by Chris Laing
I held up my hand to stop her questions. “You’re looking a lot better, Iz.”
“I feel better now, and I’m glad to see you both.” She spread her arms wide and both of us leaned down to embrace her.
Angie repeated what little she knew of Frank’s situation. “Now I’m waiting for news about that operation. It’s making me a nervous wreck.”
“We’ll wait with you,” Iz said. “For as long as it takes.”
I took Isabel’s hand and squeezed it. “What’s the verdict on your concussion?”
“I think it’s just a big bump. But they want to keep me overnight, just in case.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I was groggy when I awoke the following morning. I’d stayed late at the hospital, waiting with Angela for the result of Frank’s operation. We’d left Isabel earlier when the night nurse shooed us out of her cubicle.
It was after midnight when a young surgeon met us in the waiting area on the third floor where Frank had been transferred.
“He came through it well,” the doc said. “We were able to remove the bullet. But it’s too early to tell if his mobility might be compromised.”
Angela reached forward and grasped the doctor’s hand. “My God, what’s that mean?”
“It means he might walk with a limp. That bullet was lodged in his hip near the joint. So we’ll just have to wait and see how well he heals.”
She leaned back close to me and draped her arm around my shoulder. “Our best friend has a limp, so I’m not worried.”
I’d slept in and it was 0930 when I was eating my breakfast and listening to CHML on the radio. A somber news voice intoned, “Even though it’s Christmas Eve morning, it seems crime doesn’t take a holiday in Hamilton. Police announced this morning that Crime Boss Dominic Tedesco and two of his top lieutenants have apparently disappeared and there’s an unconfirmed report that he was spotted at Malton Airport. This comes on the heels of the recent discovery of the body of Salvatore Angotti, formerly of Buffalo, shot and dumped in the Burlington canal. And yesterday, police found three more bodies in an abandoned house on Caroline Street North. All of the dead men had criminal records. A police spokesman said this type of activity often signals a change in command in a crime organization. Also, in a surprising development, police are seeking the whereabouts of a former Hamilton woman thought to have played a key role in these recent gangland slayings. … In other news …”
I snapped off the radio and remained at the table, finishing my coffee. An image of that “former Hamilton woman” took shape in my mind – sleek and intelligent.
And a killer.
But when it counted most, she was also a mother who’d helped her son.
I called St. Joe’s to learn when I could pick up Isabel, and my call was transferred to the third floor.
“Nurse Magwood speaking.”
I stated my business, saying, “I can come and get her at noon.”
“No can do, Mr. Dexter. Her doctor wants to see her again before she’s released but he’s busy all morning. He’ll examine her after lunch and if she’s okay she’ll be discharged about two o’clock. Now, give me your number and I’ll let you know.”
No damn way I was going to sit around my apartment waiting for this nurse’s call. I wanted to be at Iz’s side in case that examination revealed anything abnormal. “Thanks,” I said. “But I’m on my way now.”
At St. Joe’s I took the elevator to the third floor and approached the desk, where a tall nurse with auburn hair was on the phone. When she’d finished, she pointed a bony finger at me. “I’ll bet you’re the anxious Mr. Dexter who can’t follow instructions.” She raised her hand like a traffic cop. “I know, I know, you have to be with your lady love in her hour of need.”
I stared at her, wondering if all nurses were this bossy. Maybe there was a special course for it at nursing school. I leaned forward to check her name-tag. “Guilty as charged, Miss Magwood. Is Miss O’Brien ready now?”
“Not quite.” She pointed to a line of chairs along the wall. “Park yourself over there and try to relax. The doctor hasn’t seen her yet so I’ll call you when I call you.”
An hour later, I was returning from the washroom and was surprised to see Iz seated in the waiting room. Her skirt and blouse were rumpled and filthy and her usually neat hair was a tangle of red curls and bandages. But her eyes lit up when she saw me approach and she stood up quickly, then woozied herself back down on her chair.
“Just a bit dizzy,” she said. “The doctor told me it might take a day or two to pass. I was so relieved when he said my bump was just a bump. But I needed some stitches where my head was scraped.” She extended her arms and I helped her to her feet. “Take me home, Max.”
I looked back over my shoulder at Nurse Magwood who was waving us an overzealous goodbye.
Down in the lobby, I called Dave to drive us to Isabel’s home. He made more than his usual fuss over her when he saw her weakened state, but after that the busy day-before-Christmas traffic spared us from his usual commentary.
Isabel wrapped her arms around me, her head on my shoulder so she could whisper in my ear. “I’ll always be grateful to your mother, Max. She saved my life. And I’m especially glad that you were able to put your unhappy childhood behind you and turn to her for help. I know how difficult it must have been for you.”
I’d tilted her chin up and was kissing her when Dave stopped the cab and turned toward us. “Hate to interrupt, folks, but here we are.”
He scrambled from his seat and held the door for us. I gripped his free hand in both of mine and gave him a handsome tip. “Merry Christmas, Dave.”
It was almost dark outside and beginning to snow when a new Isabel finally emerged from her room: she wore a blue and white University of Toronto football jersey and a pair of blue warm-up pants. She had tried to brush her wavy red hair over the bandage on her head but it stood out as a stark reminder of her ordeal in that dingy basement.
She walked toward me, her arms outstretched, a pair of fluffy white slippers on her feet. Despite her frightening experience she appeared to be relaxed. I sensed that I might’ve been the first man allowed to see her in her stay-at-home-alone clothes and I was flattered. I pushed up from my chair, my body aching and bruised and took her gingerly in my arms. “We must look like wartime casualties, Iz, but I’m relieved that you’re safe and sound. I was afraid that I might’ve lost the only woman I’ve truly loved.”
She kissed me on both cheeks. “I’d like to hear more of that later, Max. But right now I’m going to fix us a light supper; then we can sit by the tree. I have a little gift for you.”
Johnny Mercer and Margaret Whiting were singing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” on the radio as we settled on the sofa beside the tree. I pointed to the snow swirling outside the living room window. “Right on time for a white Christmas.”
Her eyes radiated a dreamy glow. “This is nice, Max. I’m beginning to feel human again.” She picked up a small bag beside the couch, removed a narrow gift-box wrapped in shiny paper, and presented it to me. Her eyes sparkled as she waited me for to unwrap it.
Way too small for a tie.
I shook it – no sound.
Iz rotated her hand in a hurry-up motion so I ripped off the wrapping, lifted the lid and gaped. “Holy cow! What a beautiful watch.”
It was a handsome gold Hamilton wristwatch and when I turned it over I read the inscription, Love, Isabel and the date, 12/25/47.
I took off my well-worn Bulova and replaced it with the Hamilton watch, then held it up so we could admire it. “Looks like a million bucks, Iz. I don’t suppose you got it from James Jewellers?”
“Of course, I did. And I met that nice Mr. Suyehiro.”
I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket and fingered the box with the earrings from Eat
on’s. I already knew she had much better earrings and now mine had become a lump of coal compared with this stunning, expensive watch on my left wrist. My gift didn’t measure up – and I feared that Max Dexter didn’t either. A mile out of my depth was how Frank had put it. And at that moment I believed he was right. Maybe a thousand miles.
Isabel leaned toward me. “What’s the matter, Max? You look so glum.”
My hand came out of my pocket, revealing the tiny box. “I know it’s not worthy of you, it’s so small, and –”
She covered my mouth with her lips in a long passionate kiss which left me breathless. “I love you for what you are, Max. Your strength of character, your beliefs, your loyalty. And how you make me feel … you’ve brought me back to life. And I love you for that most of all.”
I flopped back on the couch. Dazed. Speechless. I wanted to jump over the moon.
But she wasn’t finished yet; she waved her arm around the room encompassing its plush furnishings. “All of this,” she said. “They’re just things. I did nothing to earn them. And they mean less to me than a single day with you, Max. When I was bound up and left in that dirty basement I was scared to death that I’d never see you again. I thought about you the entire time and that’s what kept my hopes up.”
She wagged a long finger at me. “So let’s make this the last time we talk about my stuff and my so-called station in life.”
“But –”
“No more buts. Now, let’s see what’s in this cute little box.”
I watched the sparkle in her green eyes when she opened the Eaton’s box and saw the pearl earrings. “Why, they’re lovely, Max. I’ll always treasure them because they came from you.”
She removed the earrings she was wearing and replaced them with the pearls. “How do they look?”
“Not as good as you do.”
She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. “I’ve got something else for you.” From the small bag beside her she removed another gift-wrapped box about the same size as the one I’d given her.
I glanced at the card. “It’s addressed to you, Iz.”
“Present it to me. I’ll act surprised when I open it.”
Sounded odd to me, but what the heck, I was wearing a fancy Hamilton wrist watch.
She opened the tiny box and caught her breath in a dramatic imitation of a starry-eyed chorus girl. “Oh my heavens, it’s a ring.”
She turned the box toward me.
In it was the largest pearl I’d ever seen. Granted, my experience was almost zilch when it came to jewellery, but this pearl was the grand-daddy of those I’d given her. It was surrounded with a circlet of glistening diamonds. Not just diamond chips, either. This ring might have come from a treasure chest in King Solomon’s vault.
It was stunning – I couldn’t speak.
Isabel slid closer and snaked her arm around my neck. “It was my mother’s engagement ring. She wanted me to have it when I found the right man.” She raised her eyebrows and waited.
Sometimes I’m smart.
So I asked her.
END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
At Seraphim Editions: Many thanks to my publisher Maureen Whyte for her steady support of Max Dexter. I’m also grateful to my editor, Bernadette Rule, a smart and savvy writer whose thoughtful comments are much appreciated. And for yet another classy cover, thank you to Julie McNeill of McNeill Design Arts.
Special thanks to Cat London of Catherine London Editorial Services who guided me in the right direction when I wrote myself into another corner.
I’m also indebted to Mob chroniclers James Dubro and Robin F. Rowland for their excellent biography of one of Hamilton’s most prominent gangsters: King of the Mob: Rocco Perri and the Women Who Ran His Rackets (Penguin Canada, 1987).
I’m grateful for the advice of Stewart Brown, former Hamilton Spectator reporter, man-about-town and author of Brant Inn Memories (North Shore Publishing, Burlington, ON., 2008), a nostalgic memoir of the famous dance spot. Stew’s dad, Gord Brown, a long-time dance band musician and music teacher in the Hamilton area, makes a brief fictitious appearance in this book at Robert’s Restaurant.
Thank you to Marion Emo and her staff at the Hamilton Burlington SPCA. Marion was kind enough to provide me with details of the Society’s history. She also arranged to refer me to Kevin Degenhard, Chief Inspectorate Officer at the RSPCA in the U.K. who generously shared with me his encyclopedic first-hand knowledge of dog fighting on both sides of the Atlantic.
My on-going thanks to Margaret Houghton, now retired from the Hamilton Public Library, for unlocking many of the secrets of Vanished Hamilton.
To our grandchildren whose names have popped up in this series: Grace, Marie, Gillian, Thomas, Trevor and the irrepressible Emma Rose. Yes, along with Max, Dexter and Isabel, that’s a total of 9 grandchildren. So far.
To my family and friends whose names are similar to those of the characters in this series – it’s fiction, eh?
And finally, thank you to my wife Michèle, my first reader and my eternal flame.
AUTHOR’S BIO
Chris Laing is a native of Hamilton, Ontario. He worked in private business for 20 years before joining the Federal Public Service where he served in the Department of the Secretary of State and the National Museums of Canada in Ottawa until his retirement. Since then, he has expanded his long-time interest in detective stories from that of avid reader to writing in this genre.
For more information please visit his website at: www.chrislaing.ca
OTHER BOOKS
in the Max Dexter Mystery Series
A Private Man
“July, 1947. And hotter than hell in Hamilton.”
So begins Chris Laing’s intriguing novel about the exploits of Max Dexter, former RCMP officer. Max, recently discharged and limping from a serious war injury, returns to his hometown to run his own private detective agency. But he gets more than he bargained for when takes on a missing person case for a wealthy client. Soon more than the weather is making things hot for Max and his new assistant, Isabel O’Brien. They become involved with arson, art theft, murder and money laundering. The trail leads through the mansions of high society and along the gritty streets of Hamilton to a rip-roaring climax in Niagara Falls.
“There’s a secret ingredient added to the polished story, character and dialogue: Laing has made the local setting a fully-fledged character … A Private Man is a top-shelf winner.” Don Graves in The Hamilton Spectator.
A Private Man was a Finalist for Best First Crime Novel, 2013 awarded by Crime Writers of Canada.
A Deadly Venture
Max Dexter and his easy-on-the-eyes assistant, Isabel O’Brien, are back in the second book of this post-WWII historical mystery series set in Hamilton, Ontario. When Max’s artist friend, Roger Bruce, is arrested for murdering one of his clients, Max and Isabel attempt to track down the real killer but Hamilton mobsters attempt to discourage them.
As in A Private Man, the city itself continues to be a vital part of the action. And readers wondering if Max and Isabel might be get together romantically, will be watching closely as the pair high-step their way through this quick-paced tale.
A Deadly Venture was the winner of The Kerry Schooley Award in 2015 presented by the Hamilton Arts Council.
A Devious Dame
It’s early spring in 1948 when private eye, Max Dexter, attempts to help a young boy abandoned by his mother. Her name is Ida Lucas and she’s a doozy: sleek and ambitious, Ida is a hostess at the classy Royal Connaught Hotel where she’s often seen in the company of Hamilton’s well-to-do gents who are anxious to show their appreciation for her attention.
After Ida’s abrupt disappearance, Max and his partner, Isabel O’Brien, make arrangements for Ida’s neglected young son to live with friends while
they attempt to find her. At the same time they’re working on a divorce case involving a prominent Hamilton businessman and race-horse owner whom they learn is leading a secret, after-hours life that brings them all into contact with Hamilton Ontario’s new Mob boss, Vincenzo Belcastro.
Post-war Hamilton is in the grip of Spring Fever while Max and Isabel are on the case of this Devious Dame.
Also available:
West End Kid: Tales from the Forties – an imaginative collection of short stories about a group of kids growing up in Hamilton, Ontario during WWII.