by Maia Ross
“What will happen now?” she asked in a careful voice.
There was a beat while I made sure that the door was closed and nobody could hear what I was going to say. “You need to prepare yourself for the fact that Richard will not be able to answer any questions about the robbery at Renée’s.”
She scrunched her face up, let out another sigh. “No. He won’t.” She emptied her cup with a large swallow. Then shook her head. “You have to understand,” she said, her eyes pleading, “Nobody was supposed to get hurt. There wasn’t supposed to be a security guard on duty at all. It should have been easy. In and out. Scooter shouldn’t have even been there.”
Another silence.
“Richard was totally out of control. I overheard him on the phone, talking to an insurance agent. I don’t know who—not our regular broker. And he was insuring Scooter—for one million dollars! I told Scooter not to sign anything Richard gave him, but he’s a trusting soul.” She looked over at me. “Richard is broke, that’s why he’s selling his house. Too many bad real estate deals, too many private planes, nonsense like that. We never got along all that well, but in the last year or so he’s become a monster. Just abusive. That’s not the first time he said he was going to kill me, you know. And he tried to take out another life insurance policy on me, too. When I—” she fixed her eyes on me, “—declined, he purchased the policy for Scooter. It scared me, when Scooter showed me all the forms he’d signed. I could only imagine one way that Richard would be able to collect on that policy. Scooter’s death.”
“Oh, Charlotte.”
“Then Richard bragged to the insurance broker about a particular piece Renée had, said it was worth a million dollars. She doesn’t carry any inventory worth that much. I knew he was engaging in some sort of illegal behaviour.”
“You knew about Richard putting your money into Renée’s the whole time, didn’t you? Bahar Karimi, the CFO at the Club, manages your money and gives you financial updates every month. Over tea.”
Charlotte nodded. “I’d read Renée’s business profile after Richard put my money in the store, and when I heard him talking to the insurance agent about her inventory I knew he was up to something.” She turned to look at me. “So I decided to beat him to it. I tried calling into an insurance fraud line, but they did nothing. I had to think of something else. I knew that if there was a robbery, Richard would file a fraudulent insurance claim right away. And he did.”
“How did Richard get access to your accounts in the first bloody place?”
She poured herself some more souped-up tea and lay her head back on her chair. “His parents left Grey Gables to me because they didn’t trust him to keep the house in the family. But they also didn’t trust me, a woman, to manage the estate properly. They gave him signing authority on my main accounts—not the ones I’ve managed to hide over the years, but the bulk of my portfolio. Of course, I’ve never had any access to his money at all.” She smiled. “The only way to get him removed is if he’s charged with a criminal offence.”
“And so he has been.” We clinked mugs again. “How did you know Einar Jonsson?”
“He did odd jobs for Richard. He came to the estate occasionally and I started having tea with him. Nice young man.”
“How did you know he wouldn’t blab your plans to Richard?”
She adjusted her position until she was more comfortable. “Who else would despise Richard more than someone who worked for him?”
She had a point. “But why did he end up in my neck of the woods?”
She pressed her lips together. “I told him you’d help him if he needed it.”
“Charlotte!”
She looked like she was trying to gain control of her emotions.
“But why did he kidnap Scooter?” I asked.
She cleared her throat a few times. “Scooter had a nametag on his uniform. I think Einar saw it and decided that kidnapping Scooter would be another opportunity to make Richard pay. He really hated him. Part of the reason he was in the country illegally was because Richard had lied to him about getting him a work visa and sponsoring him. So he accidentally overstayed his visit. And then Richard had him.”
“Good heavens.”
“I was going to give Einar enough money to go home and start over.”
“Why didn’t you just come to me?”
“You weren’t here when all this started. And then you retired.” Another sip. “It was a mistake, I’m sorry to say. I’ve made many mistakes lately. Thank goodness Scooter is all right, but I’ll never forgive myself for what happened to him. Or that poor young man.”
She looked like she was about to cry, and I stopped talking to give her a moment. It was hard for me to judge what she’d done. There were many things I’d done over the years that—if presented in a certain light—seemed unforgivable. I knew Charlotte well enough to know she was telling the truth. She’d never forgive herself for what had happened. Good people were always haunted by their mistakes.
We took a moment to mourn Einar, the young Icelandic man who had died so far from home. After a long silence, I said, “Will you change your will now?”
Charlotte pressed her lips together thoughtfully as she nodded. “You know, you’ve raised the issue of Richard being my beneficiary several times. Richard, Scooter and I are the last of the Van Oots, the main family tree, anyway. But we all forgot about April. I never changed my will after her husband, James, died. If the rest of us are gone, she inherits.”
Ah, there it was.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. When I was at the Club the other day, I told her you were going to Vancouver after the fundraiser. She must have panicked and gone a little batty.”
“A little?”
“She’s not the only one. We haven’t even talked about the international fugitive you had under your roof the whole time.”
“Yes, that was unexpected,” she said dryly.
“How on earth did you and Violet know I was in the wine cellar? Not that I’m complaining, but…?”
“Violet has a fitness tracker of some kind attached to you, I believe. Everyone except for you and Violet was at the dinner, and I thought she might know where you were. When I slipped away from that nice young security guard and knocked on her door, her phone was making a huge racket. She’d just discovered April’s involvement and wanted to warn you. She knew where you were, so we decided to join forces.”
“You should have brought backup,” I chided her.
“Next time,” she promised, a glint in her eye.
There was a good, long silence after that, the kind old friends share.
“Why did you ask for my help in finding out about who took Scooter, Charlotte?” I asked.
She grimaced. “Well, when I asked you that, Scooter was still missing. But after he’d been found, I wanted you to find the truth. And the person responsible for Einar Jonsson’s death has to pay.”
“It was an accident. Scooter and Einar fought for the gun, and…”
She held up a hand. “Scooter did nothing wrong. But I conspired with Einar to rob the store, and his death was a direct result of that conspiracy. I was going to return all the jewellery anonymously. I assumed once everything was back, the matter would be dropped. After Richard had been put away for insurance fraud, of course. But when Einar kidnapped Scooter, I realized it had all spun out of control. I shouldn’t have done it. I just wanted to be free from Richard without it creating a huge scandal. I tried so many things to wiggle out from under his control and none of them worked. And he was turning his attentions to Scooter. I felt desperate. Trapped.”
That seemed like as good of a time as any to play the recording I’d made of my recent 3 a.m. discussion with Richard. Then she cried. She was a proud woman, so I didn’t interrupt her or bring any attention to it. It was just something she needed to get off her chest.
“You should have just told me the truth about everything, Charlotte,” I said. “I’ve been running around like a crazy p
erson trying to sort all this out.”
“I was going to tell you after the fundraiser…” She trailed off ruefully, then her gaze wandered to the hearth. I wondered if she was thinking about all our other chats in this room. Then she added, “My little sister would have been eighty this year, can you believe it?”
She had another drink. I abstained; I had a half-marathon to do tomorrow, after all.
Then she had the police come in for another little chat.
Thirty-Nine—Violet
The next morning dawned cold and rainy, the first day it hadn’t been beautiful since I arrived on the island. And I knew how it’d started because after a very long night, I’d gotten up at the crack of dawn to cheer Irma on for her marathon. Half-marathon.
The island was packed with energetic runner-types, a loud and boisterous bunch. I tried to stay on the periphery of it all, but Stu pulled me into a group of islanders, plopping his niece, Annie, into my arms and shouting for the runners as they started to come across the finish line.
Julian and Charlotte and so many more people were holding up signs like KNOCK ’EM DEAD IRMA! Mrs. Sepp showed up with her eight towheaded grandchildren, Mr. P in a snuggly across her chest. Camille and her burly posse wore suits and shades, even though there was no sun. Annie tried to hold my sign but spent most of her time whacking me on the head with it. Considering the epic size of my hangover, I barely noticed.
The first runners were coming in, elite competitors from all over North America. I was briefly surprised Irma hadn’t taken them all out so she could finish first. I was proud of her.
My phone rang and I handed Annie off to Stu. Immediately, she started braiding Stu’s beard.
“Vi?”
“Hey, Max.” I walked away from the crowd but kept an eye out for Irma. “I think this is the longest we’ve gone without talking to each other. Like, ever.”
He laughed. “Yeah, Vi...”
I let the silence grow for a bit. Max didn’t like to be pressured to talk and I didn’t like making him uncomfortable.
“I’ve heard from the bank.”
I inhaled sharply.
“They’re going to give us a loan that’ll cover our business expenses for one fiscal quarter. But if we can’t make the payments...”
I realized my feet had stopped working.
“Then we have a problem. But it’s a start.”
“Why didn’t you get me on the call?”
“They didn’t give me a chance, Vi. It was a short meeting, and you weren’t answering my texts.”
“What texts?”
“Yeah.” A short bark of a laugh. “They weren’t going out. I needed your tech support.”
“Maybe I should come home.”
“No,” he said firmly. “You need a break. You haven’t had a vacation in years. I got this.”
“Thanks, Maxy.” I gulped down the last of the coffee. “Any news about Shane?”
“No.” His voice had turned hard. “Have you given any thought about going to the police?”
I rubbed my forehead. “Honestly, I want to give him a few more days to do the right thing and pay us back. We need that money. If we loop the police in, it’ll take years to figure it all out. And he’ll get off scot-free, anyway. Nobody cares about white-collar crimes.”
“You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right; I’m always right.” I laughed. It felt good to let out the tension that was scrunching my shoulders up to my ears. “So, one fiscal quarter?”
“Yup. We can do it, Vi. We’ve done harder.”
Max had completed his business degree at night while working two jobs. I’d figured out how to navigate the halls of U of T at sixteen, working in the computer lab and going home at night to the same rooming house Max lived in. We were like siblings. Closer, maybe. And he was right that we’d survived worse. I felt some peace start to settle into my bones. “Okay. How’s everything at work?”
“Quiet. How’s the island?” Max asked, a smile in his voice.
“You should come,” I said suddenly, not quite sure where that idea had originated. “We could go boating.”
“Is that a thing now?”
“If sitting on a boat is boating, then yes.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said. “Look, I gotta jet. Liquid brunch time.”
“Go for it,” I said, and we hung up. I felt a huge weight leave my shoulders. We weren’t out of the woods yet, but it was a start.
“Violet!” Julian yelled. “She’s coming.”
And she was. I hurried back to Julian, who’d dropped his sign and started yelling, “Go, Irma! Go! Pump those crazy legs!” I yelled right along with him.
In the distance, Irma was a tiny dot. She was alone, her gaze settled just in front of her. She was moving slower than usual, but her microscopic feet kept slapping the pavement one after the other.
Closer, closer. I felt my heart in my throat.
“Folks, coming down the course now is Irma Abercrombie! She’s running in the over seventy field—”
Irma shook a tiny fist at that but kept coming. She was unstoppable.
“—and she’s the first in her field! And the over sixty-five field, too! Woah! She’s going to do it, folks!”
The crowd erupted into applause, all the focus on the little dot that was Irma. And she never faltered. She was thirty feet away now. Then twenty, ten—she was through the tape they’d strung just for her, arms up, the tape streaming behind her.
“Irma!” Julian called. He stood beside her as she slowed her gait. “You’re good, you’re good,” he said, his arm around her back, as he guided her to keep walking. He pointed her into the clump of her friends, and as one, they all started to walk with her.
I watched them go, a heavy feeling in my chest.
“What’re you waiting for, ya muppet?” Irma called to me. “We’re going for beer and wings.”
Then she flashed a smile so big the sun came out.
Our patio table was perfect; shaded from the newly-emerged sun, and jammed in a corner. Irma held sway over her little entourage, her back against the wall. She’d walked for another mile before coming to meet us all at the pub. Someone had given her a sailor’s cap with a stuffed beaver standing on the brim, saluting. She wore it without complaint.
Everyone was asking Irma questions about what had happened the night before. News of the arrests had spread like wildfire through the town.
“How did you know it was April who was trying to kill Charlotte?” Stu asked Irma. “Who did you suspect at first?”
“Everyone,” she said simply.
“No, really,” Julian said.
“Yes, really,” she said, grinning at Julian. “I suspected everyone, especially Richard. But something had been bothering me about April for a while. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. But I knew for sure when I smelled the drink in the den.” Irma made a face. “Although I was really bothered by her shoes at the fundraiser.”
Julian laughed, shook his head.
“What?” I said, a chicken wing halfway to my mouth.
“She was wearing flats. Well, I mean, she never wears flats,” Irma said.
“And...?” I prompted, washing a wing down with a nice IPA.
“These are quite good,” Irma said, winking at me. “For pants worn with heels, the cuff should land on the front of your foot, past the ankle. A pant leg hemmed like that will drag on the ground when you wear flats. But hers were right at her ankle—that’s how I saw her gold anklet. She dressed so she could run. Because she knew she was going to have to skedaddle after taking out Richard and Charlotte and framing Emily for it.”
“So, let me get this straight,” I said slowly. “You suspected her because she was wearing unusual footwear?”
Irma nodded, smiling. “I could see her wearing flats. But I couldn’t imagine her pants being hemmed properly for them. She wears the highest heels I’ve ever seen in my life, every time I’ve ever seen her. But suddenly s
he has a whole ensemble tailored to shoes she never, ever wears? No, I don’t think so.”
“You’re a suspicious woman, Irma,” Julian said.
“Thank you, dear.” She nibbled daintily at a wing, a pint of Guinness at her side. “Plus, the Kill-e-roo.”
“What on earth is Kill-e-roo?” Julian asked, laughing.
“It’s an organic pesticide. Made with nicotine. Violet and I saw her buy it from Stu, but April, let me tell you, is no gardener. That’s what she used to poison poor Charlotte with at the Club that night.”
“So it wasn’t Emily at all?” Stu asked.
“No,” Irma said. “Edwina. She says she didn’t poison her last employer, the poor thing. But she told April about it in therapy and...well, April saw an opportunity to make the Van Oots suffer—while raking in a hefty inheritance.”
“Wow,” I said.
“Yes, wow. Everybody, Violet did such a great job.” Irma’s smile was beatific. “She cracked open the USB drive and got the proof we needed to put April away forever. Thank you so much, dear.”
I couldn’t help but smile, too. Jake had left such a huge trail behind him that there was no way April was going to wriggle out of a guilty verdict: audio files, video recordings, tapes of phone calls. It was endless. Chief Pickle had apologized to Julian, and Scooter was sitting up in bed and eating his favourite meal—Chef Phillipe’s special meatloaf, brought all the way to the hospital on the mainland where he was recovering.
“Is this chair taken?” An older gentleman in a truly awful Hawaiian shirt rested his hand on the back of the chair beside Irma.
“I’m saving it for someone,” Irma said cheekily, before nodding. The strange man introduced himself as Boris, and we all said hello.
Then we ate wings and drank beer. Especially me. Then I had a nap.
Forty—Irma
After a hearty lunch at the pub, I announced an impromptu BBQ at my house later in the day. And why not? We had a lot to celebrate.
Stu had been nice enough to volunteer to do some shopping for healthy entrees and man the grill. I waved at him as I walked out the back door. He was showing off while flipping veggie kabobs to a small cluster of friends.