by Rick Blechta
“Look, Andy, that incident yesterday was unfortunate, but I now know where she’s coming from. I don’t want to go into it, but there are good reasons for her overreaction. Her job on the west coast is just to sniff around the place where Olivia is being held, nothing more. We can trust her to do that.”
“Have you looked at Sunnyvale’s website?”
“Actually, I’ve only had time to look at a few downloaded pages. It’s at the top of my to-do list.”
“After I left your office yesterday, I went over to my bass player’s house, and we looked at pretty well everything on the site. We don’t think this is the place for Olivia to be. Their approach seems positively cultish in some ways. You should check it out.”
She sounded embarrassed when she answered, “Okay, I have my laptop with me, and I’ll do that at my first opportunity. Thanks for the heads up.”
“Good hunting.”
“You’ll be hearing from me.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Late in the morning, the other two members of the trio showed up for rehearsal with yet another singer to audition. She was better than the one we’d used on the weekend, but still a far cry from Olivia. Ronald had stupidly told her about what had taken place on my front porch, and she seemed clearly uneasy. After her departure, we kicked around the idea of taking on a sax or trumpet player instead of a new vocalist but couldn’t come to a decision.
Dom, at my request, had brought copies of the local newspapers’ coverage of Maggie’s death. After they left, I opened a can of pop, took the papers to the living room and went through everything. There was not much that I hadn’t heard already, but it amazed me how much my neighbours knew of the comings and goings at my house – and I’m not talking about just the old lady next door.
A plan had been formulating in my mind since the day before. My hired guns were off doing their things, but one piece was being left out of the puzzle.
What had Maggie known that the murderer didn’t want getting out?
***
Carolina had borrowed her mother’s Mercedes to take Jackie out to the airport, and that was proving to have been a bad idea.
Her mother had been late getting home with the car, Carolina had been even later getting down to Jackie’s apartment in Parkdale, then they’d found the Gardiner at a dead stop right across the bottom of the city. Forced to take back streets they really didn’t know in Etobicoke, Jackie was literally chewing her nails as the minutes ticked away. Carolina, as always, seemed completely unconcerned, talking away as she drove at a more sedate pace than the situation demanded.
Jackie felt like smacking her in the head, chucking her in the back seat and taking over behind the wheel to make some actual time. It would be a total disaster if she wasn’t on this flight. She knew her job counted on it.
Finally, she’d had enough. “Carolina, just shut up and drive like you mean it. My plane leaves in little more than an hour.”
Her friend looked shocked by the outburst. “I’m going as fast as I can.”
“Are you? At this rate, we might as well turn around and go home. We’re not going to make it!”
“And you’re saying it’s my fault?”
“Damned right I am!”
An odd expression flicked across Carolina’s face. “Well, in that case...”
She went through the next stop sign as if it wasn’t there. She ran the next two lights, honking and flashing her lights to warn people.
Glancing at the speedometer, Jackie saw that they were going along Dixon Road at nearly one hundred clicks.
“Are you nuts? You’re going to get us pulled over!”
“And you’re going to say next, ‘And then where will we be?’ Problem is, you have no faith in the power of good karma.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I had a dream this morning that I’d get you to the airport on time, and that you wouldn’t thank me.”
Jackie knew enough to just shut up and hold on tight.
Carolina was weaving in and out of traffic, and miraculously, everyone was getting out of her way. By the time they took a squealing left turn into the airport, the car only barely on its inside wheels, Carolina had run five lights and broken at least half a dozen other laws of the Ontario Highway Traffic Act.
Once in the airport proper, Carolina floored the car. Not one RCMP cruiser made an appearance, and only a couple of people looked up as they screeched to a halt outside Terminal One.
“Told you,” Carolina said, “and you’ve still got fifty-five minutes!”
“Hell with that,” Jackie said as she reached into the back seat to grab her suitcase and backpack. “I’m outta here!”
She was through the doors and twenty feet into the terminal before she realized that she hadn’t thanked her friend for the lift. How the hell does she do that? Jackie wondered as she searched for the ticket counter.
They were already boarding passengers when she eventually raced up to the gate. In a further stroke of luck, the plane hadn’t been overbooked, and Jackie still had her seat, but she didn’t dare relax until she’d clicked the seat belt around her waist.
The man in the window seat took in Jackie’s best jeans, tailored blouse and tidy hair now back to its original dark brown. His smile was overly friendly, so Jackie leaned back, shutting her eyes as the flight attendants began their safety spiel.
Jackie had picked up a cop’s flip-up notebook like the one her boss used. It wasn’t a “sucking up” purchase, but one designed to make her look more professional to any cops she might meet. She was making notes in it when the refreshment cart came by.
“Can I buy you a drink?” the guy by the window asked.
After the ride to the airport, she felt as if she needed one. “Sure.” When she’d received her Bloody Caesar, the guy patted the seat between them. “Why don’t you slide over?”
Jackie didn’t have to be much of a detective to see the mark of a recently removed wedding band on the hand patting the seat and wanted no part of that scene, regardless of the fact she wasn’t even remotely tempted.
“Actually, I have some work to do,” she answered after thanking him for the drink.
“What do you do?”
“I work for the CRA.”
“CRA?”
“Canada Revenue Agency. I’m going to Reno to bust a Canadian businessman for tax evasion. This is going to be fun!”
Her comment had the desired effect on the guy; he shrank away and pretended to look out the window. Maybe I should find out who he is and turn him in, she thought with a chuckle.
Getting her backpack down from the overhead bin, she spent the rest of the flight to Salt Lake City, then the connecting one to Reno, going through her notes for about the twentieth time.
The air was decidedly cool when she stepped out of the terminal building in Reno, and she was glad she’d packed some heavier clothing.
Her original plan had been to get a good night’s sleep at one of the airport hotels, but she was so wired from actually being out in the field that she decided to drive through to Portola, which was only an hour away. The night was clear, and she had plenty of time to watch the desolation of Nevada eventually giving way to the tall pines and hills of the High Sierras of California.
Portola proved to be pretty small and a bit rough around the edges, at least along the highway.
I should fit right in, Jackie thought as she pulled into a gas station. She pumped a couple of bucks worth of gas and went inside to pay. A scrawny kid with pimples and an attitude was behind the counter.
“Know of a good place I can get a room for the night?” Jackie asked.
“I got room in my bed,” he smirked.
Beginning to feel tired and a bit cranky, Jackie fired back, “Won’t your mommy have something to say about that?”
“Fuck you.”
“Not a chance,” she leaned forward and exaggeratedly made note of the name on his tag, “Brian. No
w are you going to tell me the name of a place to stay or not?”
“There’s a motel back on the right down the road,” he said grumpily. “You’ll like it. It’s nice and cheap.”
Adding a bag of Fritos to her purchase, Jackie paid and left.
The kid was right: the place was rather rundown but the room was reasonably clean, and she’d slept in worse places.
Setting her watch’s alarm to seven thirty, she stripped, took a shower and climbed into bed, suddenly weary.
Tomorrow morning would find her poking her nose into Sunnyvale’s private business.
***
Shannon landed at Westchester County Airport right on schedule. Turbulence had made the trip from Toronto on the small plane way more exciting than she would have liked. Even smooth flights made her uneasy, and she’d gripped the seat arms the entire time.
The rental car was ready and waiting, and she was soon on her way to her first interview, a map of greater New York spread out on the seat next to her.
Now she did owe Ellen Stein one, something the reporter had reminded her of once again when they’d spoken on the phone that morning.
“You had a quote in one of your articles from Olivia St. James’s nanny. I’m heading down to the States to do some nosing around. You don’t happen to know how I can reach her?”
“After your call the other night, I pulled out all my notes on the St. James murder, and I’ve got them right here. Let’s see... Her name is Jeffries, Darcy Jeffries. She’s retired and living with her people in a small town on the Long Island Sound.”
Shannon had her notebook out. “Name?”
“Mamaroneck. Want me to spell it?”
“No, I believe I passed through there a few years back.”
Here’s to good hunting, Shannon thought as she parked on a side street in an area of mostly old wooden houses and small apartment buildings. Shannon was feeling in a positive mood, since she’d made the complicated thirty-minute drive with nary a mistake.
Obviously, this part of town would be considered the “other side of the tracks”, but the address she walked up to was a two-storey wood frame house that was freshly painted and tidy. The entire front yard was a garden, already with a good showing of spring bulbs.
A young black woman answered the bell.
“I’m here to see Darcy Jeffries.”
The woman smiled. “That’s my granny. She’s in the back garden. Come on through.”
The rear of the house had a porch extending its narrow width, and the backyard contained a postage stamp-sized lawn surrounded by fruit trees and tilled earth waiting for vegetables to be planted.
In the middle of the groomed grass on a chaise lounge sat a tiny, elderly woman wearing a flowered dress and partially covered by a blanket against the chill of the day. In her hand she held a white cloth umbrella to shield her from the sun. Next to her was an empty lawn chair.
“Granny, here’s your guest from Canada,” the young woman said.
Darcy Jeffries held out her hand. “Please excuse me if I don’t get up. It’s not so easy getting these old bones to move any more.” She smiled. “And please take a seat. Would you like some tea?”
Shannon didn’t feel in need of tea but decided it would be rude to decline. “I think I might enjoy a cup.”
“Suzanne, honey, would you bring out tea? Please use the best china for our guest!”
As the younger woman went back into the house, Darcy Jeffries looked at Shannon for a long moment.“I haven’t talked about my poor little dove for many years,” she said in a voice that was weak and quavered slightly, “but not a day passes when I don’t think of her. Why have you come?”
As usual, in these sorts of situations, Shannon was flying by the seat of her pants, well aware that one wrong step could bring an interview to a halt. It was always best to go in with a goal, but to feel your way along to it, rather than sticking to a prearranged agenda.
“The reporter who gave me your name said you knew Olivia well.”
“Well? I was with her from the moment she came home from the hospital! Mrs. Lydia entrusted me with the care of that child, and I took my duties seriously. I do not think anyone knew Miss Olivia better than I.”
“Will you tell me about her?”
Shannon heard pretty much what she expected to, given the old woman’s obvious devotion. Her words painted a picture of a happy, inquisitive child in her early years, but prone to daydreaming. Her schoolwork wasn’t particularly distinguished, but this was due more to inattention than poor mental acuity.
“All that child was interested in was drawing and singing. Her parents refused to see it, but she was cut out for the artistic life. I still have some of her pictures in the house if you’d like to see them.”
Tea was served with some marvellous homemade ginger cookies. “My favourites,” the old lady smiled as she held out the serving plate.
Picking up the conversation again, Shannon said, “But something happened.”
“My land, something did indeed. It was a great tragedy. Poor, poor Mrs. Lydia, and my poor angel for having to witness it.”
“You weren’t there?”
“I was just inside the house, talking with the butler. Miss Olivia was standing on the steps waiting for her momma. She was growing into quite the independent young lady at the time. Her parents didn’t like her being out of the house by herself, even if it was only on the steps, you know. They fretted so!”
“So what happened?”
“The outside door was open, and I heard the squeal of tires and a muffled thump. For a moment I feared that something had happened to Miss Olivia, but then I heard her scream, and we both came to the door. It was an awful sight! I can see it to this day. Miss Olivia was in the street holding her momma’s poor, broken body and screaming enough to make you fear for her sanity.”
“I understand she was much changed afterwards.”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Certainly, but perhaps I should have said, how did she change?”
The old woman thought for a moment. “Moody. Daydreamed more than ever, poor lamb. Her drawings became darker, more angry. And she stopped singing. Only person she’d sing to was her daddy, and then he practically had to beg her.”
“I don’t know how to bring this up more delicately, but there are reports of drug use.”
For a long moment, Shannon wasn’t sure whether she’d blown it, but there had been no sidestepping the issue. Mrs. Jeffries looked up at seagulls circling overhead. Nearby, a train raced through town, and someone leaned on their car horn.
Finally, the old woman fixed a hard gaze on Shannon. “Why do you want to know about these things?”
“I’m trying to help her. You have to believe me about that.”
“Those are easy words to say.”
“But they are true, nonetheless.”
“What is the reason you came to see me? You dodged that question earlier.”
“As I told you on the phone, I’m a private investigator, and I have a client in Toronto who is interested in her case.”
She waggled a wrinkled finger. “You’re still skating around your answer, young lady.”
Shannon smiled. “My client is a musician. There was a singer in his band. She was a street person. No one knew anything about her. It’s turned out that she was Olivia St. James.”
“But that’s impossible! Miss Olivia is in California, locked away in that horrible institution.”
“We don’t know all the details about what happened, but it appears she escaped and made her way to Toronto.”
“Is she there now? How is she? Oh glory be, is she better?”
“The answer to all three of your questions is tied up in why I’m here. Two men came and took her away. She apparently went willingly. Again, we don’t know for certain, but she’s back at Sunnyvale now. As to how she is, I really can’t answer that.”
“This is all very startling, but you have given me hope, my de
ar, and for that, I will be frank with you.
“After the death of her poor momma, I’m afraid that Miss Olivia went rapidly downhill. She still had friends she would socialize with back then. They turned out to be very bad people. Being around her as I was, I couldn’t help but see that something was wrong. Finally, I discovered some pills in her sock drawer and some marijuana.”
“What did you do?”
“I confronted her. I told her it would break her daddy’s heart to know, so I wouldn’t tell him, but she had to stop with this immediately. She cried and carried on some, but she agreed. I later found out that all she did was hide it better.”
“Did her father notice anything different?
“You would have had to be blind not to see it. She told him she was depressed.”
“Did he seek any psychological help for her?”
“Yes, but I don’t think it helped much, and Mr. Bernard’s attention had strayed by that time.”
Even though Shannon figured she knew the answer, she asked,“Why was that?”
The old woman’s disgust was apparent on her face even before she spoke. “Because he had taken up with that woman!”
“You’re speaking of Maxine St. James, his second wife.”
“The very one. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but never did Mr. Bernard make a bigger mistake than to get involved with her.”
“Please tell me about her.”
“What is there to tell? She came in and took over. She is a very strongwilled woman.”
“So you didn’t like her.”
“I don’t think anyone on staff did. She is focussed on herself and herself alone. She made life...difficult.”
“Did Olivia get along with her?”
“She did and she didn’t. By the time Mrs. Maxine came along, my girl was growing more and more detached. Her stepmother, of course, figured she knew what was best for Olivia, changed psychiatrists, but not much good came of it.”
Now came the really sticky part. “Were you there the night Olivia’s brother died?”
Darcy Jeffries got very emotional and couldn’t speak for several minutes. Shannon got up and tried to comfort her, but her efforts were waved away.