by Cathy Ace
I smiled. Ah, so you are interested, after all, eh?
“I think Poppy quite likes you, Colin. You two have a lot in common: same class at school, similar interests. I guess you spend quite a bit of time together.”
Colin was clearly back at work. “Yeah, but she has to help out at the restaurant, you know. Which is pretty cool, I guess. They all work together. Like a proper family. She’s okay. She’s pretty cool for a girl.”
I thought it best not to press the matter. I’d planted at least the germ of a thought that might spur Colin to take up with a girl his own age, rather than obsessing over me and mooning about the place. I didn’t want to say anything any more concrete: whoever knew a teen who’d do something if they thought an adult wanted them to do it!
“Hey—got it. Last one now!” exclaimed Colin.
“Good job,” I offered by way of encouragement. “I’ll check that I’ve left everything in good order here,” I added.
“Okay, just a few more turns and it’ll be out,” Colin called to me.
I darted back into the cavernous apple store and glanced around. I picked up my purse and peered into it. Had I collected everything off the floor? I cast my eyes about the place. Yes. Did I have my cigarettes and matches? No, I’d put them down next to the box of mail. As I reached for them, I knocked the plastic box onto the floor. Damn and blast! The mail scattered everywhere. I gathered it off the dusty floor and popped it back into the box. I looked around for a flat surface. I spotted a tiny table: that would do. I picked up a couple of photographs that were lying face down on its surface. I could drop them into the box of mail too.
I glanced at them as I placed them on top of the mail. One was the same as the snap that Bud had brought to my house a week earlier, the one that had introduced me to the Newman sisters, but the other one was different. It had obviously been taken a few moments before, or after, the one I’d originally seen. No, definitely before. I popped my specs back on, held one photograph in each hand, and studied them. Carefully. Very carefully. I focused on the expressions on the sisters’ faces, then on their body language.
In the photo that Bud had shown me, Annette was closest to the camera, smiling happily, her arm around Ellen’s shoulders. Ellen was trying to look happy too.
In the other photo, the one I was seeing for the first time, Ellen and Annette were looking at each other, rather than at the camera. Annette’s entire body said “happy”: her arms were outstretched, upward and toward her sister; her face, even though I could only see a side view, was gleeful; her mouth was open wide in a smile, and her head was thrown back in joy. Ellen, well she’d been caught in an instant of pure disbelief. Her mouth was also open, but in an “o” of shock, not delight; her arms were also raised, but her hands were on their way to grasp her face; her shoulders drooped in defeat, she was curling in on herself.
Wow!
And there was one more significant difference between the photos. This photo showed a side view of the sisters, and I could see that it wasn’t only Annette’s bra that didn’t fit. Her shirt was pulling on her, too.
And that was it. I didn’t need any more “wakeful dreaming” to help me work out who had killed Annette Newman, and Stacey Willow, and poor old Gordy and Marlene Wiser, or why, or how. Everything slid into place like a pattern in a kaleidoscope.
Annette Newman’s bra didn’t fit—and I knew that a week ago!
Oh, Cait Morgan, you are so stupid!
“It’s open!” called Colin proudly. “You can come and push now.”
I picked up the photos, stuffed them into my purse, tugged the chains to turn out the lights, and launched myself at the gate. It began to shift. A moment later, I was out, and trying not to panic.
“Can I use your phone to call Bud?” I asked Colin.
“It doesn’t work here. I think we established that, right?” The boy shook his head, despairing of my stupidity as he spoke. “Eidetic memory?” He tutted.
I held my forehead.
“You’re thinking?” he asked. I nodded. I was also trying to keep calm.
“Right-o, Colin. You’ve rescued me—thank you so much. Now we have to get back to Anen House, as quickly as we can, then to SoulVine Wines. Let’s go. We’ll talk on the way.” I knew I was barking at him, but it didn’t matter. “You lead, and can you use your phone to light the path a bit? It’s almost dark.”
“Sure can,” he replied jauntily.
As we trudged up the hill in the darkness, which was a lot more difficult to do than to wander down it in daylight, I sorted through all the facts in my mind, and I knew I wasn’t wrong about it all, which wasn’t good. We had to get to Bud as fast as possible.
“Once we get up to Pat and his car, how quickly can we get to SoulVine Wines?” I asked, panting.
“This time of day, it’s about twenty minutes to half an hour from here by road. It could be longer, depending on the bridge.”
That wasn’t good. But at least I could phone Bud from the B&B and tell him what was going on. That would help. It should help.
“But there is a quicker way,” said Colin.
“What?” I spoke sharply.
“Our boat. If Pat gives us a ride to my house, we can just zip right across the lake. They’re opposite us. It’ll only take five, ten minutes.”
“What about the other side? Will we need a car there?” I wasn’t sure where exactly the dinner was taking place, geographically speaking.
“No!” replied Colin—implying “Don’t be so stupid!”—“We just tie up at their jetty and walk up the steps to the restaurant. Didn’t you see it opposite our house today, when you were there?”
“No, Colin, I guess I just didn’t know what I was looking at.”
Understatement of the year there, Cait. That’s at least two examples, now, of where you just didn’t see what you were looking at in the way you should have seen it.
“You’d have a life jacket on the boat I could use?” I asked, now huffing, as well as puffing. It seemed to be a lot steeper than I recalled.
Colin stopped and looked back down the trail at me, smiling, “What, can’t you swim?” he chuckled.
“No,” I said, honestly. “I grew up by the seaside and managed to go my whole life without learning to swim. But you should always wear a life jacket, whether you can swim or not. Right?”
“Yes, Mom,” sighed Colin. “Are you okay in boats?” he asked after a brief pause.
“No, not really. But I’m sure I can keep it together for ten minutes, so long as that’s all it is.”
“If Mom let’s me drive, it could be five,” he said, laughing.
“Colin, your Mom can drive—or your Dad, I don’t really care, so long as whoever is in charge gives me a life jacket, hasn’t been drinking, and gets us there quickly.”
“Well, the not drinking thing is a bit of a challenge,” said Colin. “I didn’t see much of my Dad today, but when I did, he was knocking back the beers with his mate Dave from West Kelowna. They work together sometimes in Calgary, and when he visits, all they do is drink. And Mom? When I left to foll . . . to ride down to Kelowna, after lunch, she was hitting those cocktails pretty hard and she hadn’t stopped when I went back and told her about the accident, or when I left again. I’m of age, I’ve got all my certificates, and I don’t drink, so I really can take you there in the boat. If Pat can drive us to it.”
Oh damn and blast! Here I am about to put my life in the hands of a kid. A kid who’s sad, lonely, and obsessive. But have I got any choice?
I looked up at Colin’s back, and at the climb that still stood between me and a place where I could call Bud: the hill still stretched above of us. Good heavens, I thought we’d be closer. How far have we come?
I looked back over my shoulder at the path behind us. We’d come a good way. But I shouldn’t have looked down, not even along a path. As as I turned back and looked up again, I felt myself sway with giddiness. I missed my footing, my ankle rolled on a rock and I came
crashing down onto my knees and side. I put out my arm to break the fall. And broke my wrist. I heard it go. CRACK. Just like that.
And it hurt like hell!
Pinot Noir Ice Wine
“DON’T TOUCH ME! DON’T TRY to help. Just let me get up on my own. I can do this!”
I was telling myself I could do it as much as I was telling Colin that I could get to my feet without his help. I didn’t really believe me, but he seemed convinced. He stood back, held up his cellphone to throw a little more light onto the path for me, and made encouraging noises.
It took a few moments, but I managed it. It was a good job I was wearing pants, because at least they’d saved some of the skin on my knees and thigh. I’d ripped through the left sleeve of my shirt, and the skin on my elbow was pretty badly grazed, which was nothing compared with the greater discomforts of a broken wrist and a turned ankle.
I put my weight back on my damaged side as gently as I could. I found that if I kept the weight on my toe, rather than my heel, it was bearable. I cradled my floppy left wrist in my right hand.
There you go, Cait, left wrist broken—again! That’s twice in one year—brilliant! Another six weeks in plaster!
Damn I was angry with myself. I didn’t talk, I just gritted my teeth and hobbled up the steep path. Fortunately, Colin MacMillan had more sense than to ask me how I was doing. He lighted my way, as best he could. After what seemed like an age, we finally reached flatter ground. I could see the Corrigans’ home ahead of us and beyond that, the lights of Anen House.
I stopped for a moment to catch my breath, but I knew I couldn’t give up.
“Does your phone work here?” I asked Colin abruptly.
He checked. “Yes, I’ve got a signal. Can I punch in Bud’s number for you?”
I nodded, gave him the number, and took the cellphone from him with my right hand. It rang. And rang. Finally, Bud answered.
“Hello? Hello?”
I could hear laughter, voices, and the clattering of a kitchen.
“Bud, it’s Cait. Can you hear me?”
“Cait?”
“Yes, Cait!” I shouted angrily. “Go somewhere where you can hear me—it’s important.”
“Okay, okay, keep your hair on,” replied Bud jovially. “Hey guys, gotta take this, back in a minute,” he called to whoever was nearby.
I stood quietly beneath the star-pricked night sky, blood starting to trickle down my arm, my wrist thumping, my ankle screaming, and I listened to Bud humming as though he were “hold please” music. Usually it was entertaining. At that moment? Not so much.
I could feel the blood charging around my veins. I could see my breath puffing in the cool night air.
“Hey, so how’s it going?” he finally asked. Where do I begin?
“Bud, you know I love you, right?”
“Oh-oh, this can’t be good,” he observed. Very perceptive.
“I can’t get there for a little while, Bud. It doesn’t matter why. I need you to do something and it’s important, and it could be critical. Got it?”
“You’re with someone and you can’t say exactly what you want to say?” asked Bud. See, perceptive.
“Correct,” I replied.
“Are you in danger? Do I need to come to you?” He’s damn good!
“No and no. I will get there. Between now and then you must not leave Serendipity Soul’s side. Got it?”
“She’s in danger?”
“Possibly imminent.”
“Got it. I’ll go right back to the kitchen. I’m on my way now. When will you be here, and are you okay?”
“Thanks Bud. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m fine. Bye. Got to go.”
“Got it. I’m on it.”
I love it when Bud is Bud.
I could relax a little, but not too much.
“Right, let’s get into the house, then Pat can drive us to your boat,” I said, handing Colin’s phone back to him.
“You cannot be serious!” he said. “You can’t go on the boat like that. You can’t walk. You can’t balance. You won’t even be able to get onto it, let alone cope with all the bouncing around.”
He was right. Oh no, time is slipping away.
“Okay then, change of plan, let’s get Pat to drive us over. Come on, let’s go!” and I hobbled toward the back door I’d sauntered out of not two hours earlier.
“Pat! Lauren! Need some help, please!” called Colin, racing ahead of me.
As I approached the door, I could see the concerned look on Lauren’s face turn to horror when she caught sight of me.
“Oh sweet Mother of Jesus!” she cried as she ran toward me. “Pat! Pat! Call 911!”
“NO! Please, no!” I replied, as firmly as I could. “Stop right there—please Lauren. Where’s Pat? Pat, you too, come closer, but stop there.” They both did as I asked, but they each looked at the other with alarm.
“Lauren, Pat, Colin, I need you all to help me, and by doing that you’ll be helping at least one other person—someone who’s life might be in danger. I cannot say more than that. Not now. You need to trust me on this one. Lauren, your Mum was a nurse. Did she teach you how to strap up an injured wrist?” Lauren nodded. “Good. Can you go inside and find something that you can use as a bandage for support? I think a large tea towel will do fine for a sling.” Again, Lauren nodded, and she was gone.
“Pat, I need you to be ready to leave. You’re going to drive me and Colin over to SoulVine Wines. We might not be back for some time, so make sure the kitchen’s safe, right?” Pat nodded and headed to the kitchen.
Finally, I turned to my young helper. “Colin, you’ve already done so much, but I need you to come with me, right? You’re not to leave my side. Not for a minute. Okay?”
“Why?” asked Colin.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Okay, that’s cool,” he replied, and shrugged. “Can I help with the bandaging?” he asked.
“Let’s go in and see how Lauren’s getting on with the supplies,” I replied.
Lauren and Pat were brilliant, and Colin was as helpful as he could be. I declined painkillers but allowed Lauren to wipe the grit off my face, as well as strapping up my wrist. Then she very kindly offered to help me in the bathroom.
Because I knew that Bud was on the case across the lake, I tried not to mind as much that it took us fifteen minutes to get out of the house, and another half an hour before we reached the grand, gated entrance to the SoulVine Winery and Country Club. But I did mind. A lot.
However, if the movement of the car was anything to go by, my poor body just couldn’t have coped with bobbing across the lake on a boat. Colin had made a good call on that one. Nevertheless, the time we’d lost was a real concern to me. Every extra moment it had taken me to get there presented an additional moment of danger to Serendipity.
Finally, we crunched along the wide driveway that led from the road toward the clubhouse and restaurant complex. It was huge: four stories tall in some parts, just one in others. Dozens of windows were brightly lit, and the golden glow pooled on the grass and manicured plantings that surrounded the building. Pat brought the car to a standstill under a two-storey copper awning that sat atop a magnificent pair of gray stone-clad columns. It took all three of them to get me out of the car.
I could feel the swelling really getting a grip on my left wrist and hand, and the throbbing in my ankle was now building into a continuous pain. I’d seen myself in the bathroom mirror at Anen House, and I wasn’t a pretty sight. I had no doubt that Bud would go ballistic when he saw me, and then again when he realized the extent of my injuries, but how I looked didn’t matter. What mattered was that Bud had stuck to Serendipity like glue, and that Colin never left my side.
As I hobbled through the glazed double doors, I could hear gales of laughter echoing in a distant room. I looked at my watch. It was almost eight thirty. Everyone must have arrived by now. Good.
Pat and Lauren’s entrance into the private dinin
g room was greeted by a small cheer, Colin’s with some puzzlement, especially from his mother, and mine with gasps of astonishment. As I looked around the room I took the time to read every face, carefully—I couldn’t afford to make a mistake: Serendipity, Raj, Sheri, Grant, Lizzie, Ray, Gloria, Sammy, Suzie, and Ellen all looked completely, believably, shocked at the sight of me. Bud looked horrified.
“Oh my God—Cait—what’s happened to you?” Bud rushed to my side. I winced. “Don’t panic, I won’t touch you,” he said softly. “What have you done? Broken your wrist? Again?”
I nodded. I was not going to cry but the relief of being with Bud was pretty overwhelming.
“Is your head okay? No concussion?” I shook my head.
“All in perfect working order,” I replied in an undertone. “Perfect working order, Bud,” I repeated meaningfully.
Bud’s eyes showed me that he understood. “We should talk. Or should I call the cops first?” he whispered. I nodded, ever so slightly.
“Can you get them here, tell them I’ll be revealing something they’ll want to know about the Wisers’ ‘accident’ and then just get them to hover? You know, use your Bud-power on them? Also, can you do it without leaving Serendipity?” I whispered back.
He winked. “I’ll sort it.” I knew he would.
It was clear that my arrival had rather changed the pace of the evening, and what an evening it should have been. The room was magnificent, by any standards: the chandelier alone must have cost a bomb, and the fact that the light oak-paneled walls glittered with Sammy Soul’s collection of framed gold and platinum records just brought the whole thing to a different level. Under any other circumstances I’d have been blown away by the food that was on display: if her presentation was anything to go by, Serendipity Soul was, indeed, a highly talented chef.
She’d used the colors and textures of her dishes artistically, painting picture that would please any palate. Fish, shellfish, meats, vegetables, flowers, fruits, pâtés; lovingly displayed cheeses, fabulous breads, glittering plates, multiple layers. It was all truly breathtaking. But I couldn’t have managed to eat one single mouthful of it, and that knowledge was driving me nuts!