Murder Is Uncooperative (25 page)

I called Dave and was pleased to reach him. Maybe he was doing the pizza and TV alone thing.

“Um, Dave, do you think you could have Ben stay with you for a while. It's getting kind of weird around here.” I explained about the note.

“Oh, sure, Bec. That's kind of freaky. But you know I'm going to be away for a week or so, covering the Canucks away games. For sure when I get back. But, then I don't know . . . I have to go out to cover games or to the newsroom. I'm not sure that would work. I mean, that's why you decided to stay home when Ben was born. Maybe you should think about moving.”

“Yes, I'm planning to, but finding something is going to take time. I just thought you'd want to make sure Ben is safe until we do.”

“Yeah, sure, but you know maybe it's just a joke. Maybe the cat just got out by accident and someone thought it'd be a chance to freak you out. Cara told me you've really pissed some people off in that place. You really should try to get along better with your neighbors, Bec. I never have any trouble with mine.”

I resisted the urge to hang up on him. Dave reassured me he'd call me as soon as he got back from his road trip. He sounded excited. Maybe it was the hockey and the chance to be out of town for a while. Or maybe Cara was going with him. I realized I didn't care.

But I thought about what he'd said, about people I'd annoyed in the co-op. Could it have been a prank, a mean practical joke to get back at me? Who would have keys to my apartment? Well, someone had managed to get into the office to kill Les and Ruth. It wouldn't have been too hard to get a set of keys. I remembered the filing cabinet had been open the night Les died. Could someone have taken a set of keys?

I thought about the people in the co-op who had reason to resent me. Aaron had certainly been angry and yelled at me. But would he try to hurt us by harming a helpless kitten? I hated the idea of a large, angry man moving through the apartment while my young son and disabled father were sleeping. Aaron had seemed genuinely upset by what had happened to Maui. Was he feeling guilty at a mean prank gone wrong?

Naomi seemed to have gotten over her resentment. But I didn't really know her. Could she have been faking her sympathy?

I picked up my phone to call a locksmith. I wanted to get the locks changed right away. Then I hesitated. It was getting late, and I'd probably have to pay extra to get someone to come out at this time. I really couldn't afford that. Not with the vet bill to pay and the costs of moving again. I decided it could wait until tomorrow.

I jumped when I heard sounds near our front door and a key turning in the look.

I was relieved to find that it was just my father coming home. I looked at my watch. It seemed like this evening had gone on forever, but he'd only been gone a short time.

“Hi, Dad. How was your dinner with Mariana?” I asked as he came in.

“Oh, fine,” he replied but he didn't sound very enthusiastic.

“Dad, is something wrong?” I pressed him. “I know you were feeling a bit uncomfortable about spending time with someone other than Mom, but it's really all right.”

Like many men his age, my father wasn't great about talking about his emotions. But he was clearly troubled.

“No, it's not that,” he answered. “Well, it's still not easy, but that's not what's bothering me.”

He shrugged. “Dinner was okay. Well, she'd cooked roast beef and I'd brought white wine, but that was okay. And we were getting along all right.”

He took a deep breath. “You know she had these bookshelves in her living room. And I had read some of the books, so I started talking about them. You know, just making conversation. Your mother and I used to talk about books we were reading. I guess I miss that.

“But she didn't really seem to know what I was talking about. Becky, I'd swear she hadn't read a single one of those books.”

I laughed. “Oh, Dad, you know not everyone likes to read as much as we do. I've heard of people who buy books just for decoration, although it's hard to imagine that. Or maybe she just hadn't got around to reading those particular books. Or forgotten them. That happens often enough to me, and I'm sure it will get worse.”

Dad gave me a knowing look. “Oh, it will get worse, believe me. I know I've carted home a book from the library and realized I've already read it. But this was strange. She looked almost guilty. And then she changed the subject. Talking about some television program I hadn't seen. So it wasn't the most successful evening. But that wasn't the strangest thing,” he went on. “Becky, you've been to her apartment, right? Didn't you notice her living room is exactly the same as ours?”

“Well, yes, it's a mirror image of ours. All of the units in the building are similar.”

“No,” he said. “That's not what I mean. I mean she's
decorated
her living room to look like ours. Same bookshelves, same green loveseat. It looks exactly the same. It was creepy.”

I looked at him. “It wasn't like that when I was over there,” I said. “She must have just redecorated. I know she was complimentary about our furniture when she was here. Maybe she was planning on making some changes, liked how our room looked and decided to do something similar. After all, people don't invent completely new looks. People are always copying ideas they see in decorating magazines. It's sort of the same thing.”

Dad looked doubtful. I remembered that Mariana seemed to copy Gwen's style of clothes, and how she'd switched to a black suit for Ruth's funeral, after Gwen and I had both worn suits to Les's funeral. “Maybe she's just not sure about her own sense of style and copies things she admires. It's the same with fashions in clothing too. People do that all the time . . . wear something similar to what they've seen in a magazine, or on the street. Some people set trends but most of us just follow what we see other people wearing.”

“You're probably right,” Dad said. “It still seemed creepy. Maybe I'm just not ready to be spending time with other women. I'm still in mourning.”

I gave him a hug. “We all are. But I'm sure it'll get better.”

After Dad went to bed, I thought a bit about his evening with Mariana. He probably wasn't ready to start dating again and was looking for an excuse to avoid a new relationship.

I liked Mariana. She'd been great to us since we moved into the co-op. But I thought about her son and his criminal convictions,
and Amy's actions in running away, and was a little relieved we might not be brought closer to those two through a close relationship with Mariana.

Then I felt mean. She had been so welcoming to all of us.

I was ready for bed. Then I wished I had spent the money to get new locks put on right away. I would call a locksmith first thing tomorrow. But I didn't think I could sleep without doing something right now.

I'd seen people in movies try to protect themselves by jamming a chair under a doorknob so people couldn't get into a room. I had no idea if that worked but it seemed better than nothing. I grabbed one of the dining room chairs and dragged it toward the front door.

I pushed the chair under the doorknob. Then I laughed. The door opened outwards. If anyone tried to get in, the chair would simply fall over.

Still, it would make a noise and that would alert me. I went to bed.

I
WAS WAKENED
the next morning by the sound of Ben's laughter. I got up to find him sitting on the chair I'd left by the front door.

“Hey, Mommy,” he said when he saw me. “Someone left a chair by the door. Can I have my breakfast here?”

I was so often surprised by some of the ideas Ben came up with. “Not unless you want to move the table there, and I don't think you want to do that.”

He considered it. “It folds up really small. If we made it small, you and I could carry it.”

“And what if someone wants to come in or we want to leave? I think that's why we don't have a table in front of the door already.”

“But people already can't come in if we have a chair in front of the door. So we could have a table.”

The point of the chair was to keep people out but I didn't want to tell Ben that. I was pleased when he agreed to return the chair to its rightful place at the table without further argument.

Maui seemed to have passed a peaceful night, and I was relieved to see I didn't need to clean his kennel too much. Even the medicine process went more smoothly this morning.

I looked up locksmiths and was about to start calling for quotes when I wondered if the co-op had someone they used.

I was starting to call Gwen, when I remembered the receipt for the clothing store that I'd found in Ben's bedroom. At the time I thought she must have dropped it when she was here for Thanksgiving. But, if that was the case, shouldn't I have noticed it before then. I wasn't a perfect housekeeper, but I did usually pick up things on my floor. Could Gwen have been the person who let Maui outside?

As president, she might have access to keys to the building. But I couldn't think why Gwen would want to warn me to stop looking into things in the co-op. I was the one who had offered to work on the history of the co-op, and she had happily agreed. Surely she wouldn't have done that if she thought there were secrets she didn't want found out.

Still, I thought I'd feel more comfortable talking to Jeremy about getting a locksmith.

“A list of tradespeople the co-op uses?” he said when I called him. “Sure, we probably have something like that, but the staff would have been the ones to call them.”

I told him about Maui getting out of the apartment but not about the threatening note. Jeremy had seemed frank when he told me about growing up in the co-op, but he hadn't mentioned it
until after I had found out through the files. If the person who took Maui had keys to my apartment, it could have been anyone. The people who knew I was working on the co-op history might have told anyone in the co-op. But I suspected it might be one of the people who had come to dinner at Thanksgiving. I didn't know who I could trust.

“Geez, someone got into your apartment?” Jeremy said. “Are you sure the cat didn't just get out by accident?”

“Pretty sure,” I told him.

“Did they steal anything?”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Well, that's strange. But stranger things have happened here. I mean, there have been two deaths. I wonder if someone has the master key. The staff had keys that gave them access to all the apartments, in case of an emergency. Gwen was wondering if someone had broken into the office when Les died. But there didn't seem to be anything missing. The petty cash was there. Ruth said she thought some files were missing but who could tell. Who would want the co-op files anyway? I wonder if we should get all the locks changed,” Jeremy went on. “Can you wait on this for a while? I should talk to Gwen.”

I didn't really want to wait, but he said he would talk to Gwen and get back to me quickly. I reluctantly agreed. I knew from the occupancy agreement the co-op was supposed to have access to all the units anyway. I wasn't supposed to change the locks without giving the office a key. It was necessary for emergencies. A burst pipe in one apartment could cause damage to all the units under it, so quick access was necessary. But right now I wasn't happy with the idea someone from the co-op could get in to my home.

As I put down the phone, the front door buzzer sounded. It was D'Onofrio.

“You mentioned a threatening note,” he said, his face grim.

“Yes, I'll get it for you.” I had placed the note in a plastic bread bag. “I found it in our mailbox.” I told him. “Just the folded piece of paper, no envelope. I handled it so it'll have my fingerprints on it. I showed it to Dad, but I don't think he touched it. I won't guarantee you won't find a breadcrumb or two though. It was the only bag I had, and I thought it might protect it. I thought it might be better than nothing, anyway.”

I thought I saw a hint of a smile as he placed the note, bread bag and all, inside a plastic envelope.

“And what have you been up to, to get warning notes, since we last spoke. I thought you weren't going to be investigating on your own? Isn't one warning enough?”

I looked down. “I didn't mean to,” I said. I outlined everything I'd learned since Ruth's funeral—finding out that Gwen had brought muffins to Ruth that day, the suspicion that someone else had brought Ruth food, Carol's belief Les and Ruth had been murdered, and everything Cara had told me about Eddie and Amy Cole. “Gwen and Cara said they were going to call you and give you the information. Did they?”

“Yes,” he said. “And they might not have if you hadn't urged them to. So I guess I have you to thank for that. And Ruth's mother has certainly shared her thoughts with us. We do interview people close to victims, you know?”

With a slight change in his tone, he said, “I looked into the old case when you first mentioned it. Eddie Cole was a suspect for a while, but he seemed to have a reliable alibi. And they looked into Amy too. But there was a serial killer around at the time, targeting young women. Several teenagers were murdered or went missing in the area. I think the investigators at the time just
assumed both Jessica and Amy had been his victims. They did find out eventually that Amy was still alive. And when they caught the guy, they convicted him of three murders, but they suspected he had been guilty of many more. That's still what they think but, with these new murders, we're going to be looking at that case again.”

He looked at me, frowning. “But you have to stop poking around. You're putting yourself in danger.” He touched my arm briefly and again I thought it might be more than professional concern. Or was that just wishful thinking?

“I'll stop now,” I told him. “I know I should have left it alone, but I really will now. I want my family to be safe. From now on, I'm going to concentrate on finding somewhere else to live.”

And I meant it. At the time.

After D'Onofrio left I settled down to look for a new home. A scan of the listings online told me what I already knew. It was going to be hard to find something at the same price. Most listings clearly stated that pets weren't allowed. Others were way too expensive or had stairs. I found many of the housing co-ops in the area had waiting lists so long they weren't even accepting applications. Even the few that were willing to take new applications warned that the wait would likely be several years. I was looking at the application for one of them when the phone rang.