Uncharted Waters

by Rosemary McCracken

  “No. Mindy or Luzminda Manuel.”

  “If she’s looking for an advisor, why hasn’t she contacted me herself?”

  She heaved a sigh. “Mindy told me she needed help with her finances, and I suggested Dean. Now I’m referring her to you. I assume you’re open to new business.”

  “Of course.”

  She smiled. “You should hear from Mindy soon.”

  “Riza, you had something to tell me about Dean.”

  “I just did. I told you that one of his clients would probably like to work with you.”

  It was my turn to sigh.

  She looked around my office. “Lukas told me you have Dean’s e-mails.”

  “So what if I do?”

  “I’d like to take a look at them. Maybe I can find his correspondence with Mindy.”

  The nerve of her! “Certainly not.”

  She shrugged.

  “Why are you back in my life, Riza?” I asked.

  “Guess you’re just lucky.” She flashed me a grin and got up to leave.

  ***

  Riza was on my mind as I tied up loose ends at my desk. She wanted to read Dean’s e-mails. Why? It was time I told the police she had surfaced.

  Dean’s e-mails made me think of Gabe Quincy, and I did another computer search for his name. It turned up the newspaper articles I’d already read, but nothing else. On a whim, I typed Becca Quincy into the search box. No hits. I replaced Becca with Rebecca. The obituary of a Florida woman who had died a decade earlier came up. So did the property listings of a Toronto agent with the Monarch real-estate conglomerate.

  It looked like Sam’s sister was selling real estate.

  ***

  A delightful shiver ran down my spine when I stepped into The Bloor Bookshop. Santana’s “Black Magic Woman” was playing over the sound system, and orange and black streamers hung from the ceiling. Bookshelves and display cases had been moved to the sides of the store, making room for partygoers, many of them wearing costumes.

  Piers hurried over to me. “Great to see you, Pat!”

  I handed him the bottles of wine. “Fabulous music,” I said.

  “Good music never goes out of style.”

  Jared came over to us. He was wearing a jaunty orange-and-black bow tie and had gold glitter in his dark hair. He draped an arm around Piers. “Thanks for coming, Pat.”

  I handed him the birthday card. “A milestone birthday,” I said. “Many happy returns.”

  He escorted me to the bar that had been set up at the front of the store, blocking the main entrance. When I had a glass of white wine in my hand, he said, “There are people here you should meet.” He took me to over two men who were chatting in front of a display of recently released Canadian novels.

  I spent the next 15 minutes with the manager of the rock concert hall on the next block, and the owner of the Espresso Experience franchise a few doors down from me. When they heard that I’d bought Dean’s business, they plied me with questions about the murder and what the police were doing about it.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Ilona in a beaded flapper dress, sporting a fascinator with a purple feather on her head. I turned back to my two neighbors and excused myself, then gave her a hug. “What brings you here?” I asked as she steered me across the room.

  “Piers and Jared are my clients.”

  She hadn’t mentioned that when I took her through the office on Sunday.

  She pointed to the bar. “Right now, dahlink, I must slake a powerful thirst.”

  While Ilona conferred with the bartender, Giorgio appeared at my side, wearing a sports coat and tie. I hardly recognized him without his white apron.

  “The woman you talk to this morning,” he said, his face filled with concern, “she come back later, ask where she can find you. I show her where your office is. That is okay?”

  It wasn’t okay, but I gave his arm a light pat. “When I get my sign up, people won’t be bothering you,” I said.

  “This woman, she come to my diner before.”

  He had my attention. “When?” I asked.

  “Maybe one month ago. She come two, three times in one week. One morning, she drink coffee with Dean.”

  So Riza knew Dean. He wasn’t just a financial advisor she’d heard about and sent her niece to. If there even was a niece she’d sent to Dean.

  “Dean, he shout at this woman. Then he leave my diner.”

  Giorgio’s hangdog face grew even sadder. “Yesterday, police officer ask me about Sam. Someone tell him I see her come back to office the day Dean is killed.”

  “You told that to Lukas Monaghan. Dean’s son.”

  “I hope I not get Sam in trouble.”

  Ilona joined us holding a large glass of red wine. I introduced her to Giorgio.

  “I must go,” he said. “My wife, she have dinner ready. I just come to say happy birthday to Jared.”

  Ilona and I watched him cross the room. “Giorgio runs a diner, so he must be able to cook,” she said. “Yet his wife makes the meals at home.”

  I was about to point out that the diner closed at six, and Giorgio probably had a long commute home. But she went on before I could.

  “That’s why I don’t date men from the old country. Chief of the tribe. Head of the family. Star of his own show. I’ll take a Canadian man any day.”

  I had never given any thought to Ilona’s love life, but why shouldn’t she have one?

  “And, dear God, give me a young Canadian man while you’re at it.” She winked at me.

  Piers joined us. Younger man though he was, Ilona refrained from turning her charm on him. “Piers,” she said in a businesslike voice, “did you and Jared see anything out of the ordinary on the afternoon Dean Monaghan was killed?”

  He paused for a few moments. “When I was coming back from Giorgio’s, a Staples delivery guy was carrying boxes upstairs. His truck was parked at the curb.”

  “What time was that?” I asked. Sam had noted in her planner that a delivery of office supplies was scheduled for Wednesday afternoon. And Giorgio had seen a man bringing boxes up to Dean’s office, but I hadn’t asked him what time that had been.

  Piers held out his hands, palms up. “I make an afternoon tea run most days, but I can’t remember when I went out last Wednesday.”

  Sam had said the boxes hadn’t arrived when she left for the day, so Dean must have opened the door and signed for them.

  I chatted with a few more neighbors. At five to eight, I went over to Jared and wished him a terrific year ahead.

  “You’re not leaving?” He looked disappointed. “We’ll be having cake and champagne soon.”

  “I have to get back to my family,” I said. “Enjoy your party.”

  I waved goodbye to Piers. As I made my way to the back door, I saw that Ilona was deep in conversation with the Espresso Experience owner.

  ***

  At home that evening, I reached Sergeant Roger Bouchard in cottage country and Detective Hardy in Toronto. I told both officers that I’d met Riza Santos that morning.

  They wanted to know where they could find her. I had to tell them I had no idea where she was living, and that she’d said she was just passing through Toronto.

  I told Detective Hardy that Giorgio had heard Riza arguing with Dean in his diner. I knew that would get his attention.

  “When was this?” Hardy asked.

  “About a month ago, Giorgio said.”

  I had done my duty. I had told the police that I’d seen Riza. And I didn’t give a damn about the deal she thought she’d made with me.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sam placed a mug of coffee on my desk the next morning. I smiled my thanks, then launched into what I had to say without asking her to sit down. “Let’s talk about the day Dean was murdered,” I began.

  She grimaced. “Again?” Then she sighed in resignation. “All right.”

  “You returned to the office for your students’ tests. How long had you been
gone?”

  She closed her eyes for a few moments, then straightened her shoulders. “Not long. I was on a streetcar going south from Bathurst station when I realized I didn’t have the tests with me. So I hopped off and got on another car heading back to Bathurst.”

  “You were gone 30 minutes? Forty?”

  “Probably about 30 minutes. Transit was running smoothly that day.”

  “You were away from the office for 30 minutes. In that time, Staples delivered boxes of office supplies, and Dean was murdered. Dean must’ve opened the door for the boxes and signed a receipt for them.”

  She nodded, a bit too vigorously.

  I went on. “His murderer must have arrived just after the delivery man left. The killer would barely have had time to get out of the office before you came in. You might have met on the stairs.”

  “I might have interrupted him.” She turned frightened eyes on me. “He would’ve killed me too.”

  She was jumpy. I was sure she was holding something back.

  “Level with me, Sam,” I said. “Tell me exactly what happened. The complete version this time.”

  She collapsed in the chair in front of my desk. “Here’s what happened. I came into the suite, went straight to my desk for the tests. I called out to Dean, but there was no answer. I was about to check his office, when I heard knocking on the door. I went back to open it, and there was this guy from Staples with two boxes. He wanted to know where to put them, and handed me a receipt to sign. He stacked the boxes by the door to the reception area and went downstairs for the third box.”

  She let out a lungful of air. “I don’t know why I didn’t sign my name like I always do.” She met my eyes. “I guess I was rattled because it was getting late, and I had to get to my class. So I signed Dean’s name. I knew what his signature looked like, because I’d seen it so many times. Once the delivery guy was gone, I went into Dean’s office to tell him about the boxes.”

  She buried her face in her hands for a few moments. “The knocked-over garbage can and litter on the floor beside it were the first things that caught my eye. Then I saw Dean lying on the floor.”

  “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?” I asked.

  “That’s the truth,” she said. “All of it.”

  She looked up at me. “I’ve already told the police that I found him.” She turned her head toward the window.

  “But not about signing for the boxes.”

  She hung her head.

  “You went to your class after finding Dean?”

  “No. I called to say I wasn’t feeling well, and I went home. Hardy knows that. He checked with Daycrest.”

  “Another lie that you told.”

  “I couldn’t work with the kids that day,” she whispered. “Not after finding Dean.” Her eyes were filled with tears.

  “Did you sign Dean’s name on anything else?” I was thinking of the sale document for Monaghan Financial. Had it been sent off before Sam returned to the office? Or had she seen that Dean hadn’t signed it, forged his signature, which she’d seen so often, and sent it to his lawyer?

  The handwriting experts had vetted Dean’s signature, but maybe they’d been mistaken. Maybe Sam was really good at copying signatures. And if she had signed that document, the sale would be void. Lukas would inherit his father’s business.

  “No,” she said, “that was the first time—the only time—I ever signed Dean’s name.”

  I badly wanted to believe her, but could I, after all the lies she’d told?

  ***

  It must have been an hour later when I heard a man’s voice in the reception area. Detective Hardy strode into my office, with Sam right behind him. She stood in the doorway as he approached my desk, a question flashing in her eyes: Is he here about me? Was she worried about signing Dean’s name for the delivery? Or about something else?

  I told her to close my office door and return to her desk.

  “I spoke to Sergeant Bouchard in Braeloch about Riza Santos,” Hardy began, after taking the chair across from me. “And Giorgio Markezinis confirmed that Santos had been in his diner a few times.”

  “She had an argument with Dean in there.”

  “We asked Markezinis about that. How do you know Santos?”

  I told him that I’d met Riza in cottage country a few months before.

  “She’s wanted for questioning about rental fraud,” he said. “She slipped under the radar in July.”

  “I knew the police were looking for her. That’s why I told you and Sergeant Bouchard that I’d seen her.”

  His blue eyes bored into mine. “Now she turns up on the street in Toronto where your business is located. And she knew Monaghan.”

  “She said she referred her niece to Dean, although the niece isn’t on his client roster. Riza also wanted to look at Dean’s e-mail. I refused.”

  “Sounds like she’s up to something.”

  “Probably.”

  His eyes hadn’t left my face. “You have no witnesses to your whereabouts on the afternoon of Monaghan’s murder.”

  My jaws clenched, and my heart started racing.

  “You and Santos could have planned the murder together. You’d get Dean’s business, and Santos would get him out of the way so she could pull off her latest scam.”

  He was telling me again that I was a murder suspect. “Are you serious?” I said. “I’d already bought Dean’s business.”

  I saw the twinkle in his eyes, and relaxed.

  “Will you be seeing Santos again?” he asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  He stood up. “Let me know when she’s headed your way.”

  In the doorway, he turned around. “Monaghan and Quincy. What was the connection between them?”

  “They were both financial planners. And Gabe was Sam’s brother-in-law, although she claims she didn’t realize that he knew Dean.”

  “Why were they e-mailing each other?” he wanted to know.

  “Why don’t you find Gabe Quincy and ask him?”

  He turned and left.

  Moments later, Sam slipped into my office.

  “This would have been a good time to tell Hardy that you signed for the boxes,” I said.

  “Probably was,” she said, then changed the subject. “The security company called to say they can’t be here until one. I won’t be able to meet Becca.”

  “You have no way of contacting her?”

  Sam shook her head. “I don’t have her e-mail address or her phone number.”

  “I’m sorry, Sam,” I said, “but I wanted you here when the door phone is installed.” She was more tech-savvy than me, and I’d been gradually putting her in charge of the digital workings of my practice.

  “Your mother can pass on a message to Becca,” I added.

  “Okay,” Sam said. She didn’t look happy about it, but she didn’t complain.

  “Detective Hardy asked me about Riza Santos, the woman who was here when you returned from lunch yesterday.”

  “Riza Santos…She wasn’t one of Dean’s clients.”

  “She wasn’t a client, but she knew him. Did she ever come to the office?”

  Sam shook her head. “I never saw her before yesterday, and I don’t recognize her name.”

  “She claims she referred her niece to Dean. The niece is Luzminda Manuel, who goes by the name Mindy. Did she come to the office?”

  “Mindy Manuel.” Sam looked thoughtful. “She wasn’t Dean’s client, but she had an appointment with him.”

  “She came to the office?”

  “Yeah, a week or so before he died. Want me to check the date?”

  “Please.”

  She left the room and returned with her office planner. “Here it is, September 5.” She placed the book on the desk in front of me. “Mindy Manuel, 11 a.m.” was scrawled on the page, with a telephone number.

  “Do you remember anything about her?” I asked.

  “Attractive Filipina, early 30s. Sh
e waited about five minutes, then Dean called her into his office.”

  “That was the only time Mindy came to see Dean?”

  “Yes.” Sam pointed to the office planner. “She just had the one appointment.”

  I slid the planner toward her. “Are you going to tell Hardy about signing for those boxes,” I asked, “or will I?”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I left Sam to deal with the security people and crossed the street to have lunch at Giorgio’s Diner. There was no sign of Giorgio. When I asked where he was, the heavy, dark-haired woman behind the counter introduced herself as Maria, his wife. “Giorgio, he with our son today in Peterborough,” she said, naming a town northeast of Toronto. “They put new linoleum in Nick’s kitchen. Nick,” she added, “is student at the university.”

  “You must be very proud of him,” I said.

  “Yes, but it is expensive: tuition, books, rent.” She sighed. “Nick share apartment with his cousin, Peter. Giorgio help them fix it up.”

  While I ate my lunch, a van with the name of our security company on its side pulled up down the street. Two men in uniforms got out of the van, and went into our building.

  “You new around here?” Maria asked, when I was paying for my lunch at the cash register.

  “Yes, I am. My name is Pat Tierney. I bought Dean Monaghan’s business, but my office is farther down the street.” I turned to the window and pointed to our doorway.

  Maria lowered her eyes. “Ah, poor Mr. Monaghan.” Then she smiled at me. “If you need sandwiches, sweets for meetings, I make for you. I have catering business.”

  “That’s good to know,” I told her. “I’ll need to bring in refreshments from time to time.”

  I strolled around the Annex’s residential streets, waiting for the men to finish their work in our suite. While I walked, I thought about Sam. She had told so many half-truths, I didn’t know when I could believe her. I needed an assistant I could trust.

  The van had gone when I returned to Bloor Street. Upstairs, I found Ben Cordova seated in the reception area. I nodded at him, but went straight to Sam’s desk. “Everything go well?”