Miss Charity by Maria Ignatieva

It was difficult not to love her
– a petit cheerful lady with a never-changing purple purse and a bundle of hair too red for her age. The clients loved her, the neighbors loved her. He loved her, too – when he was just a local policeman, helping her cross the street. As far as he remembered her, she was always smiling. “How’s your mother doing? She’s lucky to have such a courteous son. Shame that she’ll never need my services because of that… I’m just joking, dear, I’m just joking.”
Her house was just across the street from his mother’s. When he was a boy, she used to drop in from time to time to have a good old cup of tea that a good old lady can only share with another lady (just as good and old).
He never visited her house until yesterday, though.
The living room looked just as charmingly ridiculous as she did: with expensive candleholders on cheap shelves, bright wax-cloth on the coffee table, and a porcelain Virgin Mary right next to the photo of Christiano Ronaldo.
He placed the bug right on the back of it.
“All you need is to sign this, yes, honey, just there…” Her voice was slightly muffled by the recorder, but still unmistakable. He was listening, stiff in his car. The poor old man whose body was found last week did not diserve such fate. Nobody of the twenty seven did.
“Where did you say you want your money to go? An animal shelter? Marvelous, I know just the right one. I got my dear Mr Pickles from there, oh, poor Mr Pickles…”
He understood why people trusted her. He was praying not to be late. The current meeting was meticulously arranged, the “client” fully informed of the danger, and yet anything could go wrong.
“Let me put the papers away… Mind if I send your copy to you tomorrow? The copy center I usually go to was closed today, and I am far too old to get my own printer…” He heard her giggling playfully. Smooth.
“Now that we are finished, let me fetch you some tea…”
That’s it. He got out of the car and rushed to the front door.
“Yes, these cookies are homemade… I’m afraid I can’t have them myself, you know, doctor’s prescriptions… Yes, it’s hard to be old. That’s why I’m glad I can help other people who are just as old and lonely as myself… Johnny? What are you doing here?”