by J C Paulson
“Well, hello! Fancy meeting you here,” he said, words he had never uttered in his life. His back was to the dealership, and the warning look on his face belied his greeting. He held out his hand.
“Nice to see you again.”
“Nice to see you, too, Mr. Fisher,” said Suzanne, with a question in her voice.
“Follow me to the other side of the truck,” said Lorne in an undertone. “Introduce me to your father. Say I’m a friend.”
Suzanne did as she was told. “Papa,” she said, “this is Lorne. He is a friend of Grace’s and now mine. Lorne, this is my father, Henri Genereux.”
“Sir. Pleased to meet you,” said Lorne, formally, shaking the older man’s hand.
“And you, Mr. Fisher.”
“Lorne, please.”
“Lorne. Are you here to buy a car?”
“Yes, I am,” said Lorne a bit too loudly. “Always wanted a sporty car. But I think I’ll have to stick to a used one.”
He dropped his voice, and said, “Suzanne. Pretend you are talking to us. Okay?”
“Yes, Lorne. What’s this all about? What are you doing here?”
“It’s a long story and we don’t have time,” said Lorne, as Suzanne feigned talking. “Sarge says you are not safe to go home. You must go back with your father or to Grace’s.”
“I have clients to meet this afternoon,” said Suzanne.
“Can you cancel?”
“I’d rather not. Is it really a bad idea to go home?”
“We’d rather not take the chance. Please, Suzanne. Pick up your car and either follow your dad home or I’ll follow you to Grace’s.”
Suzanne looked at her father, who by this time had figured out Lorne Fisher was a cop. “Come back with me, ma chère fille,” said Henri Genereux.
She considered. “Non, Papa. Perhaps I will come back tomorrow or Sunday. I must meet with these clients. I’ve been away all week, besides.”
By now, Bruno was getting agitated in the back seat of the truck.
“I must go pick up my car before Bruno eats Papa’s truck,” she told Lorne.
“I’ll be watching,” he said, quietly.
Lorne shook Henri’s hand again in an elaborate display of bonhomie, and returned to the used car selection. From there, he could watch Suzanne through a window. He drank in every movement, every moment of seeing her again.
Several minutes later, she walked back out, following the service man — Dustin, although Lorne didn’t know his name — who led her to the car and seemed to explain something. He handed her the keys, nodded, and went back inside.
Lorne’s eyes widened. Had she given the dealership her entire keychain, with her house keys on it? From his vantage point, it looked that way.
How well had those keys been protected, especially since the SUV had been stolen from this very lot?
Suzanne and Henri began unloading the truck. Suzanne’s clothing, computer equipment, the dog food and sundry other items were transferred back into her car. Lorne hesitated, then decided it would be okay if he helped, having established they were acquaintances.
He shambled over, grabbed a huge box and put it into the Honda’s trunk. Bruno was led out of the truck by his leash and stuffed into the car.
“Drive straight to Grace’s,” muttered Lorne. “I’ll be one minute behind you in a light blue sedan. Unmarked car. Don’t get out of your car until you see me.”
“Yes. Okay. Au revoir, Papa. I will see you soon.”
“Goodbye, Suzanne. Please, please be safe. Your mother is going to kill me. Are you sure you won’t come back to the farm?”
“Oui, Papa. And I will be safe. Maman will kill you, but the police are handling this. Don’t worry. I love you,” said Suzanne, hugging her father and kissing him on both cheeks.
“Je t’aime,” said Henri, a catch in his voice.
Suzanne got into her car and drove away with a cheery wave to her father. As Henri watched her disappear around the corner, Lorne said, “Sir, I will not let anything happen to your daughter.”
Henri Genereux looked at Lorne with a forlorn expression on his face.
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
There was no way in hell anything was going to happen to Suzanne on his watch, if he had to stay up all night. Every night, until the case was solved.
“Thank you. I will hold you to that. Goodbye, Mr. Fisher.”
“Lorne. Goodbye, sir.”
Lorne walked quickly to his car, got in, and drove like a maniac to catch up to Suzanne. What were they going to do, give him a ticket?
Grace’s little home in Buena Vista was not terribly far from the dealership, and Suzanne made it there in twelve minutes. By the time she pulled up, Lorne was right behind her. He looked around, checking for cars, as he had every second during the short trip. He saw no one.
Lorne got out of his car and went over to Suzanne’s door, indicating for her to roll down the window.
“Is this necessary, Lorne?” she asked, through the open window.
“Yes,” he said. “It is. I can’t explain, but it is. Please, Suzanne. Trust us. Trust me.”
Lorne bent from his great height to speak to Suzanne face to face, expressing himself as powerfully as he ever had. His frame filled the window, and then some. Suzanne felt a strange emotion verging on awe as she regarded the massive man with the wide brown eyes, passionately pleading with her to trust him.
Suzanne nodded speechlessly, staring at Lorne. He held her gaze for a moment, then abruptly stepped back.
“Sorry, Suzanne. I’m holding things up here. Let’s go inside. I see a light on; Grace must be there.”
“Non, non, do not apologize. Thank you. Again. Are you my blue knight in shining armour? This is the second time you have intervened to save me, oui?”
Lorne swallowed, hard. Knight? Now he was speechless, momentarily.
“I . . . yes, I guess it’s the second time. I hope I can live up to the knight thing.”
“You already are,” said Suzanne. “Let’s get Bruno inside. I can deal with all the stuff later.”
“I can grab a suitcase and a box or two,” said Lorne, opening the car’s back door to be met by a big, slobbery lick from Bruno.
“He remembers you from the night of the murder,” said Suzanne. “I think he likes you.”
Lorne drew his sleeve across his wet face, and laughed. “I like him, too.”
The procession of little Suzanne leading her huge dog, followed by a huge man carrying huge boxes, was noted as adorable by the woman waiting inside. Grace thought she looked like a little queen leading her subjects.
She went to the door and threw it open.
“Suzanne,” said Grace, advancing to give her a hug, and the dog a pat. “Hello, Bruno. Hello, Lorne.”
Lorne gave her a big nod. “Where should I put all of this?”
Grace took a suitcase from him and led the way to her second bedroom.
“We’ll see what we can fit in here. Suzanne, do you want your computer on the kitchen table, maybe?”
Once all Suzanne’s things, and dog, were moved in, Grace handed her a key. “I have to get back to work. I’ll see you later, and we’ll catch up. But Suzé. Keep your phone on. And turned up. Okay?”
Suzanne nodded. “I’m so sorry about this.”
“Don’t worry about it at all. Just glad you’re safe. Bye, Lorne.”
Suzanne and Lorne were left in Grace’s kitchen, in a suddenly awkward silence. Suzanne felt the weight of something serious going on; Lorne felt the responsibility of protecting this witness. This beautiful, tiny witness.
“I’d better call James,” Lorne said. “He needs to know I got you. Back in a minute.”
He fled out the door and jumped into the car, picked up the radio and identified himself.
“Weatherall, you there?”
“Here, Lorne. What’s happening?”
“She’s at Grace’s. She has to meet clients this a
fternoon; she refused to go back to the farm, but said she might on the weekend.
“Here’s the thing, James. I think she gave the car dealership her entire key ring. When the service guy gave her back the keys, from where I was standing, it looked like a big bunch. Not good considering the stolen SUV.”
“Shit. You better ask her and find out for sure.”
“Will do. What happens next?”
“I’ll ask Adam what he wants to do. It’s his call. He was hoping she’d go back to the farm. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Okay. I’ll go back in and find out about the keys. Let me know if I’m hanging out here or what the hell.”
Lorne went back to the house and knocked. Suzanne opened up right away.
“May I come in for a few minutes?” he asked.
“Of course. Would you like some coffee? I don’t think there’s much for food since Grace had planned to be away for a few days, but I can do coffee.”
“Sure, coffee would be great.”
Suzanne bustled around Grace’s kitchen, which she knew almost as well as her own. She found the coffee, filters, brewing machine, milk and sugar.
“I have to ask you something,” Lorne blurted, while Suzanne measured rather a lot of coffee grounds into the filter. “Were your house keys on the same chain with your car keys? The ones you gave the car shop?”
Suzanne looked around at him, and went white. “Yes,” she said. “That was stupid? Lorne, what is going on?”
Lorne decided she had to know, at least some of it.
“Please, come and sit down,” he asked her. Suzanne turned on the coffee maker and complied.
“The SUV you heard behind your house the day before the murder — the one that also hit the Smart Car,” he said. “We think it was in for servicing at Luxury Motors, and was stolen from the lot. We haven’t found the car, we don’t know who stole it, but there’s a chance the key was taken from the dealership. They tell us it’s missing, along with the car.”
“I see,” said Suzanne, in a very small voice. “But no one would want my Honda.”
“No,” said Lorne, smiling, “probably not, on a car lot with Porsches and Audis. But if the vehicle was stolen to assist in a crime . . . by the same person who killed your neighbour . . .”
He couldn’t finish the thought. Then you’re in potential danger too, especially if that person has copied your keys. But Suzanne got it.
She knew Grace had reached out and touched Adam for the first time right here, while seated on these chairs, in this kitchen. Why did she want to touch Lorne? She had the oddest feeling Lorne needed more comfort than she did, right now; but why? She barely knew the man, but he had saved her from crashing to the pavement, and now had intercepted her at the dealership.
Instinctively, she held out her hand and when Lorne didn’t take it, she placed it on his muscular forearm.
“I understand, Lorne,” she said. “I was stupid. Several times. I will try to do better.”
“Not stupid,” Lorne managed to growl, looking down with incredulity at Suzanne’s hand. “Most people don’t go around worrying about leaving their keys at the dealership. But you have to be careful. Don’t go anywhere alone, okay?”
“What about my clients?”
“Are they in an office somewhere? Downtown?”
“Yes.”
“That’s fine. Public place, middle of the day, is okay. If you want to go out at night or somewhere private, though, don’t go alone.”
“I won’t,” promised Suzanne. “I won’t. Thank you, Lorne.”
“I better go,” he said. “I’m not sure what happens next, but we’ll keep you informed.”
He didn’t tell her he’d be outside, all night if necessary.
Chapter Eighteen
“I’m going back to the farm,” Suzanne told Grace after work. “I’m just too much in the way.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Well, if I’m not, Bruno is.”
“What about your clients?”
“I saw them this afternoon, and it’s all good. I . . . I need some time to think, away from all this, Grace. You need time with Adam. I’m going back.”
Grace hugged her friend, and had to admit to herself that hashing out some issues with Adam while not worrying about Suzanne would be a good thing.
As Suzanne drove away, Grace noticed the big blue sedan crawling down the street behind her, with a very large police officer in the driver’s seat. She smiled. Safe.
She called Adam, and told him Suzanne was heading back to the farm.
“I’m very relieved. Can I see you tonight, Grace?”
“Come over for dinner?” she asked.
“That’d be great. Thank you. See you at seven or so?”
Grace had dinner ready when Adam arrived. Conversation across the table was stilted; they had not resolved the issue that had arisen earlier that day. But once they took their wineglasses out to the patio, Adam plunged in.
“Grace. Talk to me.”
She heard his deep voice in her heart, saw his worried face with sympathetic eyes, and felt her resolve melt. She couldn’t bear it. But they had to hash this out, or any possible future would ever after hold conflict.
Grace put her face in her hands, and tried not to cry. The awful events of the spring, when she had been attacked twice, came back to her in a wave even as she worried about her friend, safe for now, but possibly in a similar situation. She couldn’t hold back the tears.
“Oh, Grace, don’t,” said Adam, reaching for her.
“No, Adam,” said Grace, looking up with wet eyes. She had trouble speaking through her constricted throat.
“We have to finish this,” she said. “You have to understand when you tell me things, I am not going to call the newsroom and tell them what you’ve said. Nor will I write it. We have a personal relationship and I will go through normal channels to verify stories.
“I understand there will be things you’ll feel you shouldn’t tell me, or can’t tell me, or don’t want to tell me. But I’m not going to betray your confidences, and I needed you to tell me what was going on. Like it or not, I’m involved here.”
“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, when I started to suspect a multiple killer. I honestly didn’t think of it, knowing Suzanne had gone home. And I’m not used to having someone I need to tell, either.
“But you’re right; we can’t manage other people’s actions, and I should have told you sooner. Still . . . ” Adam paused, not wanting to make this a tit-for-tat conversation.
“What, Adam?”
“Someone should have told us Suzanne’s car broke down on the highway.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “Oh, hell,” she said. “You didn’t know.”
“No.”
“I didn’t tell you, did I? And who else would have?”
“It might have been important, Grace.”
Grace tried to absorb his comment. Adam was often way ahead of her.
“What do you mean?”
“What was wrong with the car?”
“Apparently, she inadvertently put diesel in it.”
Adam nodded. “It’s all good. She got to the farm, she picked up her car, it was just a mistake at the gas pump. But what if someone had cut her brake line or something? We would need to know.”
“Wouldn’t she have had an accident, then, or something? Been unable to stop the car?”
Adam shook his head. “Not necessarily. When the brake fluid seeps out, most cars will simply stop, depending on how old they are and what technology they have. The computer picks up the information and the car quits.”
Grace, horrified, stared at Adam.
“The possibility of sabotage. Oh, my God. Adam, I’m so sorry. I’ve been an idiot.”
“As have I,” he said. “We have to talk to each other, Grace. I promise I will tell you everything I can, and will think hard before I hold back. I promise to trust you. Can you trust me?”
&
nbsp; “I can. I will,” said Grace. And realized, at least for his intent if not his actions, she did. She trusted this intelligent, intense man. When had it started? And how far did it go?
“Tell me about Paul,” said Adam, abruptly. Grace had mentioned her older brother a few times, but always changed the subject before Adam could learn anything about him.
It was a strange segue, but Grace knew that question was coming; she had deflected it several times previously, in the spring. Grace was the mistress of deflection, if she found it too hard to talk about something; or if she felt someone getting too close. But this was Adam, and they had just agreed they would really talk to each other. Seconds ago. She was obliged to answer.
“Paul,” said Grace, baldly, “was my older brother, by a few years. He died in a single vehicle accident when I was fifteen.”
“Oh no, Grace,” said Adam, leaning over the little wicker table that held their glasses to take her hand. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”
Grace took her hand back. “I can’t talk about this while you’re offering sympathy,” she said, giving Adam a shaky smile. “I will cry. I’ll give you the short version.
“Paul was a sweet, sensitive, handsome boy and man. He built doll houses for Hope and me, fixed our toys, played games with us and with David. You met David, when I was in the hospital, right?” Adam nodded, remembering Grace’s big, blond younger brother. “And of course you remember my sister.
“Paul wanted to be an engineer. He had an incredible brain, profoundly understood how things worked; a spatial genius. But somewhere along the line, he decided to become a minister. Lutheran. Some love thing he wanted to share with a flock somewhere,” said Grace, a bit bitterly.
Then she sighed.
“I shouldn’t have put it that way. I’m not angry with him. I’m angry with Melissa. Melissa was his girlfriend. Well, fiancée; they were engaged until he told her he was going to attend the seminary. But she didn’t want to be a minister’s wife, even if the minister was sweet and kind and handsome. She wanted him to be a rich engineer.
“She broke it off. He called Mom to tell her. He said he was okay, needed to be alone for a while. He got in his car and hit the highway, going north to Prince Albert, to burn off some of his pain. He hit an icy patch, which spun the car around southbound. It flew over the ditch and hit a power pole. He died in minutes.