Picture Imperfect

by Rickie Blair

  I held up a hand to stop her. “Let me guess. One of their idiotic global publicity campaigns has gone wrong and they need you to fix the damage.”

  “Something like that.”

  I noted that she ignored my description of their endeavors as idiotic. Good judgment on her part, I thought.

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “Well,” she said in an elaborately drawn-out way intended to make light of it.

  It didn’t fool me for a minute.

  “It might be a teensy bit—”

  “Oh, come on,” I blustered. “You promised to retire. You crossed your heart and everything. Was that a lie?”

  “I am retired, Verity. I didn’t lie to you. But sometimes—” She shrugged. “One has to get back in the ring.”

  “No. One doesn’t,” I said in a level tone. “You owe that lunatic group nothing. You did their bidding for years. It’s time to lay off the plucky stuff.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Plucky?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “There is a slight problem,” she said in a small voice. “My usual partner is…” She bit her lips as she watched Gideon. “Not up to it.”

  Gideon had rolled to a crouching position on the mat. Even from our seats in the bleachers, I could tell he was breathing heavily. When he saw us looking at him, he gave a desultory wave and a forced grin.

  “Still catching your breath?” Adeline called.

  He nodded gamely with one hand on his knee. “I’m fine.”

  She lowered her voice. “See? I’d be putting him in danger.”

  “Him? What about you?”

  Ignoring my question, she stared into the distance, obviously thinking something over. “If I take on another case, I’ll have to go it alone. There’s no one else I trust.”

  I didn’t like the look in her eye—that steely glint of Hawkes determination I’d seen too often over the years. It had been a constant worry for my mother, and now it was getting to be a pain in the neck for me, too.

  “You have to refuse,” I said. “It’s not hard. Repeat after me. No. I can’t do that. I can’t leave my niece alone on the eve of her wedding. Say it.”

  At the mention of a wedding, she jerked her gaze back to mine. Her expression softened. “Wedding? Then you are going to—”

  I raised a hand. “I didn’t mean that, exactly. It’s a possibility. In the future. Not right now—”

  She heaved a sigh. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for. The entire village is baffled. They talk about you at the farmers’ market, you know.”

  I was startled for a moment until I saw the glint in her eyes. “They do not. Stop joking.”

  She sighed again. “Well, I can’t tell you what to do.”

  I narrowed my own eyes. Telling her niece what to do was one of my aunt’s favorite pastimes. Although she usually framed her advice with, It’s only a suggestion, but—

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What do you think I should do?” I meant to get her advice on Jeff and my response to his proposal. I wasn’t prepared for her reply.

  “Do you want to be a landscaper forever?”

  I reared back. “It was good enough for you,” I countered.

  “After nearly a lifetime of doing something else, sure. I loved it. It’s a great way to spend the summer. Keeps the muscles toned.”

  “But?”

  “But what about the other six months in the year? Are you going to stay home and make sushi?”

  “Jeff loves sushi. It’s comfort food for him.”

  “He makes wonderful sushi himself. Frankly, all of his food prep is superior to—”

  “Hey. Could we leave my cooking out of this, please?”

  “Sorry. I only meant—”

  “I know what you meant.”

  Her criticism was particularly galling, given that my aunt’s idea of home cooking included slugs and caterpillars roasted over a fire on one of our survival camping trips. She wouldn’t know a wine reduction if it fell on her.

  Gideon rose to his feet, then ambled over to sit on the bleachers a few rows away. “Good workout, Verity,” he intoned. “You’re really coming along.”

  Adeline smiled. “Coming along? She cleaned your clock. And it took her, what?” She raised her wrist for a glance at her watch. “Three seconds?”

  “Don’t change the subject,” I said.

  “I’m not.” Adeline raised her voice. “Gideon, I’ve decided to take on the new case.”

  He nodded. “Thought you would. That means I—”

  “And,” she said before he could volunteer to accompany her, “I’ll have a new partner.”

  Gideon and I regarded her with surprise.

  “Who?” we asked in unison.

  My aunt got to her feet, tugged her T-shirt down over her bicycle shorts, and smiled. “Verity.”

  Then she heaved her gym bag over one shoulder and headed for the door.

  I watched her go with my mouth agape. By the time I recovered my voice, she had disappeared. I turned to Gideon. “Did she just say—”

  “Yes. She did.” He rose to follow Adeline.

  “Well.” I clapped both hands to my waist. “I’m not doing it.”

  He tossed me a grin over his shoulder as he reached the door.

  “I’m not doing it,” I called after him. Then, in a louder voice, “Not. Doing. It.”

  My words rang off the gym’s metal bleachers and polished floors. There was no one around to hear them.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Your aunt’s not serious, surely?” Emy looked worried as she poured fresh hot water into my tea mug at the 5X. “About recruiting you for Control, I mean?”

  “She seemed serious to me.”

  “Is that scary holographic thingy still in your basement?”

  “Yes, but… It’s supposed to be inoperative.”

  In the past, the basement’s rows of monitors had switched on without warning to display the gray-faced marionettes that relayed Control’s orders. It was never clear who pulled their electronic strings. But once, they threatened to blow up Rose Cottage, frightening me half to death.

  “Hmmm.” Emy handed me the mug over the counter. “Fortunately, you don’t have to join Control.”

  I paused, the mug halfway to my lips, meeting her eyes.

  “Oh, no,” she said. “You’re tempted.”

  “It might be interesting.”

  “Did you tell Jeff?”

  “Not yet. Not until I make up my mind.”

  “You better do that fast.”

  “Why?”

  She lifted her chin at the front door. “Because he’s here now.”

  A second later, the bell jangled. I turned to see Jeff walk in. I could watch him do that all day.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he said, smiling broadly.

  I offered my cheek for a quick kiss.

  He nodded. “Emy.”

  “Lemon cupcake?” she asked with a smile.

  “Not today. Coffee, black.”

  She filled a mug from the carafe.

  “Thanks.” Jeff took a swallow before lowering the mug and clearing his throat.

  “You’ve got news,” I said. “Tell me.”

  “It’s confidential.” He regarded Emy, a smile playing on his lips. “But I suppose you know all about it.”

  “If you mean Ryker’s case,” I placed a hand on his arm. “Yes, she does. Now—what’s the news?”

  “I checked into Mr. Fields’ prison term, like you asked.” Jeff took another sip, watching me over the rim of his mug.

  “And?” I asked, nearly jumping out of my skin in anticipation.

  “Is this Ryker’s father we’re talking about?” Emy asked.

  I nodded rapidly without taking my gaze from Jeff’s face.

  “He was in Penetanguishene for nine years,” Jeff said.

  “How old is Ryker now?”

  “Thirty-eight.”

  I did a quick sum in my head. “Ryker told
me his father went to prison when he was eight years old. That means his father got out of prison when Ryker was seventeen—twenty-one years ago.”

  “Correct. But why did you—”

  “How old was Dakota when she died?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  My heart sank.

  Emy—also good at math—puffed out a breath. “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

  Jeff searched our faces. “Why are their ages significant?”

  “I couldn’t tell you before. I promised Ryker.”

  He placed the mug on the counter, his expression locked in blank-detective-look mode. “Go on.”

  “Dakota believed that Ryker was her half-brother. Same father, different mother. But if Dakota was twenty-two, then Ryker’s dad can’t possibly be her father. He was in prison when she was conceived.”

  Emy’s eyes widened. “Dakota and Ryker weren’t siblings.”

  “No.”

  Jeff grimaced. “You should have told me about this.”

  I scrunched up my face in remorse. “Sorry. But I’m telling you now.”

  “Does this help Ryker’s case?” Emy asked.

  Miserably, I pushed my mug away, shaking my head. “If we can do the math, then Ryker could, too. He may have decided Dakota lied to him all along. Especially when she demanded money.”

  Jeff grimaced. “Which would have made him angry enough to—”

  “Don’t,” I blurted.

  “What about Dakota’s DNA test?” Emy asked.

  “Shelby must have forged it somehow,” I said.

  “Why would Shelby lie about Dakota being their sister? It’s so mean.”

  Jeff cleared his throat. We turned to face him.

  “There’s more. When I was checking on Mr. Fields’ prison sentence, I talked to the detectives on the Strathcona case. Turns out Shelby has a criminal conviction for fraud.”

  Emy and I exchanged shocked glances. “Wow,” we said in unison.

  In hindsight, I shouldn’t have been surprised. I knew Shelby wasn’t truthful. I just didn’t suspect her lies extended to actual crimes. Although, when I thought it over, it made sense. The entire Fields clan appeared to have a turbulent relationship with the law.

  “What happened to her?”

  “Six months in jail.”

  “That’s a lot for a first offense.”

  “Shelby was offered probation in exchange for information, but she refused to cooperate. The investigators knew she had an accomplice, but she wouldn’t name him.”

  “We have to tell Ryker about this,” Emy said. “He deserves to know what his half-sister’s been up to.”

  Jeff was adamant. “No. You two have to back off.”

  “But—”

  “No, Emy. Let the police handle it.”

  I watched them argue with growing unease. Then I clapped a hand to my forehead. How could I be so dumb?

  “What is it?” Emy asked with a look of alarm.

  I shook my head. A casual comment of Shelby’s had floated to the top of my mind. It was so strange, finding out I had a little sister I’d never met…

  “Little sister” implied Shelby was older than Dakota. A cold feeling grew in the pit of my stomach as I realized Shelby couldn’t be Ryker’s sister, either.

  And worse—that casual remark of hers might have tipped Ryker off.

  Before I could open my mouth to explain, Jeff’s cell phone rang. He raised it to his ear.

  “Yes?” He frowned as he listened. “I see.” His expression was grim as he clicked off the call. “No one’s seen Ryker for hours. His truck is no longer at his house.”

  I recalled the last time I’d seen that truck. It had a flat tire. You’d have to be oblivious to drive it like that, I thought. Or furious.

  “There’s an APB out for the vehicle,” Jeff added. “Meanwhile—have either of you seen Shelby?”

  “Not since this morning,” Emy said. “She came in for a sandwich.” She caught my eye, looking uneasy. “Do you think she’s in danger?”

  I returned her glance, biting my lip. I didn’t believe Ryker would harm Shelby, despite her lies about Dakota. Or did I?

  “I don’t know,” I said miserably. “It’s…possible. Jeff—about those DNA tests—”

  But he was already headed for the exit, his lips tight.

  I started after him—then halted as a BOOM echoed off the walls.

  Emy grabbed the counter with both hands as a tremor shook the floor of the bakery, rattling the china. “What was that?” she squealed.

  We rushed to the front door. Jeff had already flung it open. Once outside, we stood on the sidewalk, mouths slack.

  Smoke was billowing from the back of Nigel Hemsworth’s building. Flames licked up the side walls of his apartment on the second floor.

  “Stay back,” Jeff shouted, rushing to the scene.

  Right, I thought. As if.

  We raced after him and around the corner to the back of Nigel’s shop. Sirens wailed as a firetruck roared past.

  Emy and I joined the gathering crowd at the back of the building. Greasy black smoke swirled through the air, making us cough. I squinted, trying to make out the back wall through the murk. I knew Nigel had a balcony on the second floor, but I couldn’t see it.

  Firefighters unspooled hoses, then trained them on the building. The whoosh of water hitting the walls competed with shouts from patrol officers to “Move back!” Cars halted on the street behind us, blocking the road as drivers jumped out to take videos.

  Within minutes the smoke subsided, revealing the extent of the damage. The back wall was completely destroyed. All that remained of Nigel’s balcony was a pile of bricks. The crowd sucked in a collective breath, then let it out slowly. We exchanged shocked glances.

  Emy leaned toward me. “Do you think Nigel’s underneath those bricks?” she whispered, looking squeamish.

  “I hope not.” Craning my neck to see over the crowd, I scanned the parking lot for his blue convertible. “His car’s not here.”

  “Oh. That’s a good sign.” Emy tapped my shoulder. “I can’t stay. I have to get back to the bakery.” She dug a set of car keys out of her pocket, then handed them to me.

  “What’s this for?” I asked.

  “Lorne has the truck, right?”

  I nodded.

  “I know you, Verity. Whatever you’re doing, you’ll need wheels.” With a flap of her hand, she raced off. I dropped the keys into my pocket.

  The fire was out, and emergency crews were assessing the charred and smoking bricks from a distance, pointing and conferring. It would take hours to clear the site.

  I turned to walk away. The explosion must have been an accident. Unless…

  What if it was a decoy? I wondered. Nigel had been furious at Shelby’s ham-fisted attempts to claim the Lawren Harris painting. An explosion like this would create a diversion that would distract the police and leave him free to deal with Shelby.

  I shook my head. That was a crazy idea. Who would blow up their own apartment? With growing unease, I realized how desperate my theory sounded. Maybe Adeline was right. Maybe I had focused on Nigel as the killer simply because I wanted to clear Ryker.

  But where was Ryker? Why would a man too depressed to leave his house suddenly bolt?

  One thing was certain. Shelby had made enemies in Leafy Hollow. It was possible Nigel finally snapped and went after her, but it was equally possible Ryker had, too.

  She could be in danger. Or was that just my paranoia speaking? I rocked on my feet, wondering what to do. I hated Shelby for tricking Ryker, but I didn’t want her harmed.

  Jeff was instructing uniformed officers to move the crowd back. On his way past, he stopped to speak to me. “We’re expanding the perimeter so the crews have more room to work. You might as well go home.”

  “Do they know what caused it?”

  “Natural gas explosion, they think. Nigel had a gas barbecue on the balcony.”

  “An accident, then
?”

  Jeff thinned his lips, watching the scene. “Probably,” he said slowly. “They won’t be able to determine that for a while.”

  “Did they find his body?”

  He shook his head. “Engineers have to shore up the wall before the crews can do a thorough search.”

  “Nigel could be fine.”

  “He’s not answering his phone.”

  “His car is gone,” I said, pointing to the empty parking space behind the building. “He could be at Perry Otis’s farmhouse, cataloguing the artwork for sale. Shelby could be there, too.” I hesitated. “And Ryker. Do you want me to check?”

  “No. We’ll send a squad car. I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but stay out of it, Verity. I’ll see you at home.”

  A few minutes later, as I revved up the engine of Emy’s Fiat, I considered my next move. I could join Lorne and Ethan at work. They’d appreciate the help.

  Or I could drive to Perry’s farmhouse.

  Stay out of it, Verity.

  I tried to come up with a third alternative, then brightened.

  What about looking for Shelby somewhere else? Just because she wasn’t at Ryker’s didn’t mean she was at the farmhouse. I headed for Clarence Avenue, on the other side of the village.

  It was easy to find the rooming house Emy had recommended to Shelby. Three-story brick, peeling paint on the trim, weeds in the front yard—and a hand-lettered sign propped up in the front window.

  Rooms to Let

  After peering unsuccessfully through the front door’s pebbled glass window, I pushed the door open, stepping into a fog of cooking odors and stale cigarette smoke, seasoned with a whiff of lemon-oil furniture polish.

  A hand-lettered sign on the first unit read, Office. I rapped on the door.

  Footsteps sounded, then the door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman, her wispy hair tied back in a ponytail.

  “If you’re looking for a room, we’re full up. Come back next week. I might have something then.” She went to close the door.

  I slapped a hand on it. “I’m not looking for a room. I’m looking for a person.” I described Shelby. “She may have come here in the last week or so.”

  “What do you want her for?” The landlady’s expression was guarded, but not unfriendly.

  I decided to embellish my story.