Cut to the Quick

by Joan Boswell

  Lefevbre nodded in acknowledgement of Curt’s compliment.

  “As I said in an earlier lecture, Turner was a serious offender when it came to using fugitive colours. In fact, Mr. Winsor of the well-known firm of Winsor and Newton wrote and warned Turner not to use certain colours because they would fade. Turner told him to mind his own business. But buyers did bring paintings back to Turner and request that he repaint beautiful red sunsets that had turned grey. He refused. He told them if he did one, he’d have to repaint them all.”

  At the break, Lefevbre made no move to join the others on the food and drink trek. Should she stay and talk to him? She didn’t want to field the questions that would come her way downstairs. However, her throat felt like she’d spent a week in a Sahara sand storm. She opted for water.

  Downstairs, Kate led the charge. “Tell us about it.” She pursed her lips. “You have had more excitement in your life in a week than most people have in a lifetime.”

  “Believe me, I wish I hadn’t. The police have arrested the alleged bomber. She’s a militant SOHD opponent.”

  “Did she set the fire?” Kate asked.

  “They didn’t charge her.”

  “The poor Hartman family. There must be something we can do,” Kate said.“Flowers. We could send flowers.”

  “What a stupid suggestion. Why would they want flowers?” David said.

  Kate stared at him. “You really are insensitive.”

  “You must have talked to Tomas when you were sailing. Did he say anything about what the family needs?” Hollis said.

  “You went sailing with their son, and you can say my suggestion is stupid. Well, Mr. Smarty Pants, what do you suggest?” Kate said.

  David glared at her. “I suggest we help with the rebuilding just like we said we would. They don’t need us milling around trying to be useful.” He faced Hollis. “If you’re staying there and are Manon’s friend, why would you think that I know anything you don’t know? Tomas and I did not, get this, not talk about his brothers or his father. We did discuss the rebuilding and how much we could do and what Curt will have to hire contractors to do.” He turned back to Kate. “Why don’t you concentrate on painting?”

  “Thanks a lot, jerk,” Kate said and turned her back on him.

  “Speaking of painting, that’s what I’d like to focus on. Actually I’m doing the ostrich routine—I’m trying to ignore everything except painting while I’m here,” Hollis said.

  “Okay, but let us know what we can do to help,” Kate said to Hollis.

  * * *

  “Which suspect should we concentrate on?” Zee Zee asked after hauling a chair over to sit beside Rhona’s desk. She’d brought paper from her inbox with her.

  “I intend to pin Hollis down. I’m sure she can identify the woman at the funeral and tell us her connection to the crimes.” Rhona thumped her desk in frustration, making her mug jump and coffee splash. She mopped the spill with a wad of tissue she pulled from her bag. “Hollis has been in this situation before. She should realize how important it is to identify every puzzle piece. Sometimes the oddest items lead you in unexpected directions. I think she’s protecting someone.” She dropped the sodden tissues in the waste basket. “That said—the fire has anti SOHD hallmarks. Arson is an anti-abortionist specialty, and the two groups are pretty well interchangeable. One problem—the turpentine we took from Barney’s and Allie’s wasn’t the accelerant.”

  “Maybe we should give them credit for not being total idiots and keeping it around, or maybe they chucked the container. Did we do a garbage search in the alley?” Zee Zee said.

  “We did and didn’t turn up an empty turpentine can. Have you had a gander at the Hartmans’ incoming phone records?”

  “They’re in here,” Zee Zee said, reaching for her in-basket. She waved a sheaf of paper before she zipped through it. “The calls came from phone booths,” she said.

  “It’s going to be trickier for anonymous callers in the future—phone booths are an endangered species.”

  Zee Zee agreed. “We’re recording their calls, but it’s a bit late.”

  “Have you read this?” Rhona held up Curt’s biography.

  “Skimmed.”

  “And?”

  “I’m wondering if we should have pushed to find disgruntled students. We concentrated on peers and colleagues.”

  “It’s another angle to explore,” Rhona said.

  “We should ask his wife and the other professors about students.” Zee Zee shook her head. “Although I think we would have heard about a crazy former student gunning for him.”

  Rhona interlaced her fingers, locked them behind her head and stretched her tense neck muscles. “I’m wondering if we’re on entirely the wrong track.”

  Zee Zee raised her eyebrows. “How’s that?”

  “What if, after all, Ivan, Etienne or Hollis was the intended victim? We should be looking at who would want them dead.”

  * * *

  Monday evening, Hollis and Manon had settled in the garden. MacTee stretched out for a deep and serious nap. The leaves of the tall trees overhanging the garden rustled in the cool breeze.

  Hollis folded the paper she was reading to stop it from blowing. “Wonderful wind. The men will enjoy their sail.”

  “I hope it isn’t too strong,” Manon said. “Sailing in a stiff breeze can be a challenge.”

  Curt, carrying a tray with glasses, vodka and tonic bottles and a jar of salted peanuts joined them. “Time for a little R and R,” he said.

  In the kitchen, the phone rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Hollis, closest to the house, ran for the French doors.

  “Manon,” the voice squeaked.

  “It’s Hollis Grant, I’m a house guest. Shall I call Manon?”

  “It’s David.”

  His voice had been unrecognizable. Alarm bells rang.

  David, what was wrong with his voice? Why was he phoning—he was supposed to be sailing. “What’s happened?”

  “You won’t believe it. I don’t believe it myself…” His voice trembled.

  “What is it?”

  “An accident.”

  “Oh, my God. Etienne.”

  “Etienne is fine, but…”

  “Tomas?”

  “He’s missing.”

  “What happened?”

  “The boat sank.”

  “Sank! It’s a lovely evening. How could it sink?”

  Manon entered the kitchen. She stopped. Her mouth moved but no words emerged. Not the time for Manon to faint. She needed to talk to David, to hear that Etienne was alive.

  “Here’s Manon. Better talk to her.”

  Manon’s wide eyes reflected her fear. She grabbed the phone as if it were a lifeline holding her back from the precipice.

  “Etienne,” she gasped and listened. “Can I hear his voice?” Her face softened. “Etienne. Thank God…”

  She listened again. “Yes, yes, don’t worry about that. Let me talk to David.”

  “How could it have happened? What do you mean you think Tomas may have swum for shore?” Manon’s eyes filled with hopelessness. “You’re telling me you’re hoping he swam to shore, but you don’t know.” Another pause. “Everyone knows you don’t leave the boat. Even though Tomas is a champion swimmer, he would have stayed with you and Etienne.”

  Manon clutched the phone and leaned on the wall as if she’d fall to the floor without its support.

  “Listen. We’ll be there soon. Take care of Etienne.” Hollis pried the phone from Manon’s hands and replaced it in its cradle. Manon, her face slack and her mouth open, didn’t react.

  “I’m sure Tomas made it to shore, or a boat picked him up,” Hollis said.

  Manon shook her head. “I’d like to agree, but the water’s rough and cold. David would have heard if the Harbour Police or a rescue boat had found Tomas.”

  She took a shaky breath. “David and Etienne are waiting in the Royal Canadian Yacht Club lounge. It’s over
on Toronto Island—you have to take their launch to get there. Wouldn’t you know it—Etienne’s worried about Curt’s reaction to losing his folkboat.” Her lips curved into a caricature of a smile. “How typical for Etienne to think about Curt. David will stay with him until Curt and I arrive.” The smile disappeared. “I’ll tell Curt.”

  “Should I come?”

  Manon shook her head again. “No, I’ll do this myself, but it would help if you’d follow us to the RCYC. In case we have to…” She didn’t finish the sentence. An awareness of the terrible circumstances that would keep Manon and Curt at the RCYC flashed between them. “If necessary, you could bring Etienne home.”

  Tomas. A few hours ago, he was alive and well. Had the killer struck again? But that was silly: how could anyone have predicted Tomas would try to swim to shore and not make it? If someone had sabotaged the boat, he probably hadn’t intended to murder Tomas.

  Although Curt seldom mentioned his heart problems, they weren’t a secret. Anyone who knew him might have thought that immersion in Lake Ontario’s always-frigid water would cause Curt’s heart to fail. The saboteur would have assumed Curt would be aboard and also know Tomas, a strong swimmer with a normal heart, would wear a life jacket. He wouldn’t have known that Etienne and David would be in the boat that day.

  Twenty-Eight

  In the RCYC lounge, Etienne, a soft drink in his hand and a bag of chips on his knee, sat close to Manon who had her arm around him. Cartoons filled the wide screen TV , but no one paid any attention. People crowded the room. Individuals came and went. Manon and Etienne sat isolated from the room’s activity as surely as if someone had erected a wall around them. David was not with them when Hollis arrived.

  “I’m here,” Hollis said, touching Manon’s shoulder.

  Etienne jumped to his feet and raced to Hollis. The fact that he publicly flung his arms around her revealed his anguish. “It was awful,” he said. She hugged him tight and murmured sympathetically into his hair.

  “Any news?” she said to Manon.

  Manon shook her head.

  “News?” Etienne repeated.

  Oh lord, she’d put her foot in. Maybe David hadn’t told Etienne that Tomas’s whereabouts were unknown. Quick save needed.

  “The boat—did it come to the surface or float in or anything?”

  “It’s a keelboat. When they turn turtle, they sink like stones.” Etienne said. “Maman wanted Papa to give it up and buy a safer fibreglass boat, but Papa loved it.”

  A vessel guaranteed to sink: what better way to kill someone. The sabotage evidence would lie on the bottom of Lake Ontario forever.

  “Curt and David have gone out in the search boats,” Manon said. “Will you drive us back to the house? We’ll wait there.”

  It was close to nine o’clock when David brought Curt home.

  “They’ve called off the search until first light tomorrow. David will pick me up at four thirty tomorrow morning.” Curt hovered uncertainly in the kitchen doorway. Manon, Etienne and Hollis sat at the kitchen table, picking at sandwiches.

  “We must make plans,” Curt said.

  Manon shot to her feet. Her lips quivered. “Plans?” Her normally tidy hair was no longer pulled back from her face but hanging in a tangled mass. Her face pale and her lips trembling, Manon repeated the word as if came from some unknown language. “Plans for what?” Her face crumpled, she hugged herself and rocked back and forth. “I’m sorry. It’s too horrible. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay here. Can’t risk anything happening to Etienne. I am sorry, but I can’t stay.”

  Curt didn’t move.

  “Who’s next? Not Etienne. I’m not allowing Etienne to stay one more day.”

  Curt’s head rose slowly, as if the weight was almost too much for him to bear. “Please. I need you,” he said.

  Manon’s eyes opened wide, and she shook her head from side to side. “I don’t think that’s true. I don’t think you’ve ever really needed anyone.” She clasped her hands over her heart. “If it is true, then I’m sorry I have to go. But I do.”

  “Tell her to stay, not to leave me,” Curt implored Hollis.

  Curt had lost his second son. And Manon was leaving with Etienne. How terrible for him. But how horrifying for Manon to think she and Etienne would be next.

  Manon whirled and pointed a shaking finger at Hollis. “You’re my friend. Don’t you dare take his side.” Her face seemed to fracture and break into a thousand bits. A drawnout wail shattered the air. Tears flooded. She staggered to a chair and collapsed, sobbing deep ragged sobs.

  Curt lurched forward. He bent down, encircled her with his arms and pulled her to her feet, where he cradled and soothed her.

  Hollis beckoned to Etienne. They crept into the garden.

  “What happens now?” Etienne asked. With his arms hanging at his side, his shoulders sagging—he’d taken the stance of a defeated old man. “What will they do when they find Tomas?”

  Poor kid. How unbelievably awful for a child to have to go through this again. “We don’t need to cross that bridge yet.

  We’ll hope Tomas is still alive.”

  Etienne glared at her. “He should be. It’s not fair. Tomas is a champion swimmer.”

  If Etienne wanted to talk about the accident, she’d give him a chance. Whenever something terrible had happened to her, she’d wanted to tell and retell the story.

  “Why wasn’t he wearing a life jacket? Come and sit down and tell me what happened.”

  Etienne dropped onto a chaise longue. Hollis pulled a second one around until they sat knee to knee.

  “We were a long way out. The boat started to take on water. It washed over my feet. As more and more water filled the boat, it sank lower. It was rough, and waves splashed over the sides. Tomas and David dropped the sails. Tomas said he’d take a look. He ripped off his life jacket, jumped in and dove down to see what had happened under the boat.” Etienne bit his lip. “He was hardly down there a minute before he popped up. He said there was a jeezly big hole. When we hauled him in, he said he’d get the caulking stuff from the cabin locker…”

  He gazed away as if he was seeing a replay of the accident on an interior TV screen. Hollis waited.

  “It comes in rolls. Usually you stick it on and paint over it. Anyway, Tomas said it would slow the water pouring in and give the bilge pump a chance to work. Then we would have time to signal for help or make it back to shore.” Etienne expelled the words in one long rush as if they’d been dammed up inside him. “David warned him it was dangerous—we might sink at any moment. Tomas said it would only take a minute to push himself down into the cabin and get the caulking.” Etienne’s eyes filled with tears. “He didn’t have a minute. The boat shook.” He paused “It was like when my dog Beau died—she did that too, sort of gave up. One minute, my feet were braced on the bottom. The next minute there was no bottom. David yelled at me to swim away, so the rigging wouldn’t trap me and suck me down.”

  “My God.”

  “The waves were high. It was hard to swim wearing the life jacket. When I figured I was far enough away, I treaded water and shouted to Tomas and David. Only David answered. I waited for Tomas, but he didn’t come.” He stopped.

  “How long were you in the water?”

  “A long time. It was freezing. We had whistles on our life jackets and blew and blew. A boat came close. It was a sailboat— they couldn’t stop, but they must have had cell phones. The harbour police came right after. They pulled us in.”

  Hollis wanted to hug him, but she didn’t know if it was a good idea when he was working hard to be brave and rational. “Horrible,” she said.

  “If Tomas hadn’t been diving, he would have had his jacket on.”

  “Even a life jacket wouldn’t have saved him if he was in the cabin.” What a stupid thing to say. She could have ripped her tongue out. “We won’t give up hope.”

  “I’m getting my Game Boy,” Etienne said. “It’s like the stars—it makes me for
get bad things.”

  * * *

  Sleep did not come that night. The image of Tomas trapped in the boat haunted her. At four, she heard Curt rise and leave. Half an hour later, there was more noise. MacTee, who hadn’t been interested in rising at four, staggered to his feet and trotted off to investigate.

  Hollis rolled out of bed and threw on her dressing gown. Whatever they were doing, they might need her. She padded to Etienne’s room. He had just added his telescope to the pile of clothing on his bed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’re going to Grandmaman’s when Maman finishes packing.” He patted his telescope. “I don’t want to go until we find out what happened to Tomas. Papa will need us.”

  “I’ll talk to your mother.” Downstairs, she rapped on Manon’s door.

  “Come in, but don’t try to change my mind—I’m leaving.”

  One suitcase sat inside the door. Manon had a third one on the bed. “I’m not sitting here waiting for the killer to pick us off.”

  “I wasn’t arguing. What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. I promised Etienne we’d stop and eat breakfast at a highway restaurant.” She continued to move back and forth. At the bureau, she scooped underwear from an open drawer and returned to dump it in the suitcase. She stopped with a bra dangling from her hand. “Would you stay in the house? If they phone about Tomas, call me on my cell phone.”

  That she could do. “I’ll take MacTee for a quick walk while you’re still here. Then I’ll make coffee. You can take it with you. It’ll keep you going until you reach the first restaurant.”

  Twenty minutes later, Hollis helped Manon and Etienne load the car and waved them off. Back in the house, its emptiness engulfed her.

  If she assumed sabotage, this was the fourth, no, the third attempt to kill someone in the family. She could rule out the bombing—the alleged perpetrator had been apprehended. What about the other three crimes? The police considered motive, means and opportunity. Motive was a stopper. Had the killer targeted Ivan? Was it one of Penny’s relatives? Or had the murderer meant to kill Curt or Tomas? Would Sebastien Lefevbre, Arthur or Olivero have hated Curt enough to murder him or his son?