Coming Unclued (35 page)

I tossed the phone on the floor and struggled with my toe. “I’m stuck,” I said to Julie.

“Oh for cripes sake,” said Julie. “Are you kidding me?”

“It was dripping. You know how I feel about drips.”

“Well pull. Pull hard.”

“I have tried that,” I said, through gritted teeth. “And the water is getting cold.”

“I’m going to push down on your leg,” said Julie. “Why do you do things like this? Have you reached the point where you can’t even take a bath without getting in trouble?”

Once again, Julie the judgmental, Julie the doesn’t know what it is to make a little mistake. She grabbed my foot and pushed down on it. Nothing. Nothing except intense pain.

“Oww!” I moaned.

“Shut up,” said Julie, in her cold, unfeeling, British headmistress voice. “This is your own fault.”

“Oh that’s right,” I said. “Everything’s my fault. Blame me for everything.”

Julie sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “I’m going to put all my weight on your foot,” she said.

“Well that should do it,” I said. I was feeling mean, though it was wasted on Nurse Ratchet who didn’t appear to be listening to me. Julie leaned over my leg, grabbed my ankle and pushed down.

“Stop!” I screamed. “You’re going to pull my toe off. What’s wrong with you?”

Julie just glared at me and stormed out of the room, leaving me stuck and freezing. I decided to ignore the situation, to be calm, Zen. I shut my eyes and pictured myself sitting on a mountaintop in India in the Lotus position. “Ommm,” I hummed. It was working. I felt calmer. “Ommmmm.”

“Here.” My meditation was disturbed by Julie returning with a bottle. “Rose had some mineral oil in her purse. Don’t ask. Squirt some around your toe.”

I sat up as best I could and gave my toe a good squirt.

“Now try,” said Julie.

And like a cork in a wine bottle, out popped my swollen big toe.

“Jesus,” said Julie, storming out of the room.

I stepped gingerly onto the bathmat, wrapping a bath towel around me.

“Where’s the bathrobe?” I called. “Doesn’t this place provide bathrobes?”

Julie and Rose had already claimed the bathrobes. They had also decided that they would share the queen sized bed and I would get the couch. Fine. Whatever. No one could ever call me a complainer. “This is where it all began,” I said, as I curled up, wearing my towel. “On a couch. I woke up that morning thinking it was just another Sunday, maybe I’d have some coffee, read the paper, do some shopping, and bam my life was ruined. I’d already bought the Christmas turkey. Organic free range. It wasn’t cheap.”

“I’ll bet they put on a fine meal at the jail,” said Rose. “And the Salvation Army band will probably play. It’ll be nice.”

I tried to hold back my tears. The Salvation Army Band playing while I ate my Christmas gruel. I didn’t have a Kleenex. I sniffed and then quickly wiped my nose on the blanket. It smelled funny. Musty. Something I had better get accustomed to. I let my mind wander back over the few days while I listened to the thump of the washing machines next door.

“We did okay,” I reflected. “We figured out some things. Once we tell the police what Douglas and Mr. Potter were up to they might be able to get some money back for those people.”

“I’ll bet they will,” replied Julie. “We were good at this. And if it wasn’t for the whole you might be incarcerated for the rest of your life thing I would have almost enjoyed it.”

“And once people hear what a scum the guy was they won’t be quite so angry about him getting stabbed to death,” said Rose. “That should help your case. Knock a few years off the sentence. Night girls. Don’t mind my snoring.”

A few hours later I was wide awake, curled up on the lumpy couch, buffeted by the sound of rattling pipes and dueling snoring coming from the bed. We would drive home tomorrow and I would call Walter and have him take me in. I would throw myself on the mercy of the justice system and hope that even with all the evidence pointing to me, Walter could work his magic. He’d managed it for plenty of people who really were guilty. Why not me?

There was quite a bit of heavy snow falling as we set out the next morning, cardboard cups of coffee from the dining room in hand. “We’ll grab something to eat on the road,” said Julie in a no nonsense voice. “I want to get going in case the snow gets worse.”

So we zipped along, Christmas carols on the radio, enjoying the beautiful scenery and sipping our coffee. I was going to be brave about this. No more whining, no more “Why me?” I’d given it my best shot, I’d failed, and now I would head home to accept responsibility. Responsibility for what? I hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Isn’t this fun?” said Rose. “Just us girls out for a road trip. I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself so much.”

I gave a little sniff to remind her of exactly why we were on this road trip.

“Here you go,” said Rose, handing me a balled up Kleenex that looked like it had spent days stuffed up her sleeve. “Give it a good blow.”

“This snow is really sticky and the car is starting to skid,” said Julie, as she slowed the car. “It’s Andrew’s job to put the snow tires on. Is that too much to ask that he does that one little thing? I do everything else to keep the house running.”

“Men,” said Rose. “They’re like puppies. Cute at first but you get tired of picking up their crap.”

I’d miss Rose. “Will you visit me in prison?” I called back to her.

“Oh sure honey. My first husband spent a bit of time in the big house and I never missed a Sunday visit.”

“Shit!” shrieked Julie, as the car suddenly began to fishtail back and forth. “Hold on! Brace yourselves.”

I grabbed the dashboard and gave a quick look back at Rose, who was bent over in the crash position. I could feel the car swerving across the road.

“Don’t slam the brakes!” I screamed. “We’ll spin out.”

“I’m trying,” snapped Julie as she slammed on the brakes. We did a rapid 360 and slowly slid down an embankment into the ditch. We were all silent for a moment as the car came to a stop.

“Is everyone all right?” called Julie. “Rose are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Rose. “Gave me a bit of a start but I didn’t even spill my coffee.”

“You okay?” Julie asked me.

“Shaken but not stirred,” I said. I was determined to be a good sport about this, even though Julie’s inept driving had put all of our lives in danger.

“Okay. Good. We’re all good then,” she said, relaxing a little back into her seat. “We need to call somebody. CAA. And we’d better get out of the car. It’s probably not safe down here. Another car might land on us.”

“Not unless some other idiot slams on his brakes and spins out,” I said. “Most people know better.” Well I’d tried to be a good sport, but honestly, now here we were stuck in a ditch in the middle of a snow storm.

We all clambered out of the car and between Julie and me we managed to hoist Rose up to the side of the road.

“Brisk isn’t it?” remarked Rose. “Julie you might want to get on that cell phone of yours and call for a tow truck. Tell them you have your ninety-year-old mother with you. That’ll get them hustling.”

“You don’t look anywhere near ninety,” I told her.

“Thank you honey, but I don’t think they’ll check my ID.”

Rose and I huddled together on the side of the road, shivering in the driving snow while Julie paced up and down trying to explain where we were.

“They’re sending a tow truck,” she finally reported back to us. “They’re putting a rush on it because we have a very sick, very old woman with us. Maybe you should get back in the car Rose. I’ll run the engine for a while to warm you up.”

“Oh I don’t think so. I’d feel like a rat in a trap down there.”

“It could be a while,” said Julie.

“Well look on the bright side,” said Rose. “Kind of a delay of execution for you Val.”

There’s always a bright side if you look hard enough.

So we stomped around on the side of the road, trying to keep warm and twenty minutes later, after getting a tow from a friendly young man in a Hooters baseball cap, we were back on the road, no worse for the wear.

“You can drop me at my building, kind of full circle and all,” I told Julie. “I’ll call Walter from Rose’s and do whatever he tells me to do.”

“You sure?” she asked. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

“No — I’ll call you as soon as I know anything. And thanks for everything Julie. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”

“I’d do it all again,” said Julie. She sounded a little misty. “Here,” she said. “Take my phone, just in case you need it.”

We pulled up in front of the condo. Annie and Bill were coming out, hand in hand, looking very happy. Well who was I to judge? There must be something to him I couldn’t see. Something hidden deep within.

Rose hoisted herself out of the car, gave Julie a merry goodbye and we headed into the building. The security door was finally working again.

“My tree,” said Rose as we entered the lobby. “Where the heck’s my tree?”

I’d thought the lobby looked nicer than last time I was here. Rose’s Christmas tree was gone.

“It’s Bambi,” said Rose. “I know it. She snuck down here in the dead of night and stole my tree. Isn’t that just like her? Sneaky … Just let me catch my breath and I’m going to go up there and give her what for. She’ll be sorry she messed with Rose Canning.”

“I’ll go up,” I told Rose. “You go to your place and get comfortable. I want to talk to Heather anyway. I’ll find out if she had anything to do with your tree and then I’ll come back down and call Walter. Okay?”

Rose pondered this plan for a moment and then nodded her head in assent. “Don’t take any guff from her. Check all the closets. She’s hiding it somewhere.”

Right. Heather almost certainly didn’t have Rose’s ratty old tree stuffed in a closet. She’d probably dragged it to the nearest dumpster. Good riddance to the tree, but I wanted to confront Heather on a different matter. Evan. How could she? What kind of friend would do something like that? I thought I knew her.

My legs were aching and a little wobbly by the time I reached the fourth floor. Hard to believe that only a few days ago I had made that climb a few times a day. I knocked sharply on Heather’s door. I was angry. Really angry. She’d lied to me. Deceived me. I knocked again. And she wasn’t home, the cradle robbing bitch.

I looked over at the door to my condo. Maybe I’d just pop by and see it one last time before I turned myself in. I’d have to sell it. Evan wouldn’t want to live there, not with what had happened. Would anybody buy it? What kind of person would want a condo where a grisly murder had taken place?

I dug around in my purse and found the key. Well why not? Might as well say goodbye.

The door opened easily. It wasn’t even locked. Did the police not bother to lock it when they left? What kind of service was that? I had valuables in there. Well, maybe not valuables so much, but stuff. I had a lot of stuff. Unbelievable. They falsely accuse me of murder and then don’t even bother to lock my door.

I entered my little foyer and suddenly felt quite choked up. It all looked so familiar. The mirror I always checked before I went out. The umbrella stand holding the really excellent umbrella I’d found on the subway. The stack of old magazines I kept meaning to take down to the recycling.

A rattling noise startled me out of my sentimental journey. What was that? It was a banging almost, coming from the kitchen. Were the police still here? Well screw it. I wasn’t going to cower and hide any longer. Here they were. Might as well hand myself over. “It’s Val Valentyn,” I called. “I’m turning myself in. I’m unarmed. My hands are up.”

And with my hands clasped on top of my head I walked calmly into the kitchen.

There stood Heather, a look of disbelief on her face, holding my lasagna pan.

“Val — I didn’t expect to see you here.”

I put my hands down. “Clearly not. What are you doing?”

“I’m having Paul for dinner tonight,” Heather said with a little smile, “and he likes lasagna. I didn’t think you’d mind if I borrowed your pan.”

“Oh.” Heather was making lasagna? All that flour and cheese. She must really be in love. Which reminded me. “I went by your place,” I said. “I wanted to talk to you. I found about you and Evan. How could you do that? Deceive me like that?”

“Who told you?”

“Evan of course. He didn’t like keeping a secret from me.” After I’d confronted him.

“Well that’s all over,” said Heather cheerfully. “It was nothing. I’ve got a real man now.”

Evan wasn’t a real man? He was more man than she deserved. “A real woman wouldn’t lie to one of her friends. A real woman wouldn’t have an affair with someone young enough to be her child.” Well, a real woman might do that, but not with my child.

“Oh grow up,” said Heather. “If you weren’t so neurotically possessive of Evan you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

What situation was she referring to? My current legal problems could hardly be blamed on my parenting.

“And how’d you get in here anyway?” I demanded. “I don’t remember giving you a key. As a matter of fact I know I didn’t. And you know what? You can’t borrow my lasagna pan.” That would teach her to stay away from my son.

How did she get in here? Would the police have left the door open? That really didn’t seem likely.

“How’d you get in here?” I repeated.

“Oh stop nattering,” snapped Heather. “Or I’ll call the police. You sound dangerous.”

“Put that pan down first,” I yelled at her. I did sound quite dangerous, getting so irate over a lasagna pan. “Paul will dump you soon anyway. No man could put up with you for very long.” Well that was a little mean, even if she did seduce my son.

“Paul adores me,” said Heather. She was practically snarling. “He finds me captivating.”

“He’ll get over that as soon as he gets to know you
.
Because let’s face it, they never last.
”

“Oh shut up. I wish I had killed you.”

She wished she’d killed me? What kind of thing was that to say? That was way harsher than me saying her new boyfriend was going to get sick of her.

We stared at each other over the granite countertop of my kitchen island.