It's Just a Game

Five - Meeting Pauline's Sister

Here I was with this sick, empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. It might be fear of failure. Aunt Eleanor was famous for her ability to be the biggest drama queen in the room, if not in the community. It would not be possible for her to have a friend who would do something as mundane, shameful, or possibly sinful as commit suicide.

No, that was wrong. It wasn't that Pauline's death was sinful. It would be her personal decision. Mind you, it's not a decision I could make. To me, it seemed like the wrong choice. Every day of life was precious. I'm not Pauline so I have no idea what would drive her to choose death over life. Yes, I did not accept my aunt's theory that her best friend and bridge partner had been the victim of a killer.

My theory was that Eleanor would take it as a personal failure on her part to have a friend die by choice. Eleanor considered herself to be a compassionate and caring person. She thought she was a good listener. She thought she was an excellent judge of character.

Maybe she was. Most of the people I had heard her talk about over the years were people that I had never met in person. Eleanor had lived her entire life in Ontario having left Prince Edward Island as soon as she graduated from nursing school. She would come home for the usual touristy summertime visit and bring her big city ways with her. I know that Dad has always been fond of her in a brotherly way, but he complained about her and her ways nonstop.

So why was I in Orleans, willing to play along with her notions? Duty calls, I had told myself when Mom said they needed to help Aunt Eleanor. It was clear that both Mom and Dad believed this was Eleanor's last-ditch attempt to avoid moving out of her condo and into a seniors' apartment. That would be an admission that she was old, a senior, not a vital, vibrant woman.

I found it touching that Eleanor felt I would be able to prove her theory and once I had proven that her friend had killed herself, that I would then be able to track down the killer. She was attributing me with very special characteristics and abilities.

She had always been pleasant to me and always greeted me with a hug and words of love, but I always felt an underlying sense of disapproval. I used to think that it was because I made a career in theology and somehow a person like me was a poor representative of the United Church of Canada.

Eleanor was always very involved in her church and admired all the handsome male ministers she had ever worked with. She always addressed them as reverend and their first name. There was Reverend Jim, Reverend Bill, Reverend Harold, and reverend everybody, but she never called me Reverend Millie.

Maybe my sense of crowded anxiety with my family, as small as it was, contributed to my upset tummy. I love my own company. Also, I felt like I was under a timeline to solve this mystery that probably wasn't even a mystery.

It was an impossible task, even id Pauline had been murdered. Here I was with no best buddy who was a local coroner. Back home in Blue Pond the coroner was my best friend. Here, I didn't know any members of the local constabulary. Back home, another very good friend was the local Royal Canadian Mounted Police sergeant in charge of the detachment.

As difficult as it was to pull information out of these guys, they usually tossed a few titbits of information my way. Alright, I am having a little pity party for myself here. They were, in all honesty, quite forthcoming with information. Especially since I had already been involved in solving a couple of local murders.

Dad was watching the news in the living room when I descended the stairs again, and behind Eleanor's back, he rolled his eyes at me with a big smirk. Mom called out from the little kitchen where she was loading the dishwasher, "Don't be late for lunch." It was just like when I was a teenager and going out with my friends.