Coming Unclued (5 page)

“No problem. Why would it be a problem?”

“I just want to ascertain where you will be in the city.” He flipped through his notebook. “Do we have your cell number? And could we have the keys to your apartment?”

“Is she an official suspect?” asked Julie.

“No one is an official suspect yet.”

“Who will you be looking at, suspect-wise?” I asked. “This is going to be a difficult investigation. I can’t picture anyone wanting to kill Mr. Potter. He wasn’t the type to have enemies.” I had a sudden revelation. “It’s almost always someone close to the victim. A family member, a business associate. Murders are seldom random.” Shit. I was a business associate. “I mean a high-level business associate, not a person who just happens to work in the same office. Someone who stands to gain from the victim’s death.”

Detective Crowley didn’t look bowled over by this insight. “We’ll be looking carefully at every angle.” He checked his notebook. “Where will you be staying?”

“She’ll be with me,” said Julie, in a firm voice as she handed him one of her business cards. “Does she need a lawyer?”

“That is completely up to Ms Valentyn.”

I went over to the hook by the door and got my spare set of keys for him. “Guess you don’t need my car key,” I said as I struggled to remove it from the key chain.

“As long as you don’t plan on going anywhere in your car.”

“Nowhere?”

“Nowhere out of the city,” he said with a tight smile. “No making a run for Mexico.”

He was a riot.

“Could you tell me who else has a key to your place?” asked the detective.

“I don’t know — Evan, my son. He has one. Julie do you have a key?”

“No.”

“Does your building have a superintendent?” asked the detective.

“No — we’re only eight condos.”

“So just you and your son?”

“That’s right.”

“And where is he?”

“He lives in the West End. He’s a dental student at U of T.”

“Any reason he might have dropped by last night?”

“No,” I said. “He knew I had the office party.” Wait a minute. Why was he asking about Evan?

“What are you asking?” I demanded. “You think my son dropped by and stabbed Mr. Potter?”

“I’ll need to speak with him,” replied the detective, unfazed by the affront to my maternal instincts. “Can you give me his number?”

I gave the detective Evan’s number while Julie paced around the living room, seemingly deep in thought.

“What about a master key?” asked Julie. “Doesn’t someone on your condo board have a master key to all the condos?”

Good thinking Julie. “That’s right,” I said. “Someone could have got hold of the master key. Anybody — the skies the limit!”

“Do you happen to know who would have this key?” asked Det. Crowley.

Who was on the condo board? Besides me that is, because I certainly didn’t have any master keys. I pondered this for a moment, while the detective tapped the pen against his teeth. It suddenly hit me. “Rose. Rose Canning. She’s on the board. She lives on the first floor.”

The detective snapped his notebook shut and snorted. “Make sure we can reach you,” he said.

“She’ll need clothes,” said Julie. “They’re in her bedroom.”

“You’ll have to make do,” he said to me as he headed toward the door. “Officer Sobey over there will see you out.”

“He has to get to the grocery store,” said Julie in a low voice. “And I don’t believe Julia Child drank whole milk. 2% maybe.”

I sat down on the couch and hugged a throw pillow to my chest. “I am in deep shit. They really think I did it.”

Julie sat down beside me. “Val. Of course they think you did it.”

There were times when I enjoyed Julie’s brutal honesty. You always knew where you stood with her. But as I sat on the couch, contemplating my predicament, it occurred to me that a friend who was a little softer around the edges, a friend who knew how to sugarcoat a situation would be a comforting friend to have. Unfortunately, Julie was what I had.

“Do you think I did it?”

Julie looked me right in the eye. “Val, I can’t figure this. A knife-wielding intruder who breaks in, stabs your boss, doesn’t touch you and leaves without taking anything. It doesn’t compute.”

I sank back into the couch and shut my eyes. Maybe I did do it. Maybe I lured Mr. Potter to my condo, plied him with wine and snacks and then staggered into my bedroom and stabbed the poor man to death while he slept. What other answer could there be?

Julie touched my arm. “Let’s get going. We’ll get you settled in and then figure out a lawyer. There may even be clean sheets on the spare bed.”

I looked over at the officer guarding the bedroom door. “Do you think he’ll let me in for just a minute?”

“No.”

“My luggage is in the closet.”

“You can’t get your clothes. Just grab your bag and let’s get out of here. I’m going to give Andrew a quick call.”

Andrew is Julie’s wonderful husband. Her high school sweetheart. They both think that the smartest thing Andrew ever did was to marry Julie, and it works for them.

“I’m just going to get my purse,” I called to the policeman hovering by the kitchen.

Under the watchful eye of the officer, I grabbed my reading glasses and wallet and stuffed them into my gorgeous Roots tote bag, a present from my sister when I turned forty-five. “Forty-five is a big one,” she told me. “An epoch. The end of an era. You’re officially middle-aged at forty-five.”

There you have it in a couple of sentences. The reason I can only handle Sharon in very small doses. Who uses epoch in conversation? That’s the kind of word you see in a book and don’t know how to pronounce. Sharon would stop reading, look it up and then slip it into a sentence at the first opportunity. And “you’re officially middle-aged at forty-five.” That’s exactly the sort of pronouncement she is known for. Sharon is five years younger than me. When she turns forty-five she will probably pretend to contemplate having one last baby so everyone will think she is full of spritely eggs just waiting to be fertilized. The tote bag is beautiful though.

Sharon is an emergency room doctor and the mother of two adorable little girls. In her spare time she writes a Mommy Blog full of essays like
Farewell to my Breastfeeding Journey.
She took only two months off after each of her kid’s births because, “I want them to have a mother they can look up to, who has something going on other than fetching them juice boxes.” This pointed comment was a judgment on the twelve happy years I spent out of the work force fetching juice boxes for Evan.

“We’re going to go now,” I told the officer.

“Sure ma’am,” he said, holding out his hand. “If you’d just let me take a look through that bag first.”

I passed him the tote bag. After ascertaining that I wasn’t attempting to hijack any evidence, the policeman handed it back to me and strolled over to window where he glared at me while chewing on a hangnail.

“I guess we can go,” I said, looking around the place. How could I come back here? How could I ever sleep in that bedroom again? I picked my keys off the table by the front door, looked at the keys and then at Julie.

“Okay,” I said. “The door was locked this morning. I had to unlock it to throw my wine down the chute.” I leaned against the door. “So, to recap, whoever murdered Mr. Potter didn’t break in. He had a key. Or he’s really good at picking a lock.”

“Or you let him in.”

“Or I did it.”

“And there’s that one,” said Julie. “Let’s go.”

Heather’s door was wide open. She must have been watching for us because she came rushing out as we walked past.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Everything is far from all right Heather,” replied Julie in her most imperious voice.

Heather, however, wasn’t taking any guff from Julie. “What I meant was, are there any new developments? A detective came over to question me. He didn’t seem very friendly toward you.”

“He thinks I murdered Mr. Potter. I guess he finds it off-putting.”

Heather shook her head. “This is just crazy.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t worry Val. I didn’t say anything incriminating.”

“Just tell the truth Heather. They’re going to find out my history. Don’t get yourself in trouble.”

Why was I being such a martyr? I wanted her to lie for me; tell them any rumors about my drinking were completely unfounded. Tell them she came home late and saw a suspicious looking man she’d never seen before unlocking my door. Tell them it never occurred to her that it was a big deal. It’s not like Heather was incapable of acting a little … simple.

“I’ll be thinking of you Val, and sending good vibes out into the universe.”

Well that was a relief. The universe would be rooting for me.

“Thanks Heather. I’ll keep in touch.”

“Yes! Do that. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

I gave Heather a quick hug before Julie and I headed for the stairs and started down the four flights. We kept up a brisk pace, relieved to be leaving. “You didn’t even say goodbye to her,” I said.

“You know how that wheat-free green tea talk irritates me.”

“You’re too easily irritated.”

“Hmmm. Maybe.”

“I have to call Evan. What am I going to tell him?”

“Just tell him the truth,” said Julie.

We descended into the foyer and I could see police and neighbors milling about outside.

“Lets do this,” said Julie. “Walk quickly, keep your head down and don’t talk to anybody. My car’s just up the street across from that hideous new house.” In recent years many of the old houses in our neighborhood had been torn down and replaced with dazzling monster homes. Julie did not approve.

Julie pushed open the door and we put our heads down and hustled down the street. “Hey there luv, how’s about you give us a picture?” Was that a Cockney accent?

“Say nothing,” said Julie. “Just keep moving.”

“How does he know it’s me?” I muttered.

“People talk.”

Julie had brought the poop van, because why waste an opportunity to advertise her business? We hurried over to it, the photographer racing along beside us. I had my head down, my face turned away from him when suddenly I tripped and started flailing, grabbing on to Julie so I wouldn’t wipe out. My hood flew back and I grimaced as I struggled to right myself. The photographer kept flashing away. It was a cat. I’d tripped over a cat. What was it doing lying in the middle of the sidewalk? Why can’t people keep their stupid cats inside where they belong?

“Quick, get in,” said Julie, opening the passenger side door.

I jumped in the van, pulled my hood back over my face and slumped down in the seat. Julie clambered in and pulled away from the curb as quickly as she could, glancing over at me as she drove. “Too late. He got a picture of you kicking that cat.”

“I didn’t kick the cat! I tripped over the damn cat.”

“The picture’s going to look like you kicked it.”

I glared at her. She was getting on my nerves. I wasn’t sensing a lot of good vibes emanating from her. At least Heather had a positive attitude.

“Call Evan.” Julie looked in her rearview mirror, and then took a sharp right through an alley. She looked over at me. “In case anyone is following us.”

“No one will follow us. I’m not famous. Or infamous.”

“A pillar of the community was stabbed to death in your bed. A married pillar. People are interested.”

“He was hardly a pillar.”

“Oh a support post then. Whatever.”

I pressed the first name on my contact list. The phone rang twice and a squeaky voice answered. Did Evan have a new girlfriend? He hadn’t mentioned it. And what was she doing answering his cell phone? That seemed a little brassy for a girl I didn’t even know. I asked for Evan and I could hear her squeak his name.

“Hi Mom. What’s up?”

“Hi Sweetie. Why does something have to be up? I’m just calling to say hello.”

Julie gave me a dirty look.

“Great,” said Evan. “How’s things?”

“Actually, now you mention it, something is up.” I sounded like a moron. How was I going to go from “I’m just calling to say hello” to “I’m about to be indicted for murder.” “There’s been a little … incident … this morning.”

“Are you okay?” He sounded worried. I knew this was going to happen. Evan’s a worrier. He was always one of those ‘what if’ kind of kids. “What if a tree falls on the house?” “What if the train goes off the tracks?” “What if I buy the wrong backpack?” “I’m fine,” I reassured him. “I’m right here with Julie, heading to her house. Actually we’re at her house. Oh my God, what
is
that?”

“What?” asked Evan.

Julie had one of those horrible blow-up Christmas decorations in front of her house. A huge ten foot high Santa’s workshop with fake snow falling and elves making toys. A monstrosity that took up most of her yard.

“Andrew bought it. He thought it was cute,” said Julie. She sounded a little defensive. No wonder. Her house was now the scourge of the neighborhood.

“He was wrong,” I told her. “Sorry honey,” I said into the phone. “A lapse in judgment on Andrew’s part”.

“Mom, what’s going on? I was kind of in the middle of something.”

“Who was that who answered the phone?”

“Mikel.”

“Nickle?”

“No, Mikel.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“It’s a family name,” said Evan, with a barely concealed sigh. I shouldn’t have been surprised that there was a new girlfriend afoot. Evan had always been very popular with the girls, though he’d had a bit of a dry spell when he was bunking with me.

“Tell him,” snapped Julie. “Jesus.”

“Okay, honey. There was a little thing this morning. There was a terrible thing and then there’s been a misunderstanding about it.”

Evan was silent. Julie sighed and shut her eyes as she leaned back against the headrest.

“You know Mr. Potter, my boss?”

“Sure. The guy with the breath.”

“Yes. Him. He was found dead in my apartment. In my bed. Stabbed to death.”

There was a pause before Evan spoke. “What the…? Who killed him? What was he doing there?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem — and that he’s dead is of course a problem. The police don’t know. They’re investigating.”