For a few Dumplings More

by Leena Clover

  “Think, Motee Ba. I am sure I saw a scarf next to her when she was lying there on the floor.”

  “Must have belonged to someone else.”

  I made a list of people I could talk to about this. Henry and Mary Beth came to mind immediately.

  I set off for Henry’s office in my lunch hour the next day. I hadn’t checked her calendar. I just hoped it was one of the days she had office hours. The usual crowd of students greeted me outside her office. She shooed them away when she saw me.

  “Come in, Meera, come in.”

  I got a resounding pat on the back as Henry picked up a stack of books off a chair. I sat down.

  “You’re quite popular, Henry!”

  “Truth be told, I’m a bit tired of the attention. I’m seriously considering retiring to some quiet British village.”

  “Carl will be happy to hear that.”

  “What brings you here, Meera?”

  “I have some questions about that day.”

  “Still hard at it? I must admire your perseverance.”

  “Do you remember what Dot was wearing that day?”

  Henry guffawed, clapping her hands.

  “How could I forget? The same old dress she has been wearing for the past 20 years. I actually remember going along with her when she bought it.”

  “Was she really…” I didn’t know what to say.

  “Was she really that poor?” Henry boomed. “Yes and No. She scrimped and saved all her life. They had a decent pension. But that boy drank it all away. Or gambled it.”

  “Why did she let him?”

  “Parents do weird things for their kids. I wouldn’t know.”

  Henry slapped a hand on the desk and leaned forward.

  “What’s this about her dress?”

  “Do you remember her wearing anything else?”

  “Like jewelry? She wasn’t much for frippery. She had her ancient Timex on her wrist and that was it.”

  “What about a scarf?”

  Henry threw back her head and laughed.

  “A head scarf, or that fancy thing women have around their neck?”

  I shrugged.

  “Dot wasn’t the fashionable type. You know that, Meera! She wouldn’t be caught dead with a scarf.”

  Henry frowned and muttered to herself.

  “I can be insensitive.”

  “You may be right, you know.”

  I told her how I remembered Dot lying on the ground with a scarf next to her.

  “She wasn’t wearing any such thing when we were standing there at the food table. I am sure.”

  Henry sounded pretty confident. I thanked her for her time and walked out. I picked up a burger from the food court and snagged a bench on the library lawn. Mary Beth was next on my list.

  Neither Tony nor Becky were available that day so I drove alone to Mary Beth’s. She seemed a bit frazzled. There was no food set out this time. I asked her if she was ill.

  “Missy’s husband was here this weekend. He’s begging her to reconsider.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “She’s just getting back on her feet. I don’t want her going back to that man.”

  I asked her to trust her daughter. Judging by impressions, she was cut from the same cloth as her mother. I didn’t think she would cave that easily.

  “What brings you here, Meera?” Mary Beth asked.

  “Do you remember what Dot was wearing on that day?”

  Mary Beth replied immediately.

  “That hideous blue dress, of course. It must have gone through a thousand washes.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I don’t think so. At least, not when she first got there. We went there early, remember.”

  “What about later?” I held my breath.

  “Cindy mentioned something about a scarf.”

  “What did she say exactly?”

  “It was all very vague. We were at your house for that party you arranged. It was a bit windy, remember? Cindy was shivering in the wind. I told her she should wear something to ward off the cold. She told me she wanted a scarf just like Dot’s.”

  “What else did she say?”

  Mary Beth thought a moment, then shook her head.

  “I told her she must be mistaken. I have never seen Dot wearing a scarf. She wasn’t into accessories, you know. She once said she lacked the time, money, or interest to doll herself up.”

  “So you don’t remember Dot wearing a scarf?”

  Mary Beth was pretty confident in her denial. I took her leave and got in my car. I tried to distract myself back at Sylvie’s, folding dumplings, helping Becky with some meal prep.

  “Are you sure you really saw a scarf around Dot?” Becky asked. “Maybe someone else was wearing it.”

  “No, I have tried to think back and remember. I see a scarf every time. It even had some kind of stain on it.”

  “Who else can you ask?”

  “I’ve talked to Motee Ba, Henry, Mary Beth…” I ticked off the names on my fingers. “I can ask Fiona but I really don’t want to.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting one more person?”

  Sylvie peeped into the kitchen.

  “You girls take a break now.”

  My eyes gleamed with excitement.

  “Do you have a minute, Sylvie?”

  She pushed us out and set some plates of food before us.

  “Start eating first.”

  I took a few hasty bites and looked at her.

  “You’re like a dog with a bone. What is it you want to know, child?”

  “What was Dot wearing that day?”

  “Her old dress. She wore that most days since you were knee high, Meera.”

  “Anything else?”

  Sylvie began shaking her head.

  “Think hard. Think really hard.”

  “I think she had something in her hand. That other girl, the poor girl who died, she was talking to Dot and Dot was showing her something she clutched in her hand.”

  “Could it have been a scarf?”

  “Dot Brown wasn’t into that kind of thing.”

  I sat back, dreading a visit to Fiona’s. Sylvie had raised my hopes a bit, so had Mary Beth. Maybe these women didn’t remember the scarf because they could never imagine Dot wearing one.

  I walked to the bank the next day and went up to Fiona’s desk. She was surprised to see me.

  “Do you have a message from Tony?” she asked.

  “No. I’m here to talk to you. Can you spare a few minutes?”

  She stepped out of the building and we walked around to the back. The janitor was emptying trash in the dumpster out back. We waited until he went inside.

  “What is it?” Fiona asked.

  “This is about the day that lady died. Do you remember what she was wearing?”

  “How could I forget?” Fiona rolled her eyes. “I was standing right next to her.”

  “So?”

  “Something horrible that must have come from a dumpster,” Fiona wrinkled her nose. “Maybe I can teach these old biddies a thing or two about dressing up.”

  “Was that it?”

  “Oh no! She had a scarf around her neck, designer material. I was impressed at first. Then I saw the big splotches on it. Probably came out of the same dumpster the dress did.”

  I felt my pulse race. Was I finally on to something concrete?

  “Are you sure about this, Fiona?”

  Fiona closed her eyes for a few seconds and nodded. She stared back at me.

  “Totally! I never forget an outfit. Especially something very good or very bad.”

  “What were you wearing?” I wanted to test my own memory and cross check it with what Fiona said.

  “I wore a suit, of course. It was my first WOSCO meeting and I wanted to impress.”

  “What else?”

  Fiona gave me a look.

  “Ring, watch, studs, stilettos…”

  I looked down at her feet, marveling at
how she handled the four inch heels. My guess was right. It had been Fiona standing next to Dot.

  “You have been a big help,” I said, catching her by the shoulders. “Thanks a lot. I owe you one.”

  “How about convincing Tony to give me a chance? Just a date, even lunch.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” I promised.

  I had no intention of sending Tony back into the lion’s den.

  Chapter 27

  “I think I know why Cindy was killed,” I declared.

  Sally had as good as moved into the main house. I had commandeered the living room in the guest house for our meeting. I looked at Stan, asking the question that would tell us if I was right.

  “Did you check on Cindy Fowler’s husband?”

  “He’s in prison. That’s confirmed.”

  “So he couldn’t have come here to kill his wife.”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Here’s what I think. Cindy saw Dot wearing the scarf. I’m guessing the scarf didn’t belong to Dot. Everyone says she wasn’t into that kind of thing. So someone must have lent it to her.”

  Stan interrupted me.

  “You think Cindy saw someone hand over the scarf to Dot.”

  “Exactly! She must have known all along. Mary Beth said she wanted to know where to get that kind of scarf.”

  “You think she asked that person?” Becky asked. “Couldn’t she just have gone to some store and bought a scarf or two?”

  “Fiona said it was the expensive kind. Designer stuff.”

  “Not available locally, you mean,” Becky snorted.

  We have a couple of departmental stores but nothing to write home about. No wonder my grandma always shops in New York.

  “Think about this. Cindy was the timid sort. She was trying really hard to fit in, be like the others. Dot helped her get back on her feet, maybe helped her get a job. Cindy looks up to her. She also knows Dot is a big name around here, well respected. She idolizes her. Then she sees her wearing something exclusive. She wants to emulate that.”

  “All that’s fine,” Stan said. “But why would that get her killed?”

  “Hardly anyone remembers that scarf. Let’s assume that scarf was used to strangle Dot.”

  “It’s the murder weapon!” Stan cried.

  “One that’s missing and one that very few people have seen.”

  “Where is that scarf now?” Becky wondered.

  “Where does one keep a scarf, Becky?”

  “In the closet?”

  “Right! So it’s either hidden under a pile of clothes or someone got rid of it.”

  “Why isn’t someone looking for it?” Stan mused. “If someone lost an expensive scarf, they would have asked around by now.”

  Swan Creek is relatively crime free. So our police force often deals with childish pranks or misplaced objects.

  “Unless…”

  “Don’t hold back, Meera!” Stan said impatiently.

  “Unless the scarf was taken by whoever owned it.”

  “So this person lends a scarf to Dot Brown, uses it to strangle her, and then picks it up and gets rid of it.”

  We stared at each other, speechless.

  “That’s the strongest theory we have come up with until now.”

  “But why would anyone do that?” Becky cried. “Dot didn’t even write the letters.”

  “We know that now. But the person who killed her couldn’t have known that.”

  “So Dot Brown died for no fault of hers,” Stan sobered.

  “So did Cindy Fowler,” I added.

  “This is cold blooded murder,” Stan said hoarsely. “And we need to find out who did it.”

  “What is it with people and their secrets?” Becky wailed. “Who cares about what happened in someone’s past?”

  “That applies to Henry. What if the notes referred to someone’s present? Henry and Fiona were both ready to do away with Dot. We have to find out who else got the notes.”

  “What does your board say, Meera?” Stan asked, pointing toward it.

  We had lugged the board back to the guest house. It was beginning to look like chicken scratch, with the multiple lines I had drawn back and forth between names and scenarios.

  “We have talked to most of the people we knew at the party,” I began.

  “That’s Motee Ba, Sylvie, Mary Beth, Henry and Fiona. The other people we can add are Dot and Cindy. That’s seven of them.”

  “What about Missy? Mary Beth’s daughter?”

  “I guess we can strike her off too,” I said.

  “We have talked to the remaining women,” Stan confirmed.

  “But not Naomi Lucas?” I reminded him.

  Stan shook his head.

  “We know Naomi’s an alcoholic. Even her son knows it. It seems her addiction is getting out of hand.”

  “You think someone sent her letters about that?” Stan asked.

  I smiled. I could see a possible break in the case.

  “I doubt she will be as forthcoming as the others. She’s the aggressive type.”

  “We should do some more digging then,” Stan said. “Try to be sure of the facts before we confront her.”

  Becky had an idea.

  “Her habit could be affecting her work. Maybe there was some accident and she covered it up.”

  “What about the letters?” I asked Stan. “Any luck with them?”

  “Nothing in particular. Someone printed out the messages on some old printer, then pasted them on the notes.”

  “Why would someone do that?”

  “Make them tough to track, I guess?”

  I had photocopies of the notes. I spread them across a table and stared at them later that evening, trying to find some connection. One of them had a margin on one side. I rearranged the pieces and realized they were four pieces cut from a larger paper. I saw some faint smudges on some of them. Was it some kind of pattern?

  I asked Stan to show me the original notes once again. He asked me to come over to the station. I quickly showed them how the margins and lines aligned when you arranged the notes in a certain pattern.

  “There’s some kind of mark on here. Do you see it?”

  We held the paper against a light, and Stan used a magnifying lens just to be sure. There was a watermark, one we could barely make out.

  “It’s not very clear, Meera. I’m not sure if we can use this.”

  I remembered something.

  “What happened to that sheaf of paper we found in Dot’s home?”

  “It’s right here. But we already decided Dot did not write the notes.”

  “Maybe not. But as far as we know, the paper is similar.”

  The watermark was much more evident on the sheaf of paper.

  “There’s some kind of code on it.”

  “We’ll have to look up paper manufacturers,” Stan said.

  I walked out of there, my head buzzing. I had an idea and I wanted to check it out before I said anything.

  Back at work, I checked the reams of paper we used for the copier. It was a better variety, snow white and in different sizes. The notes had been pasted on cream colored paper. Then I checked the printers. The printer paper was also different. A lot of it was being reused, already printed on one side.

  That got me thinking about recycled paper. That sometimes had a rougher feel, and a slightly yellowed look.

  I jumped into Tony’s truck when he came to get me for lunch.

  “Let’s go to that mailbox place. I need to get something photocopied.”

  “Don’t you stand next to a copier all day?” he grumbled. “I’m starving.”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s go to a drive-through first.”

  After putting back an order of tacos and a chicken quesadilla, Tony was ready for action.

  “We’ll be there in a minute, Meera!” he promised.

  “I need to get the first two chapters copied,” I said to the clerk, handing over a random book I had checked out from the li
brary.

  “No problem. One sided or two sided?”

  “Two sided. And I want them on recycled paper.”

  “Sorry, we’re out at the moment.”

  “But you use it normally?”

  “Only when someone requests it, Ma’am. Some people are very particular. They want good quality paper for official documents or resumes and stuff.”

  “So it’s cheaper, right?”

  “The one we stock actually costs a bit more than regular paper.”

  “That’s impossible. Isn’t it made from waste?”

  “Hey, I don’t set the price. My guess is, it’s a matter of demand and supply. The cost of making that paper has to be offset by sales. The good thing is, you may pay a bit more but you are saving the trees.”

  I wasn’t in the need for an economics lesson.

  “Where else can I get that kind of paper in Swan Creek?”

  “I don’t know. It’s made by a small company somewhere in Arkansas…”

  My face fell.

  “They have only one or two distributors in Oklahoma.”

  “So I could go to one of these distributors to get that paper?”

  “They won’t do retail. You might have to buy a lot of it.”

  “So? I’ll have enough paper to last the year. Do you know where this distributor is?”

  I got an address for the two distributors in the state. One of them was in a town on the edge of the county.

  “You want to call them before we go?” Tony suggested.

  That made sense. I went back to work and called up the number later. I asked for some time off the next day.

  “We are close, Motee Ba,” I said to my grandma as she combed out my hair that night. “I can feel it.”

  “You will be careful, won’t you, Meera?” she said in a worried tone. “We just got your mother back. We don’t want to lose you.”

  I didn’t bristle as much this time when she mentioned my mother. Was I getting used to having Sally in my life?

  “Tony’s going with me, don’t worry.”

  Tony turned up for breakfast and after a hearty meal of eggs, toast and plenty of coffee, we set off. I wriggled in my seat, impatient. I tapped a tune with my foot and urged Tony to go faster.

  “Don’t get your hopes up too much,” he said drily.

  “Don’t be a naysayer, Tony!”

  We reached the place. It was a couple of units in a strip mall. There was a dollar store next to it, a barber and a bakery of sorts.