“But the vase, it was dated 1952,” Chantelle said.
I shook my head. “You assumed it would have been 1952, but it could just as easily be 1955.”
Chantelle turned the vase over again and nodded. “It could be a five. Are you thinking that Anton and Anneliese had taken up again, that perhaps Sophie was the catalyst?”
“I do. It explains why Horst was so jealous, not that there was any excuse for the way he treated Anneliese. Or maybe his temper was the thing that sent her back to Anton. That, and what she believed would be best for Sophie. Listing Anton’s name on her Certificate of Baptism, why else would Anneliese risk doing that unless she was through with Horst and planning to start a new life with Anton?”
“Okay, let’s say I buy into your theory. How did you arrive at it?”
“I’m sorry, I thought you made the connection.”
“What connection?”
“Olivia’s maiden name, it’s on Anton’s obituary. Olivia Osgoode, née Rosemount.”
“Rosemount,” Chantelle said.
“Rosemount,” I said. “As in a mountain filled with roses.”
35
I spent the better part of Wednesday evening and Thursday morning completing our final report for Louisa, who had agreed to come by Thursday evening after work. I compiled everything the team had learned and filed it in chronological order for context. I felt a sense of pride as I flipped through the pages of documents and photographs.
“There were a lot of questions, but I think we’ve found most of the answers,” I told Louisa on the phone. Oh, and by the way, we’re related. Hmmm…might have to fine-tune the approach for that one.
Chantelle and I walked Louisa through Anneliese’s journey, starting with the passport and her immigration records, and winding our way through the key players, from Horst to Olivia, Anton, and Corbin. It wasn’t easy, but I told her about our conclusion that Olivia, not Horst, had killed Anneliese.
“We think she said a ‘bad mom’ killed her mother, not a ‘bad man,’” I said.
“A bad mom,” Louisa said. “Are you going to report Olivia?”
Until that moment, the thought had never crossed my mind. I was mulling it over when Chantelle spoke.
“No. She’s ninety-one. The likelihood of Olivia getting charged after all these years and surviving a murder trial, are slim to none. Besides, it’s only our conjecture that Olivia killed Anneliese. There’s no solid evidence.”
Louisa nodded. “I think I can accept that.”
“It’s going to take some time for you to sort things out in your head,” Chantelle said. “Take your time, read everything over, and we’ll have another meeting in a week or so to answer any questions you might have. You set the pace. I can imagine it’s all a bit overwhelming.”
“There is one other thing,” I said. “Your grandfather, Anton Osgoode.”
“Yes, what about him?”
“It would appear he’s also my great-grandfather.”
Louisa’s eyes widened. “We’re related?”
I nodded. “I haven’t been able to figure out the proper associative term. Half-cousins? Second cousins? Every time I go there, I get a headache. Regardless, I probably should have told you as soon as I found out.”
“Nonsense. I instructed you to wait until you had your report finalized, and that’s exactly what you did. Besides, it’s kind of nice to know that I have family again. That is, if you’d like to be family. Even if we’re cousins a billion times removed, I’ve always wanted a little sister.” Louisa’s voice was choked with emotion.
I used to dream about having an older sister when I was a kid. “There’s nothing I’d like more,” I said, smiling, and for a brief moment, it felt as though Anneliese was smiling back at me. I glanced at Chantelle and knew she saw it, too.
“By the way, I meant to tell you how much I loved Misty’s post yesterday,” Louisa said, breaking the spell. “I knew the minute I read it that you’d completed your investigation. Justice. That’s what it feels like to me. Justice for Anneliese. She deserved to have her story told. I can’t really explain it, but I feel as if she’s finally at peace.”
A mountain filled with roses.
“I think she finally is.”
I checked the Past & Present website as soon as Chantelle and Louisa had left, curious to read Misty’s latest post.
As Louisa had indicated, the card illustrated was Justice. The woman depicted sat on a throne, a purple velvet backdrop behind her. She wore a long, flowing red robe with a green cape, and a gold crown with a green stone, probably an emerald, in the center. In her left hand, she held a sword pointing toward the sky. The scales of justice, perfectly balanced, were on her right.
XI Justice (Major Arcana)
As the eleventh card in the Major Arcana, this comes in the middle, with ten before it and ten after. Notice how the scales are perfectly balanced as they are with the statues of Lady Justice we are familiar with. However, unlike Lady Justice, whose sword is pointed toward the ground, this sword is pointing upwards. Another difference is the eyes. Lady Justice wears a blindfold. Our Justice stares at us, eyes wide open.
Misty’s Message: If you have been seeking justice, your journey is nearing an end. Realize, however, that true justice is only achieved if we seek and accept the truth with complete honesty, and balance it with what we have learned.
Complete honesty. With Louisa. With Corbin. With myself. Thanks for the nudge, Misty. I would think of the best way to confront Corbin, and like it or not, he would hear me out. There was one more piece of this puzzle, and it belonged to Louisa. She deserved to know everything I could tell her about her mother and grandmother, just like…just like I deserved to know everything I could find out about my mother and great-grandmother.
The phone call came early Friday morning, waking me from a dreamless sleep. I checked the call display and was surprised to see Hampton & Associates on the screen.
“Leith? What’s up? Did someone die?” I laughed when I said it, but he didn’t laugh back.
“Actually, Calamity, someone did die. I’ve arranged a meeting for tomorrow at ten, along with the other beneficiaries. It’s imperative that you attend.”
“But tomorrow is Saturday,” I said, my head foggy from lack of sleep. “You don’t work on Saturdays.”
Leith let out one of his theatrical sighs. “I’ve made an exception in this case.”
“It’s just that I’ve been invited to a play in Muskoka.” With Royce. Who I hadn’t seen in more than a week. Then my brain clicked into focus. “Wait a second. You said the other beneficiaries. Are you saying that I’ve inherited…I don’t understand. Who died?”
“Your great-grandmother, Olivia Osgoode. She passed away on Tuesday morning. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. I thought you knew.”
“Olivia’s dead? Why didn’t anyone call me?” Why didn’t Yvette tell me? At least it explained what Corbin had been making when I called. Funeral arrangements. To which I would not be invited, or welcome.
“I can’t answer that, although it may explain why she hired me. Apparently Olivia didn’t trust the family’s legal counsel. She told me the firm didn’t have her best interests at heart. Or rather, your best interests.”
My best interests? Gran had left me something in her will? “You said Olivia died on Tuesday morning. Do you know what time?”
A shuffling of papers. “Eleven fifteen.”
Eleven fifteen. The time Randi said both women were finally at peace. I was still trying to wrap my head around everything when Leith spoke again.
“Ten o’clock tomorrow at my office on Bay Street. Don’t be late. And Calamity?”
“Yes?”
“’Wear your armor. I don’t think it’s going to be a pleasant experience.”
I called Chantelle first. She listened to me cry, didn’t ask any questions, and promised to come over on Saturday night with white wine and cheese pizza.
I phoned Royce next and
broke the news. As much as he commiserated with me about Olivia, I sensed relief when I told him I’d have to miss Porsche’s play. Perhaps the thought of me sitting with his parents and aunt fell under “seemed like a good idea when I asked you, but now that it’s almost here, I’m not sure I can deal with it.” Then again, maybe I was reading too much into it. Or maybe that’s how I felt. Was I secretly relieved? I hung up, feeling unsettled. Neither of us had mentioned a trip to Niagara Falls.
36
Corbin’s face was flushed purple with anger as he paced around the boardroom of Hampton & Associates.
“This whole thing is preposterous,” my grandfather said.
“Sit down, Corbin,” Yvette said.
“I’ll sit when I’m good and ready.” He pointed at me, his hand trembling with rage. “What I want to know is—why is she here?”
“If by she, you mean Calamity,” Leith said, “she is here as a beneficiary of Olivia Osgoode’s will.”
“Impossible. I was the sole beneficiary, at least before she sweet-talked her way into my mother’s heart with her cookies and carnations.” He sniggered. “Calamity. Aptly named. At least her parents did something right.”
I wanted to stand up and tear his eyes out. Instead I stayed seated and took out my cocoa butter lip balm, finding small comfort in the ritual of dabbing it on my lips.
“Actually, Olivia changed her will several months ago,” Leith said. “That would have been long before Calamity made contact. Therefore, I can assure you there was no coercion. Now if you would please take a seat next to your wife, I’ll begin.”
Yvette gave me a sideways glance, and to my surprise, a surreptitious wink. She’d all but accused me of stealing Olivia’s vase, and here she was rooting for me, even if it was only from the sidelines. Or had I imagined the wink? As Corbin took his seat, Yvette’s face transformed into an expressionless mask.
Leith began reading the will. “I, Olivia Marie Rosemount Osgoode, hereby declare that this is my last will and testament and that I hereby revoke, cancel, and annul all wills and codicils previously made by me either jointly or severally. I declare that I am of sound mind and legal age to make this will and that this last will and testament expresses my wishes without undue influence or duress.”
My mind drifted back fourteen months ago when I sat in this same boardroom listening to the reading of my father’s will. I forced myself back to the present. It wouldn’t do to zone out right now.
“…hereby leave the sum of one hundred thousand dollars to my son, Corbin Anton Osgoode. The remainder of my estate, property, and effects, I bequeath to my great-granddaughter, Calamity Doris Barnstable.”
“One hundred thousand dollars?” Corbin sputtered. “But Mother had close to half a million dollars in assets. I should know, I’ve been handling her financial affairs for the past five years.”
“Four hundred and sixty-five thousand to be exact,” Leith said. “Give or take a hundred dollars and change on either side.”
My eyes flicked from Corbin, to Yvette, to Leith and back again. Surely there was some mistake? “Are you saying that I’ve inherited three hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Leith said. “You would have inherited everything, but I advised Olivia against that. It’s difficult, if not impossible, to challenge a will if you’ve inherited a substantial amount from it. I suspect most courts would consider one hundred thousand dollars substantial.”
The reality of the situation seemed to dawn on Corbin. I watched as his posture deflated, but I didn’t feel any pity. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel victorious, either. There were no winners here. Not now that Olivia was dead. I found myself missing a woman I’d barely gotten to know. No matter her past, she was still my great-grandmother, and I had liked her.
“I don’t care what you say,” Corbin said. “I can fight this. It’s incomprehensible that Mother would have left the bulk of her estate to this…this woman.”
Seriously? This woman? I’d been waiting for the right time. That time was now.
“Perhaps she found out about you and Sophie,” I said, taking pleasure in the way my grandfather flinched at the sound of her name. “It was bad enough that her husband lied to her. But her only son? I suspect Olivia found it unconscionable.”
Yvette moved her chair back a few inches, separating herself from her husband. “Who’s Sophie?”
Corbin didn’t answer. Instead he stared at me, his eyes blazing with hatred. “How do you know about Sophie?”
“I have a strip of photos of the two of you, taken inside one of those shopping mall photo booths. You really shouldn’t mug it up for the camera like that. So juvenile.”
“Photos...Sophie promised to burn those. It was a mistake meeting her that day, an even bigger mistake having those pictures taken. I’ll admit that I was curious about her. Why did she call my father ‘Uncle Toni’ that day at Yorkdale? But in the end I realized that Sophie was nothing more than a mistake. She could never compete with me, a real Osgoode.” He threw his head back and laughed. “Just like you were a mistake, Calamity. No amount of money will ever change that.” Corbin took Yvette’s hand. “C’mon, we’re out of here. My lawyer will be in touch.”
Yvette shook off his hand, but she followed her husband out of the room nonetheless. I waited until the door closed before starting to cry.
Leith reached across the boardroom table and handed me a silk handkerchief. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later, Calamity. I haven’t finished reading the will yet.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m afraid there is one condition. A cold case Olivia wants Past & Present to investigate. She added the codicil after finding out about your business.” He smiled. “I gather she was impressed by your initiative. Of course, you’re free to decline, in which case Corbin will inherit the estate in its entirety.”
I rocked back in my chair, thinking about the codicil in my father’s will. The one that insisted I find out what happened to my mother thirty years before. My father had believed in me, and that belief had taken me on a quest for the truth. It was that journey which led me to Marketville, to my new career, to Olivia, and eventually, to this moment. Was that justice, or was it fate? Maybe it was a combination of both. All I knew was that I couldn’t let my great-grandmother down, and I couldn’t let Corbin win.
“Tell me about the case.”
* * *
THE END
Acknowledgments
Beyond writing the words, every novel requires hours of research, much of it never making the printed page. A day or two of looking into old train schedules, for example, might lead to nothing more than a single paragraph, possibly two. But those details, however minor, matter. So, too, do the many people and resources that help the author behind the scenes. While space precludes me from listing everyone, I would be remiss if I didn’t recognize (in alphabetical order) the following:
Michelle Banfield, for her ongoing friendship and support.
Susan Daly, an award-winning author and Toronto Public Library cardholder, for sending me examples of online newspaper archives and never questioning why.
Kathleen Costa, beta reader extraordinaire. This book is better because of her.
Erin, Archives of Ontario archivist, for helping me navigate Criminal Justice Records from 1956.
Rosemary Graham, for her hawk-eyed proofreading, as well as her willingness to debate the punctuation issue of the T.S.S./T.D. Canberra vs. the CMoS-sanctioned TSS/TD. In the end, historical material won the day.
R. L. Kennedy, the man behind the website Old Time Trains, www.trainweb.org/oldtimetrains.
Ti Locke, every author’s dream editor.
Hunter Martin, for his endless patience with me while designing the cover.
Larry Owen, for tirelessly answering my “what-if” 1950s legal questions.
Carole McGill Plant for a realtor’s perspective on Danforth Village, Toronto.
Lior Samfiru, for his legal opinion on Ontario employment law regarding occupational accidents leading to death.
John Sayers, for sharing his treasure trove of ocean liner memorabilia, and for his invaluable suggestion that Anton Osgoode be employed by Eaton’s as a buyer, crystal and fine china.
The Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21 for information and postcards of the T.S.S. Canberra.
York University Archives and Special Collections: Clara Thomas Archives and Special Collections.
Last, but not least, my heartfelt thanks to my husband, Mike Sheluk, for his unfailing love, faith, and encouragement, and to my mother, Anneliese Penz, who was with me in spirit while I wrote this story.
About the Author
Judy Penz Sheluk is the author of the Glass Dolphin Mysteries and the Marketville Mysteries. Her short stories appear in several collections.
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In addition to writing mysteries, she has spent many years working as a freelance writer and editor; her articles have appeared in dozens of U.S. and Canadian consumer and trade publications.
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Judy is a member of Sisters in Crime – International/Guppy Chapter/Toronto, International Thriller Writers, the Short Mystery Fiction Society, South Simcoe Arts Council, and Crime Writers of Canada, where she serves on the Board of Directors, representing Toronto and Southern Ontario.
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You can find Judy on her website at judypenzsheluk.com.
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