A Killer Necklace

by Melodie Campbell

  “I didn’t realize you imagined people in terms of décor.”

  “Job hazard. You’d be surprised how connected people and their personal spaces are.”

  “People show their true selves without realizing it, don’t they? For me it’s the fashion angle.”

  “And yet Louisa appears to have hidden her true identity in Black Currant Bay for years.”

  “She must have been trying to fool people,” Gina said. “Most of the time not wearing the beautiful garments she was accustomed to wear.”

  “Is her name really Louisa?”

  “Good question. I’m not sure. I’m going to do some more digging. Just thought you’d like to know what I found out today. I suppose you need to pass it on to Karl.”

  “I should.”

  “I hear a ‘but’.”

  “Do we know enough yet? Don’t you want to wait until we can present him with a solid name for Louisa’s next of kin? That’s what we’re supposed to be looking for.”

  “Sure, let’s show Karl and Tony what we can do!”

  “Being careful though,” Becki warned. “I want you to know something about guys with big desks.”

  “Becki!”

  “Ha! If they choose to take up more space than they need and it’s all for effect, they may be trying to intimidate.”

  Now Becki had Gina’s interest. “Honest to God? There’s a relationship between desk size and behaviour?”

  “Studies show that people who sit behind large desks are more likely to cheat, steal—”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No.”

  “How come I’ve never heard any of this?”

  “Don’t know. Anyway, large desk owners may start to feel that they’re above the rules that govern lesser drones.”

  Gina was relieved that Becki couldn’t see her eyes popping, but it seemed she gave herself away with some sort of non-verbal expression that Becki interpreted as a snicker.

  “I’m not joking! The question is whether the power of an influential job, one that permits a swanky office and an impressive desk, is what corrupts, or if a pre-existing sense of entitlement lends itself to corruption, which then leads to a position of power and influence. It’s a ‘Which comes first, the chicken or the egg?’ sort of thing.”

  “Well, at this point we’re just presuming Louisa’s husband has a big desk.”

  As soon as Gina hung up the phone, her momentary high from talking to Becki crashed. Thing is, when her primary relationship with Tony wasn’t going perfectly, nothing seemed right with the world.

  My God, was she becoming dependent? No way she wanted to be like that!

  Maybe eating something—like supper—would make her feel better. She strolled into her kitchen.

  There were no windows there, but because the condo was open concept she could still see out the wall of glass in the adjacent living room. In a couple hours the night sky would be at its blackest. Toronto’s pattern of lights always reminded her of strings of vintage necklaces scattered on velvet.

  What to eat?

  She swung open cupboard doors and peeked here and there. She had to admit this condo had the snazziest kitchen. Sparkly granite countertops. Shiny stainless appliances. Rich hardwood cabinets.

  But nothing to eat. At least nothing appealing.

  Becki’s cupboards on the other hand would be stocked with different shapes of pasta, lentils, couscous, flour, wild rice, olive oil, chocolate, herbal teas, exotic spices… Not to mention a few veggie things Gina might not be able to identify. Plus her refrigerator would be like a horn of plenty filled with fruit and vegetables.

  Becki had a whole blog-full of vegetarian recipes online. She also had a husband to cook for, and he, being the smart little devil he was, knew enough to encourage her with praise to elicit all kinds of home cooked goodness.

  It’s not like I can’t cook, Gina thought. I’m Italian for heaven’s sake! The big problem is who wants to cook for oneself?

  Then she straightened her spine, and in a tone that carried no small amount of reproach, pointed out to her invisible fiancé sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island, “Cooking for two is not a convincing enough reason to get hitched.”

  She had just about persuaded herself to grab her purse and head out to whichever Yonge Street restaurant tickled her fancy when she heard a loud buzz.

  Someone calling up from the lobby.

  Chapter 13

  “It’s Cathy. From lunch,” the voice said. “Can I come up for a minute?”

  Gina hesitated. This was strange! What could she want?

  “Sure.” She gave directions, and buzzed the door so Cathy could get in.

  While waiting, her eyes made a quick sweep of the great room. It was pretty neat. Becki would approve.

  With Tony away, there was far less to fuss about. No shoes or briefcase littering the front entry. No ties or jackets hanging over the bar stool. Even the breakfast dishes were nicely stacked in the dishwasher.

  She dashed into the washroom to do a last minute check of guest soap and towels.

  Three knocks at the door.

  Gina pushed down her curiosity and forced a smile on her face. She swung open the door.

  Cathy was wearing the same clothes from lunchtime. She held a small brown paper bag. Her smile was rueful.

  “I know you said Tony was out of town, so I picked up a couple of sandwiches at Pusateri’s. Have you eaten?”

  “Cathy, you are a lifesaver!” Gina held the door wide open. “I was just about to get takeout.”

  Cathy’s face beamed. She kicked off her Jimmy Choo heels at the door and walked in, placing the bag on the kitchen island.

  “They have the best croissants. I don’t allow myself starch at lunch, so a sandwich for dinner is a treat for me. I’ve got smoked salmon and rare roast beef. We can share if you like.”

  She sounded shy. Gina had to wonder if she usually ate alone at night. For some reason, she had forgotten to ask if Cathy was married. That is, still married.

  “I’ll get plates,” Gina said.

  “I also brought a tiny dessert. We don’t have to eat it if you’re watching.”

  Gina smiled to herself.

  “A dessert is just what I need tonight. I have a half bottle of Pinot in the fridge.”

  “That would be lovely,” Cathy said. She walked over to the far window. “You have a beautiful view from here. All those lights. It’s a really nice condo.”

  “But too small for the both of us. We’re building a house in Caledon. Tony is an architect—but I guess you know that.”

  Cathy nodded. “My husband was too.” She didn’t say anymore. Didn’t explain if he was retired, dead, or had simply moved on.

  Gina busied herself pouring the wine. The silence was a bit awkward. She was trying to figure out how to introduce the subject of why Cathy was here. How did one start a conversation like that? Thanks for bringing dinner, but why did you do it?

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Cathy said. She continued to stare out the window.

  Gina started. She picked up both glasses and walked over to the other woman. “Does it have anything to do with our discussion at lunch?”

  Cathy took a glass. She brought it to her mouth and took a small sip.

  “I wasn’t entirely truthful at lunch.”

  Gina waited.

  “Oh, I was telling the truth, but I didn’t quite tell everything. Delia…well, she played along.”

  Gina smiled encouragingly.

  Cathy shrugged and turned back to the window.

  “I warred with myself all afternoon about whether to come here or not. Delia had phoned and said I should. She said, who could it hurt now? All this happened so long ago. And you really seemed to need this information.”

  “Hold it right there,” Gina said. “I’ll just get the sandwiches, so we can eat and chat comfortably. Have a seat on the couch.”

  Gina dashed back to the kitchen, g
athered plates and serviettes, and brought them over to the coffee table. Then she picked up the paper bag with the sandwiches.

  “You go ahead and talk while I dish out the goodies.”

  Cathy smiled then. She seemed less nervous. Then her hands wrapped around her knees, and she frowned.

  “That woman. Her name was Linda Davenport. Her husband’s name was Garry Davenport.”

  Gina’s hand stopped mid motion. She sucked in air.

  “Are you sure?”

  She rocked back and forth. “About her name being Linda? I think so. Of course, I can’t be absolutely sure it’s the woman in the photo. I didn’t know her very well. Just to see, really. But I knew him, all right.”

  The air in the condo got suddenly colder.

  “You have to understand. I was a young thing at the time. Impressionable. All this money around. We didn’t come from money, so that was new to me. But Bruce—that’s my ex—was popular with this crowd. He did a lot of work for them, as an architect.”

  Gina picked up a half sandwich. She took a small bite and waited.

  Cathy stared at the sandwiches. Her hand darted forth and grabbed one. Gina was reminded of a squirrel snatching nuts for winter. It was almost as if Cathy’s instinct told her that the good times might be over. The sandwiches might be gone.

  “This sounds awful, I know. But I knew Garry well…about as well as you can get. We were having an affair.”

  The sandwich stopped an inch from Gina’s mouth. She hesitated. What do you say when someone tells you that?

  Then she had it.

  “Did Linda know?”

  Cathy shook her head. She leaned back on the cushions, clearly relieved. Maybe it was because Gina didn’t appear to criticize her.

  “She didn’t know. No one did, except Delia. That’s what made it so exciting.” She sounded wistful.

  Gina doubted that. Oh, she didn’t doubt that it was exciting. But really, could Linda not know that her husband was having an affair? Even though they weren’t married yet, Gina was positive she would know if Tony was fooling around.

  Wherever Tony was now, she absolutely knew it wasn’t with another woman in that way. The funny thing was, she couldn’t say why she knew.

  Cathy continued to take little bites of the sandwich and swallow them quickly.

  “How long had you been seeing each other?” Gina asked. That seemed a nice, non-judgemental way to put it.

  “Eight months. It was a miracle it never came up. All through the trial, I was frantic the police or lawyers would show up at the door. But Garry was a prince about it. Never gave me away.”

  She sighed.

  “You can’t imagine what a magical time it was for me, those eight months. I was feeling as guilty as hell, of course. Bruce was a good guy. But he wasn’t…exciting. Garry was older and so sophisticated. He knew how to talk to a girl to make her feel special. I know it sounds creepy, but believe me, he wasn’t.”

  That was exactly how it sounded to Gina! A suave, older man taking advantage of a younger star-struck woman. It was a pattern as old as time.

  Even now, having never met the great Garry Davenport, Gina felt animosity toward him.

  “Tell me about the last time you saw him.”

  Cathy’s blue-grey eyes darted to the plate. She reached for another sandwich. Her hand paused over the smoked salmon, wavering there. Instead, she snatched the roast beef.

  “I’d seen Garry on the Monday night. Then Tuesday, he didn’t phone. I found out through the papers that he’d been arrested. I was just about frantic.”

  She played with the half sandwich in her hand. One manicured finger stroked the open end absently.

  “You can’t imagine what a nightmare it was for me. I never saw him again. He never tried to contact me. Made sure that there were no links the investigators could follow. It broke my heart, but I knew why he was doing it. He’d warned me it could happen.”

  Gina cleared her throat. “Why was that, do you think? Was he protecting you from the press?”

  Cathy put down the sandwich and reached for her wine glass.

  “Not only them. He had some pretty powerful mob contacts. People he wouldn’t talk about. I think he was scared of them.”

  It was after ten when Cathy left. Gina sat back to contemplate this new information. She thought about phoning Becki, but she knew Karl went to bed early because of the job. This could wait until morning.

  So Louisa could be Linda Davenport. Delia seemed to think she was. Cathy couldn’t be positive of course.

  Gina tried to add up the evidence, however meagre.

  If Louisa was Linda, she’d kept the same initials for her new name. What had been her maiden name? Had she reverted to that as well? That would be initial proof. They would have to research that.

  Then there was the evidence of the dress. Delia had described the very gown Gina had seen hanging in Louisa’s closet.

  Tony would dismiss that of course. Most men would. It was so long ago, after all. But women remembered things like that. And Gina knew that it was very unlikely there would be two women with the same Clotheslines dress. Too much of a coincidence, when you were talking couture. These things weren’t sold by the dozen.

  Louisa had kept that dress. She had, in fact, treasured it. Gina knew that from experience. You didn’t keep old evening gowns for years and years unless you were really attached to them, or extremely sentimental. They simply took up too much room.

  She was deep in thought when the phone rang.

  Chapter 14

  The confusion of silhouettes was the result of too many light sources—the moon that hung bright in the sky, streetlights, more plentiful than usual car headlights, emergency vehicle strobes and the glow from the fire which domed the southwest quadrant of town.

  Becki quickened her pace.

  She could see the tops of the flames above the roofs of all the other structures. That’s how big the fire was. That’s how she knew there would be nothing salvageable after the blaze was extinguished.

  She rounded the last corner and the burning house came into full view. She came to a stop, then slowly she forced herself forward to join the circle of onlookers at the perimeter of the scene. For a long while she just bore witness along with the rest of them. Lost in her thoughts.

  Karl is here somewhere among all the professionals and volunteers working hard to bring the situation under control.

  Then bits of conversation began to register.

  “I wonder how it started.”

  “The house must have been empty.”

  “Vandals, do you think?”

  “Kids fooling around?

  “A freak accident?”

  “Could it have been deliberate?”

  “It was such a beautiful old house.”

  “Poor Louisa. It’s the final insult, isn’t it?”

  Becki opened her mouth and found herself asking the group immediately to her right, “Did you know Louisa well?”

  The only one to reply was a young girl in her early twenties. A woman really, but to Becki she was still a girl. Her sandy beach-coloured hair was gathered in a ponytail and fell to her waist. Her flawless skin made her just right for a Calvin Klein ad for perfume.

  “I knew her pretty well,” the girl said. “I cleaned her house.” She shook her head with regret. The light from the fire was warm-toned and flattering.

  Becki asked, “How long did you work there?” The girl was one of those creatures whose natural magnetism draws all those around.

  “About three years,” she said.

  “Once a week for three years,” Becki calculated out loud.

  “Yup.”

  “Such a shock that Louisa’s gone, isn’t it?” Becki introduced herself then, and added, “I run the décor shop Beautiful Things.”

  The girl nodded, and yet it didn’t look like she quite pinpointed Becki’s place in Black Currant Bay society.

  “On Main Street,” Becki supplied. “We re
novated Louisa’s kitchen. She was my client.” It would be pushing it to include the words “and my friend” so she didn’t.

  “Pleased to meet you, Becki. I’m Sylvia.” Sylvia smiled. Her charm brightened the sombre night.

  Just then someone grabbed Becki’s arm, startling her at first, but it was Lottie.

  “I can’t take any more of this,” Lottie whispered low and urgently.

  Remembering how at Gina’s shower Lottie was understandably still very distraught about losing her best friend, Becki sympathised. “This is especially hard on you.”

  “I can’t bear it!” Lottie cried. Suddenly she whirled on her heels and pointed at the inferno. “See the ghosts?” There was a fierceness to her stance.

  Watching Lottie gesticulating at the fire tugged at Becki’s heartstrings.

  If ever there were a night for ghosts in Black Currant Bay, she thought, this is it. However, she chose to gently assure the elderly woman beside her, “No, I don’t see any ghosts.”

  Luckily Lottie didn’t put up an argument. She loosened her posture and turned her back to the fire. Changing the subject she asked, “Is Gina here with you, Becki?” She darted her eyes among the throngs of people.

  “Gina’s back home in Toronto.”

  Lottie slumped further. Then her eyes brightened. “Do you know Gina?” she asked Sylvia, addressing the girl for the first time. “Gina Monroe.”

  “Isn’t she the reporter on The Weather Network?”

  “That’s her. Do you know that she’s Becki’s honorary niece? We had a wedding shower for her last week. What a lovely woman! More beautiful in person than she is on the screen. Absolutely Stunning!” Lottie gazed shyly up at Sylvia. “You’re quite beautiful yourself.”

  “Thank you.” Sylvia shrugged.

  “Wish I had a daughter,” Lottie continued. “A lovely girl to warm a mother’s heart.”

  Becki remembered how lonely Lottie seemed. Lots of talk of a trip back home to Cornwall but no one to go with now that Louisa was gone. And no one to stay with once she was over there apparently.