by Joan Boswell
Had Ursula always talked like there was a prize for spewing out the most words in a given time period? She must have driven Arthur crazy. Maybe he’d learned to tune her out.
“And thank you, and thank Manon. It was good of you to track me down. Even though I’m not living with Arthur, I care about him. We aren’t actually divorced. I left him and came to live in Montreal because I couldn’t bear listening to him going on and on about Curt and how he’d done him wrong. Arthur wasn’t the best businessman, you know. His gallery’s failure wasn’t totally Curt’s fault. Anyway, it was wearing me out, simply wearing me out, listening to him rant and rave. He was and probably is totally, absolutely totally obsessed with Curt and getting even. It took over his life. In my opinion, life is too short for that kind of nonsense.”
When Hollis replaced the receiver, she smiled at Manon. “Wow, that woman can talk. Has she always raced on like an out-of-control chain saw?”
“Ever since I met her.” Manon stood up. “Thank you for giving me something to do. I feel better. I’m having a bath before I see Arthur.” She raised her hands. “I’ve seen you staring at my nails. You’re right—I’ve been ignoring them. Time to pull myself together. You go and do whatever you have to do.”
“I’m sorting Ivan’s things.”
“Do you think the bomb lady murdered Ivan?”
Should she comfort Manon and agree? No way. Time for extra vigilance. “No, I don’t think so. When she accosted me, she didn’t know Curt lived here.”
“Maybe it isn’t the same woman.”
“Wait and see what the police say, but let’s continue to be careful.”
* * *
Back at their desks, Rhona and Zee Zee contemplated the ever-growing Hartman file.
“Before we regroup, I’m phoning Hartmans’. They’ll be relieved to hear Allie Jones is in custody.” She punched in the numbers and delivered her message. When she hung up, she smiled at Zee Zee. “It’s great to bear good news for a change. Let’s walk through this.” She leaned back on her swivel chair and ran through the chronology. “What do you think the perp will do now?”
Zee Zee interlaced her fingers behind her head and considered. “Nothing at the house. Not for a day or two.”
“We’re missing something or somebody. Nothing hangs together.”
“What about the woman, if it was a woman, who sent the flowers? And the woman who tried to talk to Curt after the funeral?”
“Hollis knows something about her. When I asked, she pretended her cell phone had gone dead. We haven’t talked since the explosion.” Rhona called Hollis on her cell. She listened, shook her head and snapped the phone shut. “She’s turned it off.” She snapped her own phone shut and dropped it in her ever-present bag. “Enough. This isn’t a game. We’re going to find out what Hollis knows.”
“What about Arthur White? He was lead number one. Now he’s a hero—can we write him out of the script?”
“I believed him when he said he couldn’t burn art. But he could have tampered with the bike.” Rhona shook her head. “What do you think?”
“In my mind, he’s not the perp. What about Lena?” “There’s something very odd about her. I wouldn’t rule her out.”
“Olivero Ciccio?”
“Maybe his wife, she’s a bitter woman.”
“Sebastien Lefebvre?”
“Not the fire. Artists don’t destroy paintings,” Rhona said.
“Hitler burned books and suppressed art and called himself an artist.”
“He liked dogs too—he was an aberration.”
“That leaves Barney,” Zee Zee said.
“What about the mystery woman? I’m sure Hollis knows her identity. She’s the key to our puzzle, but we have to contact her first. We’ll go through the paperwork, but I’m convinced Hollis can provide the key.”
Twenty-Six
Happy hat Manon was herself again, Hollis concentrated on what she had to do. First, she’d arrange another meeting with Penny. Then, in the early afternoon, she’d confront Lena. Her heart pounded at the thought.
Despite the fact that Penny hadn’t come forward, hadn’t revealed her relationship with Ivan or told the family about the baby, Hollis knew she had to reveal Penny’s identity to Rhona. It was a legal as well as a moral responsibility. If she didn’t, she could be aiding and abetting or making it easier for the killer to strike again, but she’d do it later in the day. Right now she wanted to find out why Penny had been frightened. And find out if she might have changed her mind, might want Manon and Curt to hear about her and the baby. Maybe she hadn’t known how to go about it.
“She ain’t here—she be back in half an hour.” Another gruff voice, male this time.
When she called a second time, Penny answered.
“Hi. My uncle said someone called.”
“Can we meet again—I have a few more questions.”
“We didn’t really finish our conversation, did we? I’m sorry I cried.” Penny paused and giggled. “Cried isn’t exactly the right word is it—I howled like a banshee. Sure, let’s meet again this afternoon—same time, same place.”
Perfect—the beast before the beauty. Should she tell Rhona her plans? If Lena had been involved in Ivan’s death or the fire, it would be wrong not to share her information with Rhona. Worse than wrong—it could endanger them all. She had Rhona’s cell phone number. She’d meet with Lena and Penny then make the call.
How should she approach Lena? She’d ask outright and see what happened. As she was dressing, Hollis didn’t choose sandals—no more saliva oozing between her toes.
At the gallery, the exhibit’s brutality horrified her again. Lena sat at the same black-draped table. She had replaced the funeral flowers, the gladiola, with blood-red roses. She sat dressed in flowing black with her blonde hair upswept, bent over the visitors’ book reading the comments.
Hollis cleared her throat. Lena glanced up but kept her finger in the book.
“You. What do you want?”
“To speak to you.” Hollis glanced around to make sure no visitors hovered close.
“I can’t think I have anything to say to you.”
“I found out that you come from the Sons of Freedom Doukhobor colony in British Columbia. While you were growing up, your community protested government policy by setting fires.”
Lena rose. Her features drew together, and she puffed like an out of shape mountain climber or a volcano about to erupt.
Hollis continued. “It’s my guess you’ve kept your background a secret because the press would sensationalize it. And familiarity with it would prevent critics from judging your art on its own merit.”
Lena stepped toward Hollis, who instinctively raised her hands to ward off an attack.
“I don’t intend to tell anyone,” Hollis said hurriedly, “but I keep thinking about the fire in Curt’s studio and wondering if there’s a connection...” Hollis paused, gathered her courage and blurted, “If you set the fire.”
Lena reached to grab Hollis, who stepped to one side, but not quickly enough. Lena’s fingers locked on her shoulder. “Meddling little shit. Why would you think I had anything to do with the fire? My God, fires, protests, the ravings of fanatical religious zealots ruined my childhood—why would I use their tactics? Never. I don’t own a barbecue or a propane lighter, I don’t burn candles—I have a fear, a terror of fire.” She gripped Hollis’s shoulders and shook her. “You set the police on me. They were searching for evidence to link me to the fire. They didn’t find anything, because there was nothing to find. I hate Curt, but I would never burn his paintings. Never. Never. Never.”
She released Hollis and shoved her toward the door.
“Tell the police. Tell anyone you like. But I had nothing to do with it.”
Outside, Hollis collected herself. Not a pleasant confrontation, but Lena had sounded as if she was telling the truth.
When Hollis reached Java Java, Penny sat on the banquette close to the bree
ze blowing in through the open windows. She made notes while she read a book.
“Studying?” Hollis asked.
Penny closed Modern Accounting and smiled. “I don’t intend to make a career in the restaurant business.”
Hollis ordered a lemon tart before filling a coffee mug from the thermos jugs stationed across the restaurant. When the waitress had delivered the mouthwatering treat and two forks, Hollis offered to share.
Penny patted her stomach. “I think not. I’m trying to eat healthy and not too much. I don’t want to have to diet forever after the baby arrives.”
Hollis broke off a tiny bit, forked it into her mouth and savoured the ambrosial lemon and cream mix. “Two things I’d like to ask. First, who is frightening you?”
Penny poked her straw up and down in her orange juice bottle. “I exaggerated,” she said but didn’t raise her eyes.
“You’re not convincing me—it sounded like a heartfelt comment.”
“What’s your second question?”
“Do you want Curt to learn he will soon be a grandfather?”
“The way Ivan talked about him, I don’t think he’d care. Ivan said his father didn’t believe he was capable of doing anything, not even fathering a child. I’d be furious if he didn’t believe Ivan was the baby’s father. And imagine my shame if he asked me to take a DNA test.” She shook her head. “My emotional state could hurt the baby.”
“Ivan said that?” Hollis took a second bite; she wanted the tart to last forever. “Have you seen his mother’s installation at the Revelation Gallery on Queen Street?”
“I didn’t have the courage. I read what the reviewers said about it, and I didn’t think I could bear to go—neither of his parents had a clue about him.” She pulled the straw from the bottle. “Sure, he didn’t do well in high school, and he wasn’t great at athletics, but so what. He was a wonderful, warm, caring human being, and that’s what counts.” Her voice shook, and tears ran down her cheeks. “It makes me furious—I can’t tell you how much it upsets me.” She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her denim jacket. “I want my baby to think his father was wonderful.” She sighed. “No. I’m going to go it alone.”
“Before Ivan died, I think I would have agreed with you, but things have changed. His father feels remorseful about how he treated Ivan. I’d guess the whole family would be overjoyed if you allowed them a chance to make it right.”
“Why now and not then?”
“Because when the police came and asked about Ivan, about his life and friends—the family had no answers. No, that’s not true. His half-brother, Etienne, knew things the others didn’t. Anyway, they’re remorseful, very remorseful.”
Penny considered and shook her head. “I don’t think I could risk it.”
Hollis leaned forward. “Penny, what if I broach the subject without revealing your name?”
Penny leaned back against the wall and stared fixedly into the distance.
Hollis looked to see what she was staring at, but there was nothing strange in Penny’s line of vision. A shelf against the opposite wall held a large orange thermal water jug, a tray of glasses, two coffee dispensers along with cups and open milk containers.
Penny blinked several times, and her gaze returned to Hollis. “I’ve met you twice, and you want me to risk everything. Let me think about it. I’ll call you.”
Hollis nodded. “I see your point. Okay, but tell me why you’re afraid.”
Penny finished her drink, stuffed her books in her back pack and said nothing.
Hollis waited.
“Do you know many Greeks?”
“No.”
“Greek men, and women too, are proud and passionate,” Penny said.
“Your ex-boyfriend is Greek?”
Penny smiled. “He is, but he isn’t even in Toronto. Months ago he dropped out of school to get a job in Fort McMurray.”
So much for him. Hollis had felt sure the jilted young man would provide a lead. “Your family?”
Penny nodded. “My father, my uncles, my brothers and even my grandmother pressure me to tell ‘who done me wrong’. If they lived in Greece, there’d be trouble, maybe even bloodshed. That won’t happen here, but they are really on my case to get me to ‘tell’. I’ve refused, because I’m afraid to think what they might do.”
“Are you sure they aren’t pretending? Maybe they do know, have known, for a long time?”
“You’re suggesting they…” Penny’s already pale skin whitened even more. Her lower lip trembled, and she shook her head violently. “No! No! No! Of course they don’t know. And they would never, never, never have done anything to Ivan. What a horrible thing to say.”
Her vehement reaction suggested Penny had considered this possibility but refused to entertain it. What if it was true? Another tack, time for another tack. “Would they feel better if Ivan’s family accepted you and promised to care for you and your baby?”
Penny shrugged. “The Hartmans aren’t Greek.” Hollis had finished the tart. “I’m not going to add to your problems, but call me soon.”
Penny clambered to her feet, pulled her jacket around her stomach and patted it gently. “I will.”
Back at the Hartmans’, Hollis joined Manon and Tomas on the front porch. MacTee lay contentedly at their feet.
“Good news. Ursula phoned to update us on Arthur’s condition,” Manon said.
“He’s going to be okay?” Hollis asked.
“He’s out of the coma. They’re testing for neurological damage, but Ursula says they don’t expect to find anything serious.” She grinned at Hollis. “When they spring him, she’s taking him home. She says Arthur needs her—that she mustn’t think just of herself and has to remember her wedding vows. She says that she feels lonely in Montreal. She’s already called her banker and transferred the money she took back to their joint account.”
“Arthur got a big buck for his bang.” Hollis made a rueful face. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay. There’s more good news.” Manon’s grin widened. “Ursula is one powerhouse. She came here after she left the hospital and dragged Curt into his study. I heard her going on and on. Eventually, she came out rubbing her hands together as if she’d dealt with ‘that’ problem and could move on.”
“I’m surprised Curt took it.”
“I’m not. Recently, I’ve seen chinks in his feeling of invincibility.”
“Really?”
Manon looked thoughtful. “I can tell you this—it isn’t a secret. You remember the other day when Sebastien Lefevbre phoned?”
What was she going to reveal? Whatever it was, she didn’t seem upset or concerned. “I do.”
“Yesterday he came over. Apparently his daughter, Valerie, was one of Curt’s students and was totally enamoured with him. In the fall, she told her parents she was pregnant, but she wouldn’t name the father. Because of her infatuation, Sebastien assumed it was Curt.” She shook her head. “I could have told him different. Curt loves women, but he’s not a cradle robber. Anyway, Valerie died in an accident, and Sebastien continued to blame Curt. Yesterday, a totally distraught young man appeared at their door. He’d been Valerie’s boyfriend. But before he left for Europe to study for a year, they’d had a major falling out. Apparently, Valerie had written to him, but his mother hadn’t forwarded the letter. Because he didn’t hear from Valerie, he figured the romance was over. When he came home, he found the letter telling him about the baby. Then he learned she’d died. He told Sebastien how broken up he was. Sebastien came yesterday to apologize to Curt.”
“What a story.”
“That softened Curt up. It wasn’t just Sebastien. Despite his ego and his anger, I think he’s missed Arthur. He’s one of his few friends, and the only one who goes back to the beginning when they both started out.”
“Wow, that explosion had major ramifications.”
“It did. Curt has gone to visit Arthur.” She shook her head. “We may be crossing the bridge too soon. He m
ay come back as mad as ever. Somehow I doubt it.”
Her animation cheered Hollis. Manon appeared to have taken a new course, a positive one.
“Guess what—good news.” Etienne raced out of the house to his mother and threw his arms around her. He looked at Hollis. “Guess, guess what.”
“I don’t have any idea, but it must be really good. Tell me.”
“Tomas is taking David and me. Did you hear that—me, taking me tomorrow night when he practices for Tuesday’s race.”
Manon was allowing Etienne to sail. This was amazing.
Twenty-Seven
At Monday’s class, Curt showed no distress. “It seems everybody’s out to get me. This time a demented woman tossed a bomb at my house.”
The crises in his life seemed to invigorate him. Hollis couldn’t believe it. She knew that in his circumstances, she’d be a basket case. She’d be jumping at every unexpected noise, checking behind her to see if disaster was sneaking up. In fact, she was a secondary player in this drama, and she still felt threatened and nervous, still feared something else was about to happen.
Those who hadn’t heard about the bomb looked shocked.
“Not a ‘serious’ bomb—little homemade thing—probably made from the fireworks you buy at those highway stores.” His tone was light. He was letting them know he refused to take this seriously. “I’ll need a new hedge—blew the cedars to kingdom come, but they were pretty weedy anyway.” He shrugged. “Who knows what my enemies will do next? Probably a plague of locusts. Now it’s time to talk about impermanent colours.”
Curt nodded at Lefevbre, who sat in his usual seat, drawing the other students. “Take my colleague here—it would be a shame if his brilliant portraits faded. The impact of his colour choices and the coordination with his psychological insights would diminish if the colours lost their intensity. In this age of synthetics, the long term properties of many are unknown. Perhaps untested would be a better word. We must assure ourselves they are colourfast before we use them.” His mouth lifted into a smile. “I expect my colleague will have enough material from the drawings he’s made in class to mount his own exhibition.”