Spoiled Rotten

by Mary Jackman

  I thought she laughed again, but quickly realized she was wheezing. Then, in a croaking whisper, which was getting creepier by the second, she continued, “The market needed revitalization. It can work, but they both saw to it that didn’t happen. I taught them a lesson.”

  “Tony bequeathed you the store. Now you own it again. Don’t make this worse.”

  “Too late, I told you.”

  “What about Maria? How did she figure in?”

  “Missy got too greedy. She was blackmailing me for a bigger cut of the profit and getting sloppy. I needed that money to fund my own land-buying scheme.”

  I listened, thinking that Louise must suffer from multiple-personality disorder. She was extremely agitated and losing focus because of it — I hoped. The light from the flashlight was wavering. I had to make a move while she was rambling.

  “I provide a necessary service to immigrants. Without a card how can they work? I should have realized that Inez woman was an investigating immigration officer, but I’ve been little preoccupied with losing my store. I saw her poking around the market a few times in the last few months and recognized her at the dance club one night while I was watching Maria. My whole operation would have been discovered and shut down soon.”

  “I’m not part of any of this, why come after me? I’m on your side.”

  “You know too much and you keep getting involved. I thought I’d hit you hard enough and by the time you were discovered in the Dumpster, you would have bled to death or wound up in a coma. I should have cut you up like I did Tony, only there wasn’t time. I’ve been trying to frame your chef, but you keep interrupting my best efforts.”

  I slid my foot along the ground behind me and took a step.

  She was moving swiftly toward me. “That’s enough chatter.”

  The light was blinding me. I tried backing up farther, and stumbled over a box, throwing me off balance. Instantly, she pushed me to the ground and scrambled on top, straddling my chest. I couldn’t get my breath. Then she started hitting me with the flashlight as hard as she could. I was waving my arms around, deflecting the blows, when one landed on the back of my head on the same tender spot I was hurt before. A trickle of wet ran down my shirt. I was losing consciousness fast, but with every ounce of strength left in my body, I kicked out one last time, jolting the flashlight out of her hand. I rolled across the cement floor, grabbed the flashlight and pointed it directly in her face. That’s when I blacked out.

  I touched my scalp gingerly. My fingers made contact with a circle of crusty blood that had congealed around the base of a throbbing lump of flesh. My new wound was perched on top of the old wound and it ached mercilessly. I brought my hand down to my face to check for blood. I couldn’t see any, of course, because I couldn’t see my hand. It was still pitch black. Apparently my brain couldn’t keep up with the situation.

  Wherever I was, it was freezing. I heard a moan behind me, sending goosebumps along my arms. I sat up straight and felt a cold, wooden floor under me, then heard another moan. I got up on my knees and brushed against a cardboard box. Feeling inside, I touched tall, waxy cartons. They were cold, too. I crawled ahead a couple of feet and touched something soft. My hands groped about until I realized it was a pair of legs.

  “Welcome.”

  “Rick!” I squealed.

  “Liz!”

  I sat down beside him. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Where are we?”

  “The basement walk-in.”

  “If I’d known, I would have sprung for a room. Ow!”

  “Rick, are you hurt?” My eyes were adjusting to a faint glimmer of light. I helped him to sit upright, propping him against one of the lower shelves.

  “My head aches worse than a gin hangover. I can’t seem to move my arm either.”

  “Is it broken?” I asked.

  “Maybe, but before I die, tell me what we’re doing in here.”

  “There’s a mad person out there trying to kill me.”

  “Who’s mad?”

  “Never mind, it’s a long story. I thought you left for home until I saw your briefcase outside the men’s toilet. What were you doing down here?”

  “I decided to unclog the men’s urinal before I left. I needed to get a screwdriver from the basement, but when I opened the door, the lights were all out, including the emergency exit light. The way our luck’s been going, I thought I better put a new bulb in before we got a fire inspection. I was standing on the ladder when someone knocked it over and attacked me from behind.” Rick’s head nodded against my shoulder for a moment. He mumbled, “Did you try the door?”

  Why didn’t I think of that? I almost slapped my head, but remembered it had taken enough punishment for one day. There was enough room in between the dairy shelves for me to stand up. A narrow aisle ran down the centre of the fridge, and feeling my way slowly toward the thick metal door, I found the safety handle and pushed it down hard. That should have popped the door open, but it didn’t. My worst nightmare was coming true: claustrophobia being at the top of my list of fears.

  Rick sounded worried. “I hope we’re not going to be in here for the night.” His face was so pale I could see it in the dark. I wasn’t faring much better. My head was killing me. Then I realized I could see shadows and make out dim shapes around us. There had to be light coming in from somewhere.

  I sniffed the air, recognizing the smell of burning wood. A thin wisp of smoke curled under the massive fridge door. My senses went on red alert. The pungent smell of gasoline fumes reached me first and then I could hear crackling. The basement was on fire. The walk-in was sealed tightly with insulation and sheet-metal walls, but it wouldn’t keep out the smoke for long. Why wasn’t the fire alarm going off? Then I heard it ringing faintly upstairs.

  It was no longer cold inside the fridge; the air was rapidly changing.

  “Thanks, Liz. I’m getting warmer now,” Rick said and then sighed deeply.

  I put my ear to the door and thought I heard a faint meow.

  “Kitty…?” I called. Was she trapped in the fire? Oh, no, I couldn’t bear the thought. Then I heard her meow again. I followed the sound to the back of the cooler, stepping carefully over Rick’s slumped body. “Kitty, where are you?”

  She stuck her head out from around an apple crate and I swear she smiled. Maybe it was the smoke. I tore away the boxes stacked against the wall, exposing a hole the size of a cantaloupe. I had found her secret passage way. Getting down on my stomach, I turned my head on its side and pressed my eye against it. There was light and the air was fresh. I sucked in a lung full, and, getting my senses back, realized I was looking into the candy store’s basement attached to us next door.

  Last year’s flood had caused major damage to the room-sized walk-in, after all. The metal liner didn’t run along the back of the fridge where it was attached to the adjoining brick wall. A foam sheath remained in place, but it was dank and its wooden frame was rotting at the floor boards.

  I could feel the heat on the other three walls. Butter was melting inside its foil wrap and dripping onto a case of eggs below. The air inside the fridge was getting thicker. Positioning Rick’s head by the opening, I lay beside him on the floor. Kitty had disappeared again. I put my hand through the hole and starting yelling for help, the candy store had been closed for hours, but it was better than thinking about being burned alive.

  My throat was soon raw from yelling and the heat was suffocating. I was nodding off, perhaps for all eternity, when something fell on top of me, startling me awake. A two-foot piece of insulation running along the back wall had broken off. My arm flew up, knocking another piece loose. It was soft with mildew. I remembered Bill saying something about the liner of the fridge being compromised by the flood. He warned me that I was going to have to replace the walk-in compressor again if I didn’t seal the leak. I wasn’t a big fan of closed spaces and never investigated. If I had, my nose would have discovered this amount of moldering dampness long a
go.

  I sat up and turned around so my feet were facing the wall. With all my might, I kicked at the base of the wet wall. Another large section of the insulation fell apart, landing on my head. It was like sponge. I knocked out the wooden slats it had been attached to, leaving the brick wall exposed between the two basements. A few of the bricks were white from moldy decay. I kicked again, knocking two bricks into the candy store’s cellar, and then sent two more flying. The remaining brick was solid and I was losing my breath from the exertion.

  I now had a hole big enough for me to shove my head and neck through and breathed in, gulping down the intoxicating, fresh air. I could see Kitty calmly licking herself on the other side. Rick coughed. I pulled my head back in and nudged his head into the hole. I turned around and saw flames licking at the base of the fridge door. When I poured a carton of milk along the crack it sizzled. I started dumping everything I could get my hands on, orange juice, Clamato juice, Vichyssoise, anything wet. Wonder of wonders, I found a case of mineral water. It was warm, but I drank heavily and poured some over my head. Rick coughed again.

  “I must have died and gone to your heaven by mistake,” he said, “look at all the chocolate bars.” I pulled his head back into the fridge. I gave him a drink and poured water over his clothes. We took turns poking our heads through the hole while screaming for help.

  “Break the wall down. Hurry they’ll burn to death.”

  I recognized Winn’s voice instantly, and then heard heavy boots clomping down the basement stairs of the candy store. I poked my head through, “David, quick, Rick’s hurt and the fire is coming inside.”

  “Get back, Liz! We’re breaking the wall down.”

  Firemen pulled Rick and I through the broken wall to the candy store just as a loud crack split the air and flames engulfed the floor behind us. I looked around to see if the seat of my pants was on fire.

  chapter eighteen

  * * *

  Rick was whisked away in the back of a waiting ambulance while I dangled my feet from the back of an emergency van with an oxygen mask over my face. By the time they dragged me out of the candy store I looked like a melted ice-cream cone. My entire body was thick with the dairy products I had poured over myself to keep cool. A clump of yogurt had dried in my hair and grease from a ten-pound block of butter had covered my clothes. Rick was in the same condition, but he was gone. He didn’t have to suffer the sidelong glances and double takes of the calendar-worthy firemen.

  Winn stood a few feet away, quietly talking to the fire marshal. As soon as I was pulled free from the hole in the wall, David lifted me in his arms and carried me up the stairs to safety. His long, grey coat was smeared with creamy bits of food. I couldn’t begin to describe how happy I was to see him, at least not without making myself cry.

  The chief was providing details about the fire. He turned around, speaking loudly enough now for me to hear. “The paper supplies were doused with a quick accelerant. The loose lumber, paint cans, and stored grease containers would have enabled the fire to spread quickly. I suggest, Ms. Walker, that you store these items separately in the future.”

  I was about to protest that the basement was greatly needed storage space, but he held up a gloved hand to silence me. As if clairvoyant, he said, “Find another place or I’ll be back one of these days to make sure you do. Luckily, the fire was contained in the basement due to the heavy fire door that separates the private area from the public washrooms. There was absolutely no damage to the restaurant.” Next time that steel door bangs shut on my heel I promised not to swear like a stevedore.

  The fireman explained that if the walk-in refrigerator had been solid at the back, Rick and I would have died from smoke inhalation and burned to a crisp. He didn’t actually say burned to a crisp, but I added that for him.

  The fire was almost out. There was so much stuff kept down there it had taken them some time to thoroughly search through the debris for live embers. The marshal’s walkie-talkie rattled and a voice came through loud and clear.

  “We found something, sir. I think you might want to have a look.”

  Both men disappeared into the restaurant. I took the mask off; my head had cleared from the pure oxygen and reality was settling in. How long was I going to have to remain closed for business this time? I started to tally the damage when two firemen carrying a loaded stretcher emerged onto the sidewalk. Winn followed closely behind. Seeing my look of shock, he came to my side.

  “That’s Arthur Tilson isn’t it?” I said, flabbergasted. Winn nodded his head.

  “Probably. It’s a little hard to tell right now. But we believe he was the guy who attacked you. He was found unconscious in the staff washroom. It was a small, closed room; the fumes must have overcome him. We found a charred flashlight lodged behind the toilet, a wig, and a pair of glasses in the toilet bowl. If he dropped the flashlight and then dropped his glasses, he may have become confused and panicked. We also found this.” Winn handed me a partially melted tape recorder, the tape inside a liquid mass. “You’ll have to testify in court that he tried to murder you and Rick. It won’t be for a while though, and that is, if he recovers. He’s badly burned. He was trying to tell us something but we didn’t get it.”

  I jumped off the back of the ambulance. The oxygen mask sprung off my face and hit the sidewalk. I barely noticed. “What is wrong with me?” Both men shook their heads in unison.

  “You know, Winn, I can’t believe Tilson had it in him to stage all these murders, let alone execute them, and try to blame them on Louise! He was a bit of a wet noodle, if you know what I mean. Now that I think about it, I remember hearing that same hoarse voice arguing at the C.N.E. I was never sure that it was Daniel in the hallway. I remember the rasp clearly now. At the community meeting Tilson seemed fine. But I noticed after he announced that Tony’s wife was selling the business and everyone started yelling that his voice got high-pitched and reedy. Some kind of a nervous condition, possibly. It was his voice I heard yelling before I had my head shoved into the water fountain. I should have known he was involved.”

  “Why would you?” Winn answered. “You left me a message warning me to suspect Louise Kozinski. I have to admit I thought it was Meriel and Daniel Chapin right up to tonight. It was only after the apron I found in your office tested clean that I revised my opinion. I was beginning to believe it had to be Louise, too. But just because Tilson was pretending to be her doesn’t mean she wasn’t initially involved. He could have been partnering with her and then decided to set her up.”

  “Why would he go to all the trouble of pretending to be her if he intended on killing me?”

  “I think he intended to leave a tape of your conversation in the basement, pointing a finger at Louise. Possibly he thought the tape would be safe in the staff washroom, but the fire got out of hand. Arson is a science in itself. He’s lucky we got to him when we did.”

  My son pulled up to the curb in my car, which he had fetched from the parking lot. Winn handed me my purse.

  “It was upstairs on the bar where you left it. I found your keys in it.”

  Jon came around and opened the door for me. With a promise that I would see my doctor tomorrow, I wiggled out of going to the hospital for a check-up. I felt fine. I just needed a shower and a good night’s sleep.

  I rolled down the window. Winn leaned on the door.

  “Take your mother home, young man, and make her stay there. And keep an eye on her for concussion.”

  “I’m telling you, Arthur Tilson wasn’t alone in this,” I said. “He had to be working with Tony’s wife. Cecilia is the mastermind. I’m convinced.”

  Jon suddenly spoke up, “Did you say Cecilia? That’s a familiar name. I saw it yesterday on several purchases of property that you asked me to look up. Only the last name was Santos. Cecilia Santos.”

  I looked at Winn. “You better find them before before it’s too late.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got both of them in jail.”


  Before I could get another word out, Jon stepped on the gas. The sun was starting to come up.

  chapter nineteen

  * * *

  I slept until two in the afternoon. I needed to, considering Jon was waking me up every two hours to make sure I hadn’t gone into a coma. I finally woke up for good to the alarm and the phone ringing simultaneously. Winn was on his way over to my house to give me a lift to the doctor’s. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but delighted when he insisted. I’m sure Jon would be thrilled that I could be properly ruled out for head trauma, as well.

  An hour later, Winn was waiting out front in a dark blue unmarked sedan. I ran outside rather than make him come up to the house. It wasn’t a date. Even so, I tried on ten different outfits until I was satisfied.

  “You look good,” Winn volunteered as I climbed in the front seat.

  “I didn’t want to scare the doctor.”

  “Well you scare me, but it’s not because you look good.”

  “That’s rather ambiguous.”

  “Let’s talk about you and me later.”

  Winn pulled down the street and headed for Toronto General Hospital on University Avenue. Since my doctor was leaving for a medical convention in Calgary the next day, he arranged for me to come to a cubbyhole of an office he used to interview surgery patients. Winn drove slowly. “I have some bad news,” he said.

  “Arthur Tilson died?”

  “No, he’s conscious, at least enough to get us a warrant for Cecilia Vieira’s arrest. Unfortunately, we can’t find her.”

  “You said you had her in jail last night, I mean this morning.”

  “Her lawyer got her out on bail.”

  Without covering his mouth, he opened wide and yawned.