“Your words are music to my ears.” I proceeded to fill her in on the concept behind Past & Present Investigations.
“That’s fantastic. First, I’m thrilled that you have decided to make your home in Marketville permanent, and I’m doubly thrilled that you’ve sold Snapdragon Circle and found a property on Edward Street. It’s such a great street with all its pubs and independent shops and restaurants. I can’t imagine you would have ever felt entirely comfortable at the old house, given everything you discovered while living there.”
“You’re right on all counts, and Edward Street is definitely a better fit for operating a home-based business. I’d considered buying another subdivision house, but the realtor cautioned me. There are subdivision and town bylaws to consider, and we’re hoping this location encourages occasional walk-in traffic.”
“We?”
“Sorry, I’m skipping ahead. Chantelle Marchand is my partner. She’ll be doing genealogical research, among other things. I’m the general dogsbody. Advertising, managing the website and social media, meeting with clients, writing reports, you name it, I’ll be doing it.” Even going to see a psychometrist.
“I’m so glad for both of you,” Shirley said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.
“There’s more. We’ve asked Misty Rivers to help us. She’s added a section about tarot on the website. She posts a Misty’s Messages blog using a tarot card.”
“Tarot,” Shirley said, and this time I could almost hear her laughing.
“It was Chantelle’s idea. I’ll admit I wasn’t thrilled at first, but Misty’s Messages brought us our first client, as well as some valuable information on the assignment. Arabella’s also on board on an as-needed basis in the event there are antiques to appraise, or anything antiques related, really. It was actually Arabella that referred the client to us, and Misty’s Messages on the website sealed the deal.”
“I’m intrigued. Send me the link, I’ll take a browse around.”
“I will. But as I was saying earlier, your regret over retiring is music to my ears. There’s a reason for that. Chantelle and I would like you to join our team.”
“You would? Really?”
“We can’t pay you much to start with, but—”
“No buts. You’d be doing me a favor. I wasn’t kidding when I told you that I’m bored out of my mind. I would love to be part of your team. I just don’t know how I could contribute.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” I told her about wanting to review Toronto Star and Globe and Mail archives from the 1950s. “It seems that the Toronto Public Library now has everything archived online, but you need a library card to access it, and you have to apply in person for the card.”
“You want me to help you with the archives research?”
“I know it sounds dull, especially since you left the Cedar County Reference Library for a new life, but yes, in answer to your question, that’s exactly what we’d want you to do. You could pick your title. How does Chief Research Analyst sound?”
“It sounds perfect,” Shirley said. “I’ll go to the library today and get a card. There’s a branch at Warden and Steeles that’s close to a friend’s house. I’ll give her a call, see if we can meet up for dinner.”
“Thank you. You have no idea how much that simplifies my life. I’ll have to update you on the case before we get started. I’d rather do that in person. It would be best if you saw what we’ve got so far so you can focus your search. When is your earliest availability?”
“How does tomorrow morning sound? I’m anxious to get started.”
“I don’t mind working on a Sunday if you don’t.”
“I’ve just had six weeks of mind-numbing R and R. Working on a Sunday will be a welcome diversion. Besides, I’m treating this like an adventure. What’s a good time to meet?”
I didn’t know how my date with Royce would go. Would I end up staying over? Did I want to stay over? I wasn’t sure. Either way, my training schedule called for a six-mile run and run club met at eight thirty.
“Why don’t you come by around eleven? It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to go through everything, and then I’ll make lunch.”
“Eleven works for me, and lunch would be great.”
“How does tourtiere and salad sound?” I asked, knowing how much Shirley loved my version of the French Canadian meat pie.
“Like I’m not in Florida any more. And I couldn’t be happier.”
I went to the grocery store to pick up the fixings for a tossed salad and the ingredients for tomorrow’s lunch. If I made the tourtiere today, it would only require reheating tomorrow. Not to mention that the activity would keep my mind off of my dinner with Royce. I was as excited as a teenager going to her first prom.
My next stop was the liquor store to pick up a nice bottle of white wine. Royce had told me not to bring anything, but my father raised me right. You didn’t go to someone’s house for dinner without taking something for the host, and I would feel silly bringing him flowers. Taking food would imply I didn’t trust his cooking.
The errands done, I returned home, turned on the radio, and got to work. First, bake a potato, peel, and mash. Next, combine the lean ground pork with chopped onions, potato, spices, and water. Simmer until thick, about an hour. While that was going, I made the pastry and rolled it out, humming along to the songs on the radio as I did it. It was comforting to make comfort food.
And yet, I was still worried. I was looking forward to the evening, really looking forward to it if I was completely honest. But what if we tried dating and it didn’t work out? I didn’t want to sacrifice our friendship.
My worry also went a lot deeper than Royce. I was worried about the case. It was a great relief that Shirley would be helping me search the archives, but what if we found out things I didn’t want to know? Or that Louisa wouldn’t want to know? True, I had forewarned her, and we both knew the risks of delving into the past, but knowing the risks or being faced with the cold, harsh truth were two different things. Then there was the business with my grandfather. Corbin Osgoode was hiding something, and I needed to find out what it was. I also had to find a way to speak to Olivia again, and to get the crystal vase from her room to bring to Randi. Despite hours of thinking about it, I had yet to come up with a plausible plan.
I sighed. I had forty-five minutes to spare now that the pie was assembled and put in the oven. Worrying about worrying would do nothing more than ruin my evening. I hopped onto the website and almost laughed out loud when I saw Misty’s latest message. Chantelle must have told her about my date with Royce.
The card shown was the Ten of Cups. The ten golden cups formed a rainbow arc in a blue sky. Beneath it was a man, his arm wrapped around the waist of a woman. Two children were playing off to the side. A small white house with a red roof stood in the distance, beyond a flowing stream and green fields. Except the card was upside down. I frowned. So far, in all of Misty’s Messages the cards had been right side up. I proceeded to read it, my curiosity piqued.
The Ten of Cups (Element: Water)
The Cups are often viewed as the happiest of the four suits, and this card certainly exudes happiness and contentment, the love of family and home. The most obvious interpretation is a romantic one of love and marriage or a long-term relationship. Less obvious, but I believe equally relevant, the card also represents clarity on personal beliefs and core values, and the creation of a life that is aligned to those values, both personally and professionally.
While some readers interpret the reversed Ten of Cups as an indicator of dissatisfaction, I believe it remains a card full of promise and joy, even though there are challenges ahead.
Misty’s Message: Sometimes the lines between the past and present blur our future. Facing challenges head-on will ultimately result in learning the truth. Do not allow anyone to thwart your quest for truth, no matter how deeply the secrets are buried in the past.
Realize, however, that not all ans
wers lie in the past. When it comes to romantic relationships, stop questioning everything about it and set aside past heartbreaks. Until you do so, true happiness cannot follow. Trust your heart, and realize everything worth having takes time to build.
I had expected the message to be all about falling in love, and Misty had certainly gotten her point across with her comment about setting aside past heartbreaks. But she had also managed to twist the narrative so that it was still relevant to the business. Do not allow anyone to thwart your quest for the truth, no matter how far the secret is buried in the past.
I wanted to email Misty and tell her not to worry. I was ready to trust my heart. No more loser radar for this woman. As for my quest to find the truth out about the past, Corbin Osgoode had met his match. The next time I saw the Ten of Cups, it was going to be upright and standing. Just like me.
29
I tried on a half dozen outfits from dressy to denim. I wanted to look nice, but this was dinner at Royce’s house, not some swanky restaurant, and he tended to dress in blue jeans and a golf shirt, no matter what the occasion. In the end, I selected a pair of black skinny jeans and an emerald twill sweater that brought the green out in my hazel eyes. I did my best to tame my hair with a flat iron and a couple of barrettes. Silver hoop earrings. Minimal make-up, mascara, and lip-gloss. My hair might be a nightmare to manage, but at least I had good skin. I surveyed myself in the mirror, satisfied with the result.
The drive to my old neighborhood took ten minutes. I smiled at the familiar street names: Day Lily Drive, Lady’s Slipper Lane, Coneflower Crescent. I turned left off Trillium Way onto Snapdragon Circle and almost pulled into the driveway at number 16 out of habit, stopping myself just in time.
I saw the blinds flicker at 14 and knew that my previous next-door neighbor, Ella Cole, was up to her old tricks, watching the coming and goings of everyone on the cul de sac and willing to report on it to anyone who would listen. I grabbed the bottle of wine, hopped out of the car, and rang Royce’s doorbell before Ella could come out and start a conversation. I liked her well enough, but I wasn’t in the mood to explain what I was doing visiting Royce. I grinned. She’d figure it out soon enough if my car was still here in the morning.
Royce answered the door promptly, pecking me on the cheek and admonishing me for bringing anything. His bungalow was open concept, with the hallway leading directly into the kitchen, dining, and living area. His design and workmanship were evident throughout, from the black granite countertops to the gleaming hardwood floors and taupe-toned walls. The table had been set with white linen napkins, black-and-white plates, silver cutlery, and a centerpiece of miniature red roses and baby’s breath.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” I said. “Everything looks beautiful.”
Royce smiled. “I wanted to be sure you’d come back. Have a seat and I’ll get you a glass of wine.”
He poured Chardonnay into two long-stemmed wine glasses while I sank into a comfy black leather sofa surrounded by textured, tapestry-like pillows in shades of bronze, gold, and cream. I recognized Porsche’s handiwork. I realized in that moment that I’d completely forgotten about Royce’s invitation to go to Muskoka and watch his sister play Eliza Doolittle in Pygmalion.
“How are the play preparations going?” I asked, accepting the glass of wine.
“According to Porsche, she’s having the time of her life, though I suspect she has aspirations for greater things. Will you be coming as my date? Opening day is two weeks today, a matinee. We could stay at my parent’s place, or I could make reservations at one of the local resorts. Or we could come back to Marketville if you’d rather not stay over. It’s a lot of driving in one day, but it’s manageable. It would mean a lot to Porsche—to both of us—if you could be there.”
I thought about sitting with his parents and aunt. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that yet, if ever. Then again, if I didn’t get over that aversion, my relationship with Royce didn’t stand a chance. But that didn’t mean I had to stay at their cottage.
“Let’s see how things go between now and then. A local resort might be nice.”
“Does that mean you’ll come with me?”
“I think it does.”
Dinner was perfection. Herbed boneless breast of chicken stuffed with spinach and ricotta, roasted miniature potatoes, and a medley of broccoli, cauliflower, and julienne carrots. Dessert was crème caramel, sinfully delicious, followed by decaf coffee with Irish Cream in the living room. Tomorrow morning’s run wouldn’t make up for the calories, but I savored every last bite. Much more of this, and I might not even get to run club in the morning.
“Simply delicious,” I said, curling my legs under me and making myself very comfortable. “How did you know that crème caramel was my favorite?”
“I didn’t,” Royce said. “It’s mine. Just one more thing we have in common.”
It was as close to a romantic overture as we’d had all evening, which is to say there hadn’t been one. Instead of being disappointed, I found myself feeling oddly reassured. I’ve jumped into relationships feet first before, only to find myself standing inside a ring of fire. I’ve also learned the hard way that loving someone doesn’t always mean liking someone. I liked Royce, in fact, I liked him a lot. Even better, I knew the feeling was mutual. There was a strong physical attraction, no question about it, but above all else, we were friends.
I found myself telling him about Anneliese Prei, the photographs and postcards in the train case, her marriage, baby, and eventual murder. I left out names to keep things reasonably confidential, referring to her as “the grandmother,” Louisa as “my client,” and Sophie as “my client’s mother,” not that Royce was going to talk to anyone about it. I also left out the part about going to see Randi. Somehow I didn’t think Royce would buy into the whole object-reading business. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it.
“This woman, she’s become much more than the grandmother of a client to you, hasn’t she?” Royce asked, after I’d finished. “She’s gotten under your skin.”
I admitted that she had. “The frustrating thing is that I know someone who might have more information, but I’ve been forbidden from seeing her.”
“Forbidden? Sounds very cloak-and-dagger. Who is this someone?”
“An elderly woman. She lives at the Cedar County Retirement Residence, the one on the corner of Mavis and Lester. Her son has told the front desk I’m not to visit. The sad thing is, the two times I did visit with her she seemed to enjoy it. And I’m quite sure she wasn’t aware of his directive.”
“What floor is she on?”
“The third. Why?”
“I might be able to help you with that.”
“Really? How?”
“Royce Contracting has been hired to renovate a storage room on the third floor. Right now, it’s filled with stuff no one wanted to throw out, but never uses. Management wants to convert the space for use as a movie theater. You could help me sort the wheat from the chaff, what goes to charity, what can be recycled or repurposed, and what’s junk to go to the dump.”
“The movie theater sounds like a great plan, but I’m not sure how going through rubbish is going to help me.”
“I’ve invited the residents to a meeting at ten a.m. on Tuesday in the board room. Management felt getting everyone involved would increase interest in the project. I’m supposed to get the list of names tomorrow. Who is your resident and what’s her room number?”
“Room eighteen. Her name is Olivia Osgoode.”
“Olivia Osgoode. Your great-grandmother, I take it?”
I nodded.
“And the son who won’t let you visit with her?”
“My grandfather, Corbin Osgoode.”
Royce leaned back in his seat, eyebrows arched, cheeks sucked in. “The plot definitely thickens.”
I’d like to tell you that the remainder of the evening went from cold case to hot romance, but the truth was that Royce and I spent more time talki
ng about Anneliese Prei, including her affair with Anton Osgoode, than we did about our own potential relationship. Royce was fascinated that Louisa had hired me, not knowing we were related. We stopped drinking alcohol by eight, moving on to sparkling water and, eventually, peppermint tea with a touch of honey. It was the tea that told me tonight wasn’t going to be the night. What can I say? Talking about an old murder isn’t exactly an aphrodisiac. Neither is peppermint tea no matter how much honey you stir into it.
I left a few minutes past midnight and noticed the lights were all off at Ella Cole’s house, as well as at Chantelle’s across the street. Both women would be disappointed to find my car gone.
Who was I kidding? I was disappointed that my car would be gone.
I woke up at six a.m., despite not getting to bed until after one. Alone in the darkness of my bedroom, I mulled over the evening with Royce. There had definitely been mixed signals. The lovely dinner, combined with his invitation to stay overnight at a Muskoka resort when we went to watch Porsche’s play, versus a virtually romance-free evening. The sole exception was an almost platonic goodnight kiss at the door, with the promise to call me Monday, as soon as he’d connected with the Cedar County Retirement Home’s management team. I’d punched the pillow a few times and tossed and turned a few more, thinking about Misty’s message: Trust your heart, and realize everything worth having takes time to build, before finally falling into an unsettled sleep.
Shirley arrived promptly at eleven, suntanned and freckled from her six weeks in Florida, her brown eyes sparkling with anticipation as she proudly flashed her Toronto Public Library card. She may have been in her mid-sixties, but her figure was that of someone much younger. I knew she liked to golf and that she played tennis regularly. I suspected she also worked out at the gym.
Past & Present Page 17