With a smile on his face he approached. “Hello, Ms. Green. I’m Douglas Spellman. We have an appointment?” He allowed his last sentence to end with just the slightest of upturns. Barely enough to make it a question. Then he extended his hand in her direction.
“Oh hello, Mr. Spellman.” She shook his hand. “I’ll be right with you. Marion has just about made her final decision about this rug for her bedroom.” She lifted a corner for him to see. “What do you think?”
Well, he could care less what Marion bought for her bedroom but Rebekkah put him on the spot. He turned to the client and said, “I’m sure whatever Ms. Green and you choose will be perfect.” There.
“Call me Becki. Everyone does. Have a seat in our little design nook over there and I’ll be right with you.” She pointed and grinned pleasantly.
Bitch!
Once Becki had rung up Marion’s invoice, arranged for delivery, and chatted with her all the way to the door where she said a warm good-bye, she headed to the corner nook she and Anne had set up so customers could browse through wallpaper books in comfort.
“I’m sorry about the delay,” she said. “Thank you for being so patient—may I call you Douglas?” Before he could reply she continued. “It’s only either Anne or myself in the store at one time. Black Currant Bay is just too small for us to be able to afford to double up. Now tell me a little more about your project so I can get a feel for what sort of ambiance you’re looking for.”
She sat down on the couch opposite him and crossed her legs. She leaned forward with interest after grabbing her notebook and pencil from the side table.
He swivelled his laptop computer on the coffee table between them so she could see the screen on which a slideshow was playing.
The photography was beautiful. Gulls floating in blue skies, aerials of the lake and the beach and the little town snuggled in the forest, a shot of the quaint downtown.
The mock-ups and elevations that Douglas presented of the homes themselves were intriguing as well. Becki was relieved to see that the architect had not transposed Venice, Italy, to Black Currant Bay, Canada. Opulent yes. But the development was conceived in a style that complemented its proposed location.
“We’re appealing to owners with multi-million-dollar lifestyles,” Douglas specified. Then he paused.
If he’s expecting my jaw to drop he’s sadly mistaken.
Unbeknownst to most of the citizens of Black Currant Bay, Becki came from money. Therefore she was not awestruck by affluence. Equally she wasn’t reverse prejudiced against the wealthy. But, man, she couldn’t stand arrogance!
When Douglas didn’t get the reaction he hoped for, he repeated the slogan that Anne had advised her of.
“Small-town Black Currant Bay—Port to the World.”
Becki noticed he fingered the knot of his tie as if it were a talisman of worldliness.
“Very nice,” she said. “Yes, so…nautical, blue, white, turquoise. Do you propose that these will be summer homes only?”
She found herself fighting a dislike for this man. It was true that she played with the idea that he was behind the destruction of Louisa’s home, if not the destruction of Louisa herself. But innocent until proven guilty.
“Oh yes. Summer only. Our buyers will spend winters in the southern States and the Caribbean. I’m talking very select occupants.”
“But you probably want a cottagey feel to the interiors. These are vacation homes, after all. Nothing too formal or stiff. Something relaxed and soothing.”
“Yes, I suppose.”
He can see reason.
Becki jotted down notes. “What do you think of a bit of whimsy for the sales centre and model home? Something to remind buyers of the fun they would have if they moved here? Maybe even a touch of retro? Retro is hot right now.”
“Not antiques!”
“No, not for this. I’m thinking 70s accessories.”
He nodded his head as he did many times over the course of their discussion. It seemed she and her work fared well in his esteem. After a while, she had verbal approval of the plan she had in mind. She would formalize it later in her written presentation.
Now it came time to dig into something else. She closed her notebook.
“You know,” she said, “you look familiar to me, Douglas.” She wasn’t above using that old pick-up line. She knew he would feel flattered if she showed personal interest. Most men were.
“I know this is the first time we’ve met formally, but I feel like I’ve seen you around town. Where was it I wonder?” She made like she was thinking back. Of course she really was.
Just her imagination or did a sudden wariness come into his eyes?
“I don’t know where you would have seen me. I was here in your store last Saturday as you know. Been scouting around here a few times before that but most of my work is done from my office in Toronto.”
“Was it at Louisa’s memorial?” She purposefully lit up her eyes with near recognition. “Or was it at Louisa’s house before she died? Did you know Louisa Davidson?”
He squirmed.
“Now I’ve got it, I saw you at Louisa’s not last Friday but the one before! I was on a boat with my friend Gina Monroe from The Weather Network”—a reliable witness—“and we saw you from the water.”
“Um…” He was obviously too uncomfortable to question how they could possibly have recognized him from so far away. Or maybe he pictured them close to shore in a canoe.
Becki didn’t bring up binoculars.
“What would you have been doing there? Because, um, wasn’t that the day after Louisa died?” She let her words trail off.
Obviously she wasn’t worried about whether or not she got the Spellman account.
But he seemed anxious to clear up any misunderstanding.
“Since I’m planning this development up here, I keep up with the Black Currant Bay Beacon Star online.”
“Yes, I’m sure you would.”
“I happened on Louisa’s obituary and the call for next of kin. Her address was included.”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“Wanted to see if her property would fit my resort.”
By that time he had regained his composure and seemed oblivious to how much he came off like an ambulance chaser.
Becki wondered, Is he telling the whole truth? Then she worried, Have I let my anger about Louisa’s death push me too far? I basically served Gina and myself up to this stranger as two eyewitnesses.
Witnesses?
To what exactly?
A survey of the land of a dead woman? Or a return to the scene of a crime?
In a gesture that was as unconscious as it was revealing, she crossed her arms in front of her body.
This is not like me.
I let myself get carried away. And after instructing Gina that we need to be careful.
Chapter 17
Gina walked off the set and threw herself into an empty desk chair. She kicked off her Italian heels, and sighed with relief. Dave on Camera One gave her a thumbs up sign. She smiled in return.
It was late afternoon, and time for Chris to take over the broadcast. Thank goodness.
Gina loved her job on The Weather Network, but it was always a relief to sit down. The trouble with being on TV is you were standing all the time. Already this year she had reduced her shoe heel height from over three inches, to two and a half. At this rate, soon she would be wearing flats.
Gina sighed again. This was definitely a young person’s job. And she knew better than to complain out loud. She’d been damned lucky to land this job right after school. Yes, the degree in meteorology had been essential. But others had that. And yes, she had style, and apparently a good face for the camera. But there would be hundreds of young, good-looking hopefuls waiting in the wings for this job when she left. Gina was entirely realistic about that.
Brenda, one of the producers, brought over a bottle of water for her.
“Thanks,” Gina said gratefully.
She smiled up at the smartly-dressed middle-aged woman.
Brenda didn’t look happy. In fact, there were deep furls in her usually smooth forehead. “You may need something stronger after you see this.” She held out the Toronto morning paper. The national one, with the big circulation.
Gina took it with one hand. She unfolded it.
“Check the bottom,” Brenda said.
Gina’s eyes travelled down.
Weather Network Star Discovers Murder Victim
Gina Monroe of The Weather Network is a key witness in the murder of a local woman in the small northern town of Black Currant Bay. Sources say Ms. Monroe discovered the body in the victim’s home, which was to be the site of Ms. Monroe’s wedding shower the next day.
The victim is said to be Louisa Davidson, a long-time resident of Black Currant Bay. The cause of death has not been confirmed. Police are treating this as a homicide.
Also at the scene was Rebekkah Green, wife of the Black Currant Bay Chief of Police, and friend of Ms. Monroe.
Gina Monroe (29) is a well-known celebrity in the Toronto area, and a familiar face on the charity gala circuit. She is engaged to marry Anthony Ferrero (34), the award-winning architect…
Gina’s hand started to shake. She nearly dropped the paper. What would Becki say when she saw this? Karl was going to have a fit. And Tony! They even mentioned Tony. He was going to go ballistic.
“Oh my God,” said Gina out loud. “How the hell did they get this information?”
“So it’s true?” Brenda asked. “Shit, Gina. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Gina looked up. She felt her mouth go dry. She looked down at the paper. They had even used a stock photo of her and Tony at a charity gala. There she was, smiling directly at the camera, in that sapphire blue Galliano that had cost the earth…
Back to earth. Why hadn’t she told anyone?
“It never occurred to me. I didn’t think it would get out. Nobody down here cares about a small town death way up north.” Even as she uttered the words, she knew they sounded callous.
“They may not care about her, but the media cares about you. You are news down here. People will buy this paper just to read that story.” Brenda sat down in a chair opposite.
“I just never dreamed the story would get down here. I’m so sorry.”
Gina glanced down at the paper again, to read the rest of the article. But it just seemed to be words on a page. She couldn’t concentrate. Brenda wouldn’t stop talking.
“Ted called me right away. I’ve got our PR people waiting in the meeting room. I didn’t want to take you off the air, so they’ve been waiting. Gina, you’ve got to tell them everything. We have to manage this carefully.”
Now her head shot up. Brenda was staring at her. Gina felt a chill go down her back.
There was a moment of silence.
“Don’t panic,” said Brenda. She reached forward to pat Gina’s knee. “We’ve got the best.”
The best what, thought Gina? The best PR people to protect the station?
“One good thing though.” The producer rose to her feet. “Nothing like a little press to help the numbers. Your viewership today has been through the roof.”
Gina drove home in a fog. She waited until getting into the condo elevator before checking her cellphone.
Six calls from her mother. Two from Becki. More from various friends and relatives. One from the wedding planner.
Four calls from media personalities.
She focussed on the Becki calls. Both times, Becki had said, “Call me when you get this.”
Obviously, Becki knew. Gina closed her eyes. Her wedding was little more than a week away, and the next few days were going to be an ordeal.
The elevator doors opened. She moved swiftly to the condo door and used her key to open it.
Gina stepped inside. For a split second, she tensed, sensing the presence of someone else in the room.
She swung around to the kitchen.
Tony stood there, with both arms crossed.
“What the hell is going on, Gina?”
Twenty minutes later, the urgent phone calls had been made. Mothers had been placated. Aunts had been reassured.
They sat on the sofa in the condo, waiting. Both waiting for the other to bring it up.
Gina turned her attention to Tony.
“So where were you?”
Tony held the mug of coffee in both hands. How the heck he could drink caffeine at night and still fall right to sleep was a mystery to her.
Yet another mystery.
“Montreal. Like I said.”
Gina stared at him. He looked tired. The rigid look to his body had passed and been replaced by weariness. His brown hair was dishevelled, and his blue eyes drooped.
Did she believe him? No question, he must have been close by, to get back to Toronto in less than eight hours.
“Did the newspaper article bring you back?”
He sipped from the mug. “I was coming anyway. I saw the paper on the plane.”
The plane from where, she thought. But it would do no good to ask again, she knew.
“But it would have,” Tony said. “Brought me back.”
Gina felt his eyes on her now.
“Whatever you think, I love you, Gina. The thought of you being in danger drives me berserk.” He paused. His hands fiddled with the mug. “I have a few things to clean up. That’s all.”
She stared down at the hands in her lap.
“The wedding is just over a week away,” she said simply.
“I know when the wedding is,” Tony said.
“So it’s out of the bag,” Becki said, after hanging up the phone.
Karl threw himself down in an easy chair. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how Toronto media got hold of the details.”
“Did someone in the department leak it?”
Karl shrugged. His large body moved forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. His hands went to hold his head. Fingers raked through the thick hair.
“It shouldn’t have happened. That local reporter might have a friend on the force. Hard to keep something like this quiet with Gina involved.”
Becki hesitated. She should tell Karl about the meeting with the developer today. That it had been the developer who had cased Louisa’s property. But something more important was haunting her.
“Does this put Gina in any danger, do you think?”
Karl shook his head. “Can’t see how. So she discovered the body. Why would that make a difference?”
“But…” Well, darn, thought Becki. Maybe I’m being too paranoid. The newspaper article just said that Gina had been at the scene of the crime. It didn’t say anything about her searching the house with me after, or doing any sleuthing.
“Did they say anything about the fire?”
“What?” said Becki, lost in thought.
“The fire. Did the newspaper mention the fire that burned down the vic’s house? It might be important.”
Becki moved her head to meet his eyes. “Gina didn’t say. And I forgot to ask.”
She knew what Karl was going to say next. He was going to suggest they stop investigating Louisa’s past.
But Karl knew her better than that. The poor woman had been murdered. Becki felt it was their duty to do everything possible to help solve the mystery of who Louisa really was. Gina’s connections in Toronto were just too good to pass up.
“Before you say it…”
Karl grunted. “You know exactly what I’m going to say, don’t you.”
Becki smiled. “Most of the time.”
Chapter 18
After all these years, he had finally found Linda. Not that it had worked out the way he had planned.
Linda was dead now.
Bad thing, good thing as people often said these days, and it was as good a way as any to explain how it hurt like hell—because he loved her once—and yet it pleased him too, because she was no longer out there somewhere, holding onto
that crucial piece of evidence that could send him right back to the slammer.
Which left only one question. Did her secret die with her?
That question was paramount, and why he couldn’t allow himself to wallow in self-pity about how he’d messed his life up so badly. Also why he was all the way out here in Oakville, and sending every contact he could still count on out scrounging here, there and everywhere for information.
Garry Davenport’s spine tingled. That familiar sign of fear and adrenaline. He pushed back against the leather upholstery of his Audi.
He exited off the 403 onto Dundas Street West and drove north. Almost immediately he turned right onto Hyde Park Gate, and then right again onto Bristol Circle. His vehicle floated quietly along the road.
It was cool enough this evening to buzz down the windows and get some air but he preferred to keep the tinted glass up. You never knew if there were cameras.
Paranoia.
Okay, so a camera wouldn’t easily catch who was driving, but it would still catch his licence plate number. Hold on a minute. He was getting way ahead of himself. The cops may never have to go looking for camera footage. They may not have to get involved at all. It depended…
There it is!
On his right-hand side as he rounded the curve. Exactly as expected. He’d done his homework. Nowadays it was all too easy, because everything and anything was displayed for all to see on the Internet.
A custom-built facility, clearly marked number 2655, no sidewalk along the curbed road—industrial parks are never pedestrian friendly—gated entrances, typical landscaping, including irrigated lawns, beds of tall grasses and neon marigolds, a few small trees. The parking lots in the front and the back of the building were flooded with white light from commercial lampposts. The building itself looked generous in size with glass and stucco panels forming basic rectangles.
This was the home of The Weather Network.
A Killer Necklace Page 8