"Yes. And it t astes l ike caramel." Anna 's skin looks caramel, which is what cruising does for your average Canadian. Long ago, her hair turned prematurely white. She 'd probably look younger if she dyed it, but not as distinctive, thought Becki.
"Pour me a little now, won 't you? And you 'll join me, of course."
"Notice the two cups?"
Once they were seated on the edge of the bed, Becki said, "I 'm sorry about your mom . A nd Carla."
"Not to mention the poor woman Mandy found out back. A murder. God help us."
"One good thing—the police can 't suspect you or Gord, or hold you here in the house against your will. You weren 't even in town when it happened."
"I 'm not sure that exonerates us. There 's always murder by proxy."
Becki got up from her seat on the edge of the bed and paced the room, all the while nursing her teacup. When she put it down on the tray, she offered, "How about I gather up Godmom 's meds and drop them off at the pharmacy or the hazardous goods depot or do whatever you 're supposed to do with drugs?"
"That 'd help, " Anna admitted.
Becki grabbed a small box from the pile of cardboard containers, opened the tiny drawer in the nightstand and took inventory: a flashlight, a notepad, a pencil, a pen—no, two pencils and a pen—the August edition of Chatelaine , a soft-cover book of crosswords, a purse-size pack of Kleenex, a tube of Burt 's Bees Shea Butter Hand Repair Crème, a small tin of lip balm, a comb. No sleeping pills. No pain pills. She checked the top of the counter and inside the medicine cabinet in the en-suite. No drugs. Not even over-the-counter Tylenol. The room is as drug-free as a Christian Science church.
Chapter 20
Dumont hated the city. The traffic was a nightmare and the noise relentless. You couldn 't escape either . Massive trucks on the highway, airplanes taking off overhead, the screech of busses braking. It all grated on his nerves. Nothing, not even promotion, could get him to transfer to this place.
He wasn't keen on interviewing here, but he had to admit the Thirty-third Division cops were good guys . He 'd been through basic training with two of them. Amazing how easy it was to slip back into the old, back-slapping ways. He 'd go deep into his pocket for beers at the local pub this evening.
He sat in the borrowed office and looked at the woman across from him. Not a lot of grief here . Maybe it was shock? On the phone , she had voiced surprise rather than sorrow, but had been eager to cooperate. After all, a sister didn 't get murdered every day . She understood the necessity of being here to answer questions. Of course she would help if she could.
She was attractive in a manufactured sort of way. Wavy , ice -blond hair, thin body and heavy makeup. Her face was young, her mouth wide, but her neck was surprisingly wrinkled. Did that mean she 'd had a face lift? Gina would know , he thought. I miss her .
Snap to it, Dumont.
The woman was already talking. She liked to talk.
"My sister was younger by a few years, but she didn 't look it, " Andrea Mason said. She had the breathy voice of a teenager. "Everyone always thought we were twins."
Dumont sighed. So she was that sort of witness . I t was going to be all about her. Competitive too . He braced himself.
"I think the divorce really hit her hard. Of course, her husband was a jerk, but what man isn 't at that age? At least, what rich, aging man, " she carefully added. "Not someone young like you." Her smile was predatory.
"I told her to not be so dramatic about it all. I mean, we 're all modern, aren 't we? Move with the times, I said. Have a little affair on the side if you want. But don 't divorce the man just because he needs a little female reassurance."
Her fingers were drumming on her knee. "Can I smoke in here?"
Dumont shook his head.
She sighed dramatically. "Too romantic, that 's what she was. Couldn 't bear not to come first. I tell you, that sort of nonsense just gets you into trouble. So she divorced him. And she 's been lonely ever since."
I hate her, Dumont thought suddenly. But he kept quiet and let Andrea tell all.
"It was all so predictable and banal. She started hanging around cougar bars. Just so degrading, don 't you think? I mean, why not a golf instructor or personal trainer? At any rate, " the fingers drummed relentlessly, "about three months ago, she called me to say she 'd met this gorgeous guy. She was over the top about him. I said, 'Good for you, do you want to bring him over?'" Andrea smiled. "She didn 't. I don 't know if she was ashamed of him or if she didn 't want to take the chance of losing him to me. But I never saw him."
Dumont sat quietly with the photo in his hand. Damnation. She wouldn 't be able to recognize him.
"Do you recall his name?" Dumont said.
"She called him Reggie, I think, " Andrea said. "I know he was dark, and hung like a bull—oops. Shouldn 't have said that." Andrea was flirting now. "You can hardly place them up against the wall for a police line-up." Her laugh tinkled.
Dumont shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Is there anyone else she might have talked to about this man, Mrs. Mason?"
Andrea smoothed the black crepe skirt over her bony knees. "Can 't think of anyone offhand. There were her tennis friends at the club, but I don 't think they were especially close. She went to Babalon, you know—the hair salon. They might know something. But I think you can take it from me she kept this guy pretty much under wraps. Hell of a lot of competition out there, if you get my drift."
"Do you know where they would meet, Mrs. Mason?"
"Her condo by the lake, I imagine. She lived in Harbour Castle. I have a key, if you 'd like it. I brought it with me." She reached into her purse and pulled out a key chain with a tag on it. "That 's the suite number."
Dumont took it. "Thank you. That should make things quicker." At least this woman was intelligent.
"Oh. And of course you won 't know about the cottage in Muskoka. My sister inherited that from the parents. I got the Florida condo. Have you ever been to Palm Beach, Inspector?" Her eyes belied her age.
Dumont cleared his throat. "Can you give me the address of the cottage, please?"
"Of course. I 'll write it down." She took out a little gold notebook and slid the matching pen out of the slip.
As she wrote, Dumont frowned in thought. Reggie had to be somewhere. Would he be so dumb as to stay in town? The cottage was a better shot, maybe. And then he had a thought.
"Did she have a lot of good jewellery, Mrs. Mason?"
Andrea smiled. "You don 't know our set very well, do you, Inspector? Her engagement ring alone was worth forty thousand and she never took it off. She had a gorgeous four-karat sapphire cocktail ring and several diamond bracelets and earrings. She got to keep them all after the divorce, of course. That 's what we do, Inspector. Just like the eastern women who collect gold bangles. We have a shitload of jewellery, all our own, just in case. My European mother used to call it 'get out of town ' jewellery, just in case you had to bribe your way out of the country."
Dumont looked up sharply. There had been no diamond ring on the victim 's finger.
"Can you describe or draw those rings?"
"Of course, " she said, drawing on the small pad. "The diamond is pear shaped—like this—and about 10 karats. From Birks, so it 's a good one. The sapphire is a marquis with diamonds all around it. She also had two-karat diamond solitaire earrings and a bunch of others. Her newest watch was a Piaget. You should find a record of all this in her files in the second bedroom. Look under Jewellery ."
Dumont had to ask. "How do you know where to look in her files?"
Andrea blinked. "But Inspector, we always keep records. It 's only logical. Mom taught us well."
He managed to be somewhat polite as he escorted her out of the office and declined her invitation for lunch at the Bloor Street Diner. Yes, he would be in touch if he needed anything more. Good God.
He went back to the office and phoned his staff. "Jackson, get down here. I need you to check out all t
he pawnshops in the city. Here 's what I want you to do…"
Five minutes later he leaned back in the chair. First the condo and then the cottage in Muskoka.
Gord sat at the desk in the study and scowled at the papers in front of him. "I became a doctor so I wouldn 't have to deal with all this financial crap. Let the accountants and lawyers do it."
Tony smiled. "It 's pretty much in order, from what I can tell. When the investments are sold off, Gina should have a little over two million. We split the bulk of the estate three ways: between Gina, Ian and myself. Nellie gets the house and a million bucks , and Becki gets a smaller, specified amount."
Gord looked up in surprise. "That much? I wouldn 't have imagined. Where did it come from? Her old man was frugal, but not that big an earner."
"Inherited from a cousin in the old country. Some apartments were sold . I handled the transactions from this end."
Gord removed his reading glasses. He was a tall, trim man with receding grey hair. Despite what Gord said about not wanting to deal with financial crap, Tony thought his uncle was perhaps the most intelligent man he had ever met. There was a lot going on behind those hazel eyes.
"I have two things on my mind, " Gord said in his even baritone. "I know about you and Gina. It was the first thing out of her mouth when we arrived. Not that we hadn 't been expecting something of the kind. Or at least, Anna had."
Tony shifted in his chair. God, he was uncomfortable. What was he supposed to do or say?
"I 've only one thing to say about that. Treat her well, Tony. She 's the most valuable thing in my life."
Tony leaned forward. He felt better; these were words he could relate to. "I feel the same, sir."
Gord looked at him, appraising, and then nodded once. "Now, tell me what the hell has been going on around here."
Dumont stood in the hallway of suite 2628 and looked around. He almost whistled. The view out the floor to ceiling windows was breathtaking. Sunlight bounced off the water. He could see the lake glistening with the Toronto islands smack ahead. Little toy boats peppered the harbour, although he reflected they probably wouldn 't appear so little when seen close up. Yup, this was a million-dollar view and likely to cost at least that much.
"Not too shabby, eh?" Janet Mitchem said beside him. She was a newly -made sergeant, bright and dependable.
"Over my budget, " Dumont replied. "I 'll take the master. You look for the files."
The condo was one of those lofty, two-story jobs, with two bedrooms upstairs and main living quarters downstairs. Dumont took the half set of stairs to his right; Janet followed. The two bedrooms had the same view as downstairs. He went to the bigger one first, the one with the en-suite bathroom.
It was definitely a woman's room, done up in creams and caramels. The satiny bed was made up and there weren 't any clothes hanging on chairs or floors. Not like his apartment. This lady was neat.
Dumont went to the long dresser, and sure enough there was a big jewellery box, front and centre. Every woman had one, in his experience. He pulled the little tiny pulls. The drawers opened. Nothing. Huh? It was empty. All those little compartments. Well, well.
He started opening dresser drawers. One had just silk scarves in it, no jeweller 's boxes. Imagine…a whole drawer with nothing but scarves. The next had panties. That 's all. The next, bras. He scooted through the middle and bottom drawers. No sign of any jewellery. The place had been cleaned out.
He could hear Janet opening drawers in the next room.
"Janet, come here, " he said.
Her face framed by the brown helmet of hair appeared in the doorway.
"Take a peek at this, and tell me if you can think of any other place the vic might have put her jewellery."
Janet looked at the empty jewellery box. She opened the scarf drawer and then looked at him. "I 'll check the walk-in, but this shouldn 't be empty. And I 'll check the freezer in the fridge, just in case she was planning to go away. But I think someone 's cleaned her out. Could it be the sister?"
Dumont thought, then shook his head. "Don 't think so. She wouldn 't have been so forthcoming about giving me descriptions."
"Speaking of which…" Janet left the room for a second and came back. "I found the appraisals for her jewellery. She had lots, all right. And you should see the value."
Dumont frowned. It was hard to hock a lot of jewellery in this town, but if you weren 't too fussy where you went…Damn. He could be all the way to Egypt right now. Or Eastern Europe, or South America. Dumont 's cop sense told him they were never going to see Reggie again.
He couldn't have been more wrong.
Chapter 21
Nellie gathered around her the things she needed to be a spy. Or a detective. Or one of the kids from her book, The Island of Adventure . Those kids solved a puzzle together so she could too. But it had to be all by herself. Not with the help of a brother or sister because she didn 't have one. And not with Abigail because this was the real-life mystery of whether it was Father who killed that lady outside their house. Everyone said Father put Mom in the hospital and Nellie believed it . A nd that was bad enough.
Did he murder his friend too ? The one who laughed and giggled with him and snuck into her room with him that night when they thought she was asleep.
Nellie bet Mom still didn't know about that. Mom was in the hospital then too. Not because Father hit her, but because she was depressed or something and needed rest.
Her stuff was strewn all around her as she sat on the floor of her bedroom. So far she 'd collected a hand mirror, a magnifying glass, a flashlight, binoculars, paper, a pencil, a tape recorder, an old knapsack to carry everything in and a knife to protect herself.
Mission number one was to check Father and Mom's room. Father was gone since sometime yesterday. So it wasn 't like he 'd be there taking a nap or anything. She scrabbled to her door, opened it, poked the mirror around the door frame and angled it so she could see down the hall. No one. And no one was coming up the stairs either. Then she angled it up the hall. She hadn 't heard any noises coming from any of the bedrooms in a long time so that meant everyone was downstairs. The coast is clear.
She crawled back to her pile of equipment, stashed it in her knapsack, pulled it over her shoulders, stood up and tip-toed to the door. This time she peeked with her eyes. Still completely safe.
Mom and Father's room was right next door. So she didn 't have to go far. She opened their door and slipped inside.
She wiped her hand across her forehead. No one saw. But her heart was pounding for real. She wasn 't supposed to be in their bedroom when she wasn 't invited. Funny, because she was allowed to go everywhere else in the house. Oh ya, but not in guest rooms when people were staying over.
Her stomach growled. This adventure was making her starving. She 'd have to remember to pack cookies or something next time.
First thing she decided to check was whether Father took his overnight bag or his suitcase with him. That would let her know how long he was going to be away. Whenever he was about to leave on a business trip to Toronto, either the small, black overnight bag would be sitting by the front door, or the really big one with the handle and wheels that pulled out. She headed for their closet because she knew he stored them in there when he wasn 't using them. He let her watch him pack and unpack sometimes. She opened the double doors and pushed past a bunch of his suits. She discovered that both his overnight bag and his suitcase were missing.
Next she checked his dresser. No big pile of socks in his sock drawer. She didn 't know whether to be happy or sad that he was going to be gone for a long, long time.
She knew from bits of movies and TV shows she should search for blood to know for absolute sure if he did it. She got down on her hands and knees and searched every crook and cranny, including the whole en-suite, for a sign of blood. Nothing. Now she could go back to her room and tell Macho that Father was not a murderer. But she wanted to do one more thing. She took out her pencil and rubbed the
lead gently back and forth over the scratch pad by the phone. Even the kids at school knew if you rubbed gently, whatever message was last written on the pad would show up white.
"Carla, did you sort through your mo m 's stuff already?" Becki was still wondering how there could be no drugs at all.
"What do you mean?"
"In her room?"
"I thought Anna said she wanted to do that."
"And I wanted to help. I was planning to dispose of Godmom 's pharmaceuticals and I couldn 't find them. Just thought it was weird."
"Oh, I see. That 's right. I cleaned out her drugs. Nellie has the run of the place, and I didn 't want her coming across something dangerous."
"Smart."
"And while I was doing that, I found and picked out Mom 's diamond watch from inside her nightstand. She left it to you, right? I put it in my room so I 'd remember to give it to you, but…well…other things sort of happened. I didn 't get around to it. Sorry. But now I 'm thinking about it, I 'll go get it."
"Carla, you 're wearing a cast."
"So?"
"You shouldn 't be going up and down stairs. In fact, you should move down here until your cast comes off. If we finish cleaning out your mom 's room, would you consider using it?"
"No."
"Not even temporarily?"
"No." Carla moved away.
"At least don 't worry about that watch. I 'm in no hurry to have it."
"It 's beautiful, " said Carla over her shoulder.
"The watch she wore every day?"
"No, the Piaget was her dress-up watch. And she kept it in its original case. Let me go get it."
"Carla!"
"What? Have to keep moving."
Carla didn't want to give Mom 's beautiful watch to Becki. After all, Becki wasn 't family. So even if she hadn 't been that annoying lately, and stayed by her side at the hospital, and went with her to the police station, and bought Nellie that book, and didn 't seem to be judging her for marrying Reggie in the first place, it felt wrong. She climbed the stairs slowly. Awkwardly. Horribly wrong. She walked up the hall to her bedroom like Frankenstein with a club foot.
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