Janice jumped out of her chair to kiss me. “Please sit with us,” she said, pulling a chair. “I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you since Rob’s…”
To my embarrassment, my eyes moistened. It had already been a week since Rob was killed. It was hard to believe. Any allusion to him or to his murder, and waterworks threatened.
Janice blushed and her comment trailed off unfinished. She started again. “We were planning to go to Seafood Palace just up the street. Have you ever been?”
I nodded. “I was there just a few months ago.” Kim had cornered me into joining her for dinner there. The evening had turned into a disaster when I tried one of her oysters. “Unfortunately, that’s where I found out that I’m deathly allergic to oysters. They had to call an ambulance and rush me to the hospital.”
“Oh, that must have been frightening. Anyhow, I suggested we come here instead, didn’t I, Simon?” She was babbling nervously. If I could just stop tearing up whenever someone mentioned Rob, maybe people wouldn’t be so uncomfortable around me.
He nodded. “We were hoping to see you. We feel so awful for your loss.”
“I appreciate that.” The awkwardness of a moment ago morphed into gratitude.
“So tragic,” Janice added. “Simon and I really feel for you.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t stay for the service. Janice was on call,” Simon explained. Before I could tell them that I’d left before the ceremony myself, he continued, “We know how much you loved Rob, and can only imagine how painful this must be.”
Janice leaned forward. “We were shocked,” she said, touching my arm, “completely and utterly shocked. We can’t make sense of it.”
I took a deep breath. “Well, Rob was seeing someone else.”
Janice’s eyes widened. “What makes you think that?”
“I overheard your conversation with her, Janice.” I watched her face flush, and took pity on her. “It wasn’t your fault. It was one of those strange coincidences.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, knowing full well.
I spelled it out for her. “I was in the washroom when you confronted her the night of the party. I overheard everything.”
“What conversation?” Simon asked.
Janice glanced from her husband to me. “I didn’t tell Simon about it. I, er, I was looking for Rob at the hospital one night. I thought he might be napping in one of the on-call rooms. When I walked in—” she faltered, “—he and Mona—” Mona! So that was her name, “—were in bed together. This was just a few days before the party, so when I saw her here, I was livid.” She turned to me, her eyes apologetic. “I’m so sorry you had to hear that.”
“Don’t worry about it, Janice. I’m grateful I found out. Besides, you were defending me.”
“So you’re not upset with me?”
“Of course not. Although the police do think I killed Rob out of jealousy. They think overhearing the conversation sent me off the deep end.”
Janice gasped. “They can’t seriously think you did it?”
“They sure do.”
“What can we do to help,” Simon asked somberly.
“There is one thing. Mona had as much of a motive for killing Rob as I did. Maybe more. When I confronted him, Rob swore up and down that she didn’t mean a thing to him. He swore I was the woman he loved, and begged for another chance.” I was stretching the truth, but what the heck. “He was planning to break up with her.”
Janice’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“And if he did, she might have been pretty upset.”
Janice seemed pensive for a moment. “When the police questioned me, I just assumed that Mona had told them about the conversation between us.”
“The police questioned you?” Simon asked, leaning forward. “Did they say anything about suspects?”
“Not a word,” Janice shook her head.
“I don’t think they’re looking for other suspects. My theory is that Mona stuck around the area waiting for Rob after you told her to leave. I suspect she heard our fight through the door, and it made her mad. Maybe mad enough to follow him home and kill him.”
Simon nodded. “You could be right.” He turned to Janice. “Did you see anyone hanging around when we left?”
“No.”
“I didn’t see anyone either,” he confirmed. “I was so tired that night, I had to stop and ask Janice to drive. I barely remember getting home.”
“I think we both had too much of a good time,” Janice added.
“What would you like us to do?” Simon asked. “You name it.”
“I know Mona won’t admit anything, but I need to talk to her. Can you get me her work schedule?”
“Sure. I’ll get it first thing tomorrow. When are you going to contact her?”
“In the next couple of days. I would do it tomorrow, but I promised Rob’s mother I’d bring his things over.”
“I hope that’s not too awkward.” Simon picked up the bottle of wine and refilled the glasses. “Would you like some, Nicky?”
“No, thank you.” I waved it away. “Actually, Mrs. Grant is a wonderful lady. I can’t imagine how she must be feeling.” An uncomfortable silence followed. “By the way, what’s Mona’s last name?”
She thought for a second. “I have no idea. All I know is she works in oncology.”
With Rob, I realized. Ouch.
I suddenly felt guilty for bringing such a dark mood to their evening. “Now to a more pleasant subject. Did you enjoy your meal?”
“Loved it,” she said enthusiastically. “You are an amazing chef. Your restaurant is bound to become successful. It’s just a question of people hearing about you—which reminds me, if you ever want to print menus or flyers or whatever, my cousin owns a printing company. Just say the word and I’ll make sure you get a great deal.”
“Thank you, Janice. I really appreciate that. I just might take you up on that. Now, how about some desert? We have a wonderful sour cream-apple pie.”
“That sounds perfect,” Simon agreed, rubbing his hands together.
“Two sour cream-apple pies coming right up.”
I left the Bradleys to sip their wine and returned to the kitchen. As I pushed open the door, I nearly knocked Toni down.
“Oops, sorry.” I frowned. “What were you doing? Listening in?”
She readjusted herself. “You were talking so low, I couldn’t hear a word.”
“Hold on a sec.” I gave Jake the dessert order for the Bradleys and turned back to Toni. “I wasn’t about to broadcast our conversation to the entire restaurant,” I whispered harshly. I looked around the kitchen, making sure the boys were busy, and leaned in to Toni’s ear. “I did find out the brunette’s name is Mona, and she works in oncology.”
“Figures.” She pulled out her iPhone. “What’s the number at St. Timothy’s?”
“For God’s sake, Toni, don’t call now. Let’s keep this quiet.”
Toni huffed. “Nobody’s interested in what we talk about.”
“That might be true if you weren’t constantly bragging about your sex life.”
“Bragging? Hey, I just tell it like it is. Come on, now. Give me that number.”
I punched it in for her, and two minutes later she slipped her phone back into her bag with a self-satisfied smile. “Her name is Mona Hutson, and she works the night shift. She goes in at eleven and finishes at seven in the morning.” She folded her arms and looked at me quizzically. “You want to catch her when she goes in tonight?”
Whoa. This was all going too fast. “Hold on a second. I need to think about this. What would I even say to the woman?”
“How about starting with, ‘Did you kill Rob?’” One look at my face and she added, “Just kidding.”
&nb
sp; “She’d never admit to it.”
Toni shook her head in exasperation. “Really, Nicky. Of course she won’t, but get her to talk. Tell her you don’t blame her, that she’s as much Rob’s victim as you are. She might trip up and say something incriminating.”
“You promised you’d do this yourself. I just don’t feel—”
Toni threw her hands up. “Oh, all right, I’ll do it. But I think it would be better if you met with her.” She glanced at her watch. “If I didn’t have this date tonight… Oh well, I’ll go to St. Timothy’s first thing tomorrow and I’ll catch her as she’s leaving.”
“How will you know which entrance she’ll use?”
She smiled and cocked her head. “She works in oncology, doesn’t she? What entrance did Rob always use?”
I sighed. “He used to take the Bond Street entrance. The one near Shuter.”
“See? Now that wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
apprehension is worse than reality
By ten o’clock half the customers had left, and Toni escaped for her mysterious date.
“What are you still doing here?” Scott asked, walking past with a tray of dirty dishes. “Go home. We can take over till closing.” These normally rough guys were being so gentle with me, their every word, every gesture filled with sympathy.
I liked the idea of leaving early. “You don’t mind?”
By ten-fifteen, I was home. I turned on my answering machine.
“Hi, Nicky, it’s Kim. I guess you’re not there. Oh, well. I was going to suggest we go for a walk together, but, I’ll catch you another time.”
I turned off the machine, groaning. I’m sure you will, unfortunately.
“Jackie, come on.” I would normally have sent her out back for a quick pee, but I didn’t want to send her out there in the dark. I could barely open that door it in the middle of the day. “Want to go for a walk, Jackie?”
Jackie spun in frantic circles. Yip, yip, yip, yip.
“Yes, I know sweetheart. I’m excited, too.” As I bent to attach her new rhinestone-covered leash, she bolted.
“Come here, you little monkey. Jackie, come.” When I caught up to her in the mudroom, she tilted her head at me, with a pleading expression in her eyes. “What is it, little girl?” She scratched at the door. I sighed. Oh, well. I had to venture out there someday. It might as well be now.
I closed my eyes and tried to keep my heart from thumping wildly until, two minutes later, Jackie was back. I locked the door and leaned against it, weak with relief. That hadn’t been nearly as upsetting as I’d thought it would be. As Toni had once quipped, “Apprehension is always worse than reality.”
All at once, I knew what I had to do. I grabbed my purse from under the butcher block island and my car keys from the counter. Then just as I was about to rush out, I had a flash of genius. I ran upstairs and jumbled through the drawers of my desk until I found it—my mother’s old tape recorder. I knew I’d kept that archaic device for a reason.
* * *
I turned off the motor in front of St. Timothy’s and I pulled out the recorder. Shit, a tape. I lifted the cover and checked. Oh good, must be my lucky day. I hit the record button. Even the battery worked.
“1-2-3 test,” I said, then rewound and hit Play. My voice played back clearly. “1-2-3 test.”
Now, how to keep it hidden? I emptied my purse onto the passenger seat and a mess of items spilled out. Wallet, hair pins, a small bottle of hand sanitizer, an old chocolate bar I’d forgotten and a few coins. My now-empty purse was roughly double the size of the recorder. “This should work.” I positioned the recorder inside for easy access to all the buttons and tested it again. After a few tries, I found that as long as I kept my purse slightly open, every word I spoke recorded perfectly.
At last I settled for the wait. My car was not designed for surveillance work. Sure it was small, but its silver body and lime-green doors were hardly inconspicuous. Wherever I went, people stopped and stared. Some even pointed. As Toni had once said, “Make sure you don’t pick your nose when you’re driving because you’ve got an audience.”
The streetlights threw enough brightness for me to recognize Mona, even from a distance, and I was close enough to make it to the entrance in seconds, plenty of time to intercept her. After a few minutes, I realized that no one was using this entrance. Was the back door locked after visiting hours? I glanced around. The parking lot was full. Surely some of these cars belonged to hospital personnel. From the corner of my eye I spotted a group of nurses—recognizable because of their white pantyhose and sensible shoes. They turned from Shuter onto Bond. I strained to see their faces. Two of the three were middle-aged, and the third was a young blonde. Not Mona. But to my relief, the nurses used the back entrance. I settled back again.
Soon another woman turned the corner. Again, I leaned forward and squinted. This one was tall and slender with brown hair. There she is. I picked up my purse, pushed the Record button, hopped out of the car and sprinted across the street.
Mona reached for the door handle. I clamped her arm and she shrieked. Good. I’d scared the bitch. “You!” She recognized me instantly. “Take your hand off me.”
“Mona, we have to talk.” I held on to her. “Have the police questioned you yet?” At the word police, her expression switched from anger to fear. Maybe it was true. Maybe she had killed Rob.
“Why would the police want to talk to me?” She wore the same haughty expression I’d seen in the washroom that night. It nearly weakened me.
“Mona,” I forged on, “Rob used us. The police think that gives both of us a motive for killing him.” Slowly, the coldness in her eyes gave way to something else, amusement.
She chuckled. “You’re trying to pin this on me. Well, darlin’, you have no proof.” A long, slow, high-pitched squeak emanated from my purse. I froze. “What was that?” She grabbed my purse and reached inside. “Well, well. What have we got here?”
“Hey, give me that!” I lunged for it but she was too quick.
She brandished the recorder like a trophy. “Listen, fatso, if you think for one minute that I’d admit to killing Rob, you’re nuts.” She pulled away from my grasp and disappeared through the hospital doors with my recorder.
I was so shocked, I couldn’t believe it. Had I heard correctly? Had she…? She couldn’t have. Yes she had. I’d heard it. She’d actually called me fatso. That fucking bitch.
As I walked back to my car, my pace quickened to a near jog. I climbed into my smart car, slammed the door and tore out of the lot, fuming. And I fumed all the way home.
Once on Shaw Street, I zoomed into the lane at seventy kilometers an hour and came to a screeching halt in the parking spot behind my house. I stomped to the back door and let myself in, still in a rage. I was so upset that I completely forgot to call Toni.
It wasn’t until I was in bed with Jackie snuggled against me that the rest of what Mona said came back to me. “You have no proof,” she’d said. Granted, she hadn’t exactly confessed, but she hadn’t denied killing him either. She’d just said that she’d never admit to it. That meant she killed him, didn’t it? Holy shit. That was as good as a confession, wasn’t it? And I’d caught it on tape, but…if only I had the tape.
we’re doing this to
keep me out of jail
Rob was dead, and I didn’t believe in ghosts. Yet here I was, sitting bolt upright in bed after feeling Rob’s lips on mine. I brought my fingers up to my mouth. It had felt so real. I could still feel it, what we used to call love pecks—a series of quick little kisses.
I leaped out of bed, every hair on my arms and on the back of my neck standing on end when I noticed something scurrying under the duvet. I yanked the covers off and Jackie crawled out.
“You monkey.” I used my sternest voice. “Yo
u nearly gave me a heart attack,” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “I love you very much, Jackie Chan, but from now on please spare me your wet kisses.” Jackie cocked her head, looking insulted. “Don’t give me that look.” I picked her up and dropped her unceremoniously on her own cushion. I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. Shit! It wasn’t even seven yet.
I’d had another sleepless night. Every little creak, which would normally not have bothered me, was now a footstep, a killer lurking in the shadows. The last time I’d checked, it was three forty-five in the morning. I looked at my pillow with longing, but there was no use even trying. Once I was awake, I was awake. Crap.
“Come on, Jackie. Let’s get you outside.” In my pink chenille bathrobe, I padded to the mudroom with her on my heels. I left her doggie door unlatched while I went off to the kitchen and put on some coffee. A second later, Jackie dashed in and headed straight to her food bowl. She peered into her empty bowl and gave me an offended look.
“Hold on.” I rummaged through the refrigerator for a container of dog food. “You are such a princess.” I scooped some dog food into her bowl and she threw herself on it with gusto. I’d been making Jackie’s meals at home since the reports of melamine-contaminated dog food a couple of years ago. This practice used to drive Rob crazy.
“You cook for your customers, and you cook for the dog, but what do I get? Leftovers,” he’d complain.
Leftovers, indeed! I always cooked him nice dinners. And after Toni and I launched Skinny’s, I’d bring home portions of our daily specials whenever he came over. He got to dine on gourmet meals. Those were what he called leftovers. Ha! Poor him.
The phone rang, startling me out of my daydream. It wasn’t even seven yet. “Who the hell…” Shit! Toni—I’d completely forgotten about her.
I picked up the phone. “Toni, I’m so glad you called. You don’t have to—”
But the voice that interrupted me wasn’t Toni’s but my lawyer’s.
“Nicky, I just heard from the police,” he said, sounding gruff.
Getting Skinny Page 12