Don't Look Up--a quick Christmas mystery read from M. S. Spencer

 How about a quick Christmas read?

Snowy Chicago under the L

 Don’t Look Up

M. S. Spencer

“More coffee?” The waitress stood at Bella’s elbow, so close that the young woman had to duck her head to avoid being struck by the pot.

“Um, sure.” Bella held up her mug. She hummed along with the Christmas music playing in the background and gazed around at the empty restaurant. “I guess everyone’s home ‘cause of the snow, huh?”

“Cream? Sugar?”

 Bella looked up into a face that had seen its share of recessions. The woman’s nose stood out sharply against a pasty face framed in unnatural blonde curls. Her white uniform had a splotch of ketchup on the lapel. She didn’t smile. I guess she doesn’t want to be here on Christmas Eve either.

“Pie?”

Bella checked the counter, on which revolved a dusty Lazy Susan. “What kinds do you have?”

The woman moved her gum from one side of her mouth to the other. “Strawberry-rhubarb. Boston cream.”

“I’ll have a slice of each, please.” It’s Christmas, after all. I didn’t get the fruitcake from Aunt Felicia this year, so why not splurge? She was never going to lose those five pounds anyway. Now I’ve hit thirty, I might as well get used to this. At least she still had curves in the right places…and a full head of auburn curls. She patted them to make sure they were still there.

The waitress came back with a plate. While she hovered, a can of whipped cream in her hand, the rumbling sound at the edge of Bella’s consciousness grew to unmistakable proportions. The cup on the table shook and the waitress rocked from foot to foot to keep her balance.

Bella caught the cup before it pitched over the edge. “What the heck was that?”

The waitress looked at the wall clock. “That’s the five-ten express.” She gave a half grin. “I’m so used to it now I don’t even notice it.”

Bella was about to say something when they heard a loud scream from outside the restaurant. The waitress spun around and Bella craned her neck around the woman to look through the front door. A man lay on the sidewalk outside, a garbage can on its side next to him. It rolled into the street. A crowd gathered quickly.

Bella got up so she could see better. The waitress went back behind the counter and replaced the coffee pot on the hot plate. She seemed uninterested in the events transpiring outside. Bella went to the door.

The man was clearly dead. He lay sprawled on his face, legs akimbo, blood seeping from the back of his head, staining the snow. The people surrounding the body pushed the other garbage bins aside, clearing an area around him. Bella peered up. The café was in a row of stores under the L—the famous Chicago elevated railway.

Sirens blared. Bella watched from inside while an ambulance pulled up and EMTs jumped out. Minutes later, they were gone. The crowd dispersed, and Bella went back to her table.

“Dead?”

She jumped. It was the first word the waitress had spoken since the accident. “Um, yes. Do you suppose he fell from the L?”

She shrugged. “Nah—too many barriers. Prolly jumped.”

“What makes you say that?”

She shrugged again. “That time o’ year.”

Bella paid and walked the block home thoughtfully. Jumped. It made sense. The Christmas season usually saw a spate of suicides in Chicago. She shivered.

Christmas Day dawned. Bella made her usual calls to her mother in Miami and to her sister in Houston. Then she walked down to Leo’s news stand and bought the paper. At home, hot tea at her side, she turned—as usual—to the real estate listings. I have got to find another place soon! Her building had been sold and the new owners were turning the apartments into condominiums. Bella’s nest egg didn’t extend to a mortgage or even a down payment. She scanned the rentals. Wait! There’s one just up the street from me. A two-bedroom on the top floor. A walkup, but the rent was reasonable. And I could still walk to the shop. She circled the item.

She’d have to wait until the next day to call. Meanwhile, with nothing to do, she thought she’d drop by the shop. Better see if the Christmas lights are still working. It seemed that every day more bulbs died. She got her coat and slogged through the melting slush to the little souvenir shop she managed. Sure enough, all the red lights had gone out. She went to the back room to find the extra string. The front door jingled. “We’re closed!”

“Oh, sorry. I just need some help?”

Damn, another panhandler. They seemed to be on every corner these days. He probably makes more money than I do. She reluctantly went to the front. A young man stood just inside, his hat in his hand. The top of his head just brushed the overhead light, and when said light shone on his face, Bella sucked in a breath. The green eyes that flashed at her were like pure emeralds, winking out from under the thatch of thick, chocolaty hair. He gave her a tentative smile that caught in her throat. Ulp.

“Hi. Sorry to barge in like this but I saw your shop light on. Everyone else is closed.”

She started to say, “Well, I am too,” but hesitated. “What do you need?”

He shuffled forward.  “I’m looking for someone. I just arrived from Denver. I don’t have his address, but I have a photo.” Before she could demur, he held it out. “This is my father. See—he’s standing in front of that elevated railway—” He pointed outside.

She contemplated the man in the picture. He wore a camel’s hair coat and an old-fashioned fedora. “Why is it torn in half?”

“It came that way. We’re not sure why.”

Bella took a second look. “Yes, that’s the L. This was taken near the Clark and Division station. It’s just a couple of blocks east of here.”

“Ah, then I’m close.” He put the picture away and turned toward the door.

Bella couldn’t resist. “Why are you searching for him?”

He turned back. “He disappeared a month ago. A week ago, I got this photo in the mail.” His mouth twisted. “I had Christmas off and thought I’d see if I could track him down.”

Bella wondered if that was such a good idea but didn’t think it was her place to say so. The young man was staring at her. “Um, well, good luck.”

He nodded, then said, “Would you…er…like to get a cup of coffee somewhere? I haven’t had anything to eat since last night. I don’t know my way around, and maybe you could…” He petered out.

She looked deep into the verdant pools of his eyes and said, “Sure. I know a café a couple of blocks from here.”

“Sounds great. My name’s Simon, by the way. Simon Forrest.”

“Bella Peete. I’ll just get my coat.” Firmly setting aside all the warnings her mother had ever given her about strangers, she followed Simon out.

The café where she’d had the pie was closed. “Oh I forgot it’s Christmas. Darn.”

“Hmm. Well, there’s a restaurant in my hotel. It’s not far. Would you care to join me?”

It’s Christmas. I’ve nothing to do. I’m hungry. It’s cold. She regarded him. And he’s the most handsome man I have ever seen. “thank you.”

They spent the afternoon together. Simon told stories of Colorado, where he grew up. He listened attentively to Bella’s tales of years of academic life, lost luggage and lost jobs. “After two degrees and no university jobs available, I tried my hand at the travel business. Let’s just say we didn’t mesh. I lost everything.”

“So you came back to Chicago?”

“Uh huh. I was born here. I’m working at the souvenir shop while I…” She stopped. No point in lying. “While I wait for inspiration. The truth is, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Instead of commiserating as she expected—or disapproving, as she was used to—Simon touched her hand. “I believe you could do anything you put your mind to.”

The rest of the conversation was a blur.

Every day that week Simon would pick Bella up at five and they would explore the city. Simon didn’t seem in a hurry to find his father, and Bella didn’t press the issue. Instead she floated, blissfully happy and disinclined to examine her feelings.

She did remember to call about the apartment, and set up an appointment for Friday at 5 p.m. She had the day off, and Simon said he’d come with her to inspect the place. “I need to scope out the neighborhood anyway. After all, I did come here to see if I can find some trace of my father.”

When they reached the address, Bella looked up. “Why it’s above the café I told you about.” She read the sign. “Still closed. I wonder if it’s because of the jumper.”

“Jumper?”

“Yes. I was in here Christmas Eve and a man jumped from the roof and landed right here at the entrance.”

“Ouch.”

The landlord pulled up in a cab. “You Bella Peete?”

“Yes.”

He jingled his keys. “I’m Mr. Gordon. I’ll take you up.”

“Is the old tenant still there?”

“Uh uh. Gone.”

Bella looked at Simon, suddenly apprehensive. “Did he…did he die?”

“He? No, there was only one person on the lease, and she left Christmas Day.”

Whew. She didn’t fancy moving into the apartment of a person who committed suicide. “Let’s have a look.”

The dingy corridor held three doors. “There’s one more apartment on this floor besides yours.”

“What’s that third door lead to?”

“The roof.”

“Is that where the man jumped from?”

“Jumped?” The landlord looked shocked. “What man?”

“I heard a man committed suicide here.”

He shook his head. “Only people in this building are two families downstairs and old Mrs. Tate across the hall.”

“Huh.” Maybe he did fall from the L. Bella made a mental note to check the internet. What with work and Simon, she hadn’t gotten around to perusing the news reports on the tragedy.

They toured the apartment. The dirty windows shed little light, and the place was chock full of furniture that could have been collected from a landfill. The landlord shook his head. “Sheesh. Ms. Smith said she’d cleaned this place out before she left.” He looked at Bella. “I guess it comes As-Is.”

As Bella was in the kitchen, despairing of the ancient stove, the dishes on the counter began to rattle. A flower pot fell from the window sill with a crash. “What the hell?”

The landlord checked his watch. “Oh, that’s the 5:15 express.” His eyes flickered. “Really, it’s the only train that makes the building shake. It’s because it goes by so fast.” He picked up a coat. “Look at this. She even left her clothes. I promise I’ll clear this stuff out before you move in.”

Simon, who was wandering around the rooms, came back in as the landlord hung the coat up. “Wait a minute!” He took the coat and read the inside label. “This belongs to my father.” He felt in the pockets and held a photo up. Before Bella could take it a key turned in the lock. A woman entered. Mr. Gordon said, “What are you doing back here, Harriet? Coming to get your stuff?”

The woman looked at the photo in Simon’s hand. She snatched at it. It floated to the ground. Bella grabbed it before the woman could. She looked from it to the woman at the door. “Wait a minute. This is you.”

“Well of course it is.”

Simon intervened. “How do you know my father?”

She turned furtive. “Oh, we…uh…dated a couple of times. He left this coat here…uh…weeks ago.”

Simon said sharply, “When was the last time you saw him?”

She straightened. “Like I said, weeks ago. What’s this all about?”

“Arthur Brandt disappeared from Denver a month ago.”

Bella watched the woman. Something…

She shrugged. “I guess he’s good at that. He left without a word sometime in November.”

That’s it! “You’re the waitress from the café.”

The woman turned on her. “So? Now, can I get out’a here?”

“Just a moment.” The landlord held up a hand. “You’ve got to clear this apartment out or I won’t give you your deposit back.”

Simon had been studying the photo. “Excuse me.” He went into the kitchen.

Harriet watched him go, then swung around to Mr. Gordon. “Sure, sure. Look, I gotta go. I’ll come back tomorrow and get my stuff. Okay?” She backed toward the door.

Simon came out. “Surely you’re not leaving us?”

Harriet looked puzzled. “What do you care?”

“Because, dear lady, we have to wait for the police.”

Bella’s jaw dropped. The landlord’s jaw dropped. Harriet’s face went rigid. “I don’t think so. Whatever your problem is, you deal with it. Nothin’ to do with me.”

“I think it does.” To Bella’s shock, Simon produced a small Beretta. “I think we wait.”

Suer enough, five minutes later there was a knock on the door. “Police.”

Simon let them in. “She’s all yours, officers.”

“Harriet Middleton, alias Harriet Smith, we’re arresting you for the murder of Arthur Brandt.” He handcuffed her.

Harriet struggled only a minute, then quieted once the officer started reading her her rights. As the policemen led her to the door, she looked over her shoulder. The grin on her face was macabre. “You don’t know the half of it.”

The three left behind stood a minute, then the landlord hastily shooed them out. “We’ll sign the lease tomorrow, shall we? I need to get back to the office.” He plunged down the stairs.

Simon started to leave, but Bella held him back. “You want to tell me what just happened?”

“Harriet Middleton murdered Arthur Brandt. I thought that was obvious.”

“That bit was. Where do you come in?”

“Never mind that. I’m still trying to figure out how she did it.” He started searching drawers. “From what you told me, she was serving you inside the café when he fell.”

“That’s right.”

“So she couldn’t have pushed him.”

“Right.”

“He fell on the garbage can.”

“Right.”

“Okay, so far. Now, he was lying on his face. That’s the part that bothers me. When you fall you usually twist around and end up landing on your back.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.” He rubbed his chin. “Let’s go downstairs.”

Bella was glad to get out of the apartment. Simon stopped at the café door and looked up. “Here’s where he fell? Did you see him fall?”

“No. I remember the express passed and then there was a scream. When I looked out, he was lying there.”

“And the garbage can was knocked over.”

“Right.”

He pointed at a line of bins. “Which one?”

“I’ve no idea.”

He produced a flashlight and went over each can carefully. She resisted the urge to ask him why he carried one. He’s got a lot of secrets.

“We haven’t had any snow or rain in the last week, right?”

“Nope.”

He tapped a lid. “Then there should still be blood where he landed on it.”

“There isn’t any?”

He shook his head. “Not on any of them.” She took the opportunity to sit on the stoop while he pondered. Suddenly, he brightened. “Aha! Here, help me.” He started overturning the cans one by one. “There.” He pointed.

Bella saw a dark blotch on the bottom of the last one. “Is that blood?”

“Bet my bottom dollar it is.”

“I don’t understand. How did it get there?”

“When the can landed on Arthur’s head. It was thrown from the roof. Arthur didn’t fall; he was hit while he stood on the sidewalk.”

Truth dawned. “So someone pushed the can off the roof and it killed him. It must have been an accident then.”

Simon sat down next to her. “I don’t think so. I think it was deliberate. Otherwise the person would have come forward.”

Bella was beginning to feel cold. She said crossly, “Well that means Harriet didn’t kill him. She was inside with me.”

Just then a train passed over their heads. Simon rubbed his chin. “You’re cold. Let’s go back to your apartment.” She didn’t protest.

He led her into her kitchen and picked up a vase. “Do you mind if I break this?”

She choked. “Yes, I do! That belonged to my mother.”

He put it down. “Well, what can I break?”

She was too curious to object, so she handed him the hideous bowl her Aunt Felicia had given her instead of the requested fruitcake. “This.”

He set the bowl on the table, then nudged it until it was halfway over the edge. Then he suddenly jumped up and down several times. Bella watched the bowl inch toward oblivion, finally crashing to the floor. Simon crowed, “And that’s how she did it! Come on, let’s go tell the police.”

The police were suitably impressed. The lieutenant in charge of the case listened attentively. “That was some great detective work you did there, Mr. Forrest. You don’t happen to have a background in law enforcement, do you?”

Simon glanced quickly at Bella. “Yes. I’m a private investigator.” He took a card out of his wallet and showed it to the policeman. “I was hired to find Arthur Brandt. He must have realized he was in danger and mailed his ex-wife a photo of him with Harriet.”

Bella added, “But before he sent it off, she found it and tore off the part that showed her.”

“Thankfully, the background enabled me to trace him to this neighborhood.” Simon pursed his lips. “The only thing we couldn’t figure out is why she killed him. He has no money. I mean, he’s got an insurance policy, but that only covers his wife.”

“Is it a lot? Does it name her specifically?”

“It’s for $500,000. As I recall it merely says “spouse.”

The lieutenant rose and shook Simon’s hand. “Well, you’ve assisted us in catching a wanted criminal.”

“Oh?”

“Harriet Middleton is a suspect in four murders. She seduces older men, marries them, then knocks them off for the insurance money. She’s wanted in five states. A regular black widow.”

Bella thought back to the sour face of the waitress in the café. “I guess it didn’t make her very happy.”

She waited until they were alone to light into Simon. “Well?”

He didn’t ask her what she meant. “I didn’t want you entangled in a potentially dangerous situation.” He touched her cheek. “Especially when I was falling in love with you.”

Since Bella agreed totally with everything Simon had just said, she settled for a kiss.

The End