Winter Reads by Joan Havelange

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Be it snuggled up in your armchair or lying on a tropical beach escaping the cold weather. A good book is always the best companion. If you’re looking for mystery and humour. The Trouble with Funerals is just the ticket.

The trouble with funerals is there are too many of them. Mabel’s mother is convinced something nefarious is happening at the senior’s Gravenhurst Manor condo.’ She convinces her daughter to look into the death of her best friend, Mini, who died in suspicious circumstances. If there is a cold, calculating murderer at work. Mabel needs to find the killer before it’s too late. Her mother could be next. But what is the motive? Why would anyone want to kill a senior? And her main suspect has a perfect alibi, namely Mabel. Her reliable sidekick, Violet, is no longer reliable. Violet may have gotten herself involved with a con man. Against the backdrop of the peaceful little town of Glenhaven, Mabel’s challenge is to solve the motiveless murders and save Violet from herself.

 

The Trouble With Funerals – Excerpt

 

Chapter One

“She doesn’t look a bit good,” lamented Sophie Schoenberg.

Mabel Havelock looked down at the body of Mini Frazer. “She wouldn’t. She’s dead, no one looks good dead.”

The funeral director who had ushered the two ladies to view the body in the casket gawked appalled. “Pardon me,” he said.

Sophie turned to the man in the sombre black suit. “I don’t think you people did a very good job of preparing poor Mini. She looks quite pekid,” she tsked.

Harold Hauke, the funeral director, a thin rail of a man, looked down his skinny nose at her and glowered, then he rearranged his grimace into a sympathetic smile.

“Mother, stop criticizing,” Mabel whispered. She gave the stone-faced man an apologetic smile. Her eighty-year-old mother’s social filter was a little thin.

Harold Hauke drew his lips into a tight thin line. “May I direct you to a pew?” he asked in a deep, solemn whisper.

Sophie stood looking sadly at Mini, lying in the cherry wood coffin in front of the church altar.

Mabel nudged her mother. “Yes, thank you.”

Sophie took her daughter’s arm, following the tall thin man down the aisle, she stopped abruptly and turned. “I should be sitting up in the front pew with the family. Goodness’ knows I’ve been a lot closer to Mini than her family. I can’t remember when they last came for a visit,” Sophie said in a peevish tone.

Harold Hauke’s eyes narrowed. Giving the women a stony look, he furtively motioned them to follow him.

The church was filling up, people were giving them curious looks. “Come on, Mom, you’re not family.” Mabel nudged her mother. “We can’t stand here in the middle of the aisle, arguing.”

“I was Mini’s dear friend.”

Mabel nudged her mother again and whispered in her ear. “You meant Mini when you moved into the condo. So You’ve only known Mini for a year. That hardly puts you in the front pew.”

Mabel’s mother had recently moved from the nearby town of Kipling to the little village of Glenhaven. She had taken up residence in the newly built Gravenhurst Manor, a senior’s condo complex.

Sophie looking sorrowful, followed Mabel and the funeral director to a pew. She nodded to a large lady with a bouffant hairdo. The woman nodded back and slid down the old wooden bench, making room for Sophie and Mabel.

Sophie straightened the skirt of her navy-blue suit and clasped her hands together. Looking pious, she said, “I Still think the family will want me in the front pew. I may have only known Mini for a short time, but we were the best of friends.” The woman sitting next to Sophie gave her a sidelong glance, pursed her lips and opened her funeral program.

“Hush, Mom, please, remember you are here to pay your respects to your friend Mini. Not to complain about who sits where at her funeral.”

Sophie sniffed and opened her purse, taking out a lace hanky, she dabbed at her eyes. “Please, Mable, you could be a little more compassionate. I’m still distraught, something very odd happened the night dear Mini died.”

Mabel tuned out her mother and looked around the church at the mourners gathered for Mini Frazer’s funeral. The congregation, a gathering of the very old like her mom, and those who were middle age. She’d learned from reading the obituary that Mini had been a music teacher. She assumed many of the middle-aged people were former students.

“I remember taking music lessons when I was a kid. I can’t remember the name of the teacher. But I do remember after a few lessons, and she wisely told me to take up something else. I think she said ping pong,” Mabel mused.

“Yes, your piano lessons. Dear Mini was not your music teacher, it was old Mrs. Hoolway. I doled out a lot of money for those lessons, what a waste. Your brother was much more talented. He played the tuba. Do you remember him playing?” Sophie smiled fondly.

“Oh, I remember the racket he made when he tooted on that thing. I don’t think Cyril was talented, just more persistent.”

“He was talented,” disputed Sophie.

“Whatever.” Mabel felt the old familiar wave of jealousy. Cyril was better at most things. Her brother was usually picked as captain of their schoolyard sports, while she stood on the sidelines, always picked last, even by her brother.

“Hush,” a woman in a bright purple dress turned around in the pew to admonish them. The bouffant hairdo woman in the seat beside them nodded in agreement.

“Sorry,” whispered Mabel.

Sophie, ignoring the women, tucked her hanky back into her purse.

Two black-clad ushers went up and down the aisle, escorting mourners to their pews. A few of the mourners went up to the altar to view the deceased in her casket.

Mabel watched her friend Helen Graham walk up to the casket and look sadly down at Mini. Mabel’s friend from Coffee Row attended every funeral for miles around. The thin, nervous woman had a reputation of going to every funeral, whether she knew the deceased or not.

“A nice turn out for Mini,” Sophie said, picking up a hymn book and flicking through the pages, she placed the funeral program in the hymnal as a bookmark.

Above the congregation in the choir loft, the organist played a hymn softly. Sun shining through the old stained-glass windows made colourful patterns on the battered old wooden pews. The church smelled of candle wax and incense. Above the darken mahogany altar hung a poorly rendered biblical picture, painted by some long-forgotten parishioner. The painting was of the last supper with a blond Jesus presiding over it.

“Do you know Mini’s family?” Mabel asked. “You said they didn’t visit her much. Do any of her children live here?” Mabel, a retired nurse who spent most of her life in Kipling, had only moved to the little town of Glenhaven upon retirement.

“No, none of them. Mini was divorced twice. She had two sons from her first marriage, and both boys live in Toronto. And a daughter from her second, she lives in Ottawa, some government job.”

“Do you think any of her husbands will be here?”

“No, both are long gone, I don’t know when they died.” Sophie sighed. “Mini was so proud of all her kids. I can’t remember what she said they did, but she was very proud of them. Personally, I think they are a bunch of ungrateful children. Poor Mini, I don’t think her daughter ever visited, I’m sure I would remember if she did. Maybe the one son came. Yes, I remember he did come once, a short chubby man. He had a wonderful sense of humour, like his mother. But I never clapped eyes on the other son.”

“Well, that explains them not visiting their mother, they live on the other side of Canada. Little Glenhaven Saskatchewan is a long way to come to visit.”

“That’s the trouble with funerals. The family only shows up when you’re dead.”

“Mom, shush,” admonished Mabel.

Sophie shrugged her shoulders and opened her purse that matched her navy-blue suit. She took out a tube of lip gloss, applying it to her lips.

Mable’s mother was a tiny woman with beautifully coiffured white hair. She looked like a delicate flower, but Sophie was tougher than old boots. Mabel, who had prematurely white hair, never fussed, instead settled for a simple, no-nonsense bob cut. She had inherited her mother’s blue eyes and temperament. But there the resemblance ended. Mabel was portly and didn’t particularly care how she dressed. Her mother was always appropriately attired for every occasion. Mabel wondered briefly if her mother approved of her black slacks and the plain white blouse she was wearing.

Mabel shifted on the hard, wooden bench, wishing the funeral would start. “If the church had softer seating, they’d get more parishioners,” she mumbled.

“Don’t complain, it could be me lying up there,” her mother said morbidly.

“What a thing to say, I don’t even want to think about that,” scolded Mabel.

“It’s a fact of life, well a fact of death, I guess.”

Mabel knitted her eyebrows and gave her mother a disapproving look. The thought of losing her mom was a thought she didn’t want to face. Eighty years old these days wasn’t that old, she reassured herself.

The funeral director’s helper, a squat man dressed in a black suit, closed the coffin lid. Mabel thought the man look more suited to a wrestling ring, his black suit stretching over his muscled arms threatening to burst. He adjusted the funeral pall over the coffin and waddled back down the aisle.

The organist began to play in earnest, and the congregation stood. A doddery old priest in green robes slowly led the way down the aisle. A tall woman wearing a smart black dress followed behind. A young boy and girl accompanied her.

“That’s Mini’s daughter, Judith Flanders, and the kids beside her are Mini’s grandchildren. The boy is called Robbie, and the girl is Susan, I’ve seen pictures of them,” Sophie whispered to Mabel.

The children looked to be preteens, eleven or twelve years old. Both were wearing black slacks and grey Jackets. Mabel thought the clothes looked like school uniforms as there was a monogram on the breast pocket of the Jackets.

“I don’t see Judith’s husband. It looks like he didn’t come to Mini’s funeral. Isn’t that shocking?” tsked Sophie.

A short man in a blue suit followed the woman and the children.

“Maybe that’s her husband,” Mabel whispered to her mom.

“No, that’s Judith’s brother Andy with his wife, I don’t know her name. Andy never came to visit, but I’ve seen pictures of him and his wife at Mini’s.”

A man of equal stature dressed in a grey suit followed them.

“And that’s Howard, he’s the son I was telling you about, quite a nice man. And oh, look who is accompanying them. It’s Gemma Charbon.”

“Who is she?”

“Gemma is a lovely woman. She volunteers at the Manor and helps all of us seniors who live there. You know, with rides downtown, shopping and what have you. She’s going to sit in the front pew with the family. I should be sitting there too. Mini and I were the best of friends.”

“Don’t start that again,” Mabel cautioned her mother.

The family filled the two front pews, which left a big space between them and the rest of the mourners.

On the opposite side of the aisle sat four men attired in black suits with armbands.

“They’re the pallbearers,” Sophie whispered.

“Mom, I have been to a funeral before.”

“I know, but those are local men hired to be pallbearers. They are not relatives or friends. I find this very shocking.”

“Mom, stop criticizing,” scolded Mabel.

“Quiet,” the woman in the purple dress rebuked.

Sophie nudged Mabel. “Yes, dear, this is a sombre occasion.”

“You’re the one doing most of the talking,” Mabel admonished in a hushed tone.

“Really, some people,” huffed the bouffant hairdo lady.

Mabel gave her mother a warning look and opened a hymnal.

The organist was joined musically by the choir, they began to belt out The Old Rugged Cross. Unfortunately, the organist and the choir were not on the same note.

Sophie cranked her neck to look up at the choir loft. “That has to be Nelly. She’s got a tin ear, but beggars can’t be choosers. Mrs. Ryhan, our regular organist, has to work, so Nelly is filling in. Why can’t funerals be on Sunday? We could kill two birds with one stone, I’m sure the good Lord wouldn’t mind.”

Mabel grinned, her mother did have a way with words.

“I wonder who picked this hymn?” continued Sophie muttering. “I know for a fact Mini was not fond of The Old Rugged Cross. She would be appalled.”

“Shush, stop critiquing the funeral, show some respect.”

The organ music ceased, and the priest began to sprinkle the coffin with holy water.

Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive, blasted out from Mabel’s purse. It was her cellphone alert. Mabel dug frantically in her purse, hunting for her phone.

The old priest stopped in mid sprinkle and turned, looking at the congregation.

Heads swivelled, looking to see who the offending cellphone owner was. Sophie gave Mabel a disapproving look and shifted away from her down the wooden bench.

Mabel dug. Tossing Kleenex, car keys, her address book and her pocketbook out of her purse, As ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive, continued to play out from her phone. She grabbed her offending phone as it belted out the stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive, one more time and shut it off. She ducked her head. Maybe no one knew it was her phone.

The bouffant hairdo lady and the purple dress woman both stared at Mabel and shook their heads.

The priest waited for silence, his gaze lingered on Mabel. He then turned back to bless the casket. Finished with his blessing, the priest shuffled to the pulpit, acknowledging the family with a kindly smile that brought a radiance to his old lined face. In a surprisingly clear voice, he announced, “the family has asked Mrs. Gemma Charbon to give the eulogy.” Nodding to Gemma, he shuffled behind the altar and sat on a highback wooden chair.

Gemma Charbon rose from her seat and unwrapped her white and gold shawl from her shoulders. She paused to clasp the hand of the daughter. Then Gemma, the tall, attractive woman with broad shoulders, strode to the pulpit. Her erect posture made her seem even more imposing. The long dark blue skirt of her dress swirled with each confident step. Mabel’s heart sunk. In Gemma’s bejewelled fingers was a raft of notes.

Gemma tapped on the mike with the tips of her well-manicured nails. She tilted the microphone up, paused, sighed, then nodded to the family sitting together in the front pew. “I had the great pleasure of knowing your dear mother.” Gemma flicked a strand of her long auburn hair from her cheek. “We would sit for hours chatting about life and our love of music. It surprised Mini that I knew so much about music. I, of course, play the piano, and I’m an accomplished violinist.” Gemma closed long eyelashes over brown eyes momentarily, smiling sadly. “Unfortunately, I never got to play for her.”

Mabel silently groaned as she jammed her effects back into her purse. The woman droned on and on, listing more things about herself than about Mini. When Gemma did mention the deceased, it was how the death of Mini affected her. The family looked uncomfortable, and the kids became restless.

Mabel tuned out the woman, wondering who called her on her cellphone. Maybe it was Violet. Her friend had gone to the Regina airport to pick up a man from England, Neville Hawthorne.

She and Violet had met Neville when they went on a cruise down the Nile in Egypt. He was coming to visit Violet for a month. He said he was eager to see what life was like on the Canadian Prairies. Mable had taken a dislike to the man, although she couldn’t put her finger on the reason why. But she didn’t trust him, and she thought Violet was making a mistake inviting him to stay with her. Mabel looked at her watch. Gemma had been talking for 20 minutes.

 

***

 

“Good lord, that woman went on and on,” grumbled Mabel. “I so wanted to get up and walk out of there. But we’re trapped at a funeral.”

Mabel and Sophie slowly followed a long line of funeral mourners down the crowded carpeted stairs to the church basement, where a luncheon supplied by the ladies of the church awaited.

“Who is critiquing now?” Sophie asked.

“Yeah, a captive audience,” a croaky voice from behind agreed. “I thought Gemma would never shut up.”

“Now, now,” scolded Sophie. “Gemma might be a talker, but she is always there to help us. Don’t you forget that, Charlie.”

Mabel glanced over her shoulder at a tall gaunt man, his bald head nearly covered in liver-spots.

Sophie paused on the stairs to do the introductions. “This is Charlie Sweeny. The Sweeny’s are neighbours of mine, they live at the condo in an apartment on the same floor as me. He and Linda moved into the manor right around the same time I did. Oh, and this is my daughter Mabel.”

“And this is my wife Linda,” Charlie said.

Linda was as tall and thin as her husband. “Hello, nice to meet you. Sophie said she had a daughter. It’s nice you finally came to visit your mother.” Linda offered her hand, blue veins showed through her translucent skin.

Mable awkwardly turned on the steps to shake Linda’s hand. It was like shaking hands with eggshells, she was afraid she would break the frail woman’s hand. “I live here in town.” Mabel gave her mother an inquiring look.

“Oh, do you? I don’t think I’ve seen you at the condo.” Charlie looked over Sophie’s shoulder at Mabel.

“No, you wouldn’t have meant Mabel. She doesn’t visit me very often, even though we live in the same town.” Sophie shuffled forward.

“Mother, you could make God feel guilty.”

“That’s blasphemy.”

“And two birds with one stone on a Sunday isn’t?”

“I wasn’t the one who interrupted the service with their nasty cellphone ring,” reminded Sophie.

“Was that you?” Charlie asked with a grin on his face.

“Maybe,” Mabel said, blushing. The people behind them on the stairs were muttering their disapproval.

“Never mind, dear, we all make mistakes,” Sophie said. She glanced apologetically at Charlie and his wife. “Mabel is not used to going to church either.”

“Thanks a bunch,” Mabel grumbled as they edged down the stairs one step at a time. “Now, not only am I a delinquent daughter, but I’m also an atheist.”

“Of course your not an atheist, dear. But when was the last time you attended church?”

Mabel sighed, feeling guilty, it had been a while.

“Excuse me, excuse me.” A young, thin blonde woman holding a Tupperware container above her head snaked her way through the crowd of people on the stairs. “I’m helping with the luncheon,” the young woman said as she elbowed her way past Mabel and her mother.

The line of mourners halted. Homer, a small bent man with a walker, had slowed everyone to a standstill. The white-haired man thumped his walker toward the food tables.

Long tables covered with white plastic tablecloths, set in rows down two sides of the wood-panelled basemen. On the tables in front of each chair, a paper cup and a folded napkin. Sugar bowls and small cream jugs, and plastic stir-sticks set in the middle of the tables. Down the center of the room were the food tables, laden with trays of sandwiches, cheese, pickles, and fruit platters. Next to a big coffee urn, more trays, filled with small cakes and tarts. A friend of Mabel’s, Mary Woodhouse, presided over the coffee urn. Mabel waved at the flushed faced woman, but Mary was busy pouring coffee and didn’t notice her.

Homer, the skinny little man with the walker, filled a paper plate with a mound of sandwiches. The plate precariously balanced on the handrail of his walker. Mabel hurried over to him. “Do you want me to help you?” she said, reaching for his plate, brimming over with sandwiches and dainties.

Homer looked at her with rheumy eyes. “Get your own plate.” He jerked his plate from her hands. Sandwiches and dainties flew, a salmon sandwich landed on Mabel. The salmon slid down the front of her blouse.

“You cantankerous old—”

“I’ll help him,” Mary interrupted. Bending, she gathered up the sandwiches and dainties off the floor. “You go and clean yourself up, dear.”

“Stupid woman, she tried to steal my food,” muttered Homer.

Mabel looked around the room, embarrassed. She hoped it was a long time before she attended another funeral.

 

 

Chapter Two

 

Mabel opened the back door of her little bungalow and shooed her orange tabby cat, Gertrude, out onto the step. The early morning air of September had a bite to it. She stood on her back steps, looking at her garden. Now that all her vegetables had been harvested, she needed her friend Henry Hawkins to bring his garden plow to work up her garden. The leaves were changing from green to brilliant orange, gold, and red. A prelude to winter, but it was warm, and the farmers had lots of good weather ahead to harvest their crops.

She closed the door, walking over to her sink, she picked up a dishcloth and wiped the crumbs off her red arborite countertop. Mabel rinsed the dishcloth, then tossed it back into her old white porcelain sink. A hiss and a yowl grabbed her attention. She pulled back the bright white and red-flowered curtains on the window over her sink and looked out. Gertrude’s back arched, her ears flattened, and her tail twitched. A stray grey cat had entered Gertrude’s domain. Gertrude leapt off the step, hissing and yowling. Mabel grinned as the grey cat scampered out of the yard. Her cat was old, but she was feisty.

She dropped the curtains and wandered over to her wall phone. Mabel paused, debating, should she call Violet? She missed talking to her. She hadn’t heard from her friend since she’d picked up the English man Neville at the airport. She guessed Violet was too wrapped up with her new boyfriend to bother with an old friend. Mabel felt a pang of jealousy. She was being pushed to the sidelines by Neville. Maybe she should invite them for supper? She reached for the phone as it rang.

“Hi Violet, I was just thinking about you.” Mabel played out the long phone cord back to her chrome table. Pulling out a chair, she sat.

“Sorry to disappoint you, it’s just your poor old mother.”

“Mom, don’t try playing the old lady card, it won’t work on me.” Mabel kicked out another grey chrome chair and put her feet upon it.

“Old lady card?”

“The oh woe is me. I’m a little old lady who needs help, card.”

“Huh,” snorted her mother.

“Anyway, what’s up? We just saw each other yesterday at the funeral. I still have my blouse soaking. It smells like a fish.”

“Oh, only once a week, is that all you want to see me?”

“I visit you more than once a week.” Mabel twisted the long cord around a finger.

“Well, now, you do. You’ve been away so much I almost forget I have a daughter.”

“Don’t exaggerate, you know that’s not true.”

“I won’t be here forever, you know. Family is important. You’ll realize that when you get old like me.”

Mabel sighed. Her mother was a master of guilt. “I was in Edmonton busy with my daughter. Your granddaughter Melina, she wanted me with her when she gave birth to my granddaughter Rene.”

“Yes, dear, of course. Did you know it’s quite unsettling to be the mother of a grandmother? All the same, I’m glad everything turned out well for them both, and everyone is healthy.”

“So, you see, I wasn’t neglecting family. I was with another family member.”

“Yes, but you were off gallivanting when I moved,” Sophie accused.

Mabel flipped the long telephone cord back and forth, making little skipping rope motions with it. She’d heard her mother lament this story many times before.

“It’s not easy selling up and moving at my age.”

“I know, but you could have waited until I got home.

“You went to Egypt, and I was all alone.”

“One trip, I go on one trip, and you decide to move. You can’t blame me for that. You could have waited.” Mabel drummed her fingers on the top of her red chrome table. Her mother was a consummate manipulator. What was she up to now?

“You helped the RCMP solve a murder at the golf course.”

“Yes, Violet and I did. Why?” Mabel stopped whipping her telephone cord and frowned at the sudden change in topic.

“And that’s why I’m calling. I have a job for you.”

“With the cops? What did you do? Cheat at bingo?” Mabel teased.

“Don’t get snarky with me missy, and how can you cheat a bingo?”

“It was a joke.”

“Well, not a very good one. Anyway, I need your help.”

“You want me to run some errands for you? No problem.”

“Not an errand dear, I need you to find out why Mini died.”

“Mini? She died of old age.”

“People don’t die just because they reach a certain age. They die because of some illness or accident. Or maybe, even something else,” Sophie’s voice became softer.

“Of something else?” Mabel sat up straight in her chair and swung her legs down to the floor.

“Yes, something else. Mini was as healthy as a horse.”

“Mini was at least eighty.”

“A healthy eighty, sure she had a little high blood pressure, but it was minor.”

“A little high blood pressure?”

“Yes, a little.”

“Next, you will tell me she had a slight heart attack. There is no slight about it.”

“Mabel, did I say she had a slight heart attack? No, I didn’t. I’m telling you something is not quite right with Mini’s sudden death.”

Mabel rolled her eyes. Only her mother would think an aged friend who died at eighty was a sudden death. “What do you want me to do?”

“Find out, for goodness’ sake, why do you think I’m telling you this?”

“And just what am I supposed to find out? I can’t break into the coroner’s office and look at his reports.”

“Ask him.”

“Why would he tell me?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“It’s called patient confidentiality.”

“Mini isn’t his patient. Mini is dead, and in my opinion, her death is suspicious. Are you going to do something?”

Mabel sighed, gathering the telephone cord in one hand, she slid the kitchen chairs back into place. Her mother was not going to let this thing with Mini go. She might as well get it over with, she had nothing else to do. Violet was too busy with her new boyfriend to golf. “Okay, I’ll come over, and you can tell me why you think Mini’s death is suspicious.” Mabel suspected her mother just wanted her to visit. Who would want to harm an old lady like Mini?

 

***

 

Mable slung her purse over her arm. Enjoying the warm sun as she walked to the senior’s condo on the far side of town. The school bell from the Glenhaven Public school rang out, calling the children in from recess. Mabel could hear shouts and shrieks of laughter as they ran from the playground to the school. Golden leaves showered down on the sidewalk, swirling in the light breeze. Soon they would no longer be soft but brittle. Mabel smiled, remembering how as a child, she delighted crushing the leaves and feeling the crunch underfoot.

She noted the two new houses on her street. They had knocked two old houses down to make way for the new. A new potash mine located south of the town brought big changes to Glenhaven. The little town was experiencing a building boom. She wasn’t sad to see the two dilapidated houses demolished. New homes had sprung up, and old homes were sold at astronomical prices. She wondered momentarily what her little bungalow was worth. She quickly shook off the thought. She was happy in her little house.

She passed the once-vacant lot next to the dental office as three men dressed in coveralls and hard hats climbed up a scaffolded. The building, when finished, would house a gym and an indoor swimming pool. As she passed Pam & Ally’s café, she wondered if the new fast food cafes opened near the highway were taking business away from them. She hoped not.

Mabel paused at the post office to chat with her neighbour Wanda. The walk to the seniors’ condo took longer than planned, as she kept meeting friends and neighbours on the street. It was nice that not everyone was a newcomer to the town.

A big black raven perched on the Gravenhurst Manor sign cawed at her, the sign set on the green lawn in front of the new two-story building. The manor, which had twenty-five modern suites, was geared to seniors. The condo had been built to free up housing. But many of the residents living at the manor were from out of town. Which still left a housing shortage in Glenhaven.

The big two-story white building with its blue roof had a grand entrance. Two pillars supported the gabled porch entrance. Through the large glass, double doors, Mabel gained access to the vestibule. On a wall inside was a brass plaque with the residence names and condo numbers. And below each name, the intercom buttons, this guaranteed safety for the seniors living there. The lobby doors only opened if the residents buzzed their visitor in, releasing the lock on the next set of glass doors into the foyer. Mabel supposed this was a selling point, the seniors were assured of their safety. Her purse strap slipped down over her arm as she pressed the button to her mother’s condo unit.

“Who is it?” Her mother’s voice sounded tinny over the intercom.

“It’s me, Mabel.”

“Who did you say you were? I don’t recognize the name.”

“I’m a door-to-door salesman selling insurance. Open the darn door, Mom and quit playing games.” Mabel sighed. Her mother had a way of making her feel guilty. The door buzzed and opened.

A tall, lanky man in a pair of patchy old coveralls with a big brown belt cinched around his waist came out the door. A ring of keys hanging down from the belt jingled as he walked.

“Afternoon,” mumbled the man. He paused, faded blue eyes gave Mabel the once-over. “You’re new? I ain’t seen you around here.”

Mable didn’t like the way the man was looking at her. “I’m just visiting.” She edged toward the door to the lobby.

“Visiting who?”

“Sophie Schonberg, I’m her daughter Mabel. Mable Havelock.”

“Is that a fact, coming from away, are you?” The man took up a position in the open doorway with his arms crossed.

“No, I live here in town. I don’t know your name. What is yours?”

“My what?”

“Your name.”

“Farley.”

“Farley? Is that your first or last name?” Mable looked up at the gangly man over her granny glasses. Although the man had a weathered face, she thought him to be in his early fifties.

“Last.”

“I see. I think you must be the one who’s from away.”

“Yep.”

“From where?”

“From away.”

“From away where?”

“From away.”

“And where is that exactly?”

“Away.”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Do you work here?”

“Yep,” he muttered, sauntering out the front door.

That man is definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic, Mabel thought, as she stepped inside to the lobby.

The manor still had the new fresh paint smell. A large, sparkling chandelier hung down from the vaulted ceiling. Armchairs set on either side of the elevator. Across the carpeted foyer, the entrance to the lounge. The lounge had the same light-blue herringbone-patterned carpet. A leather couch faced a gas fireplace and over the fireplace hung a large plasma screen TV. Brown leather armchairs circled small tables with shiny brass lamps topped with red lampshades. In front of the two big windows, set two long tables.

At one long table, Hannah Huston and Freda Jilvontee were working on a jigsaw puzzle. Mabel set her purse on a small end table and trotted over to have a peek.

“How is the puzzle coming,” she asked. The puzzle looked to be half done. They had propped the puzzle-box lid up against a flower vase. The picture on the cover depicted an old medieval castle with a flower garden.

Hannah, a small woman with a widow’s hump, flashed Mabel a smile. Hannah’s teeth were loose, and her teeth clicked as she talked. “You’ve finally come to visit your mom, have you?” The tiny woman picked up a puzzle piece, examined it, then fit the piece into the castle.

Mabel bit her lip. What was her mother telling her friends? Was she saying she didn’t visit enough? She thought of her brother Cyril. Her brother only came to visit on holidays. Okay, he lived three hours away in Winnipeg. Mable didn’t count that as an excuse. But her mother did.

“It’s about time you came to visit your mother. Your poor Mom gets lonely. If Daniel and I were able to have children, I know they would be here every day,” Freda Jilvontee said.

Freda was a widow, Mable guessed her to be at least seventy. The woman had iron-grey hair curled into a bun and a long thin nose.

“That doesn’t fit.” Freda’s top lip curled as she removed the puzzle piece Hannah had put in.

“I’d give anything to have children,” Hannah said, turning back to the pile of loose puzzle pieces, shifting them around with her index finger. “But that bugger buggered off.”

“Yeah, yeah, Tom left you. We’ve all heard that story.” Freda examined the puzzle piece she had rejected.

Hannah glanced up at Freda with a mutinous look on her face.

“I visit mom,” defended Mabel, watching Freda put Hannah’s puzzle piece back in the castle.

“That’s not what Sophie tells us,” Homer Murphy piped up from the kitchen. The community kitchen was a smallish area with a fridge, stove and dishwasher. A half counter separated it from the lounge. The small, bent man leaned on the grey and white marble countertop, pouring a cup of coffee.

Mabel glared at Homer as he picked up his coffee mug and hobbled over to a chair, where his walker sat. There was a baseball game on the TV, but no one appeared to be watching. Charlie Sweeny stretched out on the couch in front of the TV, snored.

Homer, balancing the cup of coffee in one hand, looked over at Mabel. “Aren’t you going to help me?” he asked.

“Fat chance, I’d probably end up wearing it,” she growled.

Homer chuckled as Mabel did an about-face, strutting out of the lounge to the elevator. As she pushed the call button for the elevator, she heard Hannah clicking her teeth. “Poor Sophie, it’s a shame when your children don’t visit.”

 

***

 

Mabel pursed her lips, annoyed, she rapped soundly on her mother’s door.

“Who is it?” her mother called.

“It’s your long-lost daughter, who never visits.”

“Who?”

“Quit fooling around.” Mabel opened the door and walked into her mother’s condo.

They called the design of the unit open plan living. The suite had a small kitchen with an L-shaped cupboard design and an island that separated the kitchen from the living room. A narrow hallway led to the bedroom on one side and a bathroom on the other. It always took Mabel a moment to adjust to all the pink and white. To her, it looked like a valentine had thrown up. A long wall behind the TV that her mother called her feature wall had pink and white stripe wallpaper. White lacy curtains hung on a brass rod across the living room window. Across from the TV was a pink couch with a matching wing-back chair. Scattered across the pink sofa, round pink and white floral cushions. A white knit afghan lay along the back of the couch. Even the padded kitchen chairs were pink. The TV, the only thing that wasn’t pink, sat in a long oak cabinet with pictures of her family. Sprinkled amongst the photos, little white fairy ornaments, paused in mid-flight.

“What were you doing? Sophie asked. “I buzzed you in ages ago.”

“Some guy named Farley met me at the front door. The man gave me the inquisition before he let me in.”

“Ah Farley, he is the caretaker here. I grant you he is an odd duck, but he seems to do his work. Everything is kept very clean.”

“And your friends in the lounge gave me an odd reception too. Hannah, Freda, and Homer, all talk as if I never visit you.”

“Oh, never mind them, Freda is just a nosy woman. And Homer, the dear man, is just looking out for me. Come sit down, dear,” Sophie invited.

Mabel doubted Homer concerned himself with her mother. More like he was just being his usual nasty self. “Anyway, tell me what you think is suspicious about your friend Mini’s death.” Mabel slowly sank, feeling herself being swallowed up by the plush pink couch.

Sophie sat on the wing-back chair and pressed her hands together as if praying. “The night Mini died. We had a date to go downstairs to the lounge to play bridge with Abagail and her husband, Ned. They’re the Faulks. Ned worked with your father, they were very good to us when your dad died. Do you remember them?”

“I do, nice people.”

Sophie sighed, her eyes sad. “I had been at Mini’s place for supper, we did the dishes. And Mini seemed fine.”

“Okay, and then what?”

“I came back here to change. I like to look nice, Abagail is quite a snappy dresser.”

Mable grinned.

“Mini said she would meet me downstairs. We had decided to take some of that nice wine your brother gave me for my birthday and treat Ned and Abagail.” Sophie giggled. “Well, we actually planned on getting them a little snockered. They are very good bridge players. You know, give us a little advantage.”

“Go on.” Mabel struggled to get off the couch. The more she struggled, the deeper she seemed to go.

Sophie leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Isn’t that the most comfortable couch you ever sat on?”

“Your couch certainly is soft.” Mabel heaved herself to her feet and went to the window, tugging on Sophie’s lace curtains. The sun was shining in her eyes.

The Glenhaven Senior’s Condo was built on the edge of town, and from the second-floor vantage point, Mable could see for miles. The old joke, in Saskatchewan, you can see your dog running away for days, popped into her head. But in her opinion, the golden fields and brilliant blue skies made up for any flatness. A dark red barn with a grove of trees broke up the landscape. In the distance, a big green and yellow combine. A farmer was harvesting his crop.

Mabel turned her back to the window. Closing the lace curtains had not helped, the sun was still streaming in. “So, you came home to change clothes and get the wine, then what happened?”

Sophie plucked at the tassels on a floral cushion. “I went downstairs. Abagail and Ned were already there, but not Mini. We waited, and waited, I have to tell you we all got a little impatient. So, I told Abagail and Ned I would go and see what was holding Mini up. I went to the elevator and pushed the call button. But the elevator appeared to be in use.”

“Appeared to be?”

“Wait, I haven’t finished. I decided not to waste time and used the stairs. When I got to this floor, the second floor, I couldn’t open the door.”

Mabel frowned.

“No, seriously, I couldn’t, so I went back downstairs and tried the elevator again. This time the elevator was free, and I took it back up. I rapped on Mini’s door, but she didn’t answer. I thought maybe she was in the bathroom. Then I wondered, did she fall or something? I waited and tried the door, but it was locked, so I came back here and rang her. She didn’t answer.”

“Okay, and?” Mabel saw no reason for her mother to be having weird thoughts that Mini had meant with a sticky end.

“I became worried and phoned the key holder. You’re my key holder, you know, the person who has the spare key. The one we contact if there is an emergency and we can’t get into our unit. I decided this was an emergency.”

“Yes, I know what a key holder is. Who found her?”

“Gemma, she is, or was the key holder, she has the spare key. After I phoned her, I went back. I kept knocking on Mini’s door and calling out to her. But she didn’t answer her door.” Sophie’s voice faltered. She twisted the tassels on her cushion, the tassels were becoming knotted. “Then I came back here to wait for Gemma.”

“Did you go into Mini’s suite with Gemma?” Mabel sat on the arm of Sophie’s chair and put her arm around her mother, hugging her.

“Yes, and we found dear Mini, dead.” Sophie leaned her head against Mabel.

“What happened next? Who phoned the doctor?”

“I suggested we call a doctor. But like Gemma said, Mini was dead, and even I could see that, so Gemma called the coroner.”

“Why the coroner?”

“She said we needed him to sign the death certificate.”

“Gemma called the coroner?”

“Yes, she did. And they made me wait with everyone downstairs in the lounge. I’m afraid we polished off the wine.”

Mabel gave her mother’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “If my friend died, I’d need a drink too.”

Sophie sighed and sat up, tucking the cushion behind her back. “Gemma told me the coroner declared that Mini died a natural death and signed the death certificate.”

“What? A heart attack?”

“I don’t know, Gemma didn’t say, she just said natural causes, but I don’t think Mini died from natural causes. Mini was as healthy as a horse.”

“An eighty-year-old horse with high blood pressure. I know it’s hard to lose a friend. But why not leave it at that? What makes you think something happened?”

“The door would not open and remember the elevator?”

“You said the elevator was in use.”

“No, I said the elevator appeared to be in use, and it wasn’t. No one came down in the elevator. I asked Abagail, and she said no one came down.”

Mabel sighed. “Okay, let’s go try this door you couldn’t open.”

They left Sophie’s suite and walked silently down the corridor to the door. “The door should open to the hallway.” Mabel turned the doorknob and pulled on the door. It opened easily. “Okay, Mom, you try it.”

Sophie opened the door and went out to the stairwell and closed it. Seconds later, she reopened the door. “I can open and close a door,” she muttered.

“I know you can. I’m just wondering. On the night of Mini’s death, did you push or pull on the door?”

“I did both. I pushed and pulled, the door wouldn’t budge.”

Mabel went out to the landing of the stairwell. She pushed on the door, and it opened easily. The doors were designed for seniors. “Okay, I believe you, then what happened?”

Sophie brought her index finger up to her lips. “Shush, you don’t know who’s listening, wait.”

Mabel raised her eyebrows and walked back to her mother’s unit in silence. She hoped her mother wasn’t becoming paranoid.

Sophie closed the door and hurried into her kitchen, turning the burner on under the kettle.

Mabel plunked herself down on the couch and promptly sunk deep into the pink-well of soft sofa cushions. Her feet came up off the floor, and she propped them up on the glass coffee table. “So, you and Gemma found Mini?”

“Take your feet down, Mable, that is not very ladylike.”

Mable obeyed. Taking her feet off the coffee table, she struggled to the edge of the couch. “How long between the time you knocked on Mini’s door until Gemma came?”

Sophie set out teacups on her counter, opening drawers and taking out teaspoons. “Well, I came back here and waited for Gemma.”

“Do you want help with the tea things?”

“No, I can manage.” Sophie placed the teacups on a tray. “As I told you, Gemma is Mini’s representative, she had the spare key. Mable, this has gotten me to thinking. A fat lot of good it will do me if you have my spare key and you’re off gallivanting in some foreign land. Or out on the golf course come to that.” Sophie opened a cookie jar, arranging the shortbread cookies onto a plate she set the plate on the tray.

“Would you stop that? I went on one trip for goodness’ sake.”

Sophie opened her fridge and took out a small pitcher of cream. “You won’t be of any help if you’re not here. I should change my representative to Gemma.” She set the cream and sugar on the tray.

Mabel sighed. “Whatever. You phoned Gemma, and you waited here in your suite until she came. How long did that take?”

“I don’t know, I sat here and waited with my door open, so I could see when she came.” Sophie carried the tray to the coffee table, then scurried back to the kitchen. The kettle was boiling.

“And then?” Mable took the cups and saucers off the tray, placing them on the coffee table with a teaspoon beside each cup.

“Then, Gemma came.” Sophie turned off the burner and poured the hot water into her little pink and white teapot.

“And?” Mabel felt like she was wasting time. This obsession her mother had with Mini’s death was probably just a worry about her own time left on earth. She should go home and phone Violet and ask her and Neville for supper. But her mother did make delicious homemade shortbread cookies.

Sophie placed a pink-and white-flowered tea cozy over her teapot and carried it to the coffee table. “Like I said, Gemma came, and I went with her into Mini’s suite. And we found poor Mini dead in bed.” She paused. Her hand shook, and she set the teapot on the tray.

“Okay, that doesn’t sound odd to me.” Mabel picked up a cookie and took a bite.

“She was in bed. Don’t you see how strange that is?” Sophie threw up her hands and sat on the couch beside Mabel.

“Why is it strange? Do you want me to pour the tea?”

“No, let it steep. Mini was in bed. And it was only seven o’clock in the evening.”

“No offence, but old people do go to bed early.”

“Pay attention, Mabel, and don’t talk with your mouth full. Remember, we were going to play bridge. It was all arranged.”

Mabel wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Maybe Mini felt ill and laid down.”

“She was in her nightgown, and she was in bed. And if Mini felt ill, she would have phoned me and told me she wasn’t going to play bridge. Mini wasn’t a rude woman, she wouldn’t have wanted to snub Abigail and Ned. Or me either come to that.”

“Can I pour the tea now?”

Sophie nodded. “And don’t forget the elevator that appeared to be in use when it wasn’t. And the blocked door.”

“Are you sure the elevator wasn’t in use?”

“I told you I asked Abagail if anyone came down while I went up the stairs? Both Ned and Abagail said no.”

Mabel had her doubts about the blocked door. Her mother may have gotten confused. And Abagail and Ned might not have noticed someone getting off the elevator. But to put her mother’s mind at rest, she would humour her. “Okay, saying all that is true.”

“It’s true, do you think I’m lying? Goodness me,” huffed Sophie.

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean, what about the rest of your neighbours, who live on this floor? If something nefarious was going on, they might have seen whatever it was.”

“No, no one would see anything. Mini died on a Thursday night.”

“Oh, I see a Thursday night, that explains everything,” Mabel exclaimed.

“Don’t be snarky. Thursday night is senior dance night at the leisure center. Everyone goes to that. Well, except for Mini, she never went. She thought the music was dreadful. I don’t think it is. But Mini was a bit of a snob where music was concerned. That’s why I said she would have been appalled at the organist at her funeral. Of course, as she was dead, I suppose it didn’t make any difference.”

Mabel picked up her teacup. “I thought you like to dance?”

“I do, and I almost always go, but Mini wanted to play bridge with Abagail and Ned. Charlie and Linda Sweeny usually play bridge on Thursday evening with them. Charlie doesn’t like dancing. But the leisure center was hosting a new band, and Linda’s brother was playing in the band.”

Mabel drank her tea, wondering when her mother would get to the point.

“Linda made Charlie go to the dance. So, when Mini asked me to play bridge, I thought, why not try something different? Only we never did get to play.” Sophie stirred her tea, looking remorseful.

“But Mom, be reasonable. Why would anyone want to kill Mini? She was eighty some odd years old. What motive could anyone possibly have?”

Sophie looked sadly at Mabel. “When you get old, everyone thinks all you need is to be warm, fed, and propped up in front of a TV. I guess no one cares how you end your days. We’re old anyway.”

Mabel knew her mom was playing the old lady card. But darn it, her mother was a master of guilt. “I won’t dismiss Mini’s death, I promise you.”

 

***

 

Mabel rode down in the elevator, remembering how sad her mother looked. Was her mother, right? Did something untoward happen to Mini? The elevator and blocked stairway door was odd, but was it suspicious? She sighed, she had promised her mom to look into it, but how? She stepped off the elevator and was confronted by Homer. The man had her purse draped over his arm.

“That’s my purse.”

“Well, it’s not mine, you stupid woman. Here, take the damn thing and don’t leave it lying around. Things have a way of going missing in this place.”

 

 

Chapter Three

 

“How are you, Violet?” Mabel twisted the long cord from her phone around her finger.

“I’m fine, sorry I haven’t phoned you. We’ve been so busy. I’ve been showing Neville the sights.”

Mabel grinned. “That wouldn’t have taken long. What was the highlight? The grain elevator?”

“Neville has never seen one of these big grain elevators, and Frank Huberdeau gave us a wonderful tour.”

“Fascinating, I’m sure. Anyway, if you and Neville aren’t doing anything this evening, I would like to invite you both for supper.”

“Let me ask Neville.”

Mabel tapped her foot and waited. Violet asking Neville if they could come for supper? Where was Violet’s independence? What was her friend thinking? Good lord, was this friendship with Neville serious? Her friend had married three times and vowed she would never do it again. Violet had told her, ‘If I ever tell you I’m thinking of getting married again, hit me over the head with a two-by-four.’ Maybe it was time to remind Violet of her vow.

“We would love to, what can I bring?”

“A dessert would be nice.” Mabel, an impatient cook, loved good food, and her friend Violet was an excellent baker.

 

***

 

“What did you say was the name of the main dish?” Neville ran his tongue over his teeth, laying his napkin on his plate, covering his leavings.

Mabel glanced at the tall, lean man sitting at her kitchen table. Although she wasn’t fond of his pencil moustache, she had to admit, he was an attractive man. He had deep brown eyes and dark brown hair, with just a touch of white at his temples. “Hamburger casserole, a favourite of my husband.” Mabel scraped his leftover food into the garbage can under the sink. Neville appeared to be a picky eater. Maybe she should have cooked a roast.

“Neville isn’t used to prairie cooking, are you?” Violet jumped up to help.

Mabel’s tall friend reached over her head, taking out Tupper ware containers. She carefully put the leftover casserole evenly in each container, taking some out of one and adding it to another. Satisfied they were all even, Violet snapped the lids shut.

Violet and Mabel were exact opposites. Where Mabel was short and round, Violet was tall and lean. Mable let her hair go grey and wore steel-rimmed glasses. Violet dyed her short hair a brilliant red and wore trendy blue-rimmed glasses. The differences didn’t end with their physical looks. Violet, a thoughtful cautious woman, liked everything neat and in its proper place. Mabel, a force to be reckoned with, was a surprise to the unwary, who did not know her kindly granny look, was only a facade. Despite their differences, or maybe because of it, they were best friends and had been since their nursing days. The women worked in unison, clearing the table and putting everything away.

“What do you think of Saskatchewan?” Mabel asked, placing the last plate inside the dishwasher.

“I quite like these wide-open spaces. And some chap has invited me to participate in the harvest.”

“Alfred Jilvontee. I think Alfred meant for you to watch. Farm machinery, like combines, are huge, and complicated to operate.” Violet collected the silverware, setting the cutlery in the dishwasher, she closed the door.

“I went to visit Mom this morning, and I saw Freda Jilvontee, Alfred’s aunt.” Mabel poured hot water into her little red teapot, placing a bright red flowered tea cozy over the pot. “Let’s go into the living room, we can enjoy our tea and dessert there.” Mabel picked up the tray with a teapot and mugs and led the way. She set the tray on her coffee table and shooed her cat Gertrude off the couch. The cat yawned, stretched and jumped up on the big grey armchair.

Violet followed with the cream and sugar, placing the red ceramic bowls beside the tray, she asked. “How is Freda?”

Neville giving the sofa a cautious look, brushed a hand on the couch, eyeing the cat.

“When I saw her, she was putting together a puzzle with Hannah. You remember Hannah.” Mabel went back into the kitchen and returned with two dessert plates with rhubarb pie, topped with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream. She gave one slice to Violet and the other to Neville.

Neville accepted the plate, wrinkling his nose at the pie.

“Violet makes amazing pies, I know this pie will be delicious. You will love it.”

“Forks, dear.” Violet smiled at the praise. Shifting a navy cushion, she sat next to Neville on the grey tweed couch.

“Coming up,” Mabel said cheerfully, as she returned from the kitchen with a slice of pie for herself and forks for all.

Mabel picked up a green ball of wool from her big armchair and tossed it to the floor. The ball of yarn rolled across the floor. Gertrude scampered after it, batting the ball. It rolled under the coffee table.

Neville took a tentative bite. “This is delicious,” he agreed, gobbling up the pie.

Violet preened. “Thank you.” She took the tea cozy off the pot, opened the lid, and peeked in. “I think it’s steeped,” she said, replacing the lid. “Shall I pour?”

“Please do,” Mabel said, digging into her pie.

Violet poured the tea, adding sugar to a cup, stirring it, then passing the cup to Mabel, who accepted the mug and set it down, continuing to enjoy her pie.

“How is your Mom?” Violet asked, pouring tea for Neville and herself.

Gertrude swatted at the ball of wool. It was unravelling.

Neville set his empty dessert plate down and took a sip of his tea. He grimaced and set the mug down beside his empty plate, and nudged the cat with his toe. Gertrud abandoned the wool and attacked his pant leg.

“She’s fine. But she has this theory about Mini Frazer’s death. Mom thinks Mini’s death wasn’t from natural causes. Where she got this wild idea is beyond me.”

Neville shook his leg. The cat clung to his pant leg.

“Hum, really, I wonder who that reminds me of?” Violet grinned.

“Who?” asked Mabel.

Neville shook his foot to dislodge the cat. Gertrude jumped sideways back under the coffee table and crouched. Her tail flicked, then she leapt up and attached herself to his leg. Neville yelped, shaking his foot. Gertrude rolled on her back, her paws holding on to his foot.

“Two guesses?” Violet teased, taking a fork full of pie.

“I don’t know what you mean. My theories are never wild. Mom keeps going on about Mini’s death. As if it was suspicious. But Mini was old, who would want to kill an old lady?” Mabel set her empty plate on the coffee table and picked up her mug of tea.

Neville jumped up from the couch. “Your cat is quite aggressive.”

Gertrude laid flat, her ears back, her tail flipped back and forth.

“Gertrude?” Mabel set her mug of tea down. “She’s just playing.” She pulled Gertrude out from under the coffee table, stroking the cat, she continued. “Like I was saying, Mom has gotten a bee in her bonnet and just won’t let it go.”

Neville brushed off his trousers, eyeing Gertrude suspiciously, he made a wide birth around the cat. Neville strolled over to a canvas sitting on an easel in front of Mabel’s picture window. Tilting his head one way, then the other, Neville rolled the tips of his moustache between his thumb and forefinger. “A goblin?” he asked, looking at the greyish figure with big dark circles around the eyes.

“That’s a self-portrait. I know I need to work a little more on the eyes. Eyes are hard to paint with glasses.”

“It’s coming along, good for you keeping up with your painting.” Violet piled the empty dessert plates onto the tea tray.

Mabel smiled. “I painted Gertrude, that’s the painting hanging over my TV.”

Neville stood with his hands clasped behind his back, surveying the painting, centred in the middle of the picture, a large fuzzy orange ball. Green blobs with black dots represented Gertrude’s eyes. A long furry orange tail curled around the ball. Neville coughed and grinned.

Mabel’s eyes narrowed. What a snob. First, he didn’t like her cooking or her tea. Now, she could tell he thought her painting lacked talent. She stuck out her chin. Good, she thought mutinously. She didn’t want Neville to like anything of hers.

“Anyway, you said your mother has a bee in her bonnet. I assume that means… well, I’m not at all sure what it means.” Neville turned his back to the painting, tweaked his moustache and smirked.

“Bee in a bonnet,” Violet said, adding the dessert forks to the tray. “It means Mable’s mom is obsessed with an idea.” She grinned good-naturedly at Mabel. “Not that you have ever been obsessed with a suspicion.”

“If you recall, my suspicions have always been right,” Mabel replied indignantly.

Violet shrugged and picked up her mug of tea.

Neville sat back beside Violet, his arm draped over the back of the couch.

“Why does your mom thinks someone did away with Mini?” Violet looked over her mug of tea at Mable.

Mabel related the events of the night Mini died. “Mom said everyone from that floor had gone to a dance. She thinks someone jammed the elevator. And she is sure the door from the stairwell was blocked, preventing any access to the floor. My mom is positive someone had a hand in Mini’s death.”

“I assume they called the coroner,” Neville voiced.

“Yes, but Mini is an old lady and maybe he just assumed she died of a heart attack,” suggested Mabel.

“But why would anyone hurt, let alone kill Mini? She wasn’t rich. She taught piano. You don’t get rich from teaching kids the scales.” Violet set her mug down on the coffee table.

“Perhaps her husband was rich,” suggested Neville. “Sometimes, people can live quite simply and still possess a lot of money.” His arm slipped down the couch, and he draped it over Violet’s shoulder.

“I suppose Mini could be well off. Mom said she was married twice,” Mabel said slowly. “Maybe she got good settlements from her Ex’s.” Her eyes darted from Neville to Violet. Her friend had been married three times. Did Neville think Violet had money squirrelled away? Was he here to con her buddy out of money? She gave him a suspicious look.

“Ladies, I have to advise you these ideas of yours are pretty far-fetched.” Neville lifted his eyebrows and smirked.

What an arrogant man, Mabel thought. Who said that they had any ideas about Mini’s death? It was her mother’s notion, and she thought her mother’s theory was out in left-field. She grinned, it was time to annoy the tiresome man who stuck his nose up at everything. “Hum, I wonder if Mom could be right, a suspicious death.”

“Even if Mini had money, it would be her children who would inherit. I’m sure they didn’t kill their mother,” Violet said.

“Well, yes, you’re right. Mini’s kids don’t even live here. They had to fly in for the funeral. But still, it makes me wonder?”

“Are they still here?” Violet asked.

“I think so they have to settle the estate and sell their mother’s condo. It wouldn’t hurt for us to poke around, maybe find out if she changed her will suddenly.” Mabel watched with satisfaction as Neville’s lips curled.

“What an extremely vulgar suggestion,” huffed Neville. “How can you even think of intruding on the family in their time of grief? Most unseemly, asking questions. Questions that are none of your business.” He squeezed Violet’s arm. “Don’t get involved.”

Violet’s eyes widened. She shrugged off his embrace.

“It’s not like I’m going to barge up to the family and ask if their mother changed her will. I have a little more finesse than that,” Mabel said, suddenly upset with Neville’s opinion of her.

“Well, Violet is certainly not going to be involved in this ridiculous plan. Are you?” Neville stared intently at Violet.

Violet’s brow knitted in a frown. She picked up her tea mug, tapping the side of the cup with an index finger.

Mabel’s eyes flickered from Neville to Violet. She should tell him she was joking. Her friend Violet would be the last person to intrude on anyone’s grief.

Neville looked over at Mabel, his lips curled into a smug smile.

Mabel bristled. “We will be subtle.”

“Violet, you can’t possibly think this is a good idea. You will be making a huge mistake. Just because some old lady has a wild theory of how this woman Mini died. Is no reason to get tangled up in this ridiculous investigation.” Neville turned to Mabel. “Sorry, but it’s true. This idea your mother has is crazy.”

“Hold it right there, my Mom is not a crazy old lady,” Mabel snapped.

“Neville doesn’t mean that do you, Neville?”

“No, of course not, I’m sorry if you mistook my meaning.”

Mabel folded her arms over her chest and sat back in her chair. She didn’t think she mistook anything.

“What I mean is, it is foolish to upset the grief-stricken family with such a flimsy theory based on a door that wouldn’t open.” Neville leaned forward. “Your mom is old. Her strength would not be what yours is. And she could have just gotten confused when she pulled instead of pushed on that door.”

“Mom opened the door when I was there this morning.” She hadn’t been sure that her mother wasn’t confused either. But now, because Neville was disputing her mother. Mabel decided her mother could well be right.

“It won’t hurt to ask a few questions, maybe even go and see the coroner,” Violet suggested.

“Violet,” Neville exclaimed.

“Anyway, you’ll be busy tomorrow,” Violet continued. “You’re going combining with Alfred, remember? Mabel and I will just have a little poke around, we’ll be discreet.”

Mabel grinned, she doubted Mini’s death was suspicious. But it was good to have Violet put Neville in his place. She didn’t like the idea of him telling her friend what she could and could not do.

 

***

 

Mabel tapped on her iPad. She would find out about this man Neville. Who was he? If he was a criminal, surely his name would come up. She keyed in his name, miss-spelling it. Neville Chamberland’s name came up. The next thing Mable knew, she was down the rabbit hole. She went from World War II to Africa. Then she was on YouTube, watching a giraffe in someone’s backyard eating a hedge, and a monkey licking an ice-cream cone.

Yawning, she shut her iPad off and went to bed. Gertrude, her cat, curled up beside her. Mable stroked the cat. She suspected she and Violet were on a wild goose chase. But it would ease her mother’s mind if they did have a poke around, as Violet called it. And better yet, it would annoy that pompous man. Mabel went to sleep with a smile on her face.