by Mara Kalyn
“So, tell me everything that happened starting from when you got to work this morning.”
Tori rubbed her eyes, weary now of the whole mess. Was it only a week ago she and Theo had sat here, and he'd asked her the same question? She leaned against the bench back, closed her eyes and recited the events of her day.
Then, trembling with exhaustion, shoulders hunched, palms pressed against her face, she fought back tears. She'd been attacked by Joseph Domstater, alias 'Dom', almost choked to death by him, and been interrogated. Again. For the third time this week. That part of the ordeal was over, the killer had been arrested and taken away. The consequences of the second part, possible prosecution for her part in the case, remained to be seen. Theo's arm circled her shoulders and he pulled her close to him. The warmth of his body, the scratchy stubble on her forehead made her feel safe. Too safe. She pulled back, wiped rebel tears from her cheeks.
“Sorry, no hankie to offer.” Theo leaned in, but she turned her head. She'd seen her face after a sob. Red swollen eyes, puffy lips, not pretty.
“You okay?” Tori swallowed hard and bobbed her head in the tight space between her chin and chest. The detective reached out to touch her shoulder, but his hand stopped short.
“About the BBQ. You know Sasha and I can't go. I doubt the case will be over by tomorrow, even though we've got so much evidence against him. We'll know more by early next week.”
“I'll organize another get-together after the case is closed. To celebrate. You'll come then?”
“I make a mean chickpea dish, maybe I can bring that?”
“Sounds good. I didn't know you cooked.” Tori kept her head down, still reluctant to show him her post cry face. Theo shrugged.
“Can't really call it cooking, but I have to feed the kids something nutritious, or their mother will freak. Go home and rest. I'll keep you up to date on the case as much as I can. Hopefully we'll have that second barbecue sooner than we think. “He touched her shoulder lightly and slid off the bench.
A FEW MINUTES AFTER Theo left, soft footsteps approached, Doris slipped her arms around her friend's shoulders and hugged her.
“It's okay now. It's over,” Doris whispered in her ear. “Come to the kitchen with me. I've made fresh coffee.”
“I need a tissue very badly,” Tori sniffed. Doris pulled a crumpled white square from her cleavage.
“It doesn't look nice, but it's clean.” Tori snatched it gratefully and blew her nose.
“I can't imagine what you've been through this morning. But Reverend Andrew's killer has been caught, and it seems you helped with that. I can't think of Dom as a murderer. He seemed so pleasant and, you know, mentally challenged.”
He had indeed. How had she managed to become a player in this dangerous game that, except for a bit of luck, might have cost her life? Survive cancer and die of stupidity. Had she known what was in store for her, would she have taken this job? If not for her interference, would Reverend Andrew's killer have been brought to justice? She was a naïve sleuth who'd ignored the advice of the detectives, and her own mother, to let the authorities handle the case.
If she had followed their advice, Dom might have reintegrated into his other life with no consequences. Perhaps the belief that he'd acted righteously to protect his son might have insulated him from feelings of remorse. His son may or may not have committed suicide, or turned to drugs or alcohol to self medicate anguish.
In the kitchen, Doris settled Tori at the table, and brought her a cup of coffee.
“My goodness, you fuss over me more than my own mother.”
“I doubt it. After what you've been through this morning, I'm happy to substitute.” Doris winked. “Are you hungry? Can you eat?”
Tori closed her eyes, and ran a mental check of her body and mind. Her stomach growled, and she nodded.
“Turkey meatballs in sumac yogurt sauce, with broad egg noodles.” Doris spooned out a portion and set the plate in front of the younger woman.
“Where do you get these recipes?” Tori sampled the sauce.
“The Internet.” Doris blushed with pleasure.
“This is delicious.” Tori paused before the next bite. “I saw you talking with Evan after his dad was taken away. How is he?”
“Upset. He thinks it's his fault. I told him, no it's not. Your dad is a grown man. He's got to manage his own life. Your job is to get help for yourself. Evan said a social worker called and said Reverend Andrew asked for someone qualified to counsel him. I said, -follow the Reverend's advice. As a tribute to him. -”
“That's good advice. From what Evan said back there, I think he's already well on his way to reconciling himself with his place in life. I don't know how it'll go with his Dad. Maybe Dom, Joseph, will adjust his attitude eventually.”
Tori swallowed the last forkful of saucy pasta. “How can I get this recipe?”
“I just searched turkey and noodles on the computer and found it.” The elderly woman patted her mouth with a napkin.
“Tori, dearest, it's none of my business, but I couldn't help noticing. That young detective seems to care for you. Is there something between you?” Tori stared at the older woman, horrified.
“Doris, he's my nephew,” she blurted.
“Good gracious, girl, not Sasha, the older one. His partner. Oh, look at you, your cheeks are pink. Good sign.”
“Doris, really. I don't think I'm ready yet.”
“The cancer wasn't your fault, dear. You don't need to punish yourself for the rest of your life.”
“I know it wasn't my fault. After the surgery, the chemo started. It made me so sick I thought I'd die from the remedy instead of the cancer. I'm still not ready to tackle relationships. “
“Not ready or scared?”
“Maybe scared,” she admitted. Men never get over their love of the female mammary. I've only got one left.”
“He cares for you. Your breasts don't speak, think, laugh, enjoy a glass of wine with someone or have a personality. How many breasts you have shouldn't make a difference. In fact, he may love you more because you had the strength to overcome.”
Tori stacked the dirty dishes and put them into the sink.
She had fantasized about Theo after that time at her house. She practiced how to tell him, prepare him for the shock. Unless she revealed that she'd had a mastectomy, it wasn't obvious. When accidentally elbowed, the latex prosthesis, soft and yielding, generated profuse apologies, which made her chuckle. As for Theo, she was confused. One moment she desired him, the next she pushed him away. Anyway, his marital status was still in flux, and she wasn't eager to ride someone else's roller coaster.
Doris brought the mugs, sugar and milk to the table.
“I'm sorry, dear. I only meant to encourage. It must have been terrifying.”
“It was. Imagine that romantic entanglements weren't a priority.” Tori covered the elderly woman's hand with her own.
“Thank-you, sweet friend, for your concern, but I'm okay. When I get home, I'm going to my sister's house to help prepare the family and friends potluck for tomorrow. My stick-up-his- ass nephew is bringing his new girlfriend. My best friend Annie is coming as well.” Her smile faded. “Sasha can't come. Because I was an idiot, neither he nor Theo can contact me except officially, so they can't come to the barbecue.”
“That's a shame. Family and friends are important,” Doris said, looking wistful. “I don't imagine they're banned from your life forever.”
“No, just until Dom's case is over. I only hope it's resolved quickly. I did promise Theo I'd have another gathering after the case is done.”
“Dearest, don't push away a man who cares about you. He dropped by the kitchen to tell me you were very upset and could use a friendly face.”
“He did?”
Doris cocked an eyebrow, and bobbed her head. Tori blushed.
“I met Theo at one of our family and friend’s BBQ’s. You should come too, Doris. I'll give you directions to the bus terminus
and I'll pick you up there. Stay at my house for the weekend. We'll go to work together on Monday.”
“Oh, I couldn't impose like that,” Doris said.
“Of course, you can. You've brought a delicious lunch for us almost every day this week. I'm just returning the hospitality.”
“And you brought me home after the hospital, and stayed with me. I pay in lunches.” Doris grinned.
“Okay, so we're members of a mutual admiration society. Are you going to come? If it makes you feel better, bring one of your exotic dishes.” Doris focused her attention on the opposite wall.
“I don't know your family. Or your friends.”
“No matter, I'll introduce you to everyone. They don't bite, any of them. You'll love Mom. She laughs at her own jokes. Oh, come on, you'll enjoy yourself. I have a back deck that overlooks a lovely garden with a pond. We'll take our tea there. You need a break from everything that's happened too.”
“Okay, I'll come. The garden and the pond are too hard to resist.”
“Atta girl. I'll go print out a map and directions from the Internet.” By the time Tori returned to the kitchen, Doris was drying their lunch dishes.
“Here you are. Call me when you leave home, and I'll be waiting at the bus terminus when you get there.”
“Thank-you.” Doris folded the paper, her eyes moist. “It's very kind.”
“Doris, kindness begets kindness. Besides, we have this potluck once a year, just to stay in touch with our family and friends. We're friends now.”
Even though Doris didn't seem to have anyone to worry about her, she always reached out to disadvantaged people. She had a lot of love to give and no-one gave it back. Tori could fix that. Mom and Doris would hit it off, she was sure.
WHEN SHE GOT HOME, Tori poured herself a large glass of wine and took it and the bottle to the deck to mull over her indiscretions. She considered barring herself from the barbecue and clearing the way for Sasha and Theo to attend, but she'd already invited Doris. Besides, Sasha's attendance was notoriously sporadic, and he didn't usually stay long. Theo generally followed Sasha's lead.
Tori sipped her wine, and gazed at her garden, glorious with spring flowers and budding bushes.
It had been an eventful and tragic week. She'd taken the job at the Cathedral as a favor to an acquaintance, who was now a friend. Reverend Andrew could have been a friend too, if a deranged man hadn't killed him. Tori had unknowingly put herself into danger when her curiosity plunged her into this adventure.
Homelessness had been a sad fact of life until she'd literally put on the clothes and experienced the discrimination first hand. Now she wanted to help, but didn't know how. Donate money, clothes, volunteer? She made a mental note to find out.
Relaxed, feeling mellow, she topped up her glass with wine.
The dark, gray clouds had moved off to the east. The sky was mostly blue, and the sun was free to light the world again.
So, what's next? I'll work at the Cathedral until a new minister is assigned, and a new admin is hired. Then, I'm free again.
She doubted that she'd ever take on another temporary job. There was no longer any ambivalence about having put salaried employment behind her.
No commitments meant she could accept her friend Annie's invitation to stay a couple of weeks at the Marchand country house in the Laurentians. They'd agreed on mid to late October, when the fall colors peaked.
By then, the Dom case would likely be resolved. Her nephew would have forgiven her, and Theo? He was a complication she didn't want to think about.
After a challenging summer, she looked forward to a restful couple of weeks.
There was no way she could get into trouble in a tiny Laurentian tourist town.
THANK-YOU FOR READING The Deadly Judas.
NOW, PLEASE ENJOY AN excerpt from Tori Carlin’s next adventure. Expected publishing date: July 2018
The Deadly Indian Summer
Tori visits with her friend Annie at Annie’s Laurentian country home. She hopes to recover from a trying Spring and Summer fraught with instability and insecurity as a consequence of meddling in the investigation into the death of a priest. Instead, she finds herself front and center once more, facing off against her nephew Sasha and her sometime romantic interest, Theo. The two detectives, transferred from Montreal to cover for a staff shortage in Saint-Felix, are dismayed to find the reluctant sleuth on their horizon once more.
The Deadly Indian Summer
TORI CARLIN’S GAZE hung on the slight figure of a young man in droopy jeans who lounged by the pastry counter. His limp brown hair needed a good wash, his shapeless hoodie was well used. He glanced at the tall, shapely young woman who waited at the counter for the clerk to return, smoothed the sparse fringe on his upper lip, then shifted his gaze back to the display of pastries behind the glass.
“What d’you think would happen if I gave those droopy drawers a good yank?”
“You’d get sued. At the very least I’ll be mortified and will have to pretend we haven’t known each other since the age of six.
“Reminds me of saggy diapers. It’s a sloppy look at best, and an invitation to embarrassment at worst.” Tori Carlin and her friend Annie Marchand carried their laden trays to a white pine table nearest the window.
Tori tipped her chin toward the ceiling and inhaled.
“I could package this heady aroma of chocolate, butter and caramel, call it ‘Scent of Paradise’ and make a fortune. Drug addicts would fall over themselves to buy it. They’d forget heroin and cocaine and other stimulants and get hooked on my ‘Scent of Paradise’ instead.”
Annie snorted and dug her plastic fork into the brownie. Tori flashed her friend a happy grin and stabbed her own fork into the decadent pastry on the plate, business ventures and droopy jeans forgotten. Sweet goodness like this contributed in no small way to the never-ending battle to shrink her waistband size. In fact, a small waist, thin body and hair restored to its former brown color was magical thinking, like desiring unicorns. Tori was fifty something now, and being svelte was the least of her worries.
Annie, spinning in a pastry orbit of her own, roused enough will power to speak.
“Aline’s Bakery is the best in the county,” she said, gaze loving the huge chocolate brownie in front of her.
“I like the new look. The place looks maniacally cheery.”
“Aline made it her mission to renovate after she bought the bakery from Ted’s uncle. She never believed Ernie’s mantra: “Decor doesn’t change the quality of the product.”
“How is the old boy these days? I haven’t seen him the last couple of times I visited.”
“He only works part-time now.” Annie paused and tipped her chin toward the counter
“That’s Francie Girard, the new manager at the Auberge.” Tori’s eyes cut toward the counter.
“Don’t look,” Annie’s eyes widened, her eyebrows rose.
“I have to look if you want me to see her.” Tori stole a look out of the corner of her eye.
Francie Girard smoothed the pale green dress that clung for dear life to her generous curves, combed her fingers through a mane of long auburn hair, and tossed it back for good measure. Already tall, in her shiny black four-inch-heel pumps, she topped six feet. Crouching a little to better see her reflection between the loaves of pumpernickel, Belgian, French, and Italian loaves, she adjusted the low scooped neckline that displayed an ample cleavage. At rest, her thin lips were set in a perpetual half-smile, as if she could read minds, and the contents of the mind before her amused her deeply.
“Bonjour, Madame Girard. The Auberge order is ready,” the counter girl returned from the back room.
“Merci, Melanie.”
“I heard a famous rock group is staying at the Auberge.” Melanie leaned forward, smiling, her cheeks pink, tripping over her words, hungry for gossip.
“Yeah. The big dining room and the terrace are closed to the public. They wanted to shut down the entire Auberge, but
Chef was already in a snit about the short notice. He said he’s keeping the small dining room open for our current guests, and hang the big shots.”
“Are you going to be there? Oh, how I wish I could be there.” Melanie’s shoulders rose to her ears, she pressed her palms to her cheeks.
“They don’t want anybody except essential staff. And Chef, of course. They told him he has to personally prepare everything. He’s got a reputation you know.” Melanie’s hands dropped to the counter, her pleasant features drooped. She shrugged and gave Francie the bill without comment.
Francie tucked the invoice into a large leather tote.
“If you go around the back, Ted will put the order in your car.” Francie was half out of the door when Melanie called her back.
“I almost forgot, Aline wanted you to have this.” Melanie slid a box across the counter.
“What is it?”
“A selection of some of your favorites.” Aline stood in the doorway from the back room, wiping her hands on a flour dusted chef’s apron. She was in her mid-forties, on the heavy side, brown hair generously streaked with gray and tucked into a haphazard knot at the nape. Tori longed to send Aline to a hairdresser, gift her with a powder compact, some blush and lip color. Then get her better fitting clothes and transform this woman from dingy to ‘wow’. Compared to Francie Girard’s carefully manufactured image, this woman’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes were natural and wholesome.
“Thanks Aline. In honor of what?”
Aline’s full lips thinned, as if it hurt to smile.
“A small gesture of appreciation to the representative of a good client.”
“Thank you,” Francie said. “I’ll enjoy these.” She nodded her thanks again, and sauntered out into the sunny street.