Coming Unclued (33 page)

“Candles?”

“They want white candles. Unscented. Come with me.”

I eyed the cart. This could be my chance. The chance of a lifetime. There were two doors on its lower half. What was inside? I darted across the hallway and opened the doors. It was empty. Empty except for a shelf. I gave the shelf a forceful yank and it easily came out. I tossed my coat in a corner — I could come back and get it later — and gingerly climbed into the cart. I just fit. Just. Scrunched up like a snail that had outgrown its shell, I pulled the cart doors shut. It was dark. Dark and cramped.

“I’m off,” I heard the waitress say.

“Don’t be nervous,” another voice said. “You’ll do fine. And the cabins usually tip pretty good.”

Douglas? Don’t count on it. Ten percent if she’s lucky.

“Hurry back,” said the chef. “We’ve got another one after this. Cabin Three is too lazy to drag their fat asses in for dinner either.”

Nice. Very respectful.

We set off down the hall. “Jeeez,” the waitress said. “Heavy.”

“You’ll get used to it,” said a woman in a resigned voice.

We bumped down the hall and stopped for a moment. I heard a ding and then the cart was dragged into what must have been the elevator. My back was beginning to hurt. Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant idea. I contemplated crawling out of my hiding place but quickly discarded the thought. When again would I have the opportunity to be a fly on the wall in Douglas and Sophie’s cabin? The waitress dragged the cart off the elevator and we bumped along another corridor.

“Here let me help you with that,” a man’s voice said.

“Oh thank you. It’s heavier than I thought it would be. I’ll hold the door.”

Even inside my tiny cubby I felt the blast of cold when the cart hit the outdoors.

“Here let me,” said the man. “This thing really is solid. Which cabin you going to?”

“Number one. It’s the closest. I can manage.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, but thank you.”

We bumped along in the cold, for a time. A long time. Every bump in the path reverberated up my spine. We finally came to a stop and I heard a timid knock on the door. “Room service!”

“Oh good,” I heard Sophie say as the door opened. “Come on in before the dinner gets cold.”

We clunked over the landing into the cabin.

“Over there in front of the fire,” Douglas said.

“Would you like me to lay the table for you?” asked the waitress.

“No that’s fine,” said Sophie. “I’ll do it.”

“Now is the tip included in the price?” asked Douglas.

“No it isn’t sir,” said the girl nervously.

“Are you sure? I seem to remember gratuities being included when I booked.”

“No sir, they’re not included.”

“Well I’m going to check on that,” said Douglas. “If you’re right I’ll get you before we leave.”

Cheap bastard.

“Umm okay. My name’s Hannah.”

“Right. Thank you Hannah,” said Douglas, in an imperious voice.

The door shut and poor Hannah, who was never going to see a tip from Douglas, left.

“Hmmm,” said Sophie. “Smells good.”

“Probably cold,” said Douglas.

Well probably. I tried to get more comfortable, but there was no room for maneuvering inside the cart.

“Oh yum,” said Sophie, with a little laugh, “They’re using parsley as a garnish. And look at that, there’s iceberg lettuce in the salad. When was the last time you saw iceberg lettuce? And look, winter tomatoes.”

What was I doing? They were going to eat dinner and talk about grout and I was trapped, my back throbbing. And so hungry. I briefly forgot about my pain as I pictured a delicious toasted winter tomato sandwich. With nice crispy iceberg lettuce.

“At least the lobster looks edible,” said Sophie.

“Not with your fingers darling.”

“Oh don’t be so uptight. Sometimes you’re worse than Harry.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m just teasing. Here, have a bite.”

Douglas, the office germaphobe, must have steeled himself to eat off Sophie’s fingers.

“Yummy isn’t it.”

“Not bad,” said Douglas. “A little dry. And stop comparing me to Harry. You promised you wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh don’t be so sensitive. I’m in such a good mood. This place is hysterical. It’s just what we needed after this crazy week. It’s almost like you knew we were going to need a good laugh.”

“Hysterical?” asked Douglas.

“I love it. It’s like the Clampets bought a country inn. I have to take some pictures of that lobby to show people.”

She needed a good laugh after her husband was brutally murdered. Well I suppose you would, but still.

“This place came highly recommended,” said Douglas.

“Oh I’m sure it did sweetheart. It’s a riot.”

“The review,” said Douglas, in a terse voice, “from a very reputable website said that it’s a droll place for the hoi polloi to spend Christmas in the country. I’m surprised your friends haven’t heard of it.”

There was a pause and I could hear someone lifting covers off the dishes over top of my head.

“Shrimp cocktail,” said Sophie. “My grandmother used to serve us shrimp cocktail. You booked a hotel that’s perfect for the hoi polloi?”

“Nothing but the very best for you darling.”

“Ahh,” said Sophie. “Hence the decorated by Sears motif. I thought they were being ironic.”

Snob. Probably a murderous snob.

“You said you liked the decor.”

“I liked the decor when I thought the decor was ironic. Do you not see the difference?”

“I’m sorry,” said a petulant Douglas, “if my choice of accommodation doesn’t meet the standards you’re accustomed to.”

“Don’t be silly darling. Come here — give your baby a kiss. Harry and I always went to Bali or Phuket or some other overexposed tourist trap for Christmas. This is really so much nicer, just the two of us in our little studio cabin with this nice practical laminate floor, where there’s no chance we’ll run into anyone we know. If we went somewhere decent I’d likely see friends and I’m so tired of all the whispering and staring. Here, let’s sit down and eat this lobster before all the flour in the sauce starts to coagulate.”

Wow, she was quite the number. Douglas was in way over his head. There was a sharp pain in my lower back, almost like I was being stabbed. Now there was the irony Sophie was looking for. I tried to remember my Lamaze breathing. Short fast breaths, wasn’t that it? Hard to remember since I only went to one pre-natal class. If Lamaze helped with childbirth surely it would help ease the pain in my throbbing back. I took a few fast breaths. Nothing. If anything it jarred my back. I gave a quiet little moan. Not loud enough to be heard, but just enough to ease the pressure. Please, I prayed, please talk about how you killed Harry so this incredible pain, pain beyond the endurance of most humans, will not be in vain.

“At least if we eat in our room we won’t have to run into those ridiculous women from the sleigh ride. Eliza Doolittle there, rambling on about Harry. Did you ever?”

“We have to get used to it,” said Douglas. “The idiot goes and gets himself murdered, we’re never going to hear the end of it.”

Gets himself murdered. That’s right. By you.

“Oh I know,” sighed Sophie. “If they would just catch that dim-witted secretary and throw her in jail then people would forget about all this murder business. The whole thing is so tacky, I don’t know how much longer I can bear it.”

This wasn’t the conversation they were supposed to be having. It was almost as if they really believed that I killed him.

“Don’t worry darling. As soon as they catch Valerie this will all blow over. The woman is an imbecile. It is mind boggling to me that the police can’t find her. What does that say about them? If they’d put me in charge of the investigation she’d have been locked up days ago.”

The pain in my back had now reached such a throbbing crescendo it was difficult to concentrate on what they were saying. My neck was beginning to cramp and a sharp pain was emanating from my shoulder and shooting down the entire right side of my body.

“Blah blah blah Digoxin.”

Digoxin. That’s a heart medication. What were they saying?

“Every damn day I replaced it with Vitamin D. He had it with his ridiculous hot chocolate in the morning. You know how vigilant I was. I just keep replaying this, over and over again. Why couldn’t he have just had a heart attack like he was supposed to, instead of dragging the police into it like this? He should have been dead months ago instead of ruining my Christmas season with this mess. If you had only watched him that night.”

“Not again Sophie. I’m not going through this again. He slipped away when I was in the washroom. What could I have done? When I came back he was climbing into the cab.”

“You could have dragged him out. How could you let him go home with that woman? That picture of her in the paper. She looked like a trailer park bum and kicking that poor cat. Now everyone’s staring at me thinking Harry was having an affair with someone like that. It’s so humiliating when he could have had a nice simple heart attack.”

Trailer park bum? I think she means trash. This was all wrong. Why weren’t they talking about how clever they were to get away with murder?

“In the long run this all worked out for the best. We’re completely in the clear. And it will all be over soon darling. Believe me, I worked with the woman for four years. She’s not smart enough to stay hidden for long.”

I am plenty smart. I was simply not motivated, as a clerical worker, to toil at my maximum capacity.

“Oh I can’t eat this,” said Sophie with a sob. “I’m trying to be a good sport I really am, but look at this. Thousand Island dressing. Would it have been so difficult for them to make a nice vinaigrette?”

“How about I call a couple of the restaurants in town?” asked Douglas. “For the right price someone will deliver out here.”

“Oh darling — could we?”

“It’s only money sweetheart, and we have plenty of it now.”

A few minutes later the cart and the iceberg lettuce and me had been pushed back outside. As soon as Douglas slammed the cabin door shut, I fell out of the cart onto the snowy ground. I was curled up in a fetal position, whimpering. I had never known such pain. Had anyone ever known such pain and survived? Through one half-opened eye I could see the lights from the lodge. It looked so warm and welcoming and so very far away. I tentatively straightened out my spine by a few degrees. Okay, there was some movement. I slowly rolled over on to my back. Very painful, but I was now about six inches closer to the lodge. Could I roll all the way there? Why bother? I had followed every lead and it had led me to this. Sophie and Douglas were a hideous couple but they hadn’t killed Mr. Potter. They’d tried, but they’d failed. I didn’t have the strength to investigate any further. Maybe I would just lie in the snow. In this cold, it wouldn’t take long for me to freeze to death. The sun would come up and I would be there, frozen to the ground, a martyr. Maybe years from now someone would uncover the truth behind Harold Potter’s murder and I would be vindicated. A law would be named after me, Valerie’s Law, which would state that the police couldn’t jump to conclusions just because they happened to find a dead body and a murder weapon in someone’s apartment. Law students would study my case and be inspired by my brave suffering and untimely death. And, oh yes, Walter would be ridiculed and stripped of his license for not trying harder to defend me.

Maybe I would just lie in a frozen heap and think about food until I drifted off into the great beyond. Fresh bread. Hot, grainy bread, straight from the oven, dripping with butter. Flakey biscuits and blueberry streusel muffins and banana bread. No, not banana bread. I was never eating banana bread again. In the next world there must be endless amounts of wonderful food. If there was a next world. What if there wasn’t? Or, worse, what if there really was a hell? No, I was getting delirious from the cold. Of course there wasn’t a hell. But still. What if? I’d made a lot of questionable choices this past week. How many Commandments had I broken? I’d lied and stolen and hadn’t always done onto others as I’d have them do unto me. Was that a Commandment or the Golden Rule? I hadn’t killed anyone or committed adultery, but still, what if there was no opportunity to plead my case? What if the Evangelicals were right and as soon as you died some angel with a clipboard decided if you were a heaven or hell bound candidate. Maybe I would try just one more time to get on my feet. With great effort I rolled over on to my hands and knees. My fingers were so numb I could barely feel the snow. That couldn’t be good. Was that a sign of frostbite? What if I survived, but had to have some fingers amputated; or my nose permanently turned black like those people who got lost on Everest?

Enough. Bracing against the cart, I forced myself to my feet, but the pain in my back made it impossible to stand up straight. Hunched over, like an upside down letter U I plodded toward the lodge, every step an exercise in forbearance. How had my life come to this? I was such a good person, at least in comparison to so many other people. Just a few feet away, there were vile Douglas and Sophie curled up in their tacky little not ironic cabin, Douglas mentally counting his money and Sophie trying her best not to focus on the laminate floor, while I trudged through the cold, dark night, back to the lodge.

Something, other than the excruciating pain was twigging at me. What was it? There was something, lying there on the frozen ground, that had jarred a memory, but my partially frozen brain couldn’t compute. I stumbled along, trying to take gentle steps, being careful not to slip. If I slipped I quite possibly would die from the pain. It was very difficult to see. Where were all those country stars that were supposed to light up the night? Ahh — I was there. I was almost there.

“You all right ma’am? Can I get that door for you?”

Yes you can. And please carry me to my room. Gently. Very gently. “Yes, thank you,” I mumbled, without looking up. I didn’t have the strength.

I should have looked. I missed the step, tripped and slammed into the door frame. The reverberation up my spine was a sensation like I had never felt before. I slumped against the door, trying to breathe and fighting the urge to cry.