Until Death

By Mary Burns

After Mary Carpenter suffers personal injury at the hands of a killer and total disillusionment with the justice system, she vows to leave crime fighting to the young and spend her days creating beautiful paintings. At seventy-five, she has spent over fifty years on the fringes of police work, first as a secretary, later as a consultant on dusty, old cases. Now she opts for the safety of an adult community.

When a woman dies the day Mary moves to the complex, she assumes the death is the result of natural causes, but then a second death occurs within days of her arrival. The police write off the second death, that of a senile woman who wanders the halls claiming Bridget OConnor kills people, as an accident. Mary disagrees and jumps into the investigation.

Mary is not naive, she knows men die and leave wealthy widows, but Bridget has a track record of four dead spouses and several deceased relatives. Not only the number worries Mary, but also the pattern of financial need preceding each death. Mary has worked for Edmontons police service too long to doubt she is dealing with a black widow.

Now she must convince the police chief she is not feeble-minded, alert the prospective husband-to-be of his danger, and avoid being the next victim of a convenient natural death.

Mary fumes when she realizes her long-time associates in Edmontons police service are humoring her, as if she was an old woman. Her dismay grows when repeated dead-ends lead them to question her reasoning. Can they truly believe her intuition has short-circuited?

To add to Marys worries, Bridgets son is romancing her friend, Gloria Azzara. Unable to convince her friend that Garth OConnor is not the man for her, Mary can only hope she has sufficient sense to see him with unclouded eyes, before she becomes his second dead wife.

An alliance of grandchildren, left without inheritances because of Bridget, seeks Marys expertise and adds to the meager information she is able to glean from police and public records.

Mary finds herself with an overwhelming supply of ifs and maybes, wisps of ancient memories, stacks of circumstantial evidence, and an earful of spiteful gossip, but nothing a jury would call proof.

When the police chief informs her of a verifiable murder involving Bridget, her first reaction is relief. Then she discovers the murder not only involves Bridget, but that she, and her newest intended, are the victims. Now she must discover the identity of the target and the murderer.

She eyes the vengeful discarded lover, the soon-to-be disinherited children, and the needy, greedy son. With the help of her youthful brigade of grandchildren, a willing police constable, and her own deductive reasoning, Mary points the police chief in the murderers direction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 9, 2001
• ISBN: 9781462831708

Mary Burns

Edmonton is where I was born, where I married, where I raised two sons, and where I plan to remain. I enjoy long walks through the park that fills the North Saskatchewan River valley and marvel at the well-kept secret of Edmonton’s beauty.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

My Memoirs

Did you keep your promise, Garth? Did Emily pass over? Is Neil a widower?

Just a touch too much morphine, you said, and she would go to her eternal rest, her suffering ended. Cancer is a horrible cross to bear, but in this case it smoothes my way.

I am proud you have learned that one person must not be allowed to block the dreams of many. Emily’s passing helps so very many people. Her family can resume their lives. Her bequest brings your hospice project closer to reality, thus helping other terminally ill patients. Most important though, her death speeds my marriage to Neil.

Don’t mistake my praise of your actions for permission to practice your art on me. I would never wish to be put down like some old dog and be assured Garth you will never treat me even if, heaven forbid, cancer invades my body. I do not trust you to keep me alive for even if you are my son, you are also a man, and what man has ever placed my well being before his self-interest?

Also be warned, I do not have an insurance policy, nor have I saved one cent for my funeral. Therefore, unless Neil has provided for me by dying quickly and leaving me his estate, you have found me destitute. However, that information you will learn only after my passing and that, I pray, is an event that will not occur for many years.

I plan to patronize doctors who will help me hold on even if I cry out for a merciful death. You never know when some young genius will discover a curative for the most horrendous of today’s conditions.

Today however, you have pleased me. Soon Neil will be a widower searching for companionship and I will be at his side easing his loneliness.

I have been pacing, awaiting the news of Emily’s passing. As in all things, patience is necessary but more so today for as her attending physician you must fastidiously observe all the formalities. No suspicion can arise to give those pesky bloodhounds a new scent to follow.

When you return bearing the sad news, we will go together to search out my dear, grieving Neil. He is a weak man who is familiar with the guiding hand of a strong woman, so strengthening my hold on him will be ridiculously easy. unfortunately, I must hurry this courtship, always the most pleasant part of a marriage; however, my resources are running dangerously low.

Soon my gentile poverty will end forever, for I have worked diligently to ensure Neil will inherit the bulk of Emily’s sizeable estate and that her grandson will get nothing.

I have kept this diary for years now, filling it with many interesting details of my daily life. I have also kept some things from you but now I plan to reveal all the details of my tragic existence. I do hope you can learn to understand your poor mother better from these vignettes. Don’t condemn me for my less than noble deeds, nor applaud my brief spells of great good fortune, simply learn from the trials I have suffered.

CHAPTER 2

Saturday, January 15, 9:45 a.m.

Gloria Azzara shifted the box to her right arm and waited until the buzzer announced the unlocking of the apartment building’s security door. At the harsh noise, most of the aged people gathered in the reception area looked in her direction. A young, anorexic woman fixed Gloria with a piercing stare then returned her attention to the boisterous old biddy at her side.

Gloria pulled open the door. Was the girl another visitor to this establishment of retirement living or a staff member?

Conscious of the rheumy eyes following her every move Gloria stepped through the glass door into the bustling lobby of Camelot. A curly-haired gnome pranced between the elevator and a table crowded with pots of coffee and trays of donuts. He tipped an invisible hat in her direction and winked, forcing the web of lines scarring his face into a gleeful smile.

Harry! The beige woman hovering behind him uttered the word in a warning rumble.

Gloria noted the woman’s powdered face and tightly controlled hair. She wouldn’t want to argue for mercy in her courtroom.

The wiry gnome danced around to face his partner. Then after softening her disapproval with a light touch to her arm, a blown kiss, and a flourish, he turned his attention toward the pile of donuts. He studied them, first reaching for a jelly-filled, then a glazed. Eventually he placed a sugarcoated treat on a paper napkin and extended it to his spouse.

Gloria rested the box on one hip as she pulled off her wool-lined leather glove and searched the pocket of her fleece-lined, denim jacket for the directions Mary had dictated over the phone. The box’s delicate contents shifted. Gloria adjusted her grip. She did not intend to haul the carton farther than necessary. Should she ask for help?

She looked in the direction of the elderly couple. He rewarded her with a lecherous wink, but his wife’s glare shot daggers into his back. A divorce waiting to happen. Not something to get in the middle of thank you. Gloria turned her attention to the tweed carpeting.

She looked up in time to detect a flash of humour in the youngish woman’s gaze. Obviously not the helpful type. She would find her own way to Mary’s apartment. Who could trust the directions this crowd would provide anyway? From the look of them, half wouldn’t know where they lived, much less where Mary’s new apartment was located.

Holding the box more securely, Gloria dug into her other pocket, this time successfully retrieving a scrap of paper.

Two-twenty, left at the elevator, she muttered while smiling vaguely in the direction of an arrangement of dusty silk flowers that adorned a table near the elevator.

Gloria readjusted her burden and quickstepped around a fruit-shaped couple outfitted in designer sweats. Several old hens focused inquiring looks in her direction. They talked non-stop, in loud whispers, accompanied by fluttering fingers festooned with wedding rings, anniversary rings, family rings, and dinner rings. Short grey hair glued into strange configurations seemed to be in fashion, as did running shoes and matching pastel active wear. A shudder skipped down Gloria’s spine at a rogue image of the entire group breaking into a choreographed line-dance.

She ran a gamut of randy old roosters as she hastened her advance on the elevator. Some reacted to her presence with the control of teen boys circling their first sexual prey. Others concentrated on devouring donuts and slurping coffee.

Gloria focused on the bulbous nose and thinning hair of one of the latter group. He reminded her of a felon she had just defended who had celebrated as a victory the manslaughter verdict she’d wrestled from the prosecution. This elderly look-a-like raised his huge mug to his lips and studied her over its rim. Gloria was doubtful anyone had ever talked him into compromising on anything. His motto would be total victory or failure.

The thin young woman, now lounging against the wall beside the felon-look-a-like, seemed to be studying the senior’s reactions to her presence. Catching Gloria’s stare, she winked.

Gloria fled toward the opening doors of the elevator, then waited while three seniors carrying empty mugs exited. They focused on the rapidly disappearing tray of donuts and ignored her in their onslaught.

She sighed with relief as the elevator doors closed on the curious glances. While she waited for the doors to open at the second floor, Gloria leaned against the elevator’s well-padded handrail, thankful the mirrored walls reflected an image of youth and good health.

The opening doors revealed beige flowers, on a beige background, above a beige carpet. As she turned to walk down the hall to the left, a bruising collision of shoulders threw her off balance. She stumbled as she fought to retain control of the carton of memorabilia.

Watch out, she muttered, struggling to regain her balance and thankful that she’d double-wrapped the most delicate items. Nothing sounded broken.

Powerful fingers encircled her upper arms. Like iron spikes they sank into the padded sleeves of her jacket and steadied her against the beige wall. The fingers belonged to a towering, gorgeous man.

He hesitated. His gaze raked her face and travelled over her figure, then he spun, and dashed toward the closing elevator doors.

Sorry, are you all right? He called over his shoulder as he fled, not waiting for her response.

Wait. In the two seconds it took him to reach the elevator and disappear inside it, her mind registered his designer jeans and waist-length jacket. He looked good walking away. Gloria savoured a fleeting impression of bottle green eyes, curly red hair, and massive muscles. His silky, black eiderdown jacket might enhance his bulging shoulders, but Gloria knew solid male brawn when it collided with her.

He certainly did not belong among the inmates of this retirement complex named Camelot. His radiant good health, his un-lined face, and his toned muscles were alien here. No, those serious green eyes did not live in this place. Gloria ran her tongue over her lips. If he visited frequently, she might meet him again.

She planned to visit at least weekly, maybe more often if she could make the time. At least until Mary was settled in, until she got to know and like the place. That crowd of seniors in the lobby looked happy. Some of them looked a bit strange, but they were active and socializing. But what of the ones who weren’t down there? The quiet, shy people like Mary. The people who wore only one ring at a time, the ones who refused to eat gooey, sweet donuts. Could they find any kind of happiness in this place?

Big shot’s always in a hurry. A smell, resulting from neglected oral hygiene and overwhelming sweat, followed the utterance.

Gloria pulled her gaze from the drooping, wallpaper lily she had been studying and turned in the direction of a stooped old bird standing far too close to her shoulder. She blinked away the image of a turkey vulture, turning the brown, crooked figure into an elderly woman wearing a grubby orange beret.

Pardon?

Trying to think how to tell you. He’s a doctor.

And he was in a hurry. Gloria felt herself slip into the speech mode she used with children and incompetent adults.

Always is. Think so anyway. Yes. Seems he’s always rushing.

The old woman appeared pleased that she had remembered that detail; her voice turned bitter as she continued speaking.

Emily’s sick. He’s going to make her die. I’m not crazy. They won’t never stop her. No, I’m not.

Then awareness vanished from her eyes and voice, and nothing remained to fill the void.

Gloria shifted the box again. Her arm muscles cried out for mercy. Should she return this person somewhere? Would Mary know where the orange-headed creature belonged? Had she escaped from a room carelessly left unlocked? Should she put her in the elevator and send her to join the donut orgy? They should know what to do with her.

The old woman wore her orange beret pulled tightly over her straw-like hair, nearly hiding one wrinkled ear lobe. A drizzle of unidentifiable origin decorated her greyish house dress. White bobby socks, tattered pink bedroom slippers, and a frayed, brown sweater completed her ensemble and her vulture image.

Gloria stepped backward. The woman’s smell was stirring up her stomach acid and turning her breakfast bagel against her. Gloria had seen people like this woman before, but usually by the time she was called they reeked of disinfectant soap.

While she debated what to do with her find, a nearby door opened and an apple-shaped woman called out, Jane, go away. Shoo.

The scrawny vulture woman cast a frightened look in the direction of the voice.

The apple-shaped woman waved her flabby arms as though scattering crows.

The turkey vulture woman turned toward Gloria and hissed, Watch out or she’ll kill you and they’ll never know.

Gloria watched as the vulture woman shuffled down the hall, her brown arms flapping as if attempting take-off.

Once the crazed woman disappeared around a corner, Gloria turned toward her saviour. The woman’s eyes glittered as she stared after the disappearing turkey vulture. Her eyes were the same intense green as those of the fleeing man.

Don’t let Jane bother you. Just send her away when she starts talking crazy. The apple-shaped woman’s angry tone didn’t hide the music in her voice or the scent of apple blossoms surrounding her halo of red hair.

She wasn’t bothering me. For a reason she didn’t understand, Gloria jumped to defend the demented creature, even as she exhaled the remainder of the woman’s scent. Was her concern the result of a career as a defense attorney? Had the old woman’s warning meant she was in danger from this smiling senior citizen?

Gloria shook her head, caught her sardonic grin before it betrayed her amusement with the elderly antics, and reshaped it to mirror the aged woman’s friendly smile. Then Gloria noted the glint of anxiety in the woman’s eyes. No matter what she said, this woman worried about people taking Jane seriously.

Gloria freed her right hand, taking the weight of the box in her left. She studied the amply padded woman who stood in the doorway and dismissed Jane’s crazy words as a case of galloping senility. She refused to let her discomfort with the place create ulterior motives where none existed.

These people were too old for anything but verbal violence. Still, her Mary-of-old would love the kind of back stabbing turf warfare she’d just witnessed.

Gloria wasn’t good at setting old people’s ages, but knew the woman before her was somewhere over sixty, though everything about her declared a never-ending battle against old age. It was a battle she had clearly lost. A fringe of grey roots betrayed the secret of her red hair. Wrinkles lined her bright green eyes; her neck had long ago surrendered to time and gravity. A hint of dried face cream and the thick icing of pink foundation provided additional clues to the woman’s personality.

Gloria gathered and filed the details away for future reference. It was habit. It was also her job to read people and she knew these signs were the tiny pinpricks she would use to torment a hostile witness, or stroke a friendly one.

The woman stepped forward and grasped Gloria’s hand with her ring-laden one. Gloria cringed at the touch of the loose-skinned hand that obviously belonged in Camelot.

My name is Bridget O’Connor. That person, she crooned the word, waving her hand in the direction that the turkey-vulture woman had taken, is Jane Clegg, the bane of the building. She is as crazy as a loon and a danger to us all, but her daughter refuses to move her to a suitable care facility. It was a blessing when the staff took away her stove. Of course now she has to eat in the dining room and from the smell of her, she is refusing to bathe again. Her daughter should send her to a nursing home where they can force her to stay clean.

When Bridget O’Connor paused for air, Gloria introduced herself and then added, I’m helping Mary Carpenter move in today. Someone nearly knocked me to the floor and that woman said he was a doctor in a hurry.

That would be Garth, my son. He rarely knocks people over, but Emily Rainford who lives on the fourth floor is in a bad way. She has had cancer for a long time and the end is near and Garth is her doctor and since he was visiting me, well, he decided he better go see her in person. Neil, her husband, has finally realized that sending her to a hospital, where she can spend her remaining weeks pain free, is a kindness.

Gloria shifted her stance. Bridget O’Connor sounded smug. Was Emily another person kept in Camelot against Bridget’s better judgement?

Garth has been telling Neil to hospitalize Emily for two months, but he’s a good-hearted man and he wanted to honour Emily’s request to die in her own bed. Darn foolishness I say. Go where the doctors can soften the pain. It’s a great deal kinder to the family.

I’m sorry to hear that. Gloria spied the number two-twenty on the door next to that of talkative Bridget and edged around her, seeking escape. But I better take this box to Mary’s apartment. I don’t want to worry her. I’ve been so long, that she’ll think I took a wrong turn and ended up lost.

Gloria grabbed the door handle prepared to brave Bridget’s company until Mary answered her knock. Instead, the handle moved under the weight of her hand. Surprised Mary would leave the door unlocked, Gloria slid inside and shut it firmly between herself and the neighbour. Her behaviour might be rude, but providing an opportunity for the old gossip to detain her was a lousy alternative.

The room that greeted her was a shell lined with off-white walls, a cream carpet, and a marble hearth. Thankfully, the contents of the box Gloria carried would add character to the empty cavern. It held knickknacks, framed paintings, and a few photo albums, some of the treasures Mary had gathered during her years of living.

Mary faced the patio window. Her back bowed slightly under the weight of her head as it tilted downward, nearly touching the icy pane of glass. She seemed lost in the distant expanse and didn’t move when Gloria entered the room.

When Gloria pushed the door closed, Mary didn’t react to the click. Was her hearing going?

Mary, you left the door unlocked. I know you buzzed me in, but you should have double-checked that it was me before opening it. Even as she chastised her friend, Gloria silently applauded this tiny sign of returning confidence. Perhaps Mary was emerging from the world of fear and depression she had inhabited for the past few months.

Mary straightened, pushed her shoulders back, and turned with a smile on her lips. Mary had always been tiny but the weight she’d lost since the attack had left her twig thin. Gloria longed to hold her close and protect her from harm. Once, Gloria had believed Mary tough enough to defy ordinary human frailties. She no longer had that luxury.

Mary motioned at the view from her window. Do you see the play of shadows from the bridge supports? I love the contrast between the symmetry of the pylons and the crooked banks of the river. I’m itching to capture the effect of the ice fog mixing with the car exhaust.

Mary talked as Gloria carefully sat the box on the floor, kicked off her boots, and padded across the carpet in wool-encased feet. Standing in front of the window Gloria put her arm around Mary’s thin shoulders and looked beyond the snow that was mounded high on the patio to the sweep of waist-deep snow that was causing traffic nightmares.

The field of white was punctuated by spruce and fir, and was scarred with cross-country ski trails and animal tracks. The frozen ribbon of the North Saskatchewan River wound out of sight in the distance. A steep hill on the north side of the river climbed skyward, providing an unimpeded view of Edmonton’s downtown core. Gloria saw what captured her friend’s imagination and wondered how the beauty of the winter had escaped her notice. From this perspective the grubby daytime world looked beautiful. Gloria imagined what a breathtaking sight the night skyline would provide.

I’m sure that vista is the only reason you leased this apartment, Gloria said, noting the security bar on the window, an excellent companion to the dead bolt on the door. She also knew about the extensive security assessment Mary’s tame police chief had ordered. Camelot had rated safest in his opinion.

Mary continued facing the window. Not the only reason. Just wait until you see the view from the fifth floor common room. You can see the river valley all the way from the power plant to the oil refineries. Come autumn, maybe I will paint you a panorama in every shade of orange. It would provide a contrast to that winter-white apartment you live in.

I hope the view compensates for your weird bunch of neighbours. Gloria lowered her arm and turned to face the empty room, trying to erase the image of Jane from her memory.

Are they weird? No one was around when I got here at six. Mary sounded distracted as she continued staring outward. I guess there aren’t many early risers around here. Well, I can manage quite well on my own.

Gloria didn’t want her managing on her own. She wanted her back in the main stream of life, teaching her evening painting classes, shopping, and visiting. Maybe she would eventually resume snooping into cold cases for Police Chief Horban, though Gloria opposed that activity on principle.

But certainly Mary should keep busy. She had given up driving, but a bus to downtown stopped outside Camelot’s front door, so she needn’t be marooned here. Perhaps one day Mary would conquer her fear of travelling alone. True, this winter was bitterly cold but no amount of prodding and no promises of friendly escorts had led Mary to venture outside on any but the most pressing errands and then only during the short daylight hours and only if a friend accompanied her.

Are you all right? Is the complex’s security sufficient? I know you changed all the locks and had a security audit performed but if you’re not comfortable about doing this, it isn’t too late to find another place. I’ve always got room and if that’s not suitable, I’m sure Beth wouldn’t object to you staying with her longer.

Mary’s lethargy worried Gloria. She knew this was a normal condition experienced by many crime victims, but Mary was old and fragile. Why had they allowed her to sell her house, to give up a lifestyle she had enjoyed for fifty years just to move into this senior’s apartment building? Would Mary have to fight her way through depression caused by that decision too?

After a minute of silence, Mary Carpenter turned to face into the room and in a brisk, business-like voice said, It’s far too late. A new family is living in my house, my new furniture is arriving momentarily, and I have signed a six-month lease. She patted her friend’s hand and added, It was time, Gloria. I can do this.

Gloria felt the wall of guilt surrounding her heart crumble with Mary’s words and hated herself for feeling relieved. She vowed vigilance in recognizing any early sign that Mary’s mental health was deteriorating. Still, Mary was right on two counts, she did have little choice about moving, and it was time for her to reclaim and rebuild her life.

Personal safety had rarely been a concern to Gloria before last October, when a man who thought Mary was hiding evidence about his wife’s murder, broke into Mary’s home. During his search, he ripped apart and smashed most of her possessions. When Mary walked in on his rampage, he beat her, breaking two of her ribs and crushing her independent spirit. Even with the support of her friends, it had taken months for Mary to overcome the horror of the attack and to start reclaiming her self-confidence.

Still, Gloria couldn’t help thinking that this new apartment might represent the first step toward the end for her friend. She wanted her fearless, whimsical Mary restored. A tickle of fear ran up Gloria’s neck as the image of the orange-headed figure from the hallway burst to life in her thoughts.