Fit to Die (17 page)

Marshall made an abortive move to reach for it and pulled back. “Later,” he murmured.

Roston looked at Bobbie. “And you?”

The white knuckles of her clenched hands betrayed her anxiety. “A Porsche.” She stared at her hands and mumbled, “I wasn't there.”

“I think you were.” Roston's voice dropped, and he sounded almost tender. “I'd like your car keys and permission to search your trunk. I think I'll find a hose—a hose you used to pump carbon monoxide into Cabin Ten with the intention of killing Wilhemina Groenveldt.”

Marshall's head lifted and his eyes narrowed. “This is outrageous. It's harassment.”

“I did it for you, Daddy.” Bobbie said and began to cry again.

As the significance of Bobbie's words registered, Marshall's self-confidence collapsed. He reached over and gripped his daughter's shoulder hard enough to make her wince. “You little fool,” he hissed.

Detective Roston charged Bobbie with attempted murder. Her back hunched and her face ashen, she made one last try, “I really did do it for you, Daddy,” she said as Roston led her away.

Marshall stomped after them muttering about lawyers. Carol came over, put her arm around my shoulder and hugged me before she left. When the office was empty, I moved behind the desk and phoned the hospital.

An officious voice admitted that Wilhemina Groenveldt's prognosis had improved. The letter flashed into my mind. “I did you a FAVOUR… It's time to return the FAVOUR.” Whatever the future held for Wilhemina Groenveldt and me, we would begin as equals. I had returned the favour—any debt I might have owed her had been paid.

JOAN BOSWELL
fantasizes about rowing on Canada's Olympic team while writing, painting and attempting to outwit her flat coated retriever. Her short stories have been published in several periodicals and five anthologies. In June 2000 she won the $10,000
Toronto Star
Short Story Contest.

Here lies Joe “Couch-Potato” Howard,

A push-up, sit-up, jogging coward

Who never went to the local gym

That kept wife Janis so nice and slim.

Janis caught Joe with a neighbour's wife

And Joe—in panic—exorcised his life.

Joe jumped through the window one second before

He remembered they lived on the sixteenth floor.

JOY HEWITT MANN

DAY'S LEE

Our reputation is ruined!” Mrs. Tan's heavy body sank into the worn sofa cushions. She clutched wet tissues in one hand and a package of fresh ones in the other. Granny listened sympathetically. Dressed in a rose print blouse and navy pants, her petite body was almost lost in the armchair's pink and blue floral pattern. Her face, still clear and smooth at the age of sixty-six, registered shock. But Jenny Leung knew she was not surprised to hear the Widow Woo was involved.

“Mr. Lau, the owner of the Phoenix Noodle Company, has accused my husband of fraud!” sobbed Mrs. Tan. “He claims we owe him two hundred dollars, but we have not ordered anything from him for over a month.”

“Not a lot of money,” Granny murmured, “but enough to cast suspicion.”

“And it was only a month ago, during a mah jong game at the community business social, when my good husband discovered the Widow Woo had extra tiles hidden in her pocket.” Mrs. Tan's voice wavered.

“Isn't Mrs. Woo the bookkeeper for the Phoenix Noodle Company?” Jenny asked.

Granny nodded.

Mrs. Tan wailed louder.

Jenny poured tea and listened to Mrs. Tan's hysterical intonations as she told her tale in Cantonese. Jenny was glad she had decided to come that Saturday morning for her grandmother's lesson on how to make pork buns. Mrs. Tan's stories of the goings-on in Chinatown were better than fiction. The aroma of freshly baked buns and roast pork were filling the house as Mrs. Tan rang the doorbell.

Mrs. Tan inclined her head and accepted the teacup from Jenny with both hands, but refused her offer of a bun.

“She did it. That woman is poison!” The distraught woman exclaimed between sips of the fragrant brew. She hiccuped and patted her ample bosom.

“Mrs. Woo is a bad gossip,” Granny said. “People will learn to ignore her.”

“It is her weapon of choice,” sobbed Mrs. Tan. She dabbed her brown eyes with a tissue and placed it on top of the little pile accumulating on her side of the coffee table. “It leaves no visible marks, but in her hands, gossip is as deadly as a sharp knife.”

“It is just talk.” Granny was always the voice of common sense.

“But she does more than talk,” Mrs. Tan gulped. A lone tear followed the worn path around her plump cheeks, down to the corner of her mouth and splattered on her green polyester dress. “Nobody can prove it, but wherever there is trouble she is close by.” Anger gleamed in her eyes. “She arrived from Toronto only a year ago and has already proven herself a meddler of the worst kind. And what decent woman her age wears so much make-up?”

“Her lies are evidence of her character,” said Granny.

“And what she did to Mrs. Yu is unforgivable!”

“What happened to Mrs. Yu?” Jenny asked.

“She had an affair with another man,” Granny said. “A tae
kwon do master. He frequented the restaurant where Mrs. Yu worked as a cashier.”

“Isn't her husband almost twenty-five years older?” Jenny said.

“Yes,” Granny said. “Mrs. Yu arrived from China forty years ago as a mail-order-bride. She and her husband had a son and a daughter, both of whom became accountants. A few months ago, Mr. Yu caught his wife having lunch in a restaurant far from Chinatown with the tae kwon do master.”

“It was only lunch,” said Jenny.

The older women shook their heads. “The person who ‘happened' to accompany Mr. Yu there was the Widow Woo,” Mrs. Tan said in outrage.

“It was unfortunate,” Granny added, “that the rumour was true. Mr. Yu had a stroke when he saw them.”

“And the Widow Woo will gloat to everyone how she was right about them while she ruins our family business!” wailed Mrs. Tan, frantically pulling at a fresh tissue from the package.

“Mrs. Yu finally found love after all these years?” Jenny sighed.

“Mr. Yu survived the stroke, but he now needs constant care.” Granny continued. “Their daughter, Wendy, had a nasty row with Mrs. Woo and blamed her for her father's condition. And because of the shame brought onto her family, Mrs. Yu separated from her lover, who eventually moved to Vancouver.”

“Customers are checking their change and studying their receipts.” Mrs. Tan dabbed at the fresh stream of tears. “There is no more trust.” She shook her head vigorously, but not a strand of her hair, permed and dyed jet black, moved.

“People will forget once they hear the next scandal,” Granny said.

“The very reason why I came here today.” There was a new
determination in Mrs. Tan's voice. “To warn you.”

Granny's eyes widened and her back stiffened as she leaned towards her friend. “Warn me? About what?”

“About Mrs. Woo. She is talking about you.”

“Me? I am an old woman,” Jenny's grandmother protested. “What can she do to me? I have nothing she wants.”

“I don't know, but she has been seen talking to your husband whenever he goes to Chinatown,” Mrs. Tan said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Did he tell you?”

Granny's lips tightened. She sat up straight and looked down at her hands on her lap. “Of course he did,” she replied.

According to the gossip mill and Mrs. Tan, the Widow had met Grandfather several times—a couple of times in Chinatown and a couple of times on the street.

“She is only talking to him.” Granny didn't look entirely certain.

“She is planning something,” Mrs. Tan warned.

“A woman who needs to attack others does so because she is weak and unhappy.” Granny waggled a bony finger in the air. “She was not fortunate enough to have had a good marriage arranged for her.”

“Many women were not fortunate,” argued Mrs. Tan, “but they didn't ruin others because of their own misfortune.”

“But they are not weak,” Granny replied.

“She's evil,” Jenny blurted out.

“You are young,” chided her grandmother. “Even though you are in university, you do not yet fully understand the ways of the world.”

“You are as young as your grandmother was at your age,” Mrs. Tan said with a light laugh. “And you look like her too, but she never had such long hair!”

A half-hour later, Mrs. Tan was ready to leave. Granny
insisted on giving her friend some home-made pork buns and shuffled off to the kitchen to wrap them in foil paper. Jenny was stacking the dishes on a tray when Mrs. Tan grabbed her arm.

“You must look after your grandmother,” she hissed into Jenny's ear. “You are right. The Widow Woo is evil.”

“But what does she want from my grandmother?”

“Not your grandmother, silly girl,” Mrs. Tan said impatiently. “Your grandfather. Did you not know they were almost betrothed to each other?”

The news jolted Jenny like an electric current.

“That woman's spiteful spirit feeds by preying on innocent people.” A light spray of spittle accentuated the force of Mrs. Tan's words. “Believe me when I tell you it will be on the Widow's conscience if something happens to your grandmother because of her.”

Granny came back with the pork buns wrapped and tucked into a plastic grocery bag. Mrs. Tan accepted the bag with gratitude. Jenny walked their visitor to the front door.

“Jiély,”
Mrs. Tan addressed Jenny by her Chinese name. “You must come and practise tai chi with our little group next week. You will find it very informative.”

Jenny smiled and accepted the invitation. When their visitor left, she closed the oak door and slumped against it.

Maybe Mrs. Tan was overreacting. Gossip hurt, but it never killed anyone. Grandfather was now seventy years old, retired, and bored. His main activity these days was reminiscing about the past. Maybe she could get him to talk about Mrs. Woo.

An hour later, Grandfather returned from his visit to Chinatown.

“Jiély,”
he said, entering the living room. The strands of white hair covering his balding head had been restyled by the wind. He wore the white polo shirt and khaki pants her
parents had bought him for his birthday. The shirt fit snugly around his waistline but sagged at the shoulders.
“Nay sic phan mah
? Have you eaten?”

“Sic joh, a goong.
I already ate, grandfather,” she responded.

“You learned how to make pork buns today.” He sniffed the air and smacked his lips. “Let's see how good a student you are.”

“Want to eat outside?” Putting down the newspaper she'd been reading, she rose from the sofa. Granny was napping in her room, but Jenny wanted to be sure she wouldn't overhear their discussion. “I'll bring some for you.”

By the time Jenny appeared on the front balcony carrying a tray with a plate of buns, a pot of tea and two tea cups, her grandfather was reclined comfortably on a patio chair.

Jenny placed the tray on a small plastic table. He picked up a pork bun, took a large bite and made a low guttural sound of satisfaction. She perched on a small lawn chair with the tray between them; they sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching passers-by and listening to the sounds of summer erupting from Fletcher's Field across the street.

The park was glorious in the summer. Its paths were alive with people strolling, bicycling or in-line skating. The playground and the wading pool were busy with small children. The open area was where Granny's tai chi group met twice a week.

How was she going to bring up the topic of his near-engagement to Mrs. Woo?

“What did Mrs. Tan want to see your grandmother about?”

“How did you know she was here?” Jenny asked in surprise.

“I saw her at the Lucky Grocery Store.” He paused and shook his head. “Such a bad thing to happen to them.”

“Yeah,” Jenny said. “She thinks Mrs. Woo is causing all their trouble.”

He grunted in response.

“Do you think she is?”

“She could be.” He sighed. “That woman is so much trouble.”

“How bad can she be?”

“She is as charming as a poisonous snake!”

“How long have you known her?”

A few seconds passed before he answered. “I knew her in China.” He grimaced at the memory. “When she was young, she was beautiful, but not nice.”

It was difficult to picture how the Widow's hardened face might have looked in her youth. Now her styled coiffure and make-up created the illusion of beauty over mean eyes, a flat nose and a hard mouth. Jenny leaned forward, encouraging him to tell his story.

“She wanted to marry me so she could come to Canada.” He brought the teacup to his lips and slurped the hot liquid. “Her parents offered a big dowry, but my parents had already arranged for me to marry your grandmother.” He shrugged. “It was my duty as the eldest son to marry. One day, a friend and I sneaked to the village where your grandmother lived. I saw her from a distance.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not allowed to. I was not supposed to see her face until the wedding day. But when I saw her, I knew she was the one to marry.”

She'd never heard him say anything so sentimental. “What did Mrs. Woo do?” Jenny asked, suppressing a smile.

“Oh! She was so mad. Screaming. Crying. Yelling.” He paused. “I never understood why she behaved like that.” He picked up his teacup, drained it and held it out to Jenny. “Pour me some more.”

Jenny picked up the pot and filled the cup. The Widow
could either be nursing a hatred for Grandfather or carrying a torch for him.