Granny’s favourite shopping day was Sunday, when she always bumped into friends in Chinatown. Jenny couldn’t shake the conversation she had heard the day before and volunteered to accompany her. If Granny ran into the Widow, Jenny wanted to be there.
The sidewalks along St. Laurent Street were crowded with open crates of exotic vegetables and fruits. Shoppers jammed the narrowed sidewalks. The street was a confusion of double-parked trucks unloading more crates and cars looking for a parking spot. The buzz among Granny’s friends was about more than who had the freshest fruit. The shocking news was that Mrs. Yu had committed suicide because her ex-lover had met and married a woman in Vancouver.
Jenny balanced herself with the grocery bags she carried in each hand and hopped over some mangoes that had fallen out of a crate to the sidewalk. Scanning the shoppers for Granny, Jenny spotted her examining fruit on a stand in front of the next store and headed towards her. Suddenly there was a crash of boxes and cries of astonishment.
People quickly collected around the store entrance. Pushing through the crowd, Jenny saw someone lying on the sidewalk amidst cracked crates.
“Granny!” she exclaimed when she broke through the throng, dropped the bags onto the ground and knelt beside her grandmother who was cradling her left arm.
“She was pushed!” someone cried out.
Jenny scrambled to her feet and scanned the crowd.
With a furtive glance over her shoulder, the Widow Woo hurried away from the scene.
Jenny couldn’t prove the Widow had pushed Granny, but she intended to confront Mrs. Woo at the next tai chi practice. Grandfather had had a fit when she told him she’d seen the Widow walking away. She’d been afraid he’d have a heart attack right there in the hospital emergency room. His face became beet red and he clenched his fists and pounded his knees. She had never seen him act like that; she’d also never feared for her grandmother’s safety before.
The next Tuesday morning, she arrived at Fletcher’s Field a few minutes after eight. As she walked up Duluth Street, which bordered one end of the park, she saw everyone at the usual spot, except for Granny. who had been ordered to stay home and rest. Jenny drew closer and realized they were standing around someone lying on the ground.
Grandfather! Her heart pounded as she raced across the street.
The sight of him safe and sound brought tears of relief to her eyes. He stood comforting Wendy. When Jenny halted breathlessly beside them, she discovered they were hovering over Mrs. Woo.
“What happened?” Jenny asked in bewilderment. Wendy’s hands covered her face, muffling sobs. Her grandfather stared in shock at the still figure on the ground.
“Mrs. Woo had a heart attack. Mrs. Tan has gone to the house to call for an ambulance.” He closed his eyes and bowed his head. “But I think it is too late.”
After the ambulance had removed the body, the group abandoned practice for the day. Jenny returned to her grandparents’ house with Mrs. Tan. The four of them settled in the living room where Mrs. Tan plumped cushions for Granny.
“Mrs. Woo died of a heart attack?” Jenny stated in disbelief.
Her grandfather nodded. “It happened when Wendy struck her.”
“Are you saying Wendy killed her?” Shocked, Jenny looked from her grandfather to Mrs. Tan. “Why would she?”
“Ah!” exclaimed Mrs. Tan, easing herself onto the sofa next to Granny. “Revenge. If not for the Widow’s interference, Wendy’s mother would still be alive and her father would not be an invalid.”
“But how did she do it?” Jenny recalled there had been no weapon and no blood.
“We had started the form,” her grandfather explained, “and they both stood behind everyone else. We heard them scuffle. I saw Wendy strike Mrs. Woo’s chest. Hard. Mrs. Woo collapsed.” Grandfather looked thoughtful. “Maybe she didn’t mean to kill her.”
“Did anyone tell the ambulance attendants?” Jenny asked.
“We couldn’t say for certain that Wendy killed her,” Mrs. Tan replied. “So we told them what we thought was true. Mrs. Woo died because she had a bad heart.”
DAY’S LEE lives in Montreal and buys pork buns in Chinatown. This former tai chi student gave up martial arts for action behind the keyboard. Her fast-fingered exercise has resulted in the publication of several short stories.
THE BRIEF LIFE OF ALICE HARTLEY
LIZ PALMER
Excuse me?” Alice tapped gently on the counter in Richardson Falls police station.
Constable Blain looked up from the comics on the back of The Falls Fare. “Miss Hartley.” It came out as a groan. “What can we do for you today?”
“I’d like to report a murder.”
Constable Blain folded his paper and laid it on the desk. “Where did it happen this time?”
“Up by the new development.” Alice mumbled, not meeting his eyes.
“The road construction site?”
Alice nodded.
The constable stood up and came to the counter. “Do you know there are laws against wasting police time, Miss Hartley? If there were as many bodies as you’ve reported, it wouldn’t be a road they’re building, it would be a bloody cemetery.” He took a deep breath. Alice thought if she hadn’t been a cripple, he would be shouting at her by now. “I don’t have the manpower to send people off on wild goose chases, Miss Hartley.”
“But I saw the body. A woman. I couldn’t tell who she was because she was lying face down. Grey hair, red sweater, grey skirt and one shoe…”
“Here. Hold on.” Constable Blain slipped round the end of the counter and steadied her. “You’ve gone pale. Come and sit down.” He helped her limp to a chair. “I’ll get you a coffee.”
Alice waited, hands clenched, fighting down the bile which threatened to rise into her throat. She could still picture the stockinged, shoeless foot.
A minute later, Constable Blain came into the waiting room, a styrofoam cup in hand. “Why didn’t you telephone? It’s too far for you to come.” He handed her the coffee.
“You know it’s a party line.” Alice heard the quaver in her voice. “And the police should be first to know.”
“Don’t you worry about that.” He reassured her in the false tone some people use for children. “Just for the record, where were you when you saw the body?”
“In my living room.” Her hand trembled, and the tea slopped over the rim of the cup onto her white glove. She winced as the hot liquid hit her skin. “It entered into my head shortly before lunch this morning.”
One shoe. One shoe. Limping towards the bus stop, the words pounded in Alice’s head, keeping time with her steps. She felt sick with dread. She could not wait to reach the safety of her house.
The tree-lined lane to the old farmhouse curved sharply away from the main road. Her churchgoing clients, not wanting to be seen visiting a psychic, had been grateful for this feature. Today, stepping down from the bus, Alice wished the lane were shorter, wished she had left her bike at the corner. She must not hurry; it would be out of character. One mistake was already one too many.
“Jean Mayhew ate some stew, fell asleep and lost her shoe.” The rhyme sprang, ready-made into her mind. Alice sniggered, then pressed a hand to her mouth. She was becoming hysterical, a sure path to disaster.
“Discipline, discipline.” Edie-Rose’s voice whispered from the past, and Alice, breathing slowly, heeded the words.