by Reagan Davis
“Thanks,” I say, “I’ll feel better after a hot bath.”
Adam helps me get up from the sofa and transition to my crutch. While helping me hobble to my bedroom, he recognizes his old t-shirt. I knew it had to be his. I ask him if he wants it back after I launder it. He doesn’t.
I brush and floss my teeth then run a hot bath with vanilla Epsom salts and a vanilla bath bomb. After I figure out how to manoeuvre myself into the tub without using my left foot, I have a nice soak.
The logistics of getting out of the tub are a bit of a challenge, but I figure it out.
I dry off, hobble around my bedroom collecting underwear, sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and a pair of cozy, hand-knit socks, then get dressed. The entire process takes me more than twice the time and energy it normally does, but I’m finally clean and dressed.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment while I muster the energy for the journey back to the sofa, then hoist myself upright with my crutch, and begin the long hobble to the family room.
Adam hears me thudding down the hallway and comes to check on me. He saves us both a lot of time and effort and carries me to the sofa.
Once I’m situated on the sofa, I pick up the almost-finished baby blanket I’m knitting for the Charity Knitting Guild’s donation drive and start stitching.
“Has Glenda called you about Laura’s will?” I ask as I knit. “I gave her your number. She told me Laura changed her will in a hurry.”
He shakes his head. He doesn’t like to talk about his clients or cases in a way that’s specific. He takes his clients’ privacy and his fiduciary duty seriously, so over the years we’ve learned to speak in the HYPOTHETICAL.
“Can I ask you a legal question?”
I watch him, waiting for permission to proceed.
He nods.
“Let’s say that a HYPOTHETICAL client had a secret child, would it be possible for the HYPOTHETICAL client to amend their will to include that child?”
We always emphasize the word HYPOTHETICAL with a loud voice. I don’t know why, that’s just how the game is played.
“Well,” he replies, “HYPOTHETICALLY a will could be amended to include any secret or recently discovered relative.”
Ever since Glenda told me that Laura had her will changed in a hurry, I’ve been wondering if it could have anything to do with the old rumour Connie and Mrs. Pearson told me about Laura and Brian Sweeney having a love child.
If there is a secret love child, perhaps Brian moving back to Harmony Lake aroused Laura’s curiosity and her desire to find the baby she had fifty years ago.
Or, maybe Brian killed Laura to keep their child a secret. Or maybe the secret love child knows Laura changed her will to include them and decided they’d prefer to inherit sooner rather than later.
We decide to watch a movie. I tell him to pick, and I cover myself up with the blanket. I’m feeling drowsy. I’m not sure if it’s the energy I exerted having a bath and getting dressed, or a side effect from the pain medication, but I’m tired, and my eyelids are heavy.
Chapter 9
I sleep off and on for most of the afternoon.
I’m only half awake when Adam leaves to take Sophie for her midday walk, and I’m semi-conscious when he offers to make me lunch.
The doorbell, followed by Sophie’s barking, wakes me up. It’s dark outside and there’s a Matt Damon movie on TV.
Adam opens the door for Eric.
True to his word, he brought the groceries that were on my list.
He says he’s making mushroom risotto with spinach salad for dinner. I love risotto! It’s my favourite meal. Adam packs up to leave. Despite both Eric and I trying to convince him to stay for dinner, he insists he has work to do and leaves.
“Thank you for making dinner,” I say. “How did you know Risotto is my favourite?”
“I used my detective skills,” he replies, winking at me. “I asked April.”
He’s putting the groceries away in the fridge and pantry.
“Risotto is a lot of work, why don’t we have something easier,” I suggest. “You don’t even have to cook. We can order something.”
“It’s the least I can do,” he says. “The observations you made at Laura’s house on Tuesday are helpful. Except for the scooter, I wouldn’t have recognized the other inconsistencies you noticed because I’m not as familiar as you are with the people involved.”
I was hoping he maybe just enjoys spending time with me, but oh well.
He gets the ingredients out for the risotto and I direct him to the pots and pans he needs.
I suggest we open the bottle of pinot grigio in the fridge, and he says no because I’m on pain killers (I forgot I took them) and offers me a glass of water instead.
“Were you able to find out who Laura was talking to on the phone after Phillip dropped her off?” I ask.
“Someone from The Vanity Fur Centre for Animal Health & Wellness. The call was from their main number. Could’ve been anyone who was there. We’re looking into it,” he says.
I remind him that the locals call it the Animal Centre, or the AC for short. If he wants the locals to trust him and open up to him, sounding more like a local would help his cause.
I make a mental note to ask around and find out who was there that morning, and who might have left for a while around the time Laura died.
After we eat, April shows up unexpectedly with dessert. She hands Eric a box of red velvet cupcakes with chocolate buttercream icing, and a bag of dog treats for Sophie to sample. These are shaped like shoes.
“Megan…” April is still standing in the hallway by the door. “Remember that top I asked to borrow?”
I don’t remember. Is this something we talked about last night when I was out of it from the meds the hospital gave me?
“You knooooow,” she says, “the blue one? With the sleeves?”
She’s lying, and she’s not good at it. April is an entire head taller than me, her torso and arms are way longer than mine, and she’s less busty. There’s no way we can share a wardrobe or borrow each other’s clothes. She must be trying to get me alone.
“Sure!” I say, “I’m not sure where I put it. Let me help you find it.”
I grab my crutch and shuffle off toward my bedroom.
When we’re alone, she closes the door and hands me a cell phone.
“Glenda left this at Artsy Tartsy this afternoon,” she says. “After she left it rang, so I answered it.”
“And?” I ask.
“It was her pharmacist, in Ottawa,” she explains. “She had a message for Glenda from the Hav-A-Nap motel. They want her to know that she left her medication there when she checked out on Tuesday morning. The hotel manager called the pharmacist using the phone number on the bottle and asked them to let Glenda know that they would keep the medication at the front desk so she can pick it up.”
The Hav-a-nap motel is a motel on the outskirts of Harmony Lake, near the highway.
If Glenda checked out on Tuesday morning, that means she stayed there on Monday night, and was already in town when Laura was killed. Not on the road from Ottawa since before dawn, like she said.
“She doesn’t like coffee though,” I say flatly.
“Is this the bump on your head talking? Are you having another weird reaction to your meds?” April asks.
“No, it’s me talking,” I reassure her. “Glenda doesn’t like coffee, but I guess you can drink anything from a coffee mug, not just coffee.”
April still looks confused.
I have no way of knowing what was in the mug on the drying rack beside the sink at Laura’s house.
Eric and I ask April to stay for cupcakes, but she declines, explaining that she already has too much cake in her life.
She leaves and Eric and I enjoy the cupcakes. Unlike April, I’m quite happy with the amount of cake in my life.
While I decide not to tell him yet about Glenda’s phone, or the revelation that she was in Harmony Lake th
e morning her sister died, I do tell him about the almost fifty-year-old rumour that Laura and Brian have a love child, and about Glenda mentioning that Laura amended her will because of “family business” that she would only discuss in person.
“One more thing,” I say. “Sophie and I went to Laura’s house yesterday morning before I slipped on the ice and met the postal carrier. She’s the same postal carrier who delivered Laura’s mail on Tuesday after Phillip left and before we got there. She said there was a silver or grey four-door, sedan in Laura’s driveway.
“You’re brilliant,” he says.
I blush.
We note the similarities between the car the postal carrier described, and the car Glenda drives, and we wonder if it’s a coincidence that Laura was killed just before Mega Mart’s offer to buy the AC is set to expire.
Eric takes Sophie for a walk, returns her to the house and leaves.
“Oscar, arm the house,” I say after Eric closes the door behind him.
“OK,” Oscar replies.
I hear the click as the front door locks, and the beeping of the alarm system being activated.
Chapter 10
Saturday January 11th
Saturday is our busiest day of the week at Knitorious. With winter tourist season in full swing, I can’t let Connie work alone, so I hobble off to work.
My head feels almost 100% better and my foot, which yesterday was mostly purple with a little yellow, is now mostly yellow with a little purple.
The swelling is way down, but I still can’t comfortably wear a shoe or boot on that foot, so I wear a warm hand-knit sock instead and use my crutch to keep it off the ground.
Sophie and I hitch a ride to the store with Phillip, who tells me Kevin and Glenda are staying home today.
The police have released Laura’s house and Glenda says she might go over there later, if she is up to it.
Phillip tells me how Glenda becomes emotional when she talks about being in Laura’s house without her sister. He says he might go over there tomorrow and clean. He asks if I know whether the police and coroner took their shoes off when they came and went from Laura’s house. I tell him I didn’t notice when I was there.
Phillip parks his van, comes around to the passenger side, and helps me out of the passenger seat and onto the ground.
He walks me to the back door of the store, where I notice the ice patch I slipped on has been broken up. The spot where it used to be is covered in both rock salt and sand. Excessive, but effective.
“Phillip, thank you for destroying that patch of ice,” I say, looking at where the ice used to be. “It was on my to-do list for Tuesday, but I completely forgot about it after…”
“Don’t thank me,” Phillip replies, “thank your tenant. I ran into him back here on Thursday night. I was leaving for the day and he was coming home. I told him about your fall, and our trip to the hospital, and he took a shovel from his trunk and destroyed the thing. Then he smothered its remains with rock salt, sand, and I think even cat litter.”
Regardless of who did it, I’m grateful it’s been taken care of and glad no one else will slip on that patch of ice. I make a mental note to thank Eric for taking care of it.
I thank Phillip for driving Sophie and me to work and go inside.
“It’s showtime,” Connie says.
She walks over to the door, unlocks it, and turns the sign from CLOSED to OPEN.
“Oh! Before I forget”—Connie raises her index finger—“that sweater quantity of yarn that Mrs. Willows ordered arrived yesterday when you were home recovering. I haven’t had a chance to call her and let her know.”
“No worries,” I say. “I’ll drop it off to her personally. I’ve been looking for an excuse to visit the Willows’ farm. I haven’t seen Mr. Willows since he burst into Wilde Flowers the day after Laura died.”
“You be careful, my dear!” Connie shakes her index finger at me and raises her eyebrows.
“Always,” I say.
I sit as much as possible, so I’m not tempted to put any weight on my foot.
After lunch, I’m sitting in one of the plush chairs in our cozy seating area and I hear a familiar voice behind me. A man’s voice. I can’t place it. Connie is introducing him to Sophie, and he’s talking to them both.
“How’s my patient doing today?” Dr. Pearson asks as he sits on the sofa across from me.
Dr. Pearson is the familiar voice.
“Do you make house calls to check on all your patients?” I ask.
“Only my favourites.” He laughs. “I’m in Harmony Lake visiting my parents and thought I’d stop in to check on you.”
So thoughtful.
He asks me questions about my head. He doesn’t seem worried, and neither am I.
He asks if he can look at my foot, so I gesture for him to follow me to the back room where I sit on the stairs that lead to the apartment and take my off my sock. He pokes at my yellow foot it and examines it.
“It looks great. Definitely stay off it for the rest of today, but you can try putting some weight on it tomorrow,” he says. “You’re a fast healer.”
“Am I healed enough to have wine?”
In hindsight, I realize that might have come across as sounding a bit eager. Hopefully, he doesn’t think I have a drinking problem. I explain to him that I endured mushroom risotto without wine.
“In moderation,” he cautions, “wine should be fine. In fact, why don’t we have a glass together when you’re finished here? Then if there’s a problem, I’m right there to help you out.”
“Such dedication,” I say. “But I’ve already arranged for my neighbour to drive me home right after we close tonight. Thank you, though.
“I’ll make sure you get home. In fact, I’ll even come back early and walk Sophie before we leave.”
An offer I can’t refuse. I haven’t made arrangements to walk Sophie this evening. Phillip took her this morning, and Connie took her midday, but I have nothing lined up for her evening stroll.
“Sure,” I say, “that would be nice. Thank you, Doctor.
“You have to call me Craig, though,” he insists. “Being called Dr. Pearson by my date is weird.”
A date? A date!
I immediately worry about what I’m wearing. I was expecting to go straight home after work. I chose comfort over style today because I’m still recovering from my fall. I’m wearing an olive green, cabled, fisherman’s style sweater (I knit it myself), over black leggings, a black knee-high boot on my right foot, and an olive-green hand knit sock on the other. My curly hair is in a half-updo with the front and sides pinned up, and the rest falling down my back.
Not what I’d choose to wear on a date, but here we are.
Craig leaves, and I limp out of the back room and into the store where I spend the rest of the afternoon chasing customers around the store on my crutch, and despite my limited mobility, trying to help Connie as much as I can.
Shortly before the store closes, Craig comes back to take Sophie for a walk. I help her with her sweater, attach her leash, make sure they have enough poop bags, and wave them off.
“Do you need a lift home, my dear?” Connie asks.
“No thank you,” I reply. “Craig and I are going for a drink, and he’s driving me home after.”
“You have a date?!”
Connie lunges behind the counter for her phone.
I know she’s texting April, and it’s just a matter of seconds before…
Ding!
April texts me.
There are no customers in the store, and we close in five minutes, so I call April and put her on speaker.
“It’s not a date,” I say. “It’s one glass of wine, and it’ll be quick because I have to come back to the store for Sophie.”
“I’ll pick up Sophie and drive her home,” April offers. “I’m just getting my coat on. I’ll feed her and settle her in, so you don’t have to rush home.”
“Good idea, April!” Connie yells
in the background.
My plan was to give Sophie dinner in the kitchenette at Knitorious, then leave her here while Craig and I are out. April’s offer is better for Sophie, so I accept. I promise to text her when I get home and hang up.
The bell above the door jingles, and I’m expecting to see Craig and Sophie walk in the door, but instead Eric comes in and offers to drive Sophie and me home and take her for a walk.
I tell him thank you, but we have a lift, and she’s being walked as we speak. We wish each other a good evening and he leaves again through the front door, stopping to hold it open for April who’s on her way in.
When Craig and Sophie get back, Connie grabs her purse, says goodbye to all of us and leaves.
April extends her hand and introduces herself to Craig. I know she totally rushed over here to meet him; Sophie was just her excuse. I take the leash from Craig’s hand and put it in April’s, I show her the spare house key I’ve attached to the handle of Sophie’s leash with a carabiner clip, then we all leave.
April and Sophie disappear around the corner, and Craig and I decide to go to The Irish Embassy, the Irish pub on the south side of Water Street.
I start my awkward hobble up Water Street, but he decides we should drive and not risk me falling or otherwise doing myself any further damage. Even with a sprained ankle, it doesn’t occur to me to drive somewhere as close as the Irish Embassy. I get into his car, parked right in front of the store.
We get a table behind the bar, it’s quieter back there.
Craig explains that he’s second on the on-call list at the hospital tonight. Apparently, this means there’s a small chance he could be called into work, so he orders a sparkling water, and I order a glass of wine. We also order a plate of nachos. Craig suggests we order dinner, but I’m fine with the nachos, and dinner feels like more of a date than a drink and an appetizer, and I’m not ready for that much of a date, yet.
“Have you been here before?” I ask him.
“A few times, yeah,” he replies.
The Irish Embassy is a good-sized pub. It’s the equivalent of two of the stores on the north side of Water Street. The main floor has a long double-sided bar in the centre of the space with stools lining both sides of the bar.
