Coming Unclued (28 page)

I glared at her as she nibbled on her toast. “You look tired,” I said.

“Worrying that my closest friend is going to get shot or tasered is quite agitating. If you’re under the impression I’m getting much sleep you’d be very wrong.”

“Well neither am I.” Actually I’d slept soundly, but I saw no advantage in mentioning it. Clearly I was at a defining moment here. Even Andrew and Julie were willing to give up the fight and quite possibly they were right. They were both staring at me in a disconcerting manner.

“What?”

“What next?” asked Julie. “How much more of this? How much more running around, ducking the police, and digging an even deeper hole for yourself?”

“You used to be such a positive person,” I said. “It was one of your best qualities.”

Julie said nothing. There was not so much as a gram of positivity emanating from her.

“Today I am going to interrogate Annette, Mr. Potter’s assistant. Rumor has it she was in love with him and for sure she knows everything that went on in that office. She definitely knows the details of his rob-the-elderly scheme. And he fired her, or laid her off, or did something to her, right before the office party. She must be pretty pissed.”

Julie continued to watch me, silently sipping her coffee.

“Yes, that’s the plan for today,” I said briskly. “I’ll need to borrow something to wear. My pantsuit is looking a little tired.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m thinking of ditching the wig, going with the orange hair.”

“Yes. Yes. Time for a makeover. Ditch the wig. That’ll solve all your problems.”

“Why is she being such a bitch?” I asked Andrew.

“She’s very worried about you. We both are.”

“Did you not hear my plan? This is the day I’m going to make a major breakthrough. I wouldn’t be surprised if I have this case locked up by dinner time.”

“That would be lovely,” said Julie. “We’ll order Chinese to celebrate.”

I’d had enough of her attitude issues. I had a mystery to solve. After taking a big swallow of coffee and grabbing an Eggo waffle, I stood up. “Do you mind lending me something to wear?”

“Not at all,” said Julie. “Any particular look you’re going for?”

“How about bland and ten years out of date?” I responded. “Think you can find something?”

“Something you can fit into? No guarantees.”

“I have to get to work,” said Andrew, leaning down to give Julie a peck on the top of her head. “Please be careful Val. Both of you. Be very careful.” He sat down again. “This is ridiculous. I should stay home.”

“No, no,” I said.

“Go,” said Julie, waving him away. “Today’s the day Val wraps up this case. I can taste that shrimp fried rice already.”

“Really,” I said. “Just go to work Andrew. The police need to see that you’re carrying on as usual. Less suspicious.”

Andrew sighed and stood up again. “Please be careful. I couldn’t manage without you.”

My eyes welled up. He was such a sweet, caring man. “I’ll be careful.”

“He meant me,” said Julie. “He can’t manage without me.”

Of course he did. What was I thinking?

“Both of you,” said Andrew. “Both of you be careful.”

“But especially me,” said Julie.

Having won that one Julie seemed somewhat revived and back to her old self. “Well we’d better hop to it,” she said, getting up from the table. “We’ll find something for you to wear and hunt down that Annette person. Do you think she’ll talk to you?”

Well finally. Julie was back on board. I thought about it for a minute. Annette hadn’t been too fond of me even before I allegedly killed the unrequited love of her life. The chance she would let me in the door without screaming for the police seemed unlikely.

“There could be an issue there,” I said, as I wandered down the hall with Julie.

“Were you friendly at the office?” asked Julie.

“Not friends exactly,” I said, going into Julie’s bedroom and opening her closet door. “She was the one who interviewed me for the job. Remember — I told you — she asked me if I would be challenged and excited by routine paperwork.”

“And naturally you said yes, that eight hours a day, five days a week of routine paperwork was your life’s ambition.”

“Of course I did, but she seems to be under the impression I misled her. Grievously misled her.”

“What kind of look are we going for?” asked Julie, digging through the closet. “How about basic black? We want you to blend in as much as possible.”

“Sure. Great. Something comfortable.”

Julie tossed me a couple of items, and clutching them to my chest I flopped down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. “You’ve got some dead flies in your light fixture,” I told her.

“Hmm,” said Julie, lying down beside me. “I’ve been meaning to do something about that.”

“Since when?”

“Since the summer. I keep forgetting about it.”

“You’d think looking at the light every day would remind you.”

We lay there in silence for a moment.

“Annette’s quite the Britophile” I said. “She might talk to you.”

“Britophile?”

“Whatever. Exceptionally fascinated by all things British. She spent a couple of months there forty years ago. Sometimes she calls the subway the tube so we’ll know she’s a woman of the world.” I chewed on a cuticle for a moment. “You’re British.”

“I am,” said Julie.

“So there’s something.”

“What else is she into?” asked Julie.

“God knows. I avoided the woman. I’m thinking cats. She seems like a cat person. She certainly isn’t a people person.” I spent a few moments reflecting on what I knew about Annette. “She likes putting up little signs.
This is not a self-cleaning kitchen
.
If you sprinkle when you tinkle, please wipe the seat.
”

“Hard to believe you weren’t close.”

“Meals on Wheels!” I said. “On weekends she delivered Meals on Wheels.”

The doorbell rang, interrupting my reverie about Annette.

“The doorbell,” I squealed. “Where do I hide?”

“You’re not hiding,” said Julie firmly. “No more of this. If it’s the police you’re surrendering. Got it?”

The doorbell rang again, followed by a thumping on the door.

“I’m coming,” yelled Julie, rushing out of the room.

I followed her down the hall, staying well back so I couldn’t be seen from the front door. Why were the police so convinced I’d be hiding out at Julie’s house? I slumped against the wall as I heard Julie open the front door.

“Rose, hello,” she said.

Rose? What was she doing here?

“I’m coming to help out,” said Rose. “I haven’t heard from Val since the funeral. She’s not answering her cell phone. Figured you could use my expertise.”

“What makes you think she’s here?” asked Julie.

“Of course she’s here. Where else would she be?” asked Rose.

Where indeed?

“Hi Rose,” I said, coming into the living room.

“Stay away from the windows,” Rose said. “There might be snipers out there. You were supposed to call me.”

“Snipers?”

“There’s no snipers,” said Julie. “Honestly. You only killed one man. That doesn’t warrant a SWAT team.”

“Allegedly killed.”

“So what’s happening?” asked Rose, settling herself down on the couch. “Where do we stand? Any progress? What are you doing lounging around in your housecoat?” she demanded, fixing me with a cold stare. “Think you’re at a spa or something?”

“I was just going to get dressed,” I told her. “Julie and I were discussing strategy.”

“Well hop to it,” said Rose. “We’re burning daylight here.”

Ten minutes later I was dressed in black elastic-waist pants and a black crewneck sweater and sitting in the living room with Rose and Julie.

“Here’s what I think,” said Rose, after hearing about Annette. “Julie and I go to see her and you hang back. We’ll get the goods on her. What are we thinking? Crime of passion?”

It was impossible for me to think about passion when contemplating either Mr. Potter or Annette so I ignored Rose’s comment. “I need to be there somehow. I’ll know what to ask her.”

“No,” said Julie. “Too dangerous. I’ll go see her.”

“That’s right,” said Rose. “Too dangerous. We’ll go see her.”

“How will you get in?” I asked. “Annette’s no fool.”

We all sat in silence for a moment, contemplating this.

“Do we even know where she lives?” asked Julie.

“Midtown somewhere,” I said. “So she could be close to work. And I know her phone number. I had to call her at home if I was sick or going to be late.”

“So no wonder you have it committed to memory,” said Julie.

“Here’s what we’re doing,” said Rose. “You don’t have a little something sweet do you Julie? Nothing special. Maybe a chocolate covered digestive?”

“I have some nice sugar cookies.”

“Perfect. I’ll talk loud so you can hear me while you’re getting them. Okay, she likes the Brits and she delivers Meals on Wheels. Nice of her, don’t you think, doing that in her free time? Anyways — you — Julie can you hear me? Julie, you’re going to call her. You’re going to say she’s getting an award of merit or something from Meals on Wheels and we need to see her to discuss the ceremony. What do you think?”

Julie put the tin of cookies down on the coffee table.

“Sure. I could do that.”

“Okay. Call her. Let’s get this train a rollin’.” Rose leaned over and selected a snowman. “Nice,” she said, holding it up. “Very true to life.” She bit off the head and chewed for a moment. “Lord. You made these? The bottom of my boot has more taste to it.” She took another bite. “No offense.”

Julie ignored Rose and turned to me. “What’s her number? Let’s get moving. For all we know the police are circling the house.”

“Do you know what you’re going to say?”

“I’ll tell her about the award. See if I can interview her today. I’ll wing it. I’m good at improv.”

I picked up the phone, punched in Annette’s number and handed it over to Julie. “Remember, accentuate the British. That’ll lure her in.”

Julie waited a moment, listening and then, “Good morning,” she said, in an accent that made Queen Elizabeth’s seem folksy. “Would this be Annette Maxwell? Oh, splendid. Just splendid. I’m Margaret Spenser from the Meals on Wheels magazine. (pause) Yes we actually do. A darling little periodical we’ve just started up. (pause) Oh we’re very small. The reason I’m ringing you is we’d like to do a wee article on you. Each issue we’re doing a segment on one of our valued volunteers. (pause) Oh, well, we’ve heard such good things about you. You were a unanimous choice. Would it be possible to pop by today? We don’t want to miss our publication deadline. (pause) That would be perfect. (pause) A spot of tea would be lovely. Splendid. And you are still at — oh, I’m sorry — this office is a tip. I seem to have misplaced your address. (pause) Perfect. Thanks so much. We’ll be there in time for elevensies. Cheers.” Julie hung up the phone. “I may have overdone it. But I got her address.”

“Does anyone besides Paddington Bear say elevensies?” I asked.

Julie shrugged. “She seemed to buy it. We’re in.” She looked at Rose. “She’s making us a spot of tea and a biscuit.”

Rose put down what was left of her snowman. “Good. You forgot something from these. The flavor for sure.”

“I’ll going to go warm up the car,” said Julie, “and when you’re sure no one is looking you can both hustle out. Val, you’ll have to scrunch down in the back.” She looked me over with a critical eye. “What are you wearing for a coat? Not that fermenting fur.” Without waiting for an answer she handed me a black overcoat of Andrew’s. “Warm and boring. It’ll help you to blend. Maybe some glasses —you still look too much like yourself. She walked briskly into the kitchen. “I’ll get you an old pair of Andrew’s glasses.”

“I don’t know what she means by hustle,” protested Rose. “My hustling days are long gone.”

“Here,” said Julie, handing me the glasses. “They’re reading glasses. Shouldn’t throw you off too much. Put them on.”

I put on the glasses and took a look at myself in Julie’s hall mirror. “Jesus, all this black and the short hair and the glasses. I look like a red-headed Harry Potter. The one in the book, not the deceased.”

“If Harry Potter from the book had a mustache,” said Rose.

“What?” I screeched, peering at myself in the mirror. “Julie, do I have a mustache?”

“Don’t worry about it. Nothing you’d notice from a trotting horse,” said Julie, glancing at me as she headed out the door.

“My God,” I said, running my finger over my upper lip. “I haven’t had any time for routine maintenance. Easy for Julie to say don’t worry,” I grumbled. “Andrew would happily braid her facial hair and then tell her how nice she was looking.”

“Oh well,” said Rose. “Time enough for a clean up once they take your poster down from the post office.”

“I have a mustache!”

“Only faint,” said Rose. “You haven’t reached the billy goat stage. When the paper says
Bearded woman wanted for murder
then you should worry. Right now it’s the least of your problems.”

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. She was right. Needing a pruning was the least of my many problems.

“Lord only knows what your legs look like though,” said Rose. “Maybe you’ve got a hormone imbalance.”

I scrunched down in the back seat of the car while Julie maneuvered through the heavy, even for Toronto, Christmas traffic. Getting information out of Annette wasn’t going to be easy. She might be humorless and uptight but she was definitely smart. If she knew anything about Mr. Potter’s murder or had actually done the deed herself she was hardly going to slip up and spill the beans to Julie and Rose.

“Annette is highly intelligent,” I hollered from my awkward position, scrunched up on the floor. “She’s not going to be easy to break.”

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” said Rose.

The only thing Rose had up her sleeve were old Kleenexes.

“If she’s got anything to hide we’ll get it out of her. Don’t you worry. How you doing back there?” called Rose.

“Fine,” I answered, trying to be as stoic as possible under the circumstances. When this was all over I wanted people to remember me as someone who had exhibited grace under pressure. Grace under pressure, that is, until Julie slammed on the brakes and I smashed into the back of the driver’s seat.