The Cozy Room

THE COZY ROOM

The curtains were halfway drawn revealing an almost Christmas card photo of the great outdoors. The snow was deep and crisp and even and it was truly a winter wonderland. The pine trees were laden with a frosting of heavy white, their boughs bent under the weight of the snow. All that was lacking was the pitter-patter of eight tiny reindeer hooves on the roof and visions of sugarplums dancing in one's head to complete the scenario.

Inside, the flickering fire in the fireplace turned the formal front parlour into a cozy den. The coffee table and end tables were adorned with pristine white doilies, the proud handiwork of Mrs. Hornsby’s dearly departed mother. It was a room full of memories. Almost every item in the room was a bespoke piece, handmade by Mrs. Hornsby’s Grandfather, a fine craftsman.. 

The fireplace, the heart of the home, had a mantle that was hand hewed from a massive piece of white oak. It added such character to the room with its beautiful grain pattern and hand-carved details.

The room was decorated for Christmas, which would arrive in just a few days. The four generations of wedding pictures that lined the mantle, were interspersed with red candles and a string of holly and ivy. A small artificial tree stood in a place of honour on a round piecrust table with several gift bags under it. A manger scene took up much of the space on the coffee table.

And there, amidst all the warm, cozy, comfortable atmosphere, the sweet memories, and personal treasures, sat Mrs. Violet Hornsby in her Bentwood Rocker, her knitting in her lap, her ever-present silver handled cane resting within easy reach, a light shawl draped over her Sunday best, with a bullet hole dead centre in her forehead.

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It was the Meals on Wheels delivery man who made the call to 911. He delivered every Tuesday and Friday and had been doing so for four years now. Mrs. Hornsby had the same standing order every week. She was nothing if not predictable. The door was left unlocked and Kenny, her delivery man, would knock on the door, call out a greeting to Mrs. Hornsby and take the frozen meals out of their insulated bags and store them in the freezer for her. He routinely checked her fridge, making sure she had the basics; milk, eggs, and bread, and he would remind her if it looked like she needed something. It wasn't really part of his job but he had spent the last four years building a mutually beneficial rapport with her, and since the Hornsby residence was always the last stop of his route he didn't mind the extra few minutes. He would next tap on the doorframe of her parlour and tell her that he had put her order away. A wellness check was part of his required routine, it was just simply to touch base with the senior and make sure all was well with them. He liked to chat with Violet, she was bright as a new penny and had a great sense of humour. 

Kenny was retired and a widower, volunteering in the community made him feel he was still useful, which was sometimes challenging given his background of active military duty, and since his wife Margaret died, he didn’t really have a lot of company. Get out and give back. It was a volunteer job and therefore didn't pay anything. He should have probably gone with a crossing guard job since they at least paid, but he didn't have any kids of his own and frankly, the kids today were a whole different kettle of fish from what he was used to. Generation Y or was it X or Z; he never could remember, he just knew that they were rude, entitled, and self-evolved. Being a bus driver was therefore out of the question, it meant having to spend more than an hour driving around the backroads with the little dickens.

After making the call to 911 on his phone, he paced back and forth on the wrap-around porch until someone arrived.

The EMTs were the first to arrive and confirmed what Kenny already knew, Violet Hornsby was pronounced dead at the scene. The police arrived shortly after and they took Kenny's statement and asked him what felt like a hundred questions. It was hours before he finally made it home.

************************************************************

It was almost exactly forty-eight hours later that Kenny found himself in an interrogation room at police headquarters. He had been asked to come in and help out with the investigation by answering some more questions.

 The interrogation room that he was shown into was small and simply decorated. One small table equipped with handcuffs and three chairs, not even enough room to swing a cat in, Kenny thought to himself. After ten minutes of cooling his heels, two detectives entered the room and sat down facing him. They all shook hands genially and introduced themselves.

“Hi there, I’m Detective Mike Larsons and this is Detective Tony Marco. Thanks for coming in and helping us out with this case. Mr. Lester. Do you mind if I call you Kenneth, Ken?”

“Kenny is what I usually go by.”

“Great! So it’s Ken, Mike, and Tony then. Who needs the formality, right? Besides we have a lot of ground to cover so it's best if we all get chummy, right? I know you were already read the Charter of Rights when you came in and signed all the necessary forms. Law enforcement has become just a paper-pushing job don't you think Tony?”

 Tony sat quietly, his head nodded slightly in response to the question. “I know you were questioned on-site by the officers that responded first, but we like to ask our own questions just to clarify things. Besides those cops have handwriting that looks like chicken scratches. You can barely read their notes.” Mike laughed at his small attempt at humour. It was his job to make the person being interrogated feel relaxed, like he was just hanging with his homies. No worries here. Relaxed people had relaxed mouths, he always said.

“Sure, sure no problem. I'm happy to help.” Kenney sat easily in his chair, his hands lying loosely in his lap.

“Great, well let's get started. Okay, so our notes indicate that you are the person to find Violet Hornsby,” stated Mike.

“That’s correct. I was delivering her bi-weekly meal order of frozen dinners to her, and doing the wellness check when I discovered her and called 911.”

“That must have been a bit of a shock,” said Mike leaning forward and touching Kenny's arm with compassion.

“Well, I spent years in the army and some time in Afghanistan, so that might have somewhat prepared me. I mean when you are posted in a war zone you obviously see some pretty gruesome things. But yeah, I have to admit, I was shaken a bit.”

“How long have you been working for Meals on Wheels?”

“About four years”

“And have you delivered to Mrs. Hornsby for four years?”

“Yes, she is,” he paused for a moment. “I should say, was, one of my regulars; some customers only need our services for a short time, while others are what we call ‘lifers’.” 

“What are your duties Kenny?”

“Deliver meals to senior citizens or those who have some kind of impairment where they are unable to manage meal preparation.”

“Do you have a key for all your customers?”

“No! Never. No, not at all. It all depends on the customer and their needs. In most places, I just knock on the door and the customer answers it and gets their meals, we exchange a few pleasantries, I ask how they are doing, and whether they are enjoying their meals, and then leave. At other places where the customer is less mobile, they arrange to have me just come in and put the food in the freezer or fridge.”

“Which category did Violet Hornsby fall into?”

“The latter. She had mobility issues, so I was to knock on her door, call out her name and tell her it was me, then I would come into the kitchen and put the food in her freezer and leave one dinner in the fridge for her dinner that night. All the customer has to do is microwave it for a few minutes and Voila, they are all set for dinner. There is usually a soup or salad, an entree, and a dessert. They place their orders either online or by phone.”

“What can you tell me about what type of customer Violet Hornsby was?”

“She was a very charming old lady, widowed for years, she was in her late eighties I believe. Always friendly, never complaining. She was well to do, so well able to maintain her property. She had a lawn care service in the summer and a snow plow company cleared her driveway and walkway in the winter. A maid service came by once every week or two and I would deliver her meals.”

“Did she have any family?”

“ A widowed daughter and a granddaughter, both that she was estranged with. She was a homebody, she seldom left her home. Other than her mobility issues, she seemed to have perfect health. Healthy as a horse, I always thought she’d live forever.”

“Did you notice anyone around the property when you were dropping off her dinners?”

“Can't say that I did.”

Detective Marco, who had been leaning back in his chair quietly till now, suddenly left the room while Mike continued with the questions. He returned a few minutes later with a sheaf of papers and sat down and pulled his chair right in front of Kenny.

“Let me tell you a few things about our investigation Mr. Lester. We have had a busy few days investigating this case, canvassing the neighbourhood, digging deep into every aspect of Mrs. Hornsby’s life. Bank accounts, her will, investments, etc.” His voice was harsh and grating, he leaned forward in his chair, his eyes level with Kenny’s. “Our forensic team has been working around the clock. Mrs. Hornsby has always been a pillar in this community. We’ve learned a lot in the past forty-eight hours.” He paused for effect before continuing.

“Why did you kill her Kenny?”

“Kill her! I didn't kill her! You surely don't suspect me, I’m the one who found her, I'm the one who called 911.”

The tension in the room was suddenly palpable.

“Why Kenny?” Marco demanded.

“I told you… I didn’t…”

“I don't care what you told us. It's all a lie. It had snowed that night, there were no footprints anywhere around the entire house. Only the sidewalk and drive had any type of prints. Lucky for us that morning after the snow plow had come by there were a few flakes that came down painting a nice white canvas for our forensic team. The prints show your boots and your car coming to Mrs. Hornsby’s and then coming back and going into the house again sometime later. Forensics say the same boot and car tracks, the only other tracks were first responders, all accounted for.”

Kenny buried his head in his hands.

“ Not only that, but the house directly across the street from Violet Hornby’s had a security camera in the front of their house. Guess what Kenny?” he snarled his name. “Wilkinson's camera showed your car arriving at the Hornsby residence at 1:32. It showed you walking up the walkway with two loaded thermal bags, it then showed you leaving with a Christmas gift bag about 10 minutes later. Then at 2:39, it showed you coming back and re-entering the house. Less than five minutes later you exited the house, got out your cell phone and made a call then waited out on the porch till the police arrived.”

 Kenny started to rock back and forth in his seat, a keening sound coming from his throat. Tony sat back in his chair as Mike sat forward, it was like a choreographed dance.

“Tell us about it Kenny,” said Mike, his voice soft and calming, almost hypnotic. “Tell us what happened.

 It will make you feel so much better, just get it off your chest. You know what they say, “The truth shall set you free”. Let it out man.” He laid his hand gently on Kenny's trembling arm.” Tell us Kenny. Tell us what happened.”

“Ok”

The two detectives exchanged a look. It looked like their practiced routine of good cop, bad cop routine had worked again. It didn’t always work this easy.

 Kenny sat up, now that the jig was up he had a burning desire to relieve himself of the burden of guilt. The words flew out of his mouth,“I did go there twice. The first time I just delivered the meals. I put them right in the freezer just like I always do. The soup of the day, chicken and rice, and one dessert in the fridge. I knocked on her parlour door, she always liked to call it a parlour, not a living room or family room like everyone else would call it. She was like that. You know…real snooty-like. Like the Hornsby’s were better than everyone else because they had money.” He looked back and forth between Mike and Tony.

“We understand,” said Mike, touching his arm reassuringly. “Then what happened?”

“She invited me into the parlour and I asked how she was doing, just like I always do. We chit chatted for a few minutes and she told me to look under the tree for my gift. She said there was one for Mary the cleaning lady and one for the snow plow guy, but mine was the green bag so I picked it up, she told me to open it up, she was excited she always liked to see me open the gifts. I got a little excited too cuz every year she gives me a little gift like a mug with packaged hot chocolate in it as well as a card with a big fat check stuffed inside.”

Kenny sat forward in his chair. Mike and Tony sat frozen in their seats waiting to hear all the details. Not daring to speak, lest they stem Kenny’s verbal tide.

“Well, I opened the gift bag and all that was in it was a great big long freakin’ scarf. I shook it out but there was no card or check inside. I said something innocent like,

‘Oh there's no card inside, I wonder who it’s from.’ I mean she's getting old, maybe she forgot this year.”

“From me, silly,” she said, “I didn't do cards this year as I made everybody a scarf instead.’’

“Is she bloody crazy?” Kenny questioned loudly. He pounded his fist on his knee.

“I guess I looked slightly shocked cuz she said, “Oh don't worry, you’re still in my will.” She laughed, she actually laughed at me. Her phone rang just then, so I mumbled Merry Christmas and marched out the door, grabbing my thermal bags as I left. I drove straight home.”

“Your house is about ten minutes from Violet Hornsbys?”

“Yeah, to the south. On the other side of the tracks. Literally.” He guffawed. That's why I always deliver her order last cuz then I just get to go home.” Kenny continued. “I was counting on that money. I needed it. I'm deep in debt. I don't know how it happened, it just did. My landlord told me yesterday that he would have to evict me after Christmas if I didn't come up with a significant amount. I’ve lived there for thirty years. I promised him I’d get it for him.”

Kenny crossed his arms and rubbed his shoulders.

 “Anyway, I drove home. I don't even remember driving. I think I was in a haze, a fog. I went into the house, took off that ugly scarf, opened the front hall closet door, and started to put it on the shelf over the coat rack, then I noticed the lock box that I keep up there. I pulled it down and opened it up and there was my old service revolver. I picked it up and it just felt so right in my hand, so balanced, like it belonged there. Then I suddenly remembered I had forgotten to give Mrs. Hornsby the special Christmas treats from Meals on Wheels. They were in the trunk of my car. Usually, I keep everything in the backseat, where it's nice and easy to reach, but I had extra meals because of the holidays so I forgot about the extra bags in the trunk with the mincemeat pie and the Christmas pudding. Every year the company gives all the customers something special at Christmas.” Kenny raked a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I headed back and pulled into her driveway, I put the desserts in the fridge, and then the next thing I knew I was standing in the ‘front parlour,’ in front of the cozy fire holding the gun. I don't remember pulling the trigger. One minute she was saying ‘Oh Kenny, you're back’ and the next minute she was… she was…” his voice trailed off and he hung his head. “I went over to her roll-top desk in the corner of the room. I know she keeps a lot of cash there. I opened the desk, took the money, and ransacked the desk to make it look like a burglary.”

There was silence in the room and then he raised his head. “I promised my landlord I’d have the money today.

 I mean how was I supposed to pay my rent? Buy my food? All she gave me was that bloody green scarf.”

“That's okay Kenny,” Mike said quietly, I don't think you’ll have to worry about those things for a long, long time.”