The Lavender Ladies Detective Agency: Death in Sunset Grove (15 page)

A large man stood in front of Siiri and Anna-Liisa, looking at them with tender blue eyes. He held out a red poinsettia.

‘Merry Christmas,’ he said. ‘Or should I say Happy New Year’s, since Christmas is more or less over now?’

‘Mika Korhonen!’ Siiri shouted as if the Angel Gabriel himself had appeared out of the heavens. And that’s exactly how she felt, because no one but Mika could help them out of
the mess they were in, a mess that had only grown more befuddling as the weeks went by.

‘Have you ever thought about what a fun word befuddling is? Almost as good as flummoxed,’ Siiri said to Mika, giving him a hug – which was totally unlike her – because at
that moment a big hug from her new friend with his squeaky leather jacket and his wonderful smell was just what she needed. It made her feel safer than any childhood memory.

‘You don’t need the plural, or the possessive, in this case. It’s “Happy New Year”, not “Happy New Year’s”,’ Anna-Liisa informed him, and
Siiri realized she hadn’t introduced them.

‘This is my friend, Anna-Liisa Petäjä,’ Siiri said to Mika, who extended his strong hand.

‘Master of Philosophy, language and literature teacher. Very nice to meet you, Mr Korhonen.’ Anna-Liisa squeezed Mika’s hand, obviously satisfied by his grip.

‘Right, yeah. Just Mika. And where’s the other happy lady? I have a flower for her, too.’

‘Poinsettias are poisonous,’ Anna-Liisa began, but Siiri interrupted and invited both of them to her apartment, feeling that it would be a safer place to talk. You never knew which
of the people dozing around you were actually in full possession of their faculties and ready to pass on everything you said. Good gracious, she was getting paranoid!

Mika glanced around with curiosity as they went to the lift and took it to Siiri’s second-floor apartment. He sniffed the air and grimaced now and then – no doubt the retirement home
had a strange smell to outsiders, a mixture of disinfectant and excretions that the residents had reluctantly grown used to. Siiri opened her apartment door and regretted that she hadn’t
cleared the remains of her breakfast. She hurried to put things away and wiped the table. Anna-Liisa had never been to her apartment and so was making an eager inspection of it. She stopped her
Zimmer frame in front of the bookshelf and scanned it with apparent approbation, though it only contained Siiri’s most beloved, and newest, books. She had given most of her books to the
antiquarian bookstore when she moved into the retirement home. The bookstore owner had wanted to give her a few hundred for them, but she wasn’t worried about the money because she felt that
second-hand book dealers were performing a public good by rescuing books and spreading the word about them.

Mika looked at the framed photos of Siiri’s husband and children on the windowsill, peeked into the bedroom, and sat down on the sofa, which looked smaller with him filling half of it. It
was a rather silly sofa, low and curved, from Stockmann department store, and had followed Siiri in every move she’d made since the 1930s. Siiri put the poinsettias on the table and asked if
her guests would like some coffee and nookies. She didn’t give it a thought – it was what she and Irma always said. Mika laughed in astonishment and Anna-Liisa saw it as an opportunity
to launch into an explanation of why an old person from Helsinki might call cookies nookies.

‘. . . a similar transposition of the initial consonant happens with other expressions, such as spoving louse,’ she said.

‘Yep. Plenty of louses and nookie these days,’ Mika said, and drummed his fingers on the table. Anna-Liisa furrowed her brow doubtfully.

‘Are such expressions still in use among young people today?’ Anna-Liisa asked.

Siiri had to raise her voice to focus the conversation. She gently reminded her guests that it would be best to forget about the nookies and concentrate on talking about Irma. And then she told
them everything, just as if she’d been uncorked. She told them in no particular order about the medical records, the forgetfulness, the sudden sleepiness, the additional drugs, the apathy,
the missing green folder, the strange package, the complaints, Virpi Hiukkanen’s fits of rage, and how she’d been left lying unconscious on the floor. Anna-Liisa corrected,
supplemented, and elucidated whenever an opportunity presented itself.

‘It’s a bit unusual these days to wear a slip under a dress, you see,’ she interjected.

Mika listened, not interrupting or asking any questions. Siiri felt tremendously relieved, and positively giddy, from finally putting all the oppressive thoughts she’d been carrying inside
her all these months into words. Anna-Liisa was full of energy. She remembered the dreadful incident with Olavi Raudanheimo and described what had happened as far as she understood it. ‘And
Reino has been in the closed unit ever since. But I don’t remember where Olavi Raudanheimo is, do you, Siiri?’

Siiri had completely forgotten Olavi’s room with a view at the Hilton! So much had happened that she couldn’t keep up with it all. Tero and Pasi seemed like far-off creatures on this
rainy Christmas, although, just a short time ago, all of Sunset Grove had been abuzz about their fate and Siiri had thought that she would never get over the young cook’s death.

‘Didn’t Irma say in a lucid moment that Olavi had been moved from Meilahti to the chronic ward at Laakso Hospital?’ Anna-Liisa said, digging the fact out of her memory.

Yes, that might be right. But no one had even thought to miss Reino. Even the Ambassador hadn’t said anything about him. Siiri was worried that Mika might be getting a very confused
picture of everything and he might think they were a couple of scatter-brained old ladies. But Mika didn’t say anything unpleasant, he just wanted to know Olavi’s son’s name and
phone number.

‘Oh, we don’t have any of that kind of information,’ Siiri said hopelessly. ‘We don’t have your telephone number either.’

Mika gave her a quick glance, but made no comment on this remark. An uncomfortable moment ensued, which Anna-Liisa defused by pondering whether Irma might have Olavi’s son’s contact
information, since she had been so curious about him and was always figuring such things out when she ‘d been in her right mind.

‘She had a habit of writing down any important name and number on a yellow sticky note and sticking it to the wall or the cupboard door, which was ridiculous, but that information might be
among the rest.’

‘Let’s go and look,’ Mika suggested. ‘You probably have a key?’

Siiri and Anna-Liisa were frightened. They didn’t think it was appropriate to go into someone else’s home uninvited. Mika assured them that they were doing it to help Irma, so
eventually Siiri gave in.

They were shocked when they saw the state of Irma’s apartment. Although Irma had a lot of things, she always kept them well organized, in stacks and piles that had some kind of logic. But
now her place was a terrible mess, as if someone had been there before them and rummaged through her possessions. Even the cupboard doors were open, and the dry goods and bags of flour that Irma
had collected for emergencies were scattered over the worktop. There were jumbles of medicine bottles on the sofa and tables and the only things that seemed to be in their usual places were
Irma’s sticky notes. They were on the walls, mirrors and doors, and they all said, ‘Remember to buy ice cream and wine.’

‘As if she was going to forget,’ Anna-Liisa muttered, venting her perplexity in anger.

‘Someone’s been searching for something here,’ Mika said. He examined Irma’s medicine bottles, and Siiri thought she saw him put some of them in the pocket of his leather
jacket.

‘And returning something,’ Anna-Liisa said, picking up a green folder from the floor with remarkable dexterity.

Mika grabbed the folder, flipped quickly through it, and stuffed it into his backpack. He said he had to leave, but would be back on Sunday to clean Irma’s apartment. Which was, of course,
very kind of him.

Siiri was sitting on the number 6, watching the January rain and admiring the buildings along Hämeentie, when a group from a children’s nursery got on the tram. She
was too shy to chat with them and just watched as the children explained to the other passengers that they were on their way to the Trunk. It sounded ridiculous. One woman asked if the children
were planning to get in the trunk, and said she didn’t think such big girls and boys could possibly all fit in even the largest suitcase.

‘The Trunk is a theatre, silly,’ one little girl with her head covered in plaits explained, and they all laughed at the woman’s stupidity.

The children got off at Lautatarhankatu, but when the doors closed the little girl with the plaits was left behind. She was in a panic, the poor thing, in her fluorescent jacket, and when no one
did anything, Siiri went over to her, took her by the hand, and promised to help, although she wasn’t sure how. The girl stopped yelling at that point and looked completely certain that this
unknown old woman would rescue her, no matter the circumstances. Siiri introduced herself and asked the little girl’s name.

‘Julia. Julia Jumpity-Jump. I’m four years old.’ She held up three fingers. Siiri asked her what her mother’s name was, just in case. If the field trip wasn’t
actually going to the theatre, she would have to contact the girl’s mother. She wondered where she could find a phone box or some other place to call the girl’s mother, and she
couldn’t think of any. There probably weren’t any public telephones any more, even in the restaurants.

‘Her name is Mama Jumpity-Jump, of course.’ The little girl said that there were two Siiris at the children’s nursery. She wanted to know Siiri’s mother’s name and
how old Siiri was. Once she’d incorporated this new friend into her map of the world, Julia Jumpity-Jump started to babble on about every aspect of a four-year-old’s life.

‘Today is Thursday and Thursday is field-trip day. Monday is toy day and that was yesterday. Tomorrow we went with Mama to Thailand, we were there for two weeks and that’s why I have
these wonderful plaits. We have pet stick insects at my house because Mama’s allergic to animals, cats and dogs and guinea pigs and gerbils and bunnies, but not snakes. I don’t want a
snake in the house.’

They got off at the next stop and walked to the Trunk, which was, in fact, a theatre, just like Julia Jumpity-Jump had told her. Maybe she really had stick insects at home, too, whatever they
were. One of the nursery teachers was standing in front of the theatre looking worried, with a telephone to her ear. When she saw them she ran to meet them and wrenched Julia Jumpity-Jump away from
Siiri’s hand.

‘Where have you been? This is no way to have an adventure! We nearly called the police! You are impossible. You give us nothing but worry and trouble. Everyone else is inside, in their
seats.’

The teacher lectured just like a retirement-home worker, and didn’t even acknowledge Siiri, who suddenly found herself standing alone on the street with no idea where she should go. Where
had she been dropped off? In Vallila? Or was this Sörnäinen? Did something just happen, or had she imagined it?

With her head spinning, she crossed the street to the tram stop and got on the first tram that came along. It was a number 6. She missed Irma’s laugh and could hear her bubbling voice and
the clink of her bracelets in her imagination. For a moment she even thought she could smell Irma’s slightly sugary perfume. Tears came to her eyes and it was hard to breathe. How could she
have ever thought that Irma was tiresome? Now she would have been glad to listen seven times over to the story of how Irma’s husband said ‘damn it’ when he was installing the
bookshelves. Or did he say ‘hell’? She was beginning to be confused about everything, too.

Siiri gave a start when she passed the Sörnäinen metro station and saw that crazy Jugendstijl Ebeneser building, designed by Wivi Lönn. Had she changed trams? The number 6
didn’t go down Helsinginkatu. She was sure she’d got on the number 6 at the Trunk Theatre, but that had been a long time ago. Or had it? Her throat tightened as she thought how confused
she might be and not even notice it. Had she been babbling out loud? She had her handbag with her, at least, and her coin purse was there in the zip pocket, but she didn’t see her cane
anywhere. Maybe she hadn’t brought it with her. She felt like shouting for help like a four-year-old, hoping someone would take her by the hand and lead her home, but instead she got up and
asked the driver what was going on. But the driver had his compartment door closed and refused to answer her. Siiri knocked and knocked, until he yelled, ‘You can buy a ticket with your
phone!’

Siiri stumbled back down the aisle and sank into one of the disabled seats. She didn’t normally use them because there was usually someone on the tram who was in worse shape than she was.
She felt weak, her ears were buzzing and her head was pounding. She was unspeakably tired. It was probably just hunger. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, although she couldn’t
be sure of that. It was dark out, but that didn’t tell her what time it was, since it was always dark at this time of year. She looked at her watch, but she couldn’t see the hands
without her glasses and she didn’t feel like fishing them out of her handbag.

A friendly-looking woman came over to her and bent her face close to speak to her. Was it someone she knew?

‘This is the number 8. It goes from Arabianranta to Jätkäsaari. Do you have a ticket?’

Jätkäsaari – Bloke Island – was a truly ugly name for a neighbourhood. It sounded like it got its name from a prison. A townie’s neighbourhood, that’s what Irma
would have said. Siiri wouldn’t even have known how to find such a neighbourhood. And here she was on her way to Jätkäsaari, for heaven’s sake, a respectable woman like
herself.

The woman gave her a worried look and started speaking more loudly, stretching her face out comically.

‘DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR NAME? DO YOU KNOW WHAT DAY OF THE WEEK IT IS?’

Siiri remembered her friend Julia Jumpity-Jump, who she ‘d thought a little silly, and started to laugh. The little girl hadn’t known her own name, or the difference between
yesterday and tomorrow. This kindly woman was testing her just like she herself had tested the plaited-haired four-year-old.