Free Sandy Gingras - Lola Polenta 01 - Swamped by Sandy Gingras Page A

empty.
    There’s nothing else. It’s more like a hotel room than an actual room. We go back to Marie’s kitchen.
    “They’re going to release his body today,” Marie tells us.
    “That was fast,” I say.
    “They just called. I can bury him now. His instructions on his will say, cremation and no service, but I don’t like that idea, do you?”
    I say, “Um.”
    “I think death is really for the living, don’t you?”
    I understand what she’s getting at. Still…
    “I figure a compromise is always best. He can have the cremation, but I’m going to have a service—no church, just a small non-denominational ceremony in the clubhouse.”
    “In the clubhouse?” I ask. I can’t help it.
    “I think he would have wanted that,” she says. “Sal has a friend who’s a pastor, and said he’d do it for us day after tomorrow. Then we’ll have one of those long subway sandwiches. Ten feet, you think will be enough? Twelve feet? Ernie loved Subway. You have to order by the foot.”
    I shrug.
    “And I’ll make my punch. You float sherbet scoops on the top, that’s the secret.”
    “Did you hear anything last night when someone was taking the whirligigs?” Joe asks
    “See, I thought I heard something. But I had the air on last night. I took two of those Sleep-Eze because I haven’t been sleeping, and so it was like I was underwater. I heard something I think, but I couldn’t move.”
    “Was there something inside of those whirligigs?” he asks.
    “I don’t know. The houses had little doors that worked, so maybe. I never looked before. The yard was Ernie’s realm. He was always fiddling with them.”
    “Did Ernie hide things away in them?” Joe asks.
    “He was very private. He didn’t like it when I touched his things. I like to clean,” she kind of apologizes.
    “He had to have somewhere that he kept his cash,” Joe says. “What was Ernie’s last day like?” he asks. He pulls out his pad and a pen from his back pocket.
    “He woke up… at 6:00. He had cornflakes at 6:15. He showered.”
    Joe writes it all down neatly on a pad.
    “What are you doing?” I ask him.
    “Checking for gaps,” he says. “It’s what detectives do.”
    “I’m supposed to be the detective,” I say to him. “How do you remember this?” I ask Marie.
    “He always did the same thing every day. He went to work at 7:00. Sal liked him to work early at the pool so he got things done before people started coming around. He cleaned the pool and did the chemicals, swept up around the pool area, straightened the chairs and wiped them down. Then he came home for lunch. Lunch is from 12:00 to 1:00.”
    “Did he say he saw anyone or talked to anyone?” Joe asks.
    “Just Sal. It was an ordinary day.”
    Marie’s face is flat and a little moon-ish. Her eyes look tired. “Ernie told me he had an appointment in Palm Villages at some accountants at 2:00, so he changed and then he took the car to go to the accountant. That was about 1:30. It takes a half hour to get there.”
    “Why did he go to see an accountant?” Joe asks.
    “He said something about some complication.”
    “Did he HAVE an accountant?”
    “No. Last year, we did our taxes at the clubhouse. They brought in volunteers to help us fill out the forms.”
    “That’s weird, why would he go to see an accountant in June?” I say.
    Marie shakes her head.
    Joe writes down, “Accountant? Complication?”
    “I gotta get one of those pads,” I tell Joe.
    Marie says, “He got home at 3:30, changed and went out to mow.”
    “Did anything seem any different?” I ask her.
    “Well, when he left the house he was mad. Is that what you mean?”
    “Do you know why?” I ask.
    “He didn’t say. I could just tell. He was just muttering like he does. Did.”
    “And you, were you home all day?” I ask. Joe is busy writing something else.
    “Hmmm,” she says. “I had my eyebrows and lip line waxed down at Tra-La-La in the morning, that’s a new salon over on