It's Just a Game

Four - The Unwilling Detective

After we finished breakfast, I was still angry at Edgar. He had turned his so-called charm on Eleanor and Mom for the rest of the social event on the patio and I watched him in action. He was laying it on thick and the two women were almost flirtatious with him.

I've mentioned this before, I am sure, but I prefer being alone. When I am forced to be with people, I cope with the chaos it causes by letting my mind run through the thoughts that I need to have. I can compose a mental grocery list or make a plan to carry out some necessary task.

When I had a congregation, I used to formulate sermon topics while my face smiled and nodded at the conversation around me. As the conversation around me ebbed and flowed this morning, I let my mind wander. What was wrong with me? Forty-eight years old, and still responding with a knee jerk reaction to my mother. Wanting to please her was bound to place me in a a situation like this.

Wanting to please her was the theme of my life. If I ever had pleased her, would I even know what it felt like? Would I have been satisfied or would I have kept on trying? The problem I was facing now was that in order to please her, I had to placate my aunt. To placate my aunt, I had to buy into her certainty that her bridge partner had been murdered.

The official verdict was that it was death by suicide. I was well trained in being cautious with my words, and I forced myself to be very careful to always refer to Pauline's death as murder. To do otherwise resulted in a very chilly response from my aunt which would displease Mom. It was an old cycle of dysfunction, the only thing that changed was the subject under consideration.

I was here as a simple response to my mother's request, some might call it a demand, four days ago to be here. Less than a day and I was already angry enough to hurt my stomach.

It was September and the crushing heat of Ottawa in the summer was subsiding. I waited for a lull in the conversation before saying, "It's going to be a busy day, so I better get to work."

My work involved spending the day in Pauline's townhouse. I suppose Aunt Eleanor assumes that I would be looking for clues. I would spend the time nosing around. If nothing else, it might satisfy my curiosity why a woman my age would want to spend her leisure time being best buds with my aunt.

Did Eleanor really think that I had some special skill involved in spotting clues? Since I did not know Pauline King, how would I know what was usual and ordinary in her home?

There was no point speculating and wondering and being agitated about the arrangements my aunt had made. They were done. I had no choice, now that I was here. Eleanor had planned with Pauline's sister to have me clear out Pauline's place. In my mind, she had pimped me out as a death cleaner. If she had heard of the phrase, I'm sure that is what she would have called me. I do know that she touted my credentials as a United Church minister to provide proof that I was a very reliable and trustworthy person. I know this, because she told me so.

It was all arranged before I got there and she assured me that I would met the sister, sometime this week. "She's not very organized and it seems like she thinks Pauline's death is just an inconvenience to her. It doesn't matter, I already have a key."

Of course, she would have a key because, as best friends, they would have exchanged house keys. After all, you never knew when you might lock yourself out of your house. "That reminds me," Eleanor added, "If you see my key, you might as well fetch it back here. I would have gone in and gotten it, but I just can't bear to go into her place yet. I just can't."

I was willing to go along with her plan for me to paw through the home of a complete stranger because it would give me some time alone, some peace and quiet. Once I promised Mom I would play along with this whole nutty plan, there was no point quibbling over details. And, they did have a good point. Because I didn't know Pauline, it would not be emotionally charged for me to sort through her clothes, and her personal items. If I had to, I could admit that Eleanor had a really good plan.

After breakfast, I need a small dose of reality before going to Pauline's. I called Gayle. Everything was fine in Blue Pond. My apartment was safe and unmolested. The weather was unseasonably warm. The tourists were drifting away.

When I hung up the phone – what a funny thing to call disconnecting a call on my cell phone. There is no hanging up involved but I still think of it as hanging up. As I was saying, as I hung up the phone, I felt a small blast of homesickness. I barely recognized the feeling because it had been so long since I had last felt any longing for my home.

I was also aware of my urge to fill my mind with anything but thoughts of Aunt Eleanor and how I would eventually have to face the inevitable. This was the identical feeling I had last week when Mom called. My aunt could be a lovely person in small doses. However, days at her place, with Mom trying to keep everyone on an even keel, was not going to be relaxing. I knew that when I agreed to come and help my mother keep the peace.

I deal with issues I want to avoid by focusing on minutiae, which is why I focused on the anachronistic notion of hanging up the phone. Then my mind drifted over to the thoughts I had been having when Mom called. What was I going to do with my life? In my perpetual fleeing from things that bothered me, I usually ran from the pot to the frying pan. Taking some time to look into Pauline's life and death would be a distraction from having to make a decision about what to do when my year in Blue Pond was over. My apartment was rented on a month-to-month basis, so I did not have to move in October which was the last month of my twelve-month retreat.

It was easy to agree to fly to Ottawa and investigate Pauline's death. I had no special skills, forensic connections, or a handsome RCMP officer to help me in that city. The decision had the bonus effect of falling under the heading of Duty Calls.

I had no obligations to keep me in Blue Pond. I told Angus Tweedy, my RCMP officer friend with whom I occasionally had a dinner date, know I was going to visit my family. I walked across the lawn in front of my apartment and down Albany Road toward the Main Street that led from the highway into the village.

Gayle Thompson would be in her shop and it would be quiet. After the main tourist season was over, her business settled down. I entered the Craft Shoppe and headed for the table where she held court over coffee most mornings as her women friends dropped in.

It was an informal kaffeeklatsch event. Gossip with coffee. Or tea. I made my usual cup on her elaborate coffee maker with its little cups of premeasured coffee. There was a plate of cookies on the table, and some had already been eaten judging by the lopsided arrangement on the plate.

"I see Christine was already here."

Gayle had moved from the counter to the table, her cup in hand. "She was. She stopped in even before I opened, on her way to Charlottetown." Gayle was in the process of turning the upstairs of the old store into an apartment and as often as not, she slept there. It was cheaper to maintain one building, she said. As it was, she still maintained two, but she imagined that someday soon, she would sell her house and she wanted to be ready. In the meantime, even if there were a blizzard this winter, she could just stay at work and be comfortable.

I told her about my impending trip to visit my aunt and my parents and she insisted on driving me to the airport. That was Thursday.

I logged into the Air Canada site and checked available flights to Ottawa from Charlottetown. There were three daily, one at six in the morning. Scratch that. I would have to be at the airport at four thirty which would mean leaving Blue Pond before four. There was another flight just before ten a.m. and a third just before noon. One of them would do. I chose the one with the best price. Eleanor had insisted on paying my expenses, and since my savings were finite and I had no source of income, I did not argue with her too much. In any case, I would never win an argument with her.

I booked my flight for Sunday. The view from my living room window was still as lovely as it had been, but now I had a heavy sadness pressing down on my chest. By the time I returned, the trees would be bare, the ground cold, and the days shorter.

It was the third week in September. Snow was expected to appear in October which was early for Prince Edward Island. How long did I expect to be in Ottawa? Since I doubted that there was anything untoward about Pauline's death, I was certain that there was no crime to uncover. I would have to give it my best effort. Would a week do that? If I were diligent, I thought it would do. I had purchased a one-way ticket, just to show that I was open-ended and open-minded about the project.