“Mind you,” Helen added, “the father thinks he's God's gift to women, so maybe the son comes by it naturally. God help any girl who gets caught up with him. In fact, I'm still convinced it was Junior who slashed my tires last month. Him or a couple of his buddies. Come to think of it, he's probably in the log book even more times than Menard.”
Helen's tires get slashed about five times a year. It's part of her job agreement that the mall management replaces them. The vandalism is usually done by kids who get banned or thrown out for a variety of reasons. The mall owners' policy is that anyone caught in the mall while they're under a ban is charged with trespassing, and they're pretty strict about enforcing it. The offender ends up in court, where he or she has to explain to a judge why the ban shouldn't be permanent. Unfortunately for Helen, she's the one who represents the owners in court so, as far as the culprit's concerned, it's her fault they're in trouble.
“The Councillor's latest kick is contract security.” Helen did a wicked parody of Stephen Jones Sr.'s high-pitched nasal voice. “'My wife works at that new mall north of here and they've got contract security and they don't have the problems you people do.' The fact that they don't have any customers, either, doesn't seem to factor in. He's only gunning for me 'cause of his kid. You can bet he's going to have a field day with today's performance.
“Asshole.” She hitched her towel a bit higher, “I still kick myself for not having his precious son formally charged with tire-slashing. I couldn't have proved it, but it might have cooled both of them down a bit.”
She got up and began picking up òur empty dishes. “Anyway, as you know, the cops finished up about six, six-thirty and other than George keeping a few people back for a second interview, most everybody cleared off home. I let my staff go half-an-hour or so later. No point in making any of them stay. The police left a team of people on watch overnight, inside the mall as well as out in the parking lot.”
“What kept you so late, then?” I asked. “Making eyes at Anderson again, are we? I thought that was finished.”
“Well, it was, but my mother always said you should never close a door you might want to go back through, and I'm going to need all the support I can get on this. If Jones Sr. gets his way, I'll be in deep shit for sure if these murders aren't solved and solved fast. I aim to use any sources I've got from my days at the cop shop, and old boyfriend or not, George is in charge of the case.
“Think about it, Jenny, if the shootings aren't cleaned up in record time, we'll be able to have a bowling tournament in the mall for the staff and the tenants, ‘cause there sure won't be any customers getting in the way. Have you thought what next week's going to be like?”
I put away my knitting, took the bags off my knees and stood up. “I can see the headlines now,” I said. “Something along the lines of ‘Shop Till You're Dropped' maybe or ‘Best Buys in Town—If You Live Long Enough?' Maybe I could run a special ‘Dodge the Bullet and Win a Pizza’ promotion. That would really have them lined up at the doors, don't you think?”
“God, that mouth of yours just keeps on going, doesn't it? That's not funny. Two people dead, one nearly, I've had a rotten day, I'm exhausted and you're trying for laughs?”
“It's just self-preservation.” I put the corn back in the freezer. “That's all. Self-preservation. If I don't laugh, at least a little, I'll cry. My day's been rotten too, you know. I might not have had to deal with bodies and cops and coroners, but I lost Santa, and that's just as bad.
“What's more, who do you think the tenants are going to come after, starting Monday? And when you've answered that, who do you think Graham's going to throw to the press, starting tomorrow? And then, when you've answered that one, tell me who's going to have to come up with something to get the fucking customers back in the mall?”
“Suzy Q, that's who,” she said, and we both burst out laughing. “Okay, that's it. If we're laughing at a double murder, it's time to hang it up. I'm for bed.”
She put the dishes in the sink and, limping a bit, headed for the back staircase that went from the kitchen up to her bedroom.
“What's wrong with your feet?” I asked.
“Just my new shoes pinching a bit. Wouldn't you know I had to wear them today of all days?”
I stared at her. I was suddenly very cold.
“What's wrong, Jenny?” she knew immediately something had changed.
“Shoes. My God, Helen, shoes.”
“What about shoes?”
“There was a man in my office this morning, Dick Simmons. He wanted his shoes fixed. He was furious at Gord in the shoe repair shop. Didn't like his repair job. What with Santa and the pumpkins and the shootings, I forgot all about it till now. The conversation got pretty ugly, and he made threats, Helen. He threatened to shut down the centre. 'Fix your whole fucking mall' I think was the way he put it.”
“Do the police know about this?”
“No, I told you, I forgot till just this minute.”
“Didn't they question you in the Food Court? I thought they talked to everybody. Surely you would have remembered it then?”
I shook my head. “I guess they missed me when I went upstairs to get my knitting. Anyway, that doesn't matter. I've remembered it now. I figured he was just blowing steam and would cool down over the weekend. He's going to bring the shoes back on Monday. At least, that's what I told him to do. I thought about him for a flash when I saw all the cops around the bodies, but it seemed so absurd, I guess I just forgot about it.”
“It does seem a bit extreme for a customer complaint, but who knows? Anyway, it's not up to us to make that judgement.” She picked up the phone. “We'll tell Anderson and let him deal with it. I doubt we'll get him tonight, though.”
I hauled my hot water bottle out from under the sink and ran the tap. If ever there was a night I needed it to hug, this was it. Maybe I'd put on a flannelette nightie too, and maybe those nice, soft bedsocks I'd knitted last year. A girl needs all the help she can get when things are getting away from her.
“Well, I didn't think so.” Helen hung up the receiver. “But I left a message for George telling him it was urgent he talk to you tomorrow before the meeting. That way he can get somebody on it first thing.”
“Should I go to the station?”
“He'll be at the mall. From what I gathered earlier, he's going to give us an update on the situation as it sits now. At least he'll give us as much information as they're prepared to release. Probably won't amount to much more than we know already.
“Well, goodnight, Jenny. Make sure the fire's tamped down before you go to bed.”
She headed for the stairs for the second time, then stopped and turned, a hand on the banister and one foot on the bottom step. “What do you mean you lost Santa?”
I looked at her for a minute then just closed my eyes. “Not now, Helen. I'll tell you tomorrow.”
Four
I was kneeling by the kitchen door lacing up my sneakers when Helen came downstairs the next morning.
“It's only six-thirty, for Crissakes,” she said. “Only people who can't sleep get up at six-thirty.”
Helen, for all her insistence on being at the peak of fitness, can't get up in the morning without a minimum two whacks at the snooze-button and a lot of dreadful muttering while she staggers around looking for the bathroom. Last month, she'd woken up and found herself out on the balcony