“Let’s cut the crap, shall we?” she said. Gone, too, along with the sweetly girlish demeanour, was the sweetly girlish voice.
“Okay,” I managed to say.
“Because you’re obviously not falling for my goody two-shoes routine, are you?”
“Not entirely,” I said.
“I’ll be straight with you,” she said. “If you’ll be straight with me.”
“Okay,” I said again.
“Is that offer of a drink still good?”
“Certainly. What would you like?”
“I wouldn’t turn down a beer.”
I fetched a couple of bottles of Granville Island Lager from the fridge, and a couple of glasses from the sideboard, but she said, “Never mind the glass,” holding out her hand for the bottle. I passed it to her and resumed my seat, eschewing a glass myself.
“Here’s to honesty,” I said, saluting her with my bottle. She smiled and we drank.
“So,” she said, putting the bottle on the coffee table. “What was my father doing here?”
“Perhaps you could tell me.”
She smiled as if the corners of her mouth had been drawn back by tiny invisible flensing hooks. “I asked first,” she said.
“He may have wanted to talk to me about Christopher Hastings. He’d already spoken to a number of other people about him.”
“What other people?”
There didn’t seem to be any compelling reason not to tell her, but neither was there a compelling reason, beyond our agreement to be honest with each other, to tell her. I decided to keep Reeny out of it at least. And Mona. “Some people at the marina where Hastings used to live and Hastings’ cousin, a man named Tim Fielding. Perhaps others I don’t know about. Are you sure you’ve never heard of Chris Hastings?”
“I told you I didn’t know him, didn’t I?” she said, looking me in the eye as she said it.
“You did,” I replied, aware that she hadn’t really answered the question. Despite her promise to be straight with me, I probably wouldn’t have believed her even if she had been. “What are you really doing here?” I asked.
The lines around her mouth and eyes deepened as her smile widened, but it was a smile so full of cunning I had to fight the almost irresistible urge to cup my hands over my groin lest she try to steal the family jewels.
“I came to offer you a deal,” she said.
“What kind of deal?”
“One that you’ll find difficult to refuse.”
“I can hardly wait,” I said.
Her smile turned dry and she looked at me for a long time before saying, “My father was supposed to have a package for me. It wasn’t at the motel, so he must have had it with him when he came here. You wouldn’t happen to know where it is, would you?”
“Your father didn’t have anything with him when I found him. Not even a wallet.”
“Could he have hidden it somewhere in your house?”
“The police searched the house. They didn’t find anything.”
She continued to stare at me, smile gone now, expression neutral, unreadable. After a moment, she said, “Maybe because you’d already found it.”
“Or maybe because it was never here.”
“Did you find it?”
“No,” I said.
“I’m not sure I believe you,” she said.
“I’ll try to live with the disappointment,” I said. “Look, Ms. Hollander — if indeed that’s your name — whatever your father — if he really was your father — was supposed to have had with him when he crashed my party, I don’t have it.”
“Somebody else, then. Somebody who was at your party?”
“Perhaps,” I conceded. “But I don’t think so. The police have interviewed everyone who was here that night, most of whom were friends of mine. A few remember seeing your father, but no one remembers speaking with him or seeing anyone else speaking with him.”
“Well, obviously whoever took it would lie.”
“I suppose,” I agreed reluctantly.
“Including you.” She cocked her head. “You really don’t have it?”
“I really don’t.”
“However, if you do have it, I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t be able to come to an accommodation.”
“That ‘deal’ you mentioned.”
“I could make it well worth your while. And I’d be prepared to throw in a bonus, too, if that’s what it takes. Incentive, you might say, if money’s not enough.” Her smile and her body language left no room for misunderstanding, but just in case I was stupider than I looked, she added archly, “I’m told that I’m quite skilled in that department.”
The room seemed to grow warmer. “It’s an intriguing proposition,” I said. “Believe me, under different circumstances, I might be very much interested. Unfortunately, I don’t have your father’s package, nor do I have any idea where it might be.”
“That’s too bad,” she said. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Oh, I’ve got a pretty good idea,” I said, adding to myself, A knife in the back, most likely. Aloud I said, “What does this package contain, anyway?”
“If you found it, you know what it is,” she said. “On the other hand, if you don’t have it, well, you don’t really need to know what it is, do you?”
And I thought I was playing it cagey.
“Actually,” she said, “I’m beginning to think that maybe you don’t have it after all.”
“Just because I turned down your proposition?”
“I’m a good judge of people,” she replied. She picked up her beer bottle, leaned back in the sofa. “But just in case I’m wrong,” she said, “I’m willing to make a small advance payment. A show of good faith, if you will.” She raised the bottle to her mouth, slowly closing her lips around the neck, her eyes locked on mine. The temperature in the room went up another notch.
The telephone rang. I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed. I excused myself and went into the kitchen to answer it. It was Sergeant Matthias.
“Is Ms. Lindsey there?” he asked.
“No, she isn’t,” I said, taking the cordless handset back into the living room. Monica Hollander had moved from the sofa and was standing in the shallow bay window of the living room, looking out past Maggie Urquhart’s house toward False Creek. Through the broken cloud cover, the setting sun reflected dark orange off the windows of the condominiums on the north side of the inlet. She turned as I came into the room.
“Did you give her my message yesterday?” Matthias asked.
“Oops. Sorry. I forgot. I’ll make sure she gets it.”
“If you don’t mind,” Matthias said.
“Of course not. By the way,” I added, “I’ve got another name for our John Doe. Jacob Hollander. His daughter — ”
“Who are you talking to?” Monica Hollander demanded, eyes going wide with alarm.
“The detective in charge of your father’s case,” I said. I held out the handset. “Perhaps you’d like to speak to him.” She looked at it as though I were trying to hand her a fresh dog turd. “Maybe he can help you recover your father’s property. You probably wouldn’t even have to come to an accommodation with him.”
She grabbed her purse from the sofa and made a beeline toward the door. I followed, but before I could say another word, she was out the door and hurrying along the dock toward the gate, heels tocking on the planking.
“Mr. McCall.”
“Sorry, sergeant,” I said. “She took off like the hound of the Baskervilles was on her tail when I asked her if she wanted to speak to you.”
“What was her name?”
“The name she gave was Monica Hollander.” I told him what she’d told me about her father. “I’m not sure how much of it I believe, though,” I said when I’d finished.
“Did she give you any hint about what this package might contain?”
“No,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s an heirloom watch.�
��
“Did she express any curiosity about the cause of her father’s death?”
“No, now that you mention it, she didn’t. The topic never came up.”
“I’ll check her out,” Matthias said. He hung up.
chapter thirteen
I arrived at the studio at eight Thursday morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to take on all comers. I’d slept much better than I had the previous night. Although I’d wakened at two when Reeny had got in, I’d rolled over and gone straight back to sleep again. Reeny had still been in bed when I’d left, so I’d leaned Matthias’ card against the coffee machine with a note telling her that he was anxious to talk to her.
I spent most of the morning beating the bushes for work, calling former clients on the pretext that it was going to be a busy fall and that I needed to schedule our time, to make sure we could fit them in. There were a few “definite maybes” but otherwise I came up empty. The only work we had for the next couple of weeks was redoing some technical shots for a publisher of do-it-yourself books that the client had tried to do himself with his wife’s digital camera. Things were going to get tight if something didn’t come along soon. I wondered gloomily if I could have tried harder to accommodate Willson Quayle and Rainy Day Toys. Maybe Mary-Alice had lots of doggie friends. Bobbi could just damn well take antihistamines.
At a little past eleven my former spouse called.
“Hilly’s changed her mind again about going to Australia,” she said. I struggled to remember what Hilly’s previous position had been. “Now she wants to stay with you,” Linda supplied.
“Okay,” I said.
“No, it’s not okay,” she said sternly. “We’ve already paid for her ticket.”
“Let me speak to her.”
Linda clicked her tongue impatiently and said, “She’s at school.”
“Well, have her call me when she gets home.”
“Why don’t you call her?”
“You can afford the long distance charges. I can’t. Besides, you’re the one who wants her to go Australia with you. I’d be just as happy if she stayed with me.”
“Oh, would you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re such a liar. You’re just saying that to spite me.”
“Goodbye, Linda. Have Hilly call me.”
“Just a goddamned minute,” she snapped. “There’s something else.”
“What?”
“We’re leaving sooner than expected. Jack’s left already. Hilly and I will be arriving in Vancouver next week. We’ll be staying a week. Would it be possible to stay with you?”
“Um. Er. Well, no, actually.”
She clicked her tongue again. “Who are you shacked up with now, Tom?”
“I’m not shacked up with anyone,” I said. “Not that it’s any of your damned business. I’ve got a house-guest, that’s all.”
“Another one of your brainless little bimbos,” she said bitterly.
“Goodbye, Linda. Tell Hilly she’s more than welcome to come and live with me.” I hung up, wondering why Linda had wasted all that money on a divorce lawyer if she was going to continue treating me as though we were still married.
“Am I?” Reeny asked. We were at Zapata’s, the Mexican restaurant on the ground floor of my office building, munching on corn chips while we waited for our lunch, quesadillas for me, cactus salad for her. I had just finished telling her about my conversation with Linda.
“Are you what?”
“Just another one of your brainless little bimbos.”
“Not hardly,” I said. “You’re way too tall.”
She pitched a corn chip at me. I caught it as it rebounded off my chin, dipped it in guacamole, and ate it.
Reeny had come into the studio a few minutes before noon. Damned if my heart rate hadn’t jumped at the sight of her. Even in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, with her hair back and no makeup, she was an extraordinarily striking woman. Every time I looked at her it was as though someone had attached electrodes to my chest and introduced a mild electric current. It was not a good sign. I’d felt that way about Linda once upon a time, although it was difficult to remember why. And Carla Bergman. And Francine Janes. And Elsie Heatherington, who’d sat in front of me in my seventh-grade homeroom. And I’d got burned every time. The experience had left no visible scars, but neither was I any the wiser for it. Whether you called it love or lust or infatuation, it was just too damned much fun while it lasted, like drinking good whisky. You don’t worry about the headache you’re going to have the next morning.
Our lunch came and we tucked in. After only a few mouthfuls, though, Reeny put down her fork.
“Something wrong with your salad?” I asked. “They leave the spines on the cactus?”
“No, it’s fine,” she said. I waited. “There’s something I need to tell you.” I waited some more. “I’ve spoken to Chris,” she said.
“Oh?” I said, trying to sound indifferent.
“I’m meeting him later today.”
“Oh,” I said, no longer attempting to sound indifferent.
“Don’t be like that,” she said. “Please.”
“Like what?” I put down my fork.
“Cold. Defensive. I have to do this. I thought you understood.”
So did I. “I don’t like the idea, of course, but you’re a big girl.” I shrugged. “You do what you have to do.”
“Tom, I don’t want to argue with you,” Reeny said. “Maybe we could change the subject?”
“Fine with me,” I said. I told her about the visit from Monica Hollander, concluding with the bonus she’d offered.
“Well,” Reeny said. “That’s certainly more than I needed to know.”
“By the way,” I said. “Did you call Sergeant Matthias?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. Anyway, what can I tell him about John Doe or Tobias Zim or Jacob Hollander that he doesn’t already know?”
“He also wants to talk to you about the doll with the skewer.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. That kind of thing happens all the time. It comes with the territory.”
“Not my territory, it doesn’t,” I said. “Call him. Please.”
“All right.” She ate a bite of salad, then put her fork down again. Now what? I thought. “I’d like to make you an offer on the car,” she said. “That is, if you’re still interested in selling it.”
“I guess I am,” I said. “But I wouldn’t have any idea of what to ask. I haven’t priced twenty-year-old Porsches lately.”
“I have,” Reeny said. She named a figure.
I honestly didn’t know if it was a good offer or not. It was a nice chunk of change, though, and I might need it if business didn’t pick up. I would have accepted it right then and there, too, but I was still uncomfortable with the idea of selling the car to her.
I said, “You don’t have to buy it. It’s yours to use as long as you need it.”
“That’s very generous,” she said, “but I don’t want to take advantage. I had a mechanic check it out. It’s in excellent condition, he said. I know you don’t like the idea of selling it to a friend, but I’m willing to take the chance.”
“I don’t know if I am,” I said.
“Is this your way of bargaining? Do you want more money?”
“Heck, no.”
“So why won’t you sell it to me?”
I thought about it. What I wanted to do was give her the goddamned car, then maybe she’d love me. It was stupid and adolescent, of course, but then I’m often very good at stupid and adolescent. It comes with the testosterone.
“Okay, I’ll accept your offer,” I said. “As long as you agree that if something happens within, say, ninety days, I’ll take it back and refund your money.” Assuming I still had it, I added to myself.
“Thirty days,” she said, “and it’s a deal.”
“All right. Thirty days.”
“Great.” She opened her big bag and got out a chequ
ebook.
“You don’t have to do that now,” I said.
“I want to, before you change your mind.”
“I’m not going to change my mind. The car is yours.”
“Then I may as well pay for it.”
I shrugged. “It’s up to you.”
She wrote the cheque, tore it out of her book, and handed it to me.
“I miss it already,” I said.
“Too late.” She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to run. I have a long makeup session for this afternoon’s shoot.”
And a rendezvous with Chris Hastings, I added glumly to myself.
She gobbled a couple more mouthfuls of salad, gulped a couple of mouthfuls of water, and stood up.
“I’ll take care of the bill,” I said.
“It was supposed to be my treat.”
“It’s the least I can do,” I said, patting my shirt pocket wherein safely nestled the cheque.
“Okay,” she agreed. She hesitated, then: “I’ll see you later?”
“Of course,” I said. And she left.
Mid-afternoon Bobbi stamped into my office, face stormy. “Have you looked at the van today?”
“No,” I said. We were the only ones who used the freight elevator, when it was working. Like the lobby elevator, the doors of the freight elevator had been sealed up on the other floors. Although uncertain of the fire regulations, we usually left the van in the lane by the loading dock. As safe a place as any, right? Wrong.
“Someone trashed it,” Bobbi said. “Slashed the tires, busted the windows, ripped up the upholstery.”
I slumped back in my fancy ergonomic chair with a heavy sigh.
“I’m calling the cops,” she said. After she made the call, she said, “I’ll give you odds it was Willson Quayle.”
“No bet,” I said.
The cops came an hour or so later and took the report. One of them noticed that the fuel door was open and warned us not to attempt to start the engine until the gas tank had been checked. “Whoever did this may have dumped sugar or something into your gas. Speaking of whoever did this, any ideas?”
Bobbi snorted and the cop raised an eyebrow.
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