Coming Unclued (27 page)

Nothing. Probably glued to Coronation Street, not a care in the world.

“Julie! Andrew! Help!” I banged on the wall of the bedroom with my knuckles, which was painful, and not very loud.

“Julie!” I yelled, in as strident a voice as I could muster. “Help! Downstairs!”

Well if she didn’t hear me, at least one of the neighbors might come to my aid.

Nothing. Probably sitting on the couch drinking her ginger tea and nibbling her stupid brandy creams while I was stuck in her damned window, quite possibly taking my last breaths. I tried to remember what I’d read about freezing to death. It was supposed to be a reasonably pleasant way to die. Didn’t people just curl up in a snow bank and go to sleep? My back was beginning to throb from the effort of trying to keep my head up and now my nose was starting to run.

I yelled Julie’s name a few more times, but to no avail. So this was it. Not exactly the peacefully dying at ninety in my sleep death I had hoped for.

And then I heard something. The back door opened and I could hear the tags on Abby’s collar rattle as she ran down the steps. She came rushing over to me, sniffed my ass and then started barking madly in excitement.

“Cut it out Abby. It’s me, Val,” I said, before I realized that I wanted her to bark.

Abby stopped barking and started sniffing me again. “Keep barking,” I snapped at her. “Bark, bark,” I said in a loud voice, so that she would get the right idea, but, once Abby had ascertained that I was friend, not foe, she wandered off to sniff the rest of the yard.

I lay there for what felt like an eternity, waiting for Andrew or Julie to open the door again. The wind had picked up and the blowing snow was accumulating on my bare back. Abby wandered over beside me and started barking again. I braced myself for the moment someone would open the back door. “Abby,” called Julie.

“Julie!” I yelled. “It’s me! Julie! Julie!” My voice cracked as I strained to get the maximum amount of decibels from my vocal chords. “Julie!” I was yelling so loud I wasn’t sure if she had gone back inside or not.

And then, sweet relief. “Oh for crying out loud!” said Julie as she came up behind me. “Are you goddamn kidding me?”

“Help,” I croaked. “I’m stuck on a nail or something. And I think this window got smaller.”

I could feel Julie tugging on my pantsuit. “It did get smaller. Andrew put a door jam in it so that no one could break in. Suck your stomach in,” said Julie. “I’m going to try and pull you out.”

She grabbed hold of my feet and started tugging. I gave a low moan as the window scraped my back and stomach simultaneously, but it worked. She pulled me free. Once my head was out of the window, I flopped over on my back and stared up at her. “That was horrible. I thought I was going to die there.”

“Once again, I have to ask,” said Julie. “Why did you not use the back door?”

“I didn’t want to drag you into this,” I said. I slowly got to my feet, dusted the snow off, and grabbed my damp, furry coat off the ground. “I thought I’d just hide out in your basement for the night and leave before you were up. I don’t want to get you into trouble with the police.”

“A little late for that don’t you think? Come on in. I’ll put the kettle on. The police have already inspected every inch of my place. I don’t expect they’ll be back tonight.”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” I said, as I limped toward the back steps. “Is Andrew home?”

“He’s out scouting a typewriter. He’s not exactly happy with all this.”

“Well no one’s really ecstatic about it,” I said, as we went into Julie’s warm, cozy kitchen. “I’m trying to make the best of a bad situation.”

Julie eyed me as she filled the kettle. “You still think you did the right thing? You think you’re further ahead than you would be if you’d just let Walter Fink do his job?”

“Yes.”

Julie said nothing, just stood at the counter with her arms crossed.

“I have a number of leads,” I said.

“Leads that your lawyer couldn’t have pursued?”

“But would he have?” I asked. “Every bit of evidence points to me. The police think they have an open and shut case and my esteemed lawyer agrees with them.”

“Even so,” said Julie. “What have you found out that any half-assed detective couldn’t have found?”

Nothing. Not a thing. “Mr. Potter was really skeevy. A lot of people had an inkling of what he was up to. He had a bad marriage. His secretary was in love with him and he fired her or retired her the day before the staff party. And there’s Douglas. And maybe someone who had my key. And you know, just some random crazy person who was in the neighborhood that night.”

Julie looked underwhelmed. “Okay.”

“Okay. So one of those people killed him.”

“Yeah, but who?”

Through my now clenched jaw I told her, “I haven’t narrowed it down to one culprit yet. But I’m getting there.”

Julie went to the cupboard and took out a tin of cookies, which she placed in front of me. Still silent she commenced making the tea. I opened the tin, which was filled to the brim with sugar cookies cut into Christmas shapes and dusted with red and green sprinkles. I picked up a reindeer and bit off the head.

“I’ve given myself a Christmas deadline,” I said. “If I haven’t found the killer by Christmas Eve I’m going to turn myself in.” Until that moment I had no such plan, but as I said it I realized that was what I had to do. I couldn’t float around the city forever, hoping not to be seen, living off tea and cookies, and possibly endangering my friends and family.

Julie brought the tea pot over to the table and sat down across from me. “Christmas at the latest,” she said. “I’m very nervous about what could happen to you. We all are. I think it’s time for you to trust the process before something terrible happens. And could you please take that ridiculous wig off?” She sniffed the air and grimaced. “What is that smell? Is that you?”

“It’s Rose’s coat,” I said, as I got up, grabbed the coat and tossed it out the back door. “Cold,” I said with a shiver, as I sat back down. “Very cold out there.”

“Good thing I found you,” said Julie in a calm voice. “What if you really had been stuck? You might have frozen to death. Not the most dignified way to go.” She took a large bite out of a Christmas tree. “Aren’t these good? I made them last night when I couldn’t sleep.”

“Hmm,” I said, chewing the bland leg of my reindeer. “Tasty.”

“I wonder,” said Julie, “If someday we’re going to look back on this whole experience and laugh. Do you think that’s possible?”

I tried to picture Julie and me lounging around having a glass of wine and reminiscing about the riotous time she dyed my hair orange or the time she had to pull me out of her basement window before I froze to the ground. “Depends if I end up doing twenty to life,” I said. “That’ll take the edge off the hilarity.” I took another nibble of reindeer. “Will you visit me?”

“Of course,” said Julie. “I’ll bring you books and food.”

“Just books is fine. Every Sunday?”

“Sure sure. Look, we’re not letting you go to jail. That’s not happening. But running around town as a fugitive is dangerous and probably futile. It’s time to rethink this before I’m visiting you at the hospital. Or the morgue.”

“I’m pretty sure the morgue doesn’t have visiting hours.”

“The graveyard.”

“I’m being cremated. Evan is supposed to sprinkle me by the ocean in PEI. Remind him. He’s so absentminded he’ll likely put my cremains in the closet and forget all about me.”

“Cremains?”

“That’s what they’re called.”

“Who knew? How about we call your lawyer and have him arrange to safely take you in to the police and then we hire a professional private investigator who can follow up on whatever leads you may have found.”

I thought that over for a moment. It made sense. “No,” I said. “It doesn’t make any sense. Every bit of evidence points to me. A private investigator will look at the evidence, figure I for sure did it, and do a few cursory interviews. His heart won’t be in it.”

“How do you know that? What do you know about private investigators? You hire a good one and this whole thing might be figured out in a couple of hours.”

“Right.”

“Or whatever. A few days. We’ll find one with lots of experience.”

“There is not one bit of evidence that points to anyone but me.”

“That’s right. Hence the need for a professional.”

If I turned myself in Evan and Julie and whoever else was worried about me could relax for a bit. For a bit. That was the problem. Because it was pretty clear that once the police had me they weren’t going to let go. The police were under a lot of pressure to make an arrest.

“Just a few more days,” I said. “I need a little time and if I don’t crack this case I’ll turn myself in. I promise.” I finished my tea and forced down the last bite of my cookie. “But meanwhile I need your help.”

A half hour later, Julie and I were curled up on the basement spare bed, making plans for the next day, when we heard Andrew yell down the stairs.

“Hello? Julie, are you down there?”

“In the bedroom,” yelled Julie. “Don’t be offended if he’s not thrilled to see you,” she said to me. “This whole search warrant thing has really unnerved him.”

Andrew tromped down the stairs, poked his head in the bedroom door and blanched only slightly when he saw me. “Val,” he said, “good to see you. We’ve been worried.” He eyed us over. “What’s going on?”

“Val was just telling me,” said Julie, “how she’s planning to turn herself into the police on Christmas Eve.”

“That’s in a few days,” said Andrew. “A lot can happen in a few days.” Andrew’s voice was steady, but the flush of his normally pallid complexion gave away his nervousness. “I’m sure you heard that the police have been here looking for you.” He paused for a moment, either for effect or because he didn’t want to frighten me. “This is a very volatile situation you’ve got yourself into Val.”

“I know it is, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for dragging you and Julie into this. I’ll be forever in your debt.”

“You’re not kidding,” said Julie. “For the rest of my life, whatever I ask of you, I expect to hear a yes. Anything. Whatever I ask.”

“Really grateful,” I said to Andrew. “But Andrew, I’m close. I really believe that.”

“She’s going to crack this case wide open,” said Julie in a derisive tone.

“Is that right?” asked Andrew. “What have you found out?”

Shit. He had to ask. “Mr. Potter wasn’t the man he made himself out to be,” I said. “He cheated some elderly people out of their money.”

Andrew was definitely underwhelmed by this revelation, but he nodded his head politely. “Okay. And what have you found out about who may have killed him?”

Could he not put two and two together? “He cheated people out of their money Andrew. That’s quite a motive. When it comes to murder it’s the most popular motive.”

“Most popular?”

“The Miss Congeniality of motives,” said Julie.

“Can I get you anything Val?” asked Andrew. “Something to eat?”

That was Andrew. Always a good host, regardless of the circumstances. “Thanks Andrew. Already finished off a reindeer. I think I’ll just turn in. Big day tomorrow.”

“You are not,” said Julie, as she got off the bed, “You are not to make a run for it if the police come. That window is off limits, do we agree? I’m going outside right now to barricade it.”

“Don’t treat me like a child,” I said. “I told you I would turn myself in if the police show up. You don’t need to be barricading anything.”

“Barricade it,” said Andrew.

I shrugged. I was too tired to argue anyway. For that matter I was too tired to cram myself through that window again. In some ways it would be a relief if the police came looking for me. After the last few days, a heated jail cell and three squares a day was beginning to sound relaxing.

My next coherent thought was that I desperately needed to pee, followed quickly by the sensation of a damp, sweaty body. I’d fallen asleep, light on, still wearing my pantsuit and the polyester wasn’t reacting very well to my body heat. I headed upstairs and made a beeline for the bathroom to beat the morning rush.

“Coffee?” I heard Andrew yell from the kitchen and I grunted in the affirmative before ducking into the bathroom for my morning absolutions. For moments at a time it was possible to forget my true predicament and simply glide along with the illusion that life was as it always had been. I could briefly imagine I had perhaps had a glass of wine too many and had crashed on Julie’s spare bed.

Sitting at the kitchen table, clad in one of Julie’s old housecoats with my straggly orange hair damp against my cheeks, any illusion of a more innocent time was forgotten. “You made the front page again,” said Andrew. “The
Globe
,” this time.

The
Globe and Mail
. Damn it. Unlike The
Sun
, people I knew actually read the
Globe
. I snatched up the paper and squinted to read it. Andrew took off his reading glasses and handed them to me. “Above the fold,” he said. “You beat out an earthquake in Indonesia.”

Police double down in efforts to find accused Secretary.
Julie came into the kitchen while I was reading the article and poured herself a cup of coffee. “I don’t know why they keep referring to me as a secretary,” I commented. “Nobody’s called a secretary anymore.”

“How about clerical assistant assassin?” asked Julie, as she bit into a piece of toast heavily laden with marmalade.

I couldn’t bear to finish the article. “What’s it say?” I asked, tossing the paper down on the table.

“The police are committed to finding you,” said Julie, “and have established a toll free number for members of the public to call with any tips. You have your own tip line. I’ll bet even little Boo doesn’t have his own tip line.”

“I’d better get out of here,” I said. “They’ll probably be back.” I took a sip of the coffee Andrew had kindly poured for me. “Assholes.”

“Perhaps,” said Andrew, “you should push up your deadline for turning yourself. I really don’t think it’s safe for you out there Val.”

“Out there among the English,” said Julie. “
Witness
. Remember when Harrison Ford used to make good movies?”