Vitamin Sea

by Maia Ross

  “We try,” she said dryly.

  “Well, bless your heart.”

  She cleared her throat. “Jake Tapper was shot with a .22, most likely.”

  My stomach tightened. “I was shot with a .22, Mr. Tapper was shot with a .22, and so was the corpse outside my house. Think it might all be connected?”

  “Scooter Van Oot shot Einar with Einar’s own gun, if I remember correctly. And I’m sure you’re aware that .22 calibre ammunition is the most commonly used ordinance in the world. And while we’re having this nice chat, I should ask you: Is there any chance you were the intended target at the clinic?”

  I turned that over in my head for a minute. It was always possible. Someone from my past here to tie up loose ends? A young rogue agent trying to make his bones?

  I cleared my throat. “It’s conceivable,” I admitted, “but highly unlikely. I think Charlotte was the target.”

  “Why?” Her voice was sharp.

  What would it hurt, telling her? “You’re aware, of course, that there was an issue with the fire alarm at the clinic yesterday?” After she nodded, I continued, “And today a bomb threat. A bomb threat with a barred back exit. They wanted to force their target out a particular point of egress, and they didn’t shoot at anyone other than us.”

  “Why didn’t you stay inside if you thought the bomb threat was a hoax designed to get you outside?”

  “Did I say that?” I said sweetly. “I had no clue what was going on. I just don’t like to do the expected when I’m in a crowd like that. Plus, we were closer to the back door and Charlotte has some mobility issues.”

  “What about your new friend? The nerdy one.”

  I shook my head. “She barely leaves the house. I’m surprised her legs haven’t atrophied. If she’s up to something, I’d know about it.”

  “I see.”

  “Indeed. May I speak to Boris now?”

  She cocked her head and looked like she was considering my request for a moment. But then she smiled and said, “He left an hour ago.”

  Was it wrong that I liked the Pickle more now? Even though I had to walk around the block twice, I was so mad? I played the conversation with her back as I stomped around. And I had to admit that what had happened had been my fault. At no time had she actually said Boris was in custody.

  After burning off a bit of my crossness and doing a few operational security drills on the way over to Luna’s, I determined that no one was following me. And why would they? I didn’t believe any of this was about me, after all. A pro would have used a sniper rifle. And I’d currently be very dead.

  “Irma?” Stu’s voice was sharp, and he almost dropped his protein muffin when I walked into the café. “You’ve been shot!”

  “Oh, pish posh. Barely a scratch.”

  “You always say that,” he countered.

  “Always?” Violet mouthed at me. She had a flask clasped in one hand. Looked like it was Stu’s. Smart man.

  “I mean, really, he’s a bit of an exaggerator,” I whispered to her.

  She hiccupped.

  I caught Stu and Violet up on the highlights of my discussion with the Pickle. Luckily, Luna had let Charlotte lie down in a back room, so she heard none of it. I didn’t want to tire her out even more than she already was. Tomorrow was going to be a big day. We just had to get through that and everything would be okay.

  We all sipped tea for a few minutes before three SUVs with tinted windows rolled down the street and stopped in front of Luna’s. A smile hit my face.

  Camille Beaulieu was here.

  A few seconds later, the lead SUV’s passenger window rolled down, and Stu and I were on the street waiting, while Violet collected Charlotte. “Chérie!” I said.

  “Irma!” Camille cried, pronouncing my name Irrrma the way she always did. Like usual, it made me feel fancy. “Quel grand plaisir de te voir!” What a pleasure to see you.

  “Et toi,” I replied. And you.

  “We will park now.” Window back up, car in gear, the three SUVs were tucked away in record time. She emerged from the lead car wearing movie-star sunglasses, a sharp blue suit and snazzy loafers. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a bun; her tall, lithe form looked lovely in the suit, and she had hands that could strangle a man with his own suspenders.

  Three large men came out of the second, two out of the last one. On second look, there was a sixth gentleman, short enough that the posse of giants had blocked him out. It cheered me to see him. Short people always tried harder.

  “So,” she said briskly, after air-kissing me. “What is the plan?”

  “We need to transport the package back to her compound. I’m anxious to get her behind some gates instead of out in the open like this,” I said, a similarly sprightly tone in my voice. I’d outlined the situation in my earlier call to her and she was mostly up to speed. “I think you and I should pack up some things at my place. I’m going to be staying with Charlotte for a few days, at least. What’s your automobile situation?”

  “Three armoured cars, bulletproof windows, run-flat tires.”

  “Lovely,” I said. I had them on all of my vehicles. Even my little red Vespa.

  “I like people who come prepared,” Stu said with a wide grin.

  “Thank you. It’s so nice to see you again, Mr. Barker. I’m sure we’ll be able to find some time to finally do that arm wrestling you talked about the last time I saw you.”

  He pinked all the way down to his beard.

  “All right, Irma, I’m going to come to your house with you,” she said. “Bernard will take point on the trip to Mrs. Van Oot’s estate, if that’s okay with you. There’s another female inside, correct?”

  “Yes. White, forties, brown hair, light brown eyes, black jeans, black t-shirt, charmingly inebriated.”

  “Perfect. Let’s roll.”

  Stuart pulled me aside. “Irma, I’m going to head home. Matlock is on soon. Is there anything I can help with?”

  I patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll let you know. Just try to relax. And please tape Matlock for me.”

  He grinned, said his goodbyes, and headed for home. I let out an exhale and met Camille’s eyes. She gave me a brief nod. She was on it. I could relax a bit, that’s what she was saying. Of course, I wouldn’t, but it was nice of her to think so.

  I got in the first SUV with her, and we rolled.

  Twenty-Six—Violet

  I was really enjoying the ride over to Charlotte’s. We had an excellent driver who obeyed the speed limit and believed in complete, full stops at all marked stop signs and traffic lights. And there were no racing gloves to be seen.

  Charlotte was napping beside me in the tinted-window SUV that an enormous man had stuffed both of us into, so at least she was safe for now. A six-foot-three, 225-pound man with a blond buzzcut reclined in the passenger seat. In his jacket were many bulges. The driver was his dark-haired twin.

  In the SUV behind us were more bodyguards, all equally lumpy, except for the little one. Camille, who looked like she could kick all of their asses, had peeled off and gone somewhere with Irma.

  I sighed happily. After the sheer terror of the last few hours, I was looking forward to holing up at Charlotte’s estate. I’d never been there before, but I’d heard it was exquisite—one of the nicest on the island, with a swimming pool and hot tub, tennis courts, and fully staffed, with a wine cellar and liquor cabinet to die for. Another thought looped through my head: the dead man who’d expired in Irma’s driveway. I’d tried to tell myself that it was just one of those things—I’d once left a restaurant patio in Toronto and the person who’d taken my seat was stabbed in the ear ten minutes after I left—but Irma getting shot definitely suggested that it hadn’t been an anomaly. I took a few deep breaths. At least at Charlotte’s, I could be terrified with an umbrella drink.

  “I’m so sorry about all this,” Charlotte said quietly, with her eyes still closed. Apparently, she’d been awake the whole time. Like a possum.


  I put my hand on her arm. “It’s okay, Charlotte. I’m sure we’re in good hands.”

  “It’s just a shame, honestly. This is normally the best time of the year.”

  “Oh?”

  There was a pause. “My family helped start the Club and organized the first regatta, as well as the fundraiser we’re having this Saturday. It was a chance for us to enjoy all we’d worked for during the year, and give back to the Beaver Island community as well.” She looked out the window and I was sure I could see tears gathering in her eyes. For a minute, I had to fight to keep them out of mine, too. “When I was a little girl, I looked forward to it all year long. Even more than Christmas. Although don’t tell Irma I said so.” She smiled.

  “Why?”

  “Irma is obsessed with Christmas. Honestly, it’s like an addiction. Every single inch of the house is decorated, every single stuffed beaver is on display—”

  “How many beavers can one woman have?”

  “You’d be surprised,” she said drily, and we laughed.

  “Stuffed beavers that used to be alive or—”

  “No.” Charlotte looked briefly horrified. “Stuffed animals. Like children have.”

  I giggled, then read the plaque attached to the gates in front of us: Gray Gables.

  “Yes?” The intercom mounted beside it squawked, directed at the lead car. A communication system linking the cars, which was how we could eavesdrop. “Yes, hello. Good afternoon. This is Bernard St. Croix. I have Madame Van Oot and a guest here.”

  There was a pause, during which Charlotte closed her eyes again. I felt protective of the older woman. She was strong but fragile in a way that reminded me a bit of my nan, who I’d lost when I was thirteen. Also, Irma had to be rubbing off on me, not that I’d admit that to her, or she’d have me signed up for survival lessons so fast my head would spin. Or perhaps enter me in Sunday’s half-marathon. I shuddered.

  “And who are you?” the man’s voice rang out again.

  “Bernard St. Croix,” he said.

  “Let me speak to my cousin.”

  Charlotte’s eyes flapped open. “May I please have a—thank you.” She clasped the communication device that the buzz-cut blond handed her. “Richard, stop this nonsense.”

  “Who are these people, Charlotte?”

  “My friends.”

  “I didn’t know you had so many friends, in so many tacky tinted SUVs, Char,” he said.

  Blond buzzcut mouthed at the driver, Tacky?

  “Let us in, Dickie,” Charlotte said sweetly, releasing the talk button with a snap. To me, she said, “What do you want for dinner, Violet?”

  “Uh...”

  “Chef Phillipe is an excellent cook. We have a lovely little patio overlooking the water and an excellent wine cellar. I don’t know about you, but I could certainly use a drink.”

  “Absolutely yes on the drinking, but I still have to get my clothes,” I said. “And the rest of my stuff.”

  The driver turned around. His eyes were so blue and piercing I was transfixed. “Ms. Beaulieu and Ms. Abercrombie are collecting your things, ma’am.”

  “Violet, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Why are we not moving?” Charlotte asked.

  “I’m sorry, ma’ams, the gate hasn’t been released as yet.”

  I wondered if everyone Irma worked with was quite this buttoned up. It didn’t seem to track; Irma was always so laid back, even when bullets were flying. On the other hand, even normal people had never made sense to me. So there was that.

  Charlotte depressed the button again. “Dickie, I insist you open the gate right this minute.”

  “Does he live with you?” I asked.

  Charlotte’s lids fluttered as she sighed. “He’s staying in one of the cottages on the compound.”

  One of the cottages? How many did they have? And compound? I had a 672-square-foot condo. And it was considered big, for Toronto.

  “Young man,” Charlotte seemed to be directing this at either of the bulgy men in the front of the SUV, “do you have any way to get the gate open?”

  They looked at each other. “I mean, we have lots of ways to get it open. But it depends, do you want to use it again?”

  I snorted.

  The intercom squawked. “I’m not letting a bunch of strangers in here, Char. I’ll send Antoine with the cart.”

  “Who’s Antoine and what is the cart?” I whispered.

  Charlotte’s little shoulders hitched up. “He’s going to open the pedestrian gate. Antoine is our major-domo, and he’ll ferry us to the main house.”

  “Oh.” I was happy to have rich-speak translated for me, but I was still confused. No matter; it would all get sorted out and there would be a nice big bottle of wine at the end of it.

  “That’s unacceptable,” Charlotte said sharply into the mic.

  “They can stay outside the fence and that’s my final word.” The intercom went dead, and this time it felt permanent.

  Blue eyes and buzzcut got out of the vehicle and conferred with the lead vehicle before walking back to the car. Charlotte held her hands in her lap like a lady.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Van Oot,” Bernard said.

  “You’re a good boy,” Charlotte said, smiling. “It’s fine. My cousin is just very particular. Doesn’t like strangers.”

  “I understand. I’d like for us to station ourselves outside the estate.”

  “If it’s not too much of a bother.” Charlotte seemed a little flustered at all the attention.

  “Not at all, Mrs. Van Oot.” He opened the door and put out his hand for her to take hold of. I decided I was on my own and flung off my seatbelt before popping the door open.

  My first two steps were a little uneven—definitely, I hadn’t quite sobered up still—but I recovered somewhat, in that I avoided falling flat on my face. Which was good, because I was itching to get my hands on the threatening emails Charlotte had mentioned earlier. Who could threaten such a nice little old lady?

  I hurried to catch up to her. I was looking forward to getting inside the walls and for all of us to be safe for the first time all day. The eight-foot fence was made of charming artisanal rocks. The wrought iron gate was decorative but equally substantial, with a smaller, similarly architected pedestrian gate tucked in beside it.

  On the other side was a man who was almost as old as Charlotte. Antoine, I presume. He was slightly stooped but held himself with a quiet dignity I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen up close before. He was portly but dapper, his mostly bald head polished like a doorknob, his impressively large nose somehow suiting his face perfectly.

  “Why hello, Miss Charlotte,” he said, his baritone voice beautifully modulated. In another life, he could have been a radio announcer or a voice artist.

  “Antoine, this is Violet Blackheart. She’s a friend of Irma’s.”

  “Any friend of Mrs. Abercrombie’s is a friend of ours,” he said smoothly. “How nice to meet you.” He released a lock with an audible click, and the gate swung inwards. Behind him was a golf cart. I tried not to snort. Actually, I’d never realized I snorted so much when I drank. Maybe I should work on that.

  “This way, please,” Antoine said.

  I briefly considered calling shotgun but decided to climb into the back of the golf cart instead. I turned to look at the house, but the only thing in front of me was a wide, graceful lane that curved out of sight, beautiful trees lining the lane and obscuring the house. The trees all looked plump and healthy.

  The grounds were huge. Five acres? Ten? I was used to measuring out my living space in feet and inches, not parcels of land.

  Antoine started up the cart and waved at the security forces outside the compound—I think we all agreed it was a compound now—and turned the cart smartly toward the laneway.

  “Let ’er rip,” Charlotte said, suddenly giddy.

  “Yes ma’am,” Antoine said with a smile, hitting the gas.

  The driveway
up to the main house was literally the longest I’d ever experienced, and I enjoyed every single minute of it as we advanced on the gently winding, tree-studded road. I couldn’t imagine how anyone would have the energy to make it all the way up the lane to the house and kill us, the wind was at our back, and Charlotte was happy. It was a nice interlude.

  A nice interlude that was ruined by Richard Van Oot’s glowering face. He stood on the driveway a hundred feet or so in front of the main house, which was extraordinary. It wasn’t actually a house, it was a manor, Hampton’s-style massive with two different wings, pale blue wood-shake roofing and a genteel old-money feeling. Off to the right were a curving laneway and three house-sized structures that must be the “cottages” Charlotte had been talking about, good-sized miniatures of the main house.

  I started coughing.

  “Are you all right, young lady?” Charlotte asked as she turned towards me.

  “Choking on a bug,” I managed.

  “More protein for you,” Antoine said cheerily. “Master Richard, how may we help?”

  Maybe when I got home I’d work on my enunciation so I could be more like him.

  “Richard,” Charlotte said, sounding pretty spry. “Get out of the way.”

  “Oh look,” Richard said flatly, like he was bored, his gaze running over me and Antoine, “the help.”

  “Richard!” Charlotte’s voice was like a slap. “You will stop that immediately.”

  He sputtered for a full moment before he could get himself under control. I had a boss who used to turn that same shade of red when he was mad.

  “Those meatheads are staying outside this compound, do you understand me? Do you hear me, Charlotte? I don’t want strangers with guns crawling all over the place.”

  “They’re going to take care of some business, and then they’re most definitely coming in,” Charlotte replied tartly.

  “I have the same security coming for the fundraiser that we’ve had for years at all our events, always without incident. I will not have strangers in this house, Charlotte. It will be chaos. Nobody will know what to do or who’s responsible for what. I won’t have it.”