"Four to five minutes."
"Who was with you inside?"
"No one."
"Sure?"
"That I could see."
"What did you see when you looked outside?"
She felt like saying, sky, trees, grass…everything but what this interview was about. She held herself back. "I didn 't see anyone running from the scene. No movement. And Ian surely wasn 't moving. He 'd fallen over."
"You screamed."
"Tried my best."
"You brought Tony and Gina running. Where did Tony come from?"
"From behind me."
"From inside the house?"
"Think so."
"How long after you screamed did he arrive?"
"Under a minute."
"Where did Gina come from?"
"Behind me and to my left? Around the corner of the house, I think."
"How long did it take her to get to you?"
"Hard to say…maybe two minutes?"
"Close. Tony and Gina could have been together somewhere."
"Doubt it."
"Why?"
"Just don 't think so."
"You touch anything?"
"No."
"Maybe try and revive the victim?"
"Wish I had."
"No, you don 't."
"Yes, I do."
"There was nothing you could have done."
"Thanks for trying to make me feel better."
"Did you see the gun?"
"No. But I knew he was shot."
"How?"
"That noise I heard." She shuddered. "And, of course, there was that hole in his back."
Rob heard a commotion coming from the direction of the kitchen—wailing. His abs crunched involuntarily. Linda. He felt so very sorry for Ian 's mother.
Nellie usually came home from school through the back. Afternoon snacks were always in the kitchen. But today there were cop cars in front of the house again, and the way to the back was blocked. It was gross having police cars at your house all the time. Kids at school were starting to say mean things.
She opened the front door, and that 's when she heard the most horrible noise. Like an animal being killed by another animal on one of those educational channels. She crept through the foyer, past the stairs. She needed to find out what was going on, but no need to hurry, right?
Right in front of her, Detective Dumont and Aunt Becki came out of the library. Both with gritted teeth, frown lines. It wasn 't a good sign when adults looked like that. Usually adults tried to not look upset.
"Oh…Nellie…honey, " Aunt Becki said . "Let 's go upstairs and play in your room."
"What 's going on?"
"It 's Aunt Linda. Her son is…gone. She 's so sad right now. And there 's nothing you or I can do. Gina and Tony are there to comfort her. Probably Aunt Mandy too . And Detective Dumont will help out as much as he can."
"Where 's Mom?"
"Don 't know, but I 'm sure she 'd want you to come upstairs with me." Aunt Becki reached out and led her by the shoulders to the stairs.
"No. I want to know what 's going on." She twisted away from Aunt Becki and started down the hall again.
Detective Dumont was in the kitchen. He blocked her view. She was just ducking under him when—"Nellie!" It was Mom 's voice.
Nellie whirled around.
Mom was standing in the foyer, a bag of groceries in each hand. "Listen to your Aunt Becki. She only wants what 's best for you, I 'm sure."
Nellie never disobeyed Father. That would just be stupid. And she always listened to Mom for a different reason.
Chapter 28
Tony walked into the study and set his gun down on the desk. "I expect you 'll want this."
Rob looked up into hard eyes. He reached for the revolver and sniffed it. No doubt about it—it hadn 't been fired recently. He opened the cylinder and spun it, counting the bullets. All there.
"I thought you Bond types carried semis."
"Semis jam a lot. You get six sure shots with a revolver." Tony sat in the chair opposite and leaned forward. "I don 't need a semi. I never miss."
Rob thought he had never heard a colder voice. He watched as a hard smile worked its way across Tony 's face.
"If you blues practiced more you wouldn 't need semis, either. Irresponsible to spray bullets around."
The smug bastard. Rob felt his face go red.
"Come off it, Rob. I know you 're pissed about Gina and me. Well, I 'm pissed about Gina and you too ."
"What the hell—"
"Did you honestly think she would have any time for you after what you did to her years ago? Get real. And stop taking it out on me."
Rob felt the fury build. "Get out, " he said.
"Gladly." Tony rose from the chair.
"And don 't leave the house."
"Wouldn 't think of it." Tony paused in the doorway. "Someone has to figure out what 's going on around here."
Rob swore. He scowled down at the revolver, and it took everything in him not to throw it across the room.
Mandy walked slowly into Gina's room and sat down on the bed. She rested her cane against the side.
"How are you faring, Gina?"
She could see the dark circles under Gina's eyes framed by an abnormally pale face. The red shirt, which usually suited her, made her look washed out today. Gina would always be pretty, but right now she looked haunted.
"All right, I guess. Considering. This is a nightmare. I feel like I 'm walking through a play."
Mandy nodded. She sighed deeply. Her eyes followed Gina to the window where she was standing. Why did Mandy get the impression of Rapunzel looking out the tower window?
"How 's Linda?" Gina 's voice shook.
"Quieter now, " Mandy said. "Jerry is with her. I gave her one of my Ativans."
"That should help."
Mandy nodded. "It always helps me."
Gina continued to stand looking wistfully out the window.
"Come sit here, Gina. I have something to tell you."
Gina looked over. She turned and walked to the bed, then sat down to face her aunt.
"I didn 't tell anyone Tony was adopted because it wasn 't done legally." She saw the flush cross Gina 's face.
"Hear me out now. Don 't judge me yet." Mandy took a deep breath. This was important. She had to say this right. Tony 's happiness depended on it.
"You know I used to teach in Vancouver."
Gina nodded.
"It was a high school on the North Shore. One of my students got pregnant at seventeen. She came to me for help. She was a bright youn g thing, very pretty. She hid her pregnancy well over the winter term and gave birth at the end of August. She told everyone—including her parents—that she was working at a resort for the summer. We took a cabin in the Kelowna area where my old college roommate worked as a doctor. I took the baby home , and that 's how I got Tony."
Gina's eyes were saucers. "No one knew?"
Mandy shook her head. "I promised. That was the one condition. My student wouldn 't even allow a legal adoption, she was so afraid to have any paper traced to her."
"How sad, " Gina said.
"Not for me." Mandy smiled. "I got my baby boy. And you 've got to remember—things were different back then. It wasn 't cool to be a single mother. This girl was destined for a university , and a baby would have changed everything. For me, it was a dream come true."
"What a risk to take."
"Not so great. My name is on the birth certificate. That 's the way the birth-mother wanted it. And that 's why Tony never knew."
Mandy thought back to that time in the mountains. A cabin, they called it, although it really was like a summer home with all the conveniences. It had been a hot summer, she remembered, with little rain. The flies had been a problem. And the endless time on their hands. She cleared her throat.
"When Tony turned eighteen, of course the adoption didn 't matter anymore. I didn 't have to worry about losing him, ab
out some agency coming to take him away. I probably should have told him then, but…there didn 't seem a good reason to."
Gina sat still for a moment. "The announcement, during the reading of the will. How did Grandmother find out?"
Mandy sighed. "She knew your uncle was infertile. He 'd had a bad case of mumps as a teenager. So it was either adoption , or I had an affair." Mandy smiled. "Even she didn 't suspect me of that. I was crazy about your uncle, everyone knew that."
There was a sad moment as she reflected on the past.
"I 've never regretted it, not for a second. He was always my son from day one. Always will be. You will understand that when you are a mother. There is nothing I wouldn 't do for him—nothing. You think a mother bear is fierce." She felt her voice grow hard.
Gina reached across to take her hand.
"But Gina, " Mandy 's eyes were compelling. "Remember that. That 's what makes this place so dangerous. I 'm not the only mother here."
Rob put the phone down. The pistol was unregistered, like so many of the guns up here. There was something about the people who lived in the near north, a streak of bloody independence. Then a thought hit him. Damn and blast! How could he have forgotten? He reached for the cell and started punching numbers.
Jeremy Davis was born and bred in the city and despised it. Since day one , he had asthma. The smog and traffic were like a toxic prison to him. As a kid he had spent his summers on a puffer, throwing stones down sewer grates, envying the kids that got to go up no rth to the family cottages. When he graduated from the police college five years ago , it was a no-brainer. Huntsville—they needed cops, and he didn 't need a puffer.
At first he bunked in the basement apartment of a fellow officer. Two years later, he was able to buy his own little bungalow in a small subdivision in the country. Forest surrounded him on three sides. Since then he had acquired a wife and a dog. Except for the brutal blizzards in winter, life was good.
Jeremy swung the cruiser off Muskoka 13 and onto a small laneway. The Best property was in a ritzy part of cottage country , and although Jeremy wasn 't in that league, he 'd been through the lakes a number of times on his friend 's bass fishing boat. Summer homes of the rich and famous lined the rocky shoreline boasting of wealth. Calling these places cottages was like calling the Taj Mahal a summer camp.
Jeremy reached the end of the drive and eased the cruiser to a stop. Ahead stood a ranch bungalow, probably from the seventies. It was low and long, and looked a little run-down. There was no other vehicle in the driveway.
Jeremy got out of the car and put on disposable gloves. He looked down at the earth for recent tracks. Someone had used the drive during that rain storm last week, he concluded. The ground had been carved and then had dried in ridges. He could make out tire marks, like that of an off-roader…SUV of some sort.
He walked to the front door. They would call it the back, of course. On properties such as this, everyone called the lakeside the front even if the obvious entrance faced the road. Some stupid rich person 's fancy.
He tried the brass knob on the door. It spun and opened—not even locked. Jeremy shook his head. Silly rich people. He moved into the hallway, seeking the kitchen. That was the best place to start looking for occupancy.
At the end of the panel-lined hall stood a seventies Hollywood kitchen right out of one of those sitcoms. He flicked on the big centre light. Jeremy went first to the coffeemaker. Filter still in it with used grounds. Cold, but they weren 't mouldy. That told him something.
Then he went to the avocado fridge. Why in hell would anyone make a colour like that? Let alone buy it. He surveyed the contents. Homo milk, opened. He picked up the container, opened it and sniffed. Still fresh.
Jeremy felt the cellphone in his pocket vibrate. One hand reached for it. "Yeah, someone 's been here recently, " he said into it. "Got some good tracks from an SUV, and the milk 's fresh. Hold on a sec—"
The overhead light was behind him, so his shadow ran the length of the cupboards. Silently, another shadow approached his. His hand went to his nightstick as he spun around.
Chapter 29
Jeremy summed up the male intruder . Tall, slim, youthful, blond, dressed in a white shirt with a V-neck sweater, in that cheesy diamond pattern that was everywhere these days. He put away his nightstick. "Who 're you?"
"Seeing as I never let you in—yet here you are spilling milk all over the floor—same to you."
"Police." He pulled out his ID and shoved it in the man 's mug. "One more time, who are you?"
"Andrew McCarthy."
"Not your place of residence."
"Nope."
"Why are you here?"
"Picking up a few things."
"Family?"
"Hilary was a friend."
"You say 'Hilary was a friend.' As in you know she 's dead?"
"As in I do know she 's dead, and also as in the friendship 's been over for some time."
"Got a rag or something?" Jeremy barked.
Andrew reached under the sink, pulled out a dishcloth and tossed it over.
Jeremy swiped the floor quickly. Then Andrew led him through an archway to an oblong room. He got a dusky view of the lake churning up whitecaps on the other side of the double wall of windows.
The men sat down, and Jeremy indicated the overturned hardcover on the kidney-shaped coffee table between them. "So you were reading?"
"Long trip from Toronto. Thought I 'd bunk here overnight and head out in the morning."
"There 's no car in the driveway. How did you get here?"
"Took the train from Toronto and a taxi from Huntsville."
"You don 't drive?"
Andrew tilted his head. "No need. I live in a civilized part of the world."
"How did you find out about Ms. Best?"
"Funny, really. My boyfriend told me. He was at his grandmother 's house, attending her funeral, and a few days later, Hilary 's body was found outside."
Jeremy pulled out his notebook and clarified. "Your boyfriend?"
There was no way any food prep was going to happen. No way anyone would head out to a restaurant for supper, either. Becki decided she 'd order pizzas and set up a small buffet in the dining room. Nellie, at least, shouldn 't go hungry.
She sat in the living room and waited for the knock on the front door, her arms wrapped in a self-hug. Too many deaths. And at least two of them violent. She knew Godmom, Hilary Best and Ian, would go on—call it whatever you like. But the pain of loss remained with the living.
Most people are not able to communicate with their loved ones after death. Well, some people do gab away…it 's just…typically…there 's no response. Becki felt blessed. "Mom, right now would be a good time to drop in. No one 's here."
What wouldn't I do for my one and only daughter?
"Come back to life?"
Rephrasing. What wouldn't I do that 's within my means?
"Can you stop this nightmare? Can you stop this killer?"
You think there's just one killer?
"Yes."
Hmmm. Wish I could do something, but I can 't do a thing. You can, darling.
"What can I do?" After a few minutes, Becki assumed Mom was giving her the look. "You think I 'm not trying? I 've searched and searched. And searched again. Poured over everything in my head. What I need is a new angle."
Well…here's a suggestion. You know when you enter a quality hotel room and everything looks absolutely perfect?
"You mean those fluffy bathrobes hanging in the closet, herbal tea bags sitting on the tray next to the coffeemaker, toilet paper folded into points…"
Along those lines. Luxurious broadloom, rich mahogany furniture, gleaming marble—"Right."
After you've been living there in the room a few days, what changes?
"Nothing."
So it might seem. If you wear one of those bathrobes, it 's replaced. Tea bags get replenished. But something does change. Think about it—after a few days, the
room doesn 't look quite so perfect anymore, does it? You notice that wee bit of mould growing in the shower.
"You 're saying I should look for a wee bit of mould?"
I'm saying, in time, any wee bit of mould that was previously invisible will jump right out at you.
Carla closed the book. They were close to the end, but Nellie fell asleep. Carla slid out of Nellie 's bed, tucked the covers up and contemplated her angel in the lamplight. Tawny skin, tendrils of hair winding over the pillow, her button nose, her fragile eyelids, the sweet mouth of an angel of a child.
She gently pulled the door to the room closed. Nellie—first in her heart, first in all her choices. But they said in the event of an airplane emergency, the mother should put on the oxygen mask first, then see to her child , and put on his or her mask. That was because if the mother passes out from lack of oxygen, she can 't save her child .
Carla entered her own room which looked bigger sans Reggie. She knew she should start to get ready for bed—brush her teeth, floss, wash her face. Boring . A n d in the end, pointless. Right? What had proper nightly routine done for her so far? For that matter, how about her efforts at being a dutiful daughter, and her years and years of wifely devotion? Things having progressed as they did over the last week or so, Carla realized how right it was for her to stand up strong—for herself.
She took the two decorative pillows off the queen-size bed and piled them on the chest at the foot of the bed, then turned down the covers. While pulling off her sweater, then her jeans, she came to a resolution—knew exactly what she had to do—reclaim all that was hers. All her power. To do so, she had to make sure that no-good husband of hers stayed away from Nellie.
She walked into the en-suite. Found further direction while standing over the counter and facing the vanity mirror. First she 'd revise her statement about Hilary Best 's murder—add to the record Reggie had disappeared that night for over an hour. Then she 'd figure out where the bastard was hiding. The police seemed more than just a little dense and definitely needed her help finding him. But , once found, things would turn around for her and Nellie. Yes! The slight woman with the nasty facial bruises punched the air.
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