Let me tell you this young lady. If you didn’t kill him you better find out who did. The police aren’t going to be looking too far afield. They think they already have their man.” She paused a moment for effect. “That’d be you.”

  “Yeah. I get it. Did you hear anything at all last night? Any commotion in the lobby?”

  “I sleep on my good ear. Don’t hear a thing.” Rose settled back in her chair and closed her eyes. Was she having a nap? In the middle of an interrogation?

  “Are you tired Rose? Do you want me to leave?”

  She opened her eyes and gave me a pensive look. “I’m thinking. Something you better start doing if you want to get out of this predicament. There’s a book around here somewhere.” She picked up her cane and prodded a pile of books. “The Body in the Bed. It’s a Miss Maplehurst mystery. There might be some tips in there. Something applicable to your case. Poke around there honey and see if you can find it.”

  Okay. I had to get out of there. “Rose, I’ve got to get going. I want to knock on a few more doors before I go back to Julie’s.”

  “Just find the book! I can’t do everything here Val.”

  I got down on my hands and knees and started looking for The Body in the Bed. That’s my problem. An inability to say no. Another thing I was going to work on once this whole situation was over. I found it under an old copy of Hello that featured Prince William on the cover. Rose tapped the magazine with her cane. “Such a beautiful baby. Such a homely man. Just as well his mother passed and didn’t have to see him like that.”

  “He’s not that bad. I wouldn’t say he’s homely.”

  “He’s homely. Getting worse by the day. Takes after his father’s side of the family. But nice. A very nice man.” Rose was the final authority on all things royal. “Harry though, oh my. I’ve always been partial to redheads.” I passed Rose the book and sat back down, this time on the edge of the couch so that she would know I was on my way out the door.

  Rose held up the book, glanced at the back cover for a moment and waved it at me. “Now in this book a young woman, younger than you — probably mid-twenties —”

  “That’s a lot younger than me.”

  Rose spoke slowly, as if I was a child with a serious attention problem. “The plot is still applicable.” She put the book down. “In the book the woman goes to a bed and breakfast in a seaside village. She’s fleeing a romance gone so
ur.” Rose paused for a moment, to check that I was following the plot. I nodded my head to confirm that I was still with her. “She arrives at the bed and breakfast. It seems like a nice enough place. Well the first morning that she’s there she comes out of the shower — she has a private bath. They don’t all have private baths. I personally couldn’t stay at a B & B where I had to share a toilet. So she comes out of the shower and there’s a dead man in her bed. Stabbed, just like your fella. He’s got the knife still in him and she makes the mistake of pulling it out.” Rose pointed her cane at me. “Fingerprints. At least you didn’t make that mistake.”

  “Small mercies,” I said.

  Rose settled back in her chair and shut her eyes again.

  “So what happens?” I asked. “How does she solve the murder?”

  “I’m thinking,” Rose said. “I can’t remember. I read so many of these things they all kind of blur together.” She opened her eyes. “The point is, she was the prime suspect and she was very proactive. Just like you need to be.”

  I decided to get proactive and get out of there. I stood up and went over and gave Rose a hug. “Thanks Rose. I appreciate all your help. I’m just going to drop in on a few people, see if they saw anything and then head back to Julie’s. I’ll keep in touch.”

  “Have you talked to Bambi? Better check where she was last night. I wouldn’t put anything past her.”

  Bambi was Rose’s name for Heather. The animosity ran both ways with those two. “I’ve seen her. She’s been very helpful.”

  “Sure she has. Must be something in it for her.”

  Heather had attended the last annual resident’s meeting and given an impassioned speech about the elderly women congregating in the lobby. She had a couple of residents on her side until she got carried away and said the women reeked of death and despair. A little harsh, most people thought. Rose no longer spoke to her. I tried to explain to Rose that Heather had a flair for the dramatic and didn’t mean to be so disparaging but Rose wasn’t having it. “My good opinion once lost is lost forever,” she said. She liked to toss the occasional literary quote into the conversation so people wouldn’t think she only read genre fiction and British tabloids.

  “I’ll give you a call when I know what’s going on,” I called to Rose as I shut her door. Now what? Should I knock on every door and see if anyone had seen me come in with Mr. Potter? Why didn’t I live in a building with a doorman? A kindly man who would have sent Mr. Potter on his way and seen me safely up to my apartment with a discreet comment that a nice lady like me needed to be more careful. A doorman who would have glanced up from his book, seen a knife-wielding maniac struggling with the locked door and told him, “No — go take your business somewhere else.”

  As I stood in the lobby, stymied as to where to begin, I was startled by a dog barking behind me. It was Daisy, the yappy little cockapoo who lived on the third floor. Daisy was wearing a pink Shearling coat and little pink booties. Very stylish. Daisy’s owner, aka Daisy’s mummy, Doris, was wearing a turquoise track suit and a black down-filled coat that came almost to her ankles. She was shedding a lot of feathers. Daisy always looked more put together than Doris. Sad really. As soon as Doris saw me she picked up Daisy and held her close. No one could say she wasn’t a good mummy.

  “When did they let you out?” Doris asked.

  “I was never in. This has all been a misunderstanding. I’m innocent.”

  “Un huh,” said Doris, inching away from me. “This isn’t going to do anything for our property values.”

  “Yes it will. It’ll lower them I expect. Who wants to live in a building where there’s been a grisly murder?” I wasn’t going to take any crap from someone in a turquoise track suit.

  “The police interviewed me,” Doris said. She pulled Daisy closer so that their heads were touching. Oh God, she was going to start using her baby talk voice. “I told them you’ve never been kind to Daisy. I think that says a lot about a person when they’ve never once given my wittle Daisy a wittle pat.”

  “It might say I’ll lose my wittle finger if I get too close to her.” Why was I picking a fight with Doris? I needed as many people on my side as possible. I decided to change tactics. What the hell? It couldn’t hurt. “I love Daisy’s coat. A little pink cockapoo coat. So cute.”

  Doris blanched and took a step back. “Daisy is a maltipoo. Not a nasty cockapoo.” She backed up toward the stairs. “This used to be a decent building.”

  I wasn’t giving up. Maybe she knew something. “Did you see anything unusual last night?” I called after her.

  “I have discussed my observations with the police,” Doris responded, as she climbed the stairs. “They were very interested in everything I had to say. Extremely interested.”

  Jeez. What’d I ever do to her, besides not pat her dog? This investigation thing wasn’t going so well. It looked so easy on TV. Ask a few questions, one thing leads to another and pretty soon you have your man. Or your woman. Could a woman have killed Mr. Potter? A woman other than me obviously. A wave of self-pity engulfed me. I’m a reasonably nice person. How could something like this have happened? Lots of people have a few too many drinks at the office party with no more repercussions than a hangover and a foreboding sense that things might be a little uncomfortable in the staff room on Monday. Why couldn’t I be upstairs lying on my couch, aimlessly watching a movie, cursing my headache and worrying that I might have offended somebody, or strolled around with the back of my dress tucked into my pantyhose? At last year’s Christmas party, Ken threw up in a potted plant in the lobby of the hotel. Why couldn’t I have done that? I could feel myself choking up and tears began meandering down my cheeks. I sank down on the lobby’s new leather couch and leaned back, overwhelmed by a feeling of helplessness. The poinsettia on the coffee table caught my eye. How could it not? It was huge. Huge and fake and tattered. What kind of building was I living in? Unlocked doors and a polyester poinsettia. There was a flower shop two doors down with dozens of real poinsettias of every color, and this is what we set out to spread a little Christmas cheer?

  I decided to go back to Julie’s and regroup. I was too overwhelmed to cope. I didn’t know what I was doing and then there was that big fake poinsettia staring at me. I forced myself out of the chair and back outside. It was getting colder. I needed my parka but of course it was in my cordoned off apartment. I could barely muster the strength to walk to the car.

  “Valerie. Hello.”

  It was Amy — I thought her name was Amy. It might be Annie. A nice young woman who lived with her much older, much louder boyfriend in the condo below me. Amy was a sweet looking girl, tiny with a few freckles on her nose. Bill, the boyfriend was less sweet looking. He had the look of an aging high school athlete gone to seed with a mid-size pot belly and grey hair cut very short.

  “Hi Amy,” I said.

  “Annie.”

  “Right. Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “No kidding,” said Bill. “You out on bail?”

  He was quite the charmer, old Bill. “No, I’ve not been arrested,” I told him in my haughtiest voice. “The police are still looking for the perpetrator.”

  “Yeah? Cause when they talked to us they were pretty interested in you. Don’t worry. We told them you were a nice lady. We were shocked that you would kill anyone. You were pretty hammered last night though. Guess you’re one of those problem drunks. We told them we’d never seen you like that before.”

  “You saw me last night?”

  “Around midnight. We got home at the same time,” piped in Amy. Annie. “We went to see The Passion of the Christ at the Imax. For Christmas. It was amazing.”

  I never would have pegged them as religious fanatics. Just shows you never can tell about people. “What did you see exactly, when you saw me?” I asked her. I wanted to keep Bill out of things. He rubbed me the wrong way.

  “You were drunk as a skunk,” said Bill. He wasn’t the type to stay out of a conversation.
“Staggering around. Both of you were. You and the little dead guy. I was surprised you could make it up the stairs.”

  “Did it look like we were together?”

  “You were holding each other up. I figured things were going to get busy back at your place if one of you didn’t pass out first. We had a bit of a laugh about it, him being so much smaller than you.”

  I looked at Annie. She could do so much better than this guy.

  “Well thank you. I appreciate your insight. Very helpful.”

  My cutting sarcasm was lost on Bill. “No problem. Look I gotta get inside.” He gave a little wiggle. “Too much coffee today. Gotta go drain the potatoes.” He gave me a little pat on the shoulder. “We’ve all done things when we’re drunk. Course I don’t know any one that was so plastered they killed someone.”

  In the interest of furthering my investigation I chose to ignore that comment. “Did you see anyone else lurking around?” I asked.

  “Nahh, we were too busy having a laugh watching you,” said Bill. “The police asked us if you were arguing, but you weren’t. Who’s Sophie?”

  “I don’t know — ”

  “Well — good luck and all that Val,” said Annie.

  “Thanks,” I said with a little smile. A sad little innocent person smile. I gave her a limp wave as I headed toward the car.

  “Hey,” Bill called to me. “Make sure you pick up the Sun tomorrow. I did an interview. Told them everything I know about you.”

  Ahh — something to live for.

  CHAPTER 8

  Rather then head straight for Julie’s I decided to take a little detour and drive by Evan’s old elementary school. I was feeling beset upon by a heaping dose of depression with a side of nostalgia. I slowed down as I drove by the old brick building. There were the kindergarten steps he used to race down, so happy to see me standing there waiting for him. Would Evan be a regular visitor if I was in jail, or would he gradually forget about me, finding it a bother to show up every Sunday? My eyes welled up as I pictured myself sitting in the waiting room, alone, my hair grey because I wouldn’t be able to color it anymore, twenty extra pounds from all the starchy food, waiting for a visitor to break the monotony of my days. The sound of a siren startled me out of my merry reverie. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the flashing lights. A police car. They weren’t going to arrest me right now were they? I pulled over to the side of the road and opened my window.