An Early Morning Murder at 13 Humberview
Police Constable Michael Caledon picked his way gingerly around the piles of gravel and dirt and dust-covered debris strewn about by the road repair crew. Buffing his black shoes to the proper wattage each morning was his least favorite activity and he had no intention of wasting the effort in his first call of the day. He’d parked the patrol car farther away than necessary for the same reason: to keep it clean. When the crew started up at – he looked at his watch – seven o’clock, only nine minute away, there would be plenty of dirt and noise. He’d seen this bunch move in yesterday to rip up the street.
So complete was his concentration that he found himself on the little flagstone walk at 13 Humberview before he realized it. That surprise, coupled with his sudden awareness that the old lady was sitting on the porch waiting for him, must have showed on his face, for Mrs. Van Nough explained very sweetly:
“I always have my coffee on the porch in this nice weather. Sometimes I even get out before the sun is over those trees. We’ll have to go inside today, though; there’s not much point in being out here when they start.†She waved at the silent machinery on the street. “What do you take in your coffee, young man?â€
Michael used the three short strides up the walk to gather himself.
“Good morning.†He held out his hands. “I’m here to get…â€
“What do you take in your coffee? I have some muffins too, that my neighbor made.â€
Michael didn’t drink coffee, but how did he say no to such a nice old lady?
“Uh…just half a cup, please, and milk, lots of milk.†That was how.
“Excuse me, then. I’ll be right back.†Mrs. Van Nough got up, shuffled over to the screen door and went inside.
Michael was having real trouble controlling his surprise. The lady was not behaving at all like a bereaved widow. Four days earlier, in fact at just this time – his watch now said 6:54 – her husband had been shot in their bed. He was also surprised by how well she spoke. Mrs. Van Nough was deaf, at least according to Sergeant Cosman. Michael had been sent because he was the best on the force at signing. So far, that skill had been entirely superfluous.
His surprise was not diminished in the least when Mrs. Van Nough came back out the door saying:
“No doubt you’re wondering how we’re able to communicate so easily? Well, I wasn’t always deaf. Not until my accident two years ago. Here’s you coffee, Constable. I can sign. Are you the one they said would come because you can sign? There’s not much need. I’m pretty good at lips. You get good. You have to. Besides, everybody always says the same things to old ladies anyway!â€
Her smile grew even sweeter. Michael was so charmed he was almost able to ignore the taste of coffee.
“My other little trick,†she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “now don’t you tell anybody, Constable.†Her smile grew wider and even more irresistible. “My other little trick is, I do all the talking! People don’t mind if old ladies prattle on, now do they?
“Now you want to know all about poor Alvin, don’t you? I don’t know why. I told those other nice policeman everything. Poor Alvin. We were only married three years, you see. He was my third husband.â€
Without realizing it, Michael bit into a second muffin. He didn’t say a word, as Mrs. Van Nough continued.
“It happened when I was having my coffee here, just like this. It was a beautiful day, one of those extra-special summer days. You know, clear, quiet, warm. Of course I couldn’t hear the shot, so poor Alvin…â€
With a raucous cough, the first of the diesel engines started out on the street, followed by another, then a third, filling the air with a blend of aggressive clatter. The operators held the throttles open, not just to warm up their machines, but also to ensure that everyone in hearing distance would be awake to appreciate their efforts.
Mrs. Van Nough winced. The early morning breeze had brought the exhaust fumes onto the porch.
“Come,†she shouted over the din. “We’ll go inside. Would you carry the muffins?â€
Michael picked up the plate and followed her. How, he thought to himself, how on earth am I going to tell Sergeant Cosman that such a sweet old lady is a liar?
What has tipped Michael Caledon to the realization that Mrs. Van Nough may not be all she pretends?
