froze. No words would come out of her mouth.
“Hello? Are you there?”
Trying to gather her wits, Alice managed to make a response.
“Did Jean come and see you yesterday?” Mr. Lee asked. “She said she was going to.”
Damn her. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.
“No, no. She never arrived. I think she’s gone on holiday.” Alice knew she sounded flustered.
“There was a problem. She postponed it until this evening. I was supposed to drive her to the station, but she isn’t home.”
“Perhaps she forgot and took a cab.”
“Her luggage is in the hall. I could see it through the window.” He paused, then “You’re sure she didn’t come?”
“Could she have fallen when walking over? Oh, Mr. Lee,” Alice’s voice trembled, “I did have a dreadful vision this morning. I went to the police, but I don’t think they believed me.”
“I’m going to call them now.” He hung up, taking Alice by surprise.
“You are not going to cheat me, Jean Mayhew.” Alice said. Quickly, she returned to the bedroom and looked around. Not much to do here. She ran into the bathroom. Spraying liquid soap onto her facecloth she wiped taps, toothpaste tube, toothbrush, the sink counter and the toilet seat. Then she unclipped the plastic shower curtain. A wash would remove any fingerprints. The machine was in the mudroom next to the kitchen. Alice sped downstairs and stuffed the curtain in. She could hear Edie-Rose’s voice clearly. “Still wearing your gloves, girl? Good. Now the Pledge, jus’ in case youse forgot sometimes.”
Up the stairs, Pledge in hand, spraying and wiping as she went. First the banisters, then into the bedroom spraying all the fronts, handles, tops. Mentally ticking off the list she and Edie-Rose had memorized, she went around methodically cleaning all surfaces she could have touched without her gloves. The kitchen she had done in the early hours, and in the parlour and entrance hall they would find only the previous tenant’s prints. Alice had never been in them without gloves.
Back in the mudroom, Alice removed the dust cover from her bicycle. Her “get-away vehicle”. Edie-Rose had laughed at the idea, but Alice felt convinced people didn’t notice bikes. Plus it had the advantage of allowing her to wear a helmet.
I’m going to make it, Edie-Rose, she vowed silently. She’d practised this next move many times, fantasizing great getaways. Night after night she’d cycled down the paths in the dark, headlight hooded, relishing the freedom, toning her muscles. She knew every bump and grating on her escape route, but she’d never really expected to have to leave in a hurry.
Into the empty pannier on the bike went the wig, the blouse with the special padding to make her back look crooked, the glasses, watch and skirt. On top of them she placed Alice’s shoes. Wearing a built up shoe had been a brilliant idea. It meant she didn’t have to remember to limp, it happened naturally. From the pannier on the other side came jeans, black ribbed sweater and fleece vest. Taking some baby-wipes she cleaned the beige make-up from her face, checking herself in the mirror behind the door. The dirty wipes went into the pannier too. Running shoes, helmet and fanny-pack completed the change. Only the white gloves stayed.
Folding the dust cover, she placed it on top of her spare clothes in the pannier. It might be useful if she had to sleep in the rough. Then Alice wheeled the bike out of the house, locking the door behind her. She stood and double-checked everything in her mind. There should be nothing to connect Elizabeth Sullivan to Alice Hartley.
A siren sounded in the distance. Time to go.
She patted her fanny-pack. Alice Hartley was dead. Michelle Roubillard was born. French passport, wallet, sunglasses and snapshots of family in France. All the things a tourist might be expected to carry. She smiled to herself. She had received an excellent education in prison.
Michelle tucked the white gloves into her pocket and cycled down the lane to the bike path that ran parallel to the highway. Richardson Falls boasted of its network of trails, and Michelle knew them all. She travelled two hundred yards then took the fork leading away from the road. As she turned, an ambulance flashed by with a police car right behind it. So the siren hadn’t been for her. An accident would occupy Blain for a while. She could imagine his language when he eventually arrived at the farmhouse and found it empty.
The kilometres flew by. Michelle settled into a steady rhythm. She had a long way to go before morning. Thoughts floated in her mind. She’d planned well. Apart from losing Jean’s shoe, she’d made no mistakes. Not bad, considering she’d been playing “Alice” too long for her to wait. Maybe she ought to have heeded Edie-Rose and been unobtrusive. But it wasn’t in her nature.
Wheels humming, Michelle picked up speed. She wanted to be across the Ottawa River into Quebec before morning. Not until the lights of Kanata lit the sky did she remember she hadn’t switched on the washing machine.
LIZ PALMER of Chelsea, Quebec, has recently discovered kayaking. Dividing her time between various volunteer activities, writing and this new addiction is proving difficult. She is currently searching for a waterproof laptop that floats.
TEE’D OFF
MARY KEENAN
It’s just bizarre to think that because of the murder, I’ll be able to do whatever I feel like when I grow up. Well, the murder and being good at sports.
In my high school, being good at sports makes you kind of like a god. The popular kids here are the jocks and jockettes, and they’re so competitive, they’ll ignore all sorts of things that would get a kid beaten up someplace else if that kid can help them win all the big games. With me, they mostly ignore the fact that I think sports are stupid, especially when they’re pointless. I mean, what’s the good of a lot of girls running from one end of a field to another, chasing a big white ball and getting all out of breath? It’s like mom on her treadmill. She never actually gets anywhere. I’m not saying exercise is stupid, but I’d rather do it for a good reason. Like when my cousin Judy and I play golf so we can talk about stuff for a few hours without our folks listening in. I really like that about golf.
Anyway, because I’m good at sports, Coach Flannigan kept me late after swim class that day, trying to talk me into trying out for some special synchronized swim team he’d heard about. Totally pointless. I couldn’t get out of that pool fast enough. And I really didn’t, either, because when I got into the change room all the other girls had staked out a place to strip out of their swimsuits, and the only privacy stall was taken.
The whole female bonding thing is super-overrated in my opinion. Especially with the jockettes, who spend all their time together either coming up with some sports strategy, figuring out the theme for our big grad party this spring or talking about Dex Monaghan being hot for them.
“He asked me about my lipstick today,” Heather Lane was bragging when I came in from the fast shower I had taken with my suit still on. No way was I showing off my tush to this crowd, at least not for a week. “He leaned real close and asked me if it tasted good.”
Kelly Baxter, a pretty good hitter on the softball team, one-upped her as always. “He asked me about my underwear. Wanted to know whether I go for red nylon or black lace.”
The
