What I needed was another perspective.
So I called up Lili Doubek, good friend, vocal coach, and therapist, all rolled into one imposing person — despite her short stature. I’d promised to get in touch as soon as I’d arrived back and here it was already Wednesday. When I got her on the phone, her voice sounded a tad frosty.
“And you are all right, Marta?”
“It took me over twenty-four hours to begin feeling like myself again, but other than that, yeah, I’m well. And you?”
“Too many vocal coachings. At my age, I begin to tire.”
Lili was barely sixty-four and normally fit as an ox, so I was immediately concerned.
“You sound as if you have a cold.”
“Sniffles only. Maybe some time off is what I need.”
“Would you head over to Czecho?”
“My sister is wanting me to visit. ‘We are not getting any younger, you know, Lili,’ she says to me. Perhaps she is right.”
“Would you like some company today? How’s your schedule?”
“For a coaching or just a visit?” she asked, not sounding enthusiastic.
“No coaching. I just want to spend some time with my friend.”
“I showed my last singer to the door five minutes ago. The other two have cancelled.”
“I can grab a cab and be there in half an hour. Would that be okay?”
Lili’s house was north and east of our condo in the heart of Cabbagetown, a neighbourhood known for its poor Irish immigrants (hence the cabbages) in the late 1800s. Beginning in the late seventies, it had been “discovered” and was now Yuppie Central, as they’d come in renovating everything in sight. Still, it’s a charming part of the city and feels like a real neighbourhood because they haven’t torn down the old Victorian houses, as so often happens.
Reflecting the woman herself, Lili’s house was different from those surrounding it. Up and down the street, the houses had been sand-blasted to the original orangey-red brick. Lili had hers painted a light bluish-grey. The windows were left in their original single-pane glass, no skylights, no mod cons for her. The place was right out of Better Homes and Gardens — a 1950s issue.
Inside it was very old country, in this case Czech, a place she’d physically left behind quite easily, but one that had never relinquished its grip on her heart. Every room was filled with Czech memorabilia and knick-knacks. I once made a little play on words about her penchant for “Czech tchotchkes.” Lili’s tart response led me to never make light of her foible again. In every other facet of her life, my friend was thoroughly up-to-date. She owned the latest electronic gadgets, and unlike me, could use them with aplomb. I’d never pointed it out to Tony but her nimble thumbs could punch out text messages far faster than his.
It took her longer than usual to answer the door and I soon found out why. Being on crutches tends to slow one down.
“What on earth happened?” I asked, as the opening door revealed the cast on her left leg.
“I had a bit of a fall.”
“More than a bit, I’d say. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lili shrugged. “I don’t like people to fuss over me.”
“But it’s okay for you to fuss over others? Lili you take the cake.”
She moved back a bit unsteadily as I headed to the coat tree in the corner of her small foyer. She did allow me to help her into the living room.
Lili is a coffee-holic, so I brewed a carafe. Having ducked across to the St. Lawrence Market before hailing a cab, I also loaded a small plate with cookies and brought everything to the living room.
“You always make coffee too strong,” she said after a delicate sip.
“Nonsense. The last time you told me that, I watched you make it. This is exactly the same. Why are you being so contrary?”
“Because I don’t enjoy being incapacitated.” I held the plate of cookies for her, and she smiled for the first time. “Thank you for bringing my favourites.”
“Would you like the hassock for your leg?”
“That would be nice.”
Once I was again seated in the opposite chair, I asked, “So what happened?”
“I was waiting for a streetcar on Gerrard Street. It felt like someone pushed me. I’m lucky I didn’t go under it. Trying to keep my balance, I spun and my ankle collapsed under me. The pain was terrible.”
“Did you see who did it?”
“No. There were about a dozen of us waiting and it wouldn’t have been that noticeable. Whoever it was pushed me hard behind my knees and I tumbled over. People did stop to help, of course, but I was in so much pain, I didn’t think about it until later at the hospital.”
“That really sucks.”
Lili took another bite of her cookie. “I suppose it was someone trying to push their way to the front and not paying attention.”
“Could it have been deliberate?”
Lili looked at me sharply. “What makes you say that?”
“I … ah … really don’t know. Just the mood I’m in, I guess.”
Lili nodded and I could almost see the wheels beginning to spin in her head.
We silently ate a few cookies. The last thing I wanted was my friend to think I had a selfish motive for visiting.
We talked about my time in Vienna, a city with which she was very familiar. I told her all the backstage gossip. She asked where I was off to next (which she well knew). It was obvious we were both talking around the elephant in the room, the elephant of my own stupid making.
Finally, taking the last sip from her second cup, she put it down, folded her hands in her lap, and stared at me. Lili possesses a very piercing gaze. Coupled with her rather prominent nose, it always makes me feel like she’s a hawk staring at a particularly appealing mouse dinner.
“Why don’t you just tell me about it, my dear?”
“Tell you what?”
“Whatever it is that is bothering you. I know you too well, Marta, too well.”
I knew better than to prevaricate. Lili wouldn’t back off until she’d weaseled it out of me. I respected her skills as a therapist too much to lie. An amazing vocal coach she was, but though she would have disagreed violently, she was an even better psychologist. We singers gained what the mental health profession had lost when she packed in her practice and immigrated to Canada to follow her musical dream.
When my life imploded after the death of my first husband, Lili had stepped away from the piano to use her other skills and help me pick up the shattered pieces of my psyche. Barging right into my condo, she’d told me sternly I was a mess and she was prepared to help. The fact that I was now enjoying an even more successful career was completely due to her skill in gluing my life back together. I owed her a lot — and here I was asking for more.
“It’s about those mysterious bouquets.”
“Did you receive another?”
“One in Vienna, and one in Rome after the performance on Saturday evening.” I stopped for a deep breath. “But that one was different.”
“In what way?”
So I told her about the damage to one rose. Actually, I told her all about how I’d been trying to catch the person who was leaving these presents — and how spectacularly unsuccessful I’d been.
I finished my story with a question. “Do you think the broken blossom means something? Is this person trying to communicate with me?”
The hawk stare continued. “Why do you think that?”
“Tony thinks I’m imagining things.”
“That does not answer my question.”
I’d started this but wasn’t sure if I wanted to continue.
“My vase, the Murano glass one, I came home yesterday to find it shattered. One of the glass shelves had given way.”
“That is such a shame! I have always admired it greatly.” Lili wagged her finger at me. “But what else are you not saying?”
“I … well … I think it was broken deliberately, that someone had been in our apartment.”<
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Silence for several seconds as Lili digested my statement. She moved to take the last cookie, but then stopped and sat back.
“Why do you think this?”
I got to my feet and looked out her front window, watching scattered flakes of snow skittering down the street in the wind. The cold radiating through the glass made me shiver.
Without turning around I told her, “Just a feeling.”
“You have no proof that this is so? ‘Just a feeling?’”
“A piece of the broken shelf has an odd marking, as if it was hit by something.”
“Have you shown this to someone who knows about glass?”
“No. I just discovered it this morning.” I turned and looked at her. “Tony and I had a fight about it. He says I’m being silly.”
“Do you have any other reason for thinking your apartment was broken into and your property vandalized?”
“For some reason I immediately thought of that broken rose.”
“Why do you think that came into your mind?”
“Because the whole situation is beginning to creep me out!”
“Marta, will you please sit down again? I do not like talking to your back.”
“Sure. Sorry.”
Now we both stared at Lili’s quite beautiful porcelain coffee pot, but I doubt if either of us was seeing it. She patiently waited me out.
“Lili, do you think I’m being ‘ridiculous?’ That’s the word Tony used.”
“It is not what I think, my dear. It is what you think that matters. You have to live with the way you feel.”
“Tony does, too.”
“Of course, but your Tony is a good man. He understands you.”
“Then why did he make me feel so stupid this morning?”
Lili smiled. “Well, perhaps he doesn’t understand you so well all the time. He is a man. You are a woman,” she added with a shrug, as if that explained everything.
“I guess I want your opinion on what I should do. Do you think my concern is silly?”
Her smile faded. “First, do you think it is possible that someone could have entered your apartment and you would not have known?”
“We don’t have alarms or video cameras, if that’s what you mean. Our front door has a very good lock, but that’s about it.”
“Does it show any signs of being tampered with?”
“I haven’t checked.”
“I would suggest you do so. It will ease your mind if you know.”
“Or creep me out worse than ever.”
“You would rather not know for certain?”
I didn’t really have to think about my answer. “Yes. I would like to know.”
“Then I suggest you look at it.”
“What if it doesn’t show anything, but the lock was picked anyway?”
“Have an expert look at it. You also need an expert to look at this piece of glass shelf you told me about.”
“I really needed these days off to decompress. Right now it feels as if the top of my head is going to blow off.”
“Marta, you need to take steps to resolve this.”
“Then you think I might be correct?”
Lili sighed and shook her head. “When are you going to understand that it is not what I think or your husband thinks, it is what you think?”
The phone on the side table rang and I brought it over to Lili. While she spoke to the person calling, I stewed over my problem.
My ears zoomed right in on the phone conversation when I heard Lili say, “She is here now…. Yes, she is…. I will tell her.”
As I put the phone back on the hook for her, I said, “That was Tony.”
“Yes. He returned to the apartment and found you not home. He was concerned.”
“Why? He seemed in an awful hurry to leave this morning.”
“Marta, please. That is not constructive. Your husband was concerned in case what you think is true.”
“Oh, now he’s decided he believes me?”
“He is coming over now. He would like us to talk this out together.”
More coffee was waiting when Tony pulled up in the Corvette, his pride and joy. I was watching as he got out of the car more slowly than usual. He looked tired.
We sat and made awkward pleasantries for a few minutes until I felt like screaming. I’d finally decided that I wanted to know. I wanted to find out what was really going on. The thought of being in Rome, on my own, with the possibility that someone was stalking me would be unbearable, and it was possibly very dangerous.
Tony finally took the lead in our conversation. “Lili, you said that Marta has filled you in about what’s going on.”
Her head moved up and down once. “That is correct.”
“If someone is stalking her, what should we do?”
“Actually,” I interjected, “would you consider this giver of bouquets a stalker?”
“Your questions are intertwined,” Lili answered after considering for a long moment. “Yes, Marta, this is stalking most certainly. The fact that this person is trying to remain hidden is very odd in itself. People with this fixation usually want to be known to the object of so consuming an interest. That you have tried without success to discover this person’s identity is … troubling.”
“And the break-in?” I asked.
Tony folded his arms. “If there was one.”
Lili turned to him and he got the benefit of the hawk treatment. “Tony, my friend, perhaps something happened in your apartment, perhaps not. It will not hurt to find out for certain.”
His answer was a shrug, but I knew his earlier concern about my whereabouts was a good indication that he was at least willing to entertain that I might be correct.
Lili finally took the last cookie and chewed it thoughtfully. “All right. You have both asked for my opinion and thoughts about this, so I will give them to you. I do consider that Marta is being stalked.” She turned to me. “Did you keep any of the notes that were left?”
“Yes. Two or three of them at least. I’ll have to check at home.”
“Good. We should have the handwriting analyzed. You told me you think this person is male. An expert should be able to tell us conclusively.
“Second, I am concerned that this person is following you all over the world. If you received these bouquets only when you performed in Toronto, I would have a smaller concern.”
“Yes,” Tony said. “Someone has spent big bucks to do this.”
“The fact that these bouquets are presented in such an elaborate manner indicates an obsessive nature, and that makes me even more uneasy. I did not know that you had received so many bouquets, Marta. You should have told me.” She paused. “Now you have received a damaged bouquet when all of the previous ones have been so perfect. Our stalker is telling you something, but what?”
I shivered. “That he was going to punish me for a poor performance?”
Lili looked at me sharply. “Tell me all.”
“The night before the final performance, several of the cast members were invited to a party at a very fancy apartment owned by some Italian nobleman. It was a lovely evening. There was even a small combo and dancing and champagne. I stayed late and enjoyed a bit too much bubbly.
“Next morning I was feeling pretty rough. I laid low most of the day but still didn’t feel good. My performance that evening was uneven. In the last act, just after Cavaradossi is shot, I dropped a line or two. Only someone who knew the opera thoroughly would have noticed my made-up lyrics. It was just a little slip and it’s not as if I never make any mistakes.”
Tony leaned over and took my hand. “You’re reading too much into this because you didn’t sing your best.”
Lili put up her hands. “I cannot agree. There is a careful ritual involved in these gifts. It was no accident the bouquet was damaged. The fact that communication was at last attempted is illuminating.”
Tony and I both asked, “Why?”
“First you must understand t
he pathology of the stalker. Their nature evolves over time. The obsession almost always becomes stronger, more overwhelming to them.”
“Are we talking serial killers here?” I blurted out.
Lili answered quickly, “No, no. Please do not think this! Serial killers — I detest that term — are something completely different.”
“Do you think he’s trying to get closer to me?”
“I believe this person has already been close to you.”
I nodded. “Getting backstage is so difficult nowadays. It used to be someone just standing by the stage door. Now they buzz you in. IDs are checked.”
“Maybe he or she is paying someone to get these bouquets to you,” Tony said.
Lili frowned. “It is impossible to know, and that is what we need to work on: finding answers to these questions.”
“Do you think Marta is in any danger?”
We waited too long for our friend’s answer.
“Perhaps.”
Chapter Four
The way Shannon O’Brien dropped onto the chair behind her desk was a good indication of the way she felt.
She’d been vaguely unhappy for weeks now. Occasionally over the years, especially when her marriage was crashing down around her, she’d suffered through bouts of depression, but this was different, and all the more infuriating for its elusiveness.
While she had much to be grateful for — her daughter Rachel was doing well at graduate school (drama), her son Robbie was in his senior year in high school and a star athlete, and she had a solid relationship with a good man — Shannon felt uneasy. There was a “greyness” to life — or so it seemed to her.
The worst effect of this was how distractible she’d become. That was not a good thing for a private investigator, someone running a business that required clear thinking and a steady hand at the tiller. It wasn’t as critical as it would have been if she was still a cop where disaster was never more than a brain fart away. Today, for instance, she’d been an hour late for work and for no better reason than she’d just been unable to get herself in gear.
Shannon sighed for the third or fourth time as she looked over the day’s agenda on her computer, yet another thing she’d neglected to do at home that morning.
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