Misfiled

They’d interviewed the sheriff first. He said he’d listened to the old man's story, and his body cam played the footage back for them. On the screen was the long lanky neighbor and his disembodied voice floated to them from speakers hidden behind large stacks of mostly ignored files.

“There was a sharp knock at the door. The police and some man in a suit was standing there, apparently to tell the old woman that Mr Cruikshenk had died. They’d said he left behind a son, but that his wife and all other kin were already buried. She told them she didn’t know him well at all, you see she was just the tenant, in his 3rd house. That man had more homes, than Carter had … They say it’s going to take a coons age to get his estates settled, don’t suppose they’d allow the tenants to stay in the rentals while that’s sorted out?”

The image of the man hovering above them shifted his long lanky frame in the doorway, his discomfort with the situation apparent. He had come to the aid of the old woman, a gentleman of some advanced years himself, he stood talking to the city man in the suit, ignoring the sheriff who had come to remove her from the home.

The camera angle changed, as the sheriff turned.

The man in the suit scuffed his shoe on the ground a bit before giving looking to the old woman and giving her the standard city official answer. “I’m sorry ma’am but we can not permit people to remain in a domicile for which there is no custodial arrangement of care. If there was a situation of repair, or damage we would not want you left in such a circumstance, we need you to vacate the premises.

I can give you 24 hours, if that will make it easier for you. But; not longer.”

The old woman behind the elderly gentleman spoke, “Thank you sir. That would be very helpful.”

The video was paused, and the sheriff excused, and the city official was then called in. His version of events also coincided with the video. There was nothing to be gleaned of this interaction.

She had been very understanding, very polite. There had been no arguments, nor tears. The tape was simple and brief, so why were they being interviewed? Nothing had occurred, indeed the incident was cleared, and had been rubberstamped as “CLOSED.”

That was yesterday. Today, the sheriff and city man came to the house and the door was wide open, the house was empty and clean, the only thing to be found in the place was the small black notebook attached to the oil tank with it’s list of dates of fills, and empties. Calls and costs. There was absolutely nothing in the house otherwise. The tenant had vacated the premises. Certainly made the whole thing a whole lot easier, and lord knows how much everyone hated doing these forced eviction calls.

In the end, there was nothing out of place, or unusual. There was no damages to be noted, no items left behind to be contended with. The house was ready to be placed into escrow.”

The city man in the suit, looked questioningly at the sheriff seated beside him before he finally leaned across the table and asked the lawyer, “What’s happened anyway? Mind if I ask?”

The police officer and the lawyer glanced towards each other, and back to the city official and sheriff seated across from them, but neither spoke a word for some time.

“So you have no idea where she may have gone?”

“Nope, house was empty when we arrived at noon.”

“No truck, no sign of a moving company or relative perhaps? Surely a woman of that age does not just up and relocate overnight.”

“First 80 year old I’ve ever seen pull a midnight move, and I’ve been around the joint a lot of years.” It was Price’s way to insert himself into every conversation in town hall he could. But he was right it was a little odd that the old woman should vanish so quickly, without argument or debate. It was a little odd that yesterday she seemed so frail, and today she’d simply vanished. Yes, perhaps it was a little odd the city man didn’t find it odd, but all that is at best; is a cause for suspicion.

The lawyer got up, moved to an office down the hall, marked Scott and knocked before entering.

He spoke to the man across the desk, “We seem to have lost Miss Eyan.”

“But we had her address, and the paperwork was very specific.”

“Yes but someone may have been a little over eager. Apparently she’s already been evicted and vacated the premises.”

Mr Scott, the man behind the desk peered up over his glasses. “was there any indication where she may have gone?”

“No.”

“Has anyone checked with the shelters and care facilities?”

“No.”

“Have you checked the municipal records to see if she has any relatives in town?”

“No.”

“Well then, I’d suggest that either you or someone on staff starts doing that legwork, and at that point check in with me again. With any luck at all we’ll find her with the preliminary routes.”

He bowed his head back to the papers in front of him, and slid his spectacles back up his nose. The hand gesture that followed was a distinct sign the conversation had concluded, and so the lawyer returned to the police officer, city official, and the sheriff.

The lawyer asked the police officer to investigate the shelters, and any avenue open to him within his official capacity before he turned to the city official and requested he take the municipal paper trail, and reminded them both to return to him with any information which they might be able to find, it was imperative that they find Miss Eyan.

Turning to his sheriff become partner, he motioned for him to join him as he strode towards the building exit.

They cruised the streets of town looking for her, they double checked all the locations which were known to them as possible resources for those in dire straits, and unconventional circumstances, as Miss Eyan was definitely in that population set at the moment.

They checked the parks, and the underpasses, they looked down by the river, and out on the pier, they checked the malls and the parkades; but no sign of Miss Eyan was to be found.

The pair of them were parked in a municipal lot over on Balview enjoying their lunch when an elderly woman approached the car. Initially they assumed she was panhandling, but rolling down the window they realized she’d simply come to ask directions. They obliged, rolled up the window and continued with their lunch.

A few more bites into the bagel and they simultaneously realized they’d just been approached by an elderly woman, seeking directions to the homeless shelter. You’ve never seen two people exit a car at such speed, to chase down a homeless bag lady before, but then Miss Eyan may not be all she seemed either.

It turns out her family had been a part of a very special construction crew which had assisted the municipality in building the city in a time when nothing had been here but fields, and stones. Historically the family was insignificant, however the work they had accomplished and the infrastructure they had fabricated (which at the time could not be funded by the township; or otherwise) had been instead secured by way of negotiation of what amounted to a “tax return.”

Turns out Miss Eyan was entitled to a decent compensation this year, from the very city officials who it seemed, had evicted her from Mr. Cruikshenks home.

The city had grown over the past decade, and while the payment was meager in the terms of the percentage agreement, this was a windfall which was a debt needing to be paid.

They finally caught up with her, right outside of the shelter.

“Miss Eyan? Might that be, Miss Eyan?”

He was out of breath, and low on time, but the lawyer was truly hoping the elderly woman before him, was indeed the soul for whom he was seeking.

She waved him away annoyed with him for blocking her progress, and muttered something incoherent as she shuffled past him.

Undeterred he asked again, “Miss Eyan?”

She stopped her slow travel and looking up to face him as much as her stooped old shoulders would allow she stopped to reply,”Yes that’s me,” before carrying on her way.

The city lawyer and the sheriff rushed towards the door, not to help her, but instead to block her way. “You need to come with me ma’am.”

She brushed him off and tried to push him aside but he stood his ground. She was not having it, and began calling to the staff inside the facility to come to her aid. The staff within the facility began attempting to open the door, and the lawyer and sheriff continued to block it. The inevitable phone call to the police was made.

“Parsons the lawyer, continued to ask her to please come with them, but Miss Eyan was convinced that no good could come of it, and was doing her utmost best to escape their unwanted attentions.

When the police car pulled up it was only then that Miss Eyan was willing to be escorted back to the city hall buildings. She was then immediately taken to Parsons’ office where he proceeded to cut her the municipally drawn cheque for the contracted payment. It may not have been a large percent that the family had negotiated with the city as payment, but they were quite sure that Miss Eyan could do with that assured payment of $20 000 right now, and they wanted to make sure she had access to it, when she needed it most. It was the very least they could do as she was the last surviving member of the family, and the contract expired with her.”

“Having realized what it was she was being sought for, and now with the cheque in hand Miss Eyan left the penalties floor, and went to the property tax division where she immediately negotiated for the purchase of the house down at the end of Barton Ave.’

The excited reporter explained to the editor, that this was not an issue of missing municipal funds rather, “You see the cheque was never cashed because it left the penalties division, went down to property, and was bankrolled directly over as payment on the Barton property, as a lump sum on upcoming taxes. No one had no idea she managed any form of charity, or that she would put the property into the name of her charity, or that the city contract stated than any scholarships, charity work, grants or endowments as begun by the family would be the responsibility of the municipality to continue with.”

The editor scratched his chin and thought for a moment before rustling the newspaper before him and gesturing to the headline as he spoke, “You do have to admit thought there is definitely some poetic justice behind the whole thing. Not like the city could have planned it any better.”

“Right; So you see sir, The Eyan Shelter remains to this day, a pride of the city, even if it remains a source of investigation as to how it was that all came to be, and finds itself funded by the city coffers somewhat unwillingly.

I think we could all stand to learn a lesson from the Ayer family’s ability to put today’s work into the shortfalls of our tomorrows, and I think it’s a story of resourcefulness and perseverance.”

“So sir, what do you think, would the story make a good exclusive?”