Short Story Wednesdays #8- Case of the Scheming Widow (Part 1)

Case of the scheming widow 

The cold stone streets clicked under his shoes. The familiar December chill bite through his long woollen coat. Fog draped the streets. It drizzled slightly. Dark clouds covered the sky. British weather. 

His tongue clicked. His lithe form slid into a narrow alleyway. There was a faint glimmer of light at the end of the street. He slipped past the trash cans to reach a small door. ‘Piano Club’ the sign read in a rustic print. The wooden sign was creaky and loose. It hung by a hair to the iron rod sticking out from the club’s front door. Jazzy piano melodies filled the air. Through the misty windows, he saw yellow light make its way to the street. The street lights were on and a few people walked by. They smelled strongly of alcohol. A drunk man shouted from across the street. Others walked by singing loudly.  

Brushing aside the prickly raindrops on his coat, he pushed the wooden door and entered the club. The sound of the piano became louder. A deep contralto voice filled his ears. It sand a distant melody. The singer’s pouty lips pronounced each vowel deliberately. The tables were full. Alcohol flowed from colourful glasses. The bartender was busy mixing drinks for a never ending stream of customers. The night had just begun. 

The stranger moved to a solitary spot near the window and took a seat. 

A long shadow  stretched over the piano player. He went on, unaware of the reflection it cast on him. 

The singer shrieked in the highest pitch she could produce. Her shriek was matched by the piercing sound of gunshot. The window glass shattered. The piano halted abruptly. Customers got up. The club erupted into a loud mixture of murmurs. 

A wave of panic ran through the Piano club. People ran around the club chaotically. The singer abandoned the stage and joined the crowd. The piano man stood up but his panic was paralyzed by a sudden appearance at the club. His heavy form sank against the piano keys, playing a discordant chord. Vivid, red blood began to flow down the piano. The white keys were forever stained with the melody of death. 

The shrieks got louder. Hysterical customers ran around in a state of panic. Customers disappeared out of the door like water going down the drain. But, the door was closed. They were stuck in the chaos. The only person that remained was the stranger in the grey woollen coat. He sat calmly at the table and watched the customers find a place in this scene. The flickering light at the entrance got dimmer. Jarring sounds of people mumbling reverberated through the club. 

The club owner rushed to the corpse and yelled loudly “Call the police.”. The bar staff quickly began dialing the local police. The stranger stood up abruptly. He dug into his coat pocket and flashed a small card at the club owner. 

“I am Detective Adams.” he said, his tone filled with authority. “Everybody, stop right there.” 

A room full of shocked eyes looked at him with surprise. The murmuring stopped. Everybody looked at him with shock. 

“Now, please go back to your seats. Nobody is going anywhere.” he said. “There was no sound of glass breaking or doors closing. The murderer must be one of the people inside this room.” The murmuring escalated again. He heard a sharp voice outside the club. His eyes looked through the shattered window glass. A pair of light grey eyes met his gaze. Detective Adams got up and hammered at the door. The shadow ran away. He jumped out of the window. Blood flowed down his palms. The shards of window glass cut his hands. He followed the shadow that disappeared into the dark alley. His tired legs crept into the alley. He produced a silver revolver from his coat pocket. It shone brightly against the moonlight. The sharp glare of silver was matched by the criminal’s revolver. He lurked somewhere in the shadows. 

Detective Adams cautiously moved along the stony street, making sure not to breathe. He didn’t want to alert the criminal. two garbage cans stood before his eyes. The narrow house chimneys framed a portrait of the night sky. Moonlight burst through the narrow opening between the houses. Drain pipes secreted dirty water that formed a puddle near the garbage cans. The perpetual rain didn’t help. Detective Adams stormed to one of the garbage cans and opened it. His revolver was sharply pointed towards the contents of the can. He saw nothing but smelly garbage inside. He quickly shut the can. His eyes fell on the other can. The criminal was hiding in there. 

He kicked the steel can. It rolled along the ground and burst open. Smelly paper, old shoes and dark bags fell out of it. It was empty too. Detective Adam’s lips formed a straight line. The criminal was not in either of the cans. An image of those sharp grey eyes blazed in his memory. A long shadow stretched behind him. He didn’t turn back. He smiled. The shadow grew larger. The moonlight hit his face. He turned around instantly. He saw the grey eyes. They were accompanied by a short, stout body. The criminal wore a long, brown coat ended right above his feet. His squarish jaw was illuminated by the moonlight. Ben. 

The criminal pulled the trigger. The sound of gunshot filled the air. Birds squirmed in their nests. The serenity of the night was rippled. Detective Adams collapsed on the floor. 

He opened his eyes. His hazy vision hit the ceiling of this run down office. The yellow ceiling needed some work. Paint chipped off from the edges of the room. The light on the ceiling moved in hypnotic motions. It flickered for a moment. Detective Adams sat up. His eyes fell on a large wooden desk filled with papers. He had a hell of a lot of paperwork to get through. 

“You’re back.” his secretary said in a calm, low voice. The sound of the choppy typewriter filled the air. His eyes turned to Marianne who sat on a  small leather chair by the door. Her hair was cotton white. The crows feet around her eyes intensified as she looked at him from under her spectacles. Her fingers continued to type. Her pale, fragile skin was wrinkled. Her bony fingers typed away. She took the piece of paper out of the typewriter. It was done. 

“Have a look at this when you’re done.” she said. She walked across the wooden floor. Her long skirt brushed against the rug. She placed the piece of paper on his desk that was already filled with papers. He sighed. 

“Did you send the couple the letter?” he asked. He sat up on the sofa, leaning on its arm for support. 

“I did. They sent me a thank you note.” she said. 

“So, I was right, huh?” he said.

“You always are.” she added with a blank face. He smiled. 

She walked across the room and opened the window. The sound of chirping birds filled the air. The skies were clear blue for a change. 

“Who was it this time?” she asked. 

“It’s Ben,” Detective Adams said. 

“The brother?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“He shot me,” 

“I’m sure he did.” she said with pronounced disinterest. 

“Write a letter to the manager,” he said. “I’m done with this case.” 

“Sure.” she said, returning to her seat. She was back to typing. 

“We need to get the ceiling refurbished once the manager pays up.” Detective Adams said, gazing intently at the ceiling.

“That’s what you always say,” the aged secretary said with a sharp grin. 

“What would I do without you, Marianne?” he asked in a dramatic fashion.

“I can’t work forever. I’m getting old.” she said. The sound of typing abruptly stopped. “is there anyone else who knows about this ability of yours?” 

“I haven’t told anyone.”

Her blue eyes met his. 

“It’s time to hire a new secretary,” she said. “I want to retire.”

“What’s this all of a sudden?” Detective Adams asked. 

“I’m getting old. I want to go live with my kids in the countryside. London air is stifling.” 

“You’ll be missed,” he said. He sat by the window and started smoking his pipe. 

“I’m sure,” she said in a sharp voice. “My niece is keen to begin work.”

“You want me to hire her?”

“Have a look at the girl before you decide,” she said. 

“Does she know my secret?”

“No but you will have to tell her once your hire her.” Marianne said. 

“Twenty years have gone by real fast.” he said.

“I know.” she said. 

The smoke from the pipe wafted outside the window. Marianne and Detective Adams glanced outside with a distant expression filling their eyes. 

“Did you meet her?” she asked. He turned around. “Your first love.” 

“No. You know I can’t.” he said. 

“What if you see her in London?” she asked.

“I doubt that. She must be married now. She probably has kids and lives in the countryside.” he said, his voice ringing with emotion. 

“It’s been twenty long years.” she said. “You’re forty now.”

He smiled. 

“I’m getting old.” he said. “How old is that niece of yours?”

“Eighteen. She’s good at typing-“

“I’m sure she is.” Detective Adams said. “Being a private detective doesn't pay much. I’m thinking about writing a novel.”

“About what? The adventures of a time travelling detective?” she asked.

“That would sure be interesting. Nobody would believe it.” he said. 

After the sudden disappearance of this first love, twenty years ago, Detective Adams decided to die. His love affair with Ruby had been the talk of the town. He loved her like her had never loved anyone before. He wanted to get married as soon as he could procure a license. However, she mysteriously disappeared one night. He didn’t want to live a life devoid of love. He was a very dramatic young man, he remembered. He found a small lake far from the village and jumped into it. However, he had not only survived the incident, but also acquired a mysterious ability to travel through time as a result of it. Soon after, he met Marianne. They decided to start a private detective’s practice in London. He had solved many cases during the last twenty years using his ability. However, during a particularly difficult case, he realised that he could not go back to any event where Ruby was present. She was his only weakness. 

The door burst open. A middle aged female burst through the door. Detective Adams and Marianne turned to the door. His eyes popped out. A middle aged woman stood before him. She was pleasantly plump. Her round face had an expression of surprise etched on it.  Her soft pink lips were straight in line with her prominent nose. Her blue eyes moved rapidly through the expanse of the room. She wore a long, grey skirt and a white blouse. A beige cardigan was wrapped around the shirt. Hr brunette hair was tied in a small bun behind her head. A rosy flush highlighted her cheeks. 

“Welcome.” Marianne said immediately. 

“I have a case.” she said. “Something happened!” 

“Have a seat.” Marianne said calmly. She escorted the lady to an old sofa. Detective Adams sat facing the lady. She was panting. Marianne made two cups of tea and placed them on the glass teapoy. The still air formed ripples on the surface of the light brown tea. 

“Sugar?” she asked. The lady nodded. Detective Adams leaned forward. 

“May I ask what you need my help with?” he asked. 

“My husband was murdered.” she said. “I found his body in the library this morning. I came here straight after the incident.”

“I’m sorry.” he said. 

“My husband was a wealthy man,” she said. “He owned horses and clubs.”

“Hmmmmm…”

“I am Mrs. Graham,” she said.

“Oh.” the words escaped Marianne’s mouth. “Now I know why she looked so familiar.” 

“I am honoured to be of service to you.” Detective Adams put in.

Mrs. Graham was the wife of Mr. Graham, one of the most famous industrialists in England. The Grahams owned estates that were worth millions of pounds. Lord Graham owned a cotton mill in North West. The mill had been passed down by his great grandfather.  Though cotton production in England had mostly declined, he maintained the mill for sentimental value. 

However, the working condition of the mill were similar to what they had been a century ago. He frequently received flack for the ill treatment of factory workers. The trade unions grew stronger over the years. Activists had also turned their attention to the pollution that the factory generated. Mr. Graham had resolved to transform the working conditions of the workers. The newspapers were filled with news of the Grahams’ philanthropic activities. 

Mrs. Graham leaned in.

“Whatever I say hereafter is meant to be a secret,” she said. “Can I trust you with these words?”

“I have a stellar reputation when it comes to being tight lipped.” Detective Adams said. “I’m sure you’ve heard.”

“Yes. That is why I came to you. They say you can solve all sorts of cases.” she said. 

“What is troubling you?” he asked.

“You see, my husband was paying special attention to a widow before his death.” she began in a shaky voice. “I think he was having an affair.”

“What makes you suspect that?”

“I’ve seen them together a few times. She is an activist. She has taken a sudden interest in the working conditions of factory workers. My husband was involved with the her charity. I visited the North West a few times to take part in their activities.”

“I’m sure you did. Did you notice anything?”

“They were extremely close. He paid her compliments and she constantly smiled at him.”

“It could be mere professionalism.” Detective Adams said.

“No. I saw her leave his house one night. I was supposed to be in London at that time but I decided to visit him.”

“And?”

“They were intimate.” she said. Her eyes filled with hate. Her body shook violently. “She seduced him. I’m sure of it.”

“Did he leave a will?” Detective Adams asked. 

“Yes. He left most of his wealth to the her charitable institution. I’m sure she influenced him. She is the beneficiary of the will.”

“That is hardly surprising.” Marianne put in.

“I suspect the widow murdered him for his money. I want you to investigate this death.”

“A widow, you say?” Detective Adams said, scratching his chin. “What is the name of this scheming widow?” 

“Ruby Wood.” she said. 

Detective Adams stopped breathing for a moment. Marianne’s eyes turned to him.

“Hold on, I have a photo of her.” Mrs. Graham put in. She dug into her purse and pulled out a small photo. She laid it on the table.

 It was the same Ruby that had left him twenty years ago. Her brown eyes were as bright as he remembered. She looked as beautiful as he remembered. Her eyes sparkled brightly. Her thin frame was more balanced now. Her dark lips lent an air of seductiveness to her fragile expression. He saw the striking familiarity. Ruby was his first love. Ruby was his only love. And, Ruby was his biggest weakness. His enlarged eyes turned to Marianne. She inhaled sharply. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. His eyes looked into hers. “I cannot do this.”

(To be continued....)