by L E Fraser
It was time to meet the woman behind the man. Reece texted Roger to see if he could visit Brenda. There wasn’t any point in heading home if Roger was available to meet him. He’d go straight to the hospital. Reece sat in the driver’s seat with the car door open and watched the activity on the site, again wondering if he wanted to volunteer.
After about ten minutes, Roger responded, If U can B here B4 3. Need to talk /w U.
Reece started the car and headed back to downtown Toronto, curious over what Roger wanted to talk to him about. If they were lucky, Brenda was lucid.
Chapter Twelve
I SIT ALONE and think. My mind scampers along, popping with electrical signals from the billions of neurons. But in the mirror, my face remains calm. My heart thumps at a perfect sixty beats per minute. Then I think about her. In the mirror my pupils contract. The pulse in my neck quickens.
“Control,” I whisper to my reflection.
My mind clears and becomes blank. I try again. This time, I envision blood pouring from her neck and relish the warmth when it washes over my hands. I picture the light as it fades from her eyes and the glassy haze of death that dulls the green of her irises. Satisfaction and peace replace the rolling wave of desire.
Pretending is second nature to me now. Just as I have learned to control physical signs, I have learned to control interaction. I watch her and know she doesn’t see me for what I am. I can play with her before I kill her. But before she dies, she’ll suffer. I will take from her the one thing she loves because I can.
She is a bit like me. I feel it deep inside on a primal level. It’s surprising that she hasn’t recognized what I am, but I suspect she will soon. She’s hunting now. Instead of fear, there’s a sense of arousal that’s primitive. A hunger I must feed.
Chapter Thirteen
Reece
REECE ARRIVED AT the office he and Sam shared in the Palmerston district at three o’clock. As usual, there wasn’t anywhere to park. Frustrated, he trolled along College Street and then Palmerston until a smart car pulled out. Only sheer determination and assertiveness got him wedged into the snug spot. Horns blared and drivers shrieked obscenities while he jammed traffic. He’d grown a thick skin over the past year and ignored the indignant shouts, but, when he tried to exit the car, a truck nearly took off his door. That was tougher to ignore, and he took a deep breath to quiet his galloping heart. Toronto parking was a beast he wasn’t certain he’d ever master.
Before going upstairs, he popped into the Italian bakery on the street level of the building where their office occupied a small space on the second floor. Reece bought a lime Gatorade from Maria, who ran the family bakery in the two-storey building she owned with her husband. Having witnessed his parking adventure, his landlady put him through some good-natured teasing that he accepted with a chuckle.
Reece went out the front door of the bakery to an external side entrance that accessed the upper level. At the top of the narrow stairwell leading to the offices above, the Gatorade slipped out of his hand and bounced down the stairs. It hit the glass door to the street and spun around on the floor. Reece trudged back downstairs with a sigh and knelt to grab it. As he straightened up, he caught a glimpse of someone walking by who looked an awful lot like Jennifer Harris. He yanked open the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. The girl—or perhaps woman, he couldn’t tell from the back—had crossed the street and entered a coffee shop. He was about to follow her when his phone rang. Reece checked the caller ID. Sam.
Keeping his eye on the coffee shop across the street, he answered, “Hey, what’s up?”
“I’m drowning in background checks,” she said with an exaggerated moan. “Where are you?”
The woman came out of the shop with a coffee in her hand and continued down the street in the opposite direction. From this angle, it didn’t look as much like Jennifer as he’d first thought. A streetcar stopped and the woman got on.
“Reece? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m on my way upstairs,” he told her. “See you in a minute.” He disconnected, and turned back to the door.
When he finally arrived at the office, the door stuck on the archaic orange shag carpet, and he had to fight to get into the disgusting three-hundred-square-foot space.
Sam looked up from her side of their old, scarred partner desk. “Hey you. How’s your day been?”
“Busy and aggravating. I thought I saw Jennifer Harris outside. Was she here?”
Sam shook her head. “Are you sure it was her?”
“No. I only caught a glimpse of her. How was your day?”
He almost knocked over the rickety wicker table that held their ugly bar fridge and circa-1980s coffee machine. With some gymnastic moves that put his parking manoeuvres to shame, he managed to get to the chair on his side of the desk. The chair was lovely because he’d bought it himself. Everything else looked like it came from a junkyard. The orange plastic visitor chairs with rusted metal legs were plain gross. Moving to new digs was a constant bone of contention. Part of Sam’s resistance about leaving was her close relationship with Maria, but the real issue was that she didn’t like change.
Maybe with the money from the case, they could reach a compromise. Last year, when Reece had talked to Maria about the sad state of the upstairs office, she’d offered to deduct the cost of renovation material from their rent. The problem was that Reece didn’t feel capable of tackling the project. A construction expert, such as Claude Malletier, might be able to do something. If they threw everything out and gutted the space, a carpenter could add custom built-ins. New drywall, baseboards, doors, flooring, and a new window—without the hideous orange metal blinds that were so bent they wouldn’t close—would improve things. He’d read about small air conditioning units that could be ceiling-mounted when central air wasn’t an option. That would just leave the matter of no parking.
Sam filled him in on her day and finished by saying, “So I heard back from my bookie contact. He can’t find any trace of Graham Harris placing bets. The thing is people often use a pseudonym. But he asked around and couldn’t find anyone who recently paid a visit to a client up in Vaughan.”
“After talking to people who knew Graham, I don’t believe he gambled,” Reece said firmly. “The twins overheard an argument between their father and a stranger. They thought it was about money. They drew their own conclusions.”
“Why would Brenda lie to Roger and tell him Graham gambled?”
“A ploy to garner sympathy so he’d give her the money?” he suggested.
“I guess,” Sam said but looked dubious. “Assuming the catatonic state breaks, we can confront her about why she needed so much money. Roger’s meeting me here. I’m going with him to get the pants.”
She was obsessed with those damn pants.
“I know.” Reece turned on his laptop. “He mentioned it when I left the hospital.”
“Oh, you saw Brenda? Any change in her condition?”
“No, I couldn’t get her to respond to me.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to find the words to express his gut impression at the hospital. “I don’t know how to explain it because nothing she did supports my suspicion, but I felt like she knew I was there.”
“I didn’t get that sense at all when I saw her,” Sam said. “Patients can’t fake catatonia, Reece. Humans have too many uncontrollable psychological responses to stimuli.”
Reece supposed she was right, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Roger was protecting Brenda. “Wouldn’t Roger be the one doing the tests?” he asked.
Sam shook her head. “No, he’s not the attending psychiatrist.”
He opened his Gatorade, took a long drink, and updated her on his meeting with the Argonauts and Claude Malletier, finishing by saying, “So Brenda and the kids are lying about Graham being a big drinker.”
“Okay,” Sam said slowly. “That’s strange. Maybe the kids parroted Brenda’s impression, and she’s lying to deflect bla
me for cheating.”
“Yeah, I considered that. Still, I think the twins lied with intent and I’d like to find out why.” He entered his password to unlock his laptop and leaned back in his chair. “What do you think about volunteering with Habitat for Humanity? It might be fun. Something we could do together.”
“I’d love to, but time is the enemy,” she said. “Speaking of which, can you finish these background checks for me?”
Disappointing response, but maybe he’d be able to talk her into it after the case ended.
Roger popped his head through their open door. It had to be open when two people were in the room or the heat rose to an insufferable temperature. Unless it was winter. From December to March, the office was so cold Reece could see his breath.
“Hello there!” Roger’s tone was jovial, and he perched himself on one of the orange chairs. The rusted metal legs creaked when he sat. He looked down in alarm and shifted in the seat. After a moment of cautious bouncing on the chair, he appeared satisfied that the legs weren’t going to collapse. He leaned back and stared at Sam with a strange expression that Reece didn’t like.
Reece cleared his throat. Loudly. “How’s it going?”
Roger’s attention shifted to him. “Lisa is on the warpath.” He rolled his eyes. “She thinks you thwarted Kira’s zoo plans and ruined her daughter’s day out with Auntie Sam.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’ll talk to her.” Sam stood and tried to squeeze by Roger’s chair to reach the door. “Let’s go get your pants.”
Roger frowned but stood.
“See you back at the loft?” she asked Reece.
“Sure, I’ll make dinner.”
“Oh, I thought Sam and I would have dinner together,” Roger said. “You could join us, if you want.”
“Perfect,” Sam said.
Reece stood. “A minute before you go.” He motioned her to follow him into the corridor. When she did, he pulled the door shut and took her to the stairwell for privacy.
“I don’t want to have dinner with Roger,” he stated bluntly.
“Do you care if I stay?”
“I do, in fact.”
She looked up at him, not saying anything for a few seconds. “Is there a problem?” she finally asked.
“No, I just want alone time with you tonight.”
But there was a problem. Reece hadn’t liked the look in the man’s eye when he’d checked out Sam. At the hospital, Roger had apologized for his attitude during the Wagyu steak lunch fiasco; he’d claimed he was happy Sam had found someone to share her life with. Reece wasn’t buying it. Roger had feelings for Sam, and it made him damn uncomfortable. Stupid, maybe. He trusted Sam. But there was something slimy about Roger.
Sam was studying him with a small smile, and Reece felt colour flood his face. She knew he was jealous and found it funny.
She kissed him. “Okay, but how about takeout? I’m not in the mood for fancy.”
Reece nodded, knowing she’d change her mind when she tasted the beef Wellington he was making.
They returned to the office, and Roger and Sam left Reece alone to finish the background checks. Frankly, he doubted the hapless interviewees would want to work for a company that conducted sneaky background checks on applicants. These weren’t standard police checks. The client hacked social media accounts and dug deep enough to skirt privacy laws. It left a sour taste in Reece’s mouth and was one of many aspects of a PI’s job he loathed.
After the checks, he found a YouTube video on how to prepare Gordon Ramsey’s famous beef Wellington. He stopped the video to zoom in and scrutinize the pastry wrapping technique. From behind him, he heard a girlish voice.
“Hi, Reece, right?”
He glanced up from the screen to find Jordanna in the doorway.
“Hello,” he said, more than a little surprised. “What brings you here?”
Her nose crinkled with distaste when she looked around the office. “I was in the city and wanted to talk to Sam.” She closed the door behind her.
Reece gestured to the chair Roger had vacated. Maybe she’d taken the trip to speak with them in private. “Sam’s not here, but I can help. What’s up?”
She removed her jacket and tucked it on the back of the chair. Reece’s eyes widened. She was wearing a sheer blouse without a bra. Her breasts were huge and the nipples pressed against the see-through fabric.
Jordanna sat and crossed her legs. Her tight black skirt rode up her thigh, and he caught a glimpse of white panties.
She ran the tip of her tongue across her upper lip, tilted her head to the side, and regarded him coyly. “Do you want to go and grab a drink?”
Embarrassed by her attire and flirtatious manner, Reece circled the desk on the other side to avoid having to brush by her. “How about I grab you something from downstairs.”
Her eyes dropped to his Gatorade. “That’ll work. I’ll have the same as what you’re drinking.”
At the bakery, he exhaled forcefully and texted Sam. Where are you?
Streetcar, heading to the loft. No pants. Pissed off. Tell you later.
It would take her twenty minutes to get back to the office. This was idiotic. Was he prepared to hang around the bakery stalling until his fiancée arrived to rescue him? He could handle a flirtatious teenager, but teenagers didn’t accept rejection well. Sometimes they lied. Reece gnawed on his lower lip.
“Maria,” he said, approaching the counter, “can you come upstairs for a minute?” He felt foolish but believed in trusting his gut, especially where scantily clad women were concerned.
Maria smiled knowingly. “I see girl,” she said in her thick accent, taking off her apron. “Angelo! Take the counter.”
Her twenty-two-year-old son came out and waved at Reece. He sat on the stool by the cash register and buried his nose in a book.
Maria swatted the book from his hand. “I clean the bathroom. You with customers, not with book.”
She took a pail filled with cleaning supplies from under the counter and pushed at Reece. “Get on. Girls don’t bite.”
“That one might.” Angelo snickered. “I saw her go up. Ooh la la!”
Maria yelled something in rapid Italian and marched to the stairs. Behind her back, Angelo winked at Reece and grinned.
In the stairwell, they ran into Jordan storming down the stairs.
Reece stared at him in confusion. “Where did you come from?”
“Back door open,” Maria stated and continued up the stairs, glaring daggers at Jordan until he squeezed against the wall so she could pass.
“Tell Jordanna I’m peacing in ten. Bye Felicia,” he said with a sneer, then slammed the glass door behind him as he left the building.
Reece didn’t need an urban slang dictionary for that one. The expression on Jordan’s face said it all. Whatever bye Felicia meant, it wasn’t a compliment.
Jordanna was exiting the washroom when they reached the top of the stairs. She smiled at Reece and sashayed to the office without acknowledging Maria.
In the office—with the door wide open and Maria humming across the hall while she scrubbed a clean bathroom—Reece handed Jordanna the bottle of Gatorade. “Your brother said to tell you he’s leaving in ten minutes.”
She rolled her eyes but stood. “I was hoping he’d peace when I went to the ladies. At least he went downstairs instead of lurking in your office.” She sighed. “I better go before he comes up again.”
“Is Jennifer in the city, too?” he asked.
“No. She’s in school. Jordan and I cut.” She looked at her watch. “She’s probably with Rachel by now. Why?”
“I thought I saw her outside,” he said.
Jordanna looked confused, took out her phone, and made a call. “Hi, is Jenny there?” She paused to listen and flipped her hair across her shoulder. “Okay, just checking.” She paused again and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. See you in a couple of hours.”
She tucked her phone into her purse. “Jenny must have
a doppelgänger. She’s with Rachel. Any news on Daddy’s murder?
“Did you know that your dad built homes for Habitat for Humanity?”
“I guess.” She batted her eyelashes. “Is it a clue?”
“Did you tell Sam when you talked with her?”
“I don’t remember her asking.” She picked up her jacket.
“Where were you the afternoon your dad died?” he asked.
“At the school.”
“No, you weren’t. We checked.”
Her lip lowered to what she probably thought was a sexy pout. “Daddy didn’t like me being out alone with boys.”
I bet he didn’t, Reece thought. “You were with a boy?”
She smiled. “Maybe.”
“I need his name,” Reece said firmly.
She paused and Reece prepared himself for an argument. Her lips puckered and she leaned over the desk, thrusting her arms against the sides of her breasts to accentuate the cleavage. “Do you have to talk to him? He’s a computer geek. I don’t want anyone to know I’m into him.”
Reece nodded. “I do. Give me a name and number.”
She took out her phone, looked up a number, and reluctantly passed him the device.
Reece jotted down the number for someone named Steve.
After putting her phone in her purse, she said, “I have to go before Jordan ditches me and I can’t get home. See you later.”
Reece stood at the window and watched her exit the building. Jordan was slouching against an older model BMW, smoking. They chatted for a few minutes, and Jordanna took a drag from her brother’s cigarette. Before she got in the car, she stared up at the window and blew Reece a kiss.
Teenagers… he didn’t understand the creatures and firmly believed he’d never been one.
She’d left the Gatorade unopened on the edge of the desk. He popped it into the fridge, finished his own, and rinsed out his empty bottle with soapy water. Maria insisted they wash the recycled bottles and cans. She had a phobia of long-tailed friends and cockroaches. The bakery was pristine, and she was adamant the building stay that way.