Cathy nodded. “And she’ll see you if I ask her to.”
Garry moved across the floor and gathered her up in his arms.
“Did I ever tell you, you’re the answer to a prayer?”
The smell of his musky scent engulfed her body in a euphoric haze.
So this is joy, she thought. Way beyond happiness.
And she would do everything possible to keep it going.
A new day was starting up in Black Currant Bay. Becki and Gina had been chatting on the phone for 15 minutes and had discussed Tony’s attitude, the upcoming wedding, and now Becki brought up the subject of Louisa’s murder and what they had been doing to try and shed some light on it.
“One thing I’ve heard from Karl throughout the years is that in 97% of cases, the suspect is mentioned at some point during the first 30 days of the investigation,” Becki said. She squeezed several of the fat spirals of the landline’s cord between her fingers.
“Hasn’t been thirty days,” Gina pointed out.
“No.”
“What has it been?”
“Half that. Almost two weeks?”
“Wow. Time flies.”
“You’re telling me.” Becki gave a great sigh. “We found Louisa just a couple days before your shower.”
There was a long pause while they both remembered.
Gina said, “I bet the theory works as well within a two-week period. I bet we have come across the killer.”
“Creepy, huh?”
“Yes, but maybe we can do something about it,” Gina suggested. “Maybe we can help piece together the puzzle. They say two minds are better than one. How about the more minds the merrier?”
“I guess we could at least make a list of suspects.” Becki was an organized sort of person. Since she had called Gina from her desk at Beautiful Things, it was easy to grab an always nearby notepad and pencil. “I’ll write it down,” she offered.
“Who were the first people we encountered?” Gina began. “The cops. Do we count them or are they exempt?”
“Exempt I should think. But let’s cast a large web and then narrow it down.”
“Actually, it was the ambulance guys that came in first.”
“And then Karl…”
“You’re not writing him on the list!”
“Nah,” Becki said. “Because if we put him on the list, we’d have to put ourselves on it too.”
“Let’s not get ridiculous.”
“We spotted that guy skulking around Louisa’s house,” Becki recalled.
“Douglas Spellman, the developer.”
“Who else shows up on your radar in connection with Louisa?” Becki asked.
“Weather reference?”
“Couldn’t pass it up.”
“Lottie then. She’s on my radar.”
“Louisa’s friend. The one she was going to take to Cornwall.”
“If we can believe what Lottie says, that is. She’s a little dotty, don’t you think? Sees ghosts. They speak to her, she claims.”
“Don’t write her off so quickly,” Becki said. “After all, I talk to my dead mom.”
“But the poor woman doesn’t talk back.”
Becki held back the whole truth of the matter.
“Then there’s Garry Davenport, Louisa’s ex, the entertainment mogul,” Gina continued. “Maybe through him, Louisa even had some knowledge that was dangerous to the mob. Put ‘mob’ on your list.”
“And what about your mother’s friend, Cathy? Davenport’s mistress?”
“Put her down. She couldn’t have burned down Louisa’s house personally because she was with me but…um…you never know, do you?”
“The only other person I can think of that we’ve discovered in connection to Louisa is Sylvia.”
“Who’s she again?”
“Louisa’s cleaning lady.”
“Right. Louisa didn’t seem to have much in the way of friends and family that could inherit, did she?”
“I guess she was kind of like a recluse.” Becki read off the list.
ambulance crew
2 police officers
developer—Douglas Spellman
Lottie
entertainment mogul—Garry Davenport
mob
Cathy
Sylvia
“Not a very long list,” Gina said.
Chapter 23
Oh, yeah! What a fabulous day!
High on endorphins from winning big just days before, and euphoric about yesterday’s purchase of a 2014 MINI Cooper S Convertible —built from scratch just the way she wanted it and to be delivered within the week—Sylvia skipped up Main Street.
A Midnight Black Metallic 2014 MINI Cooper S Convertible to be specific! She pictured herself stepping out of her brand new wheels wearing a slinky black dress to match the paint, and atop glittery platform shoes. Just in front of the trendiest dance club in Toronto.
She’d shared her wonderful news, her vision of the future, as well as plenty of cash, in local stores all the way from the lake to the subdivision marking the end of the commercial district. Everyone was so happy for her! Store clerks. Clients. Regular Black Currant Bay shoppers. Heck, even summer tourists. True, the visitors to town tended to look at her peculiarly when she admitted her goal was to make enough money to move away permanently.
Oh but right now she felt as gloriously radiant as the sun! Her limbs threatened to break into dance of their own accord.
About one quarter up the grade leading to her low-rise apartment building, however, her loaded paper shopping bags started to drag her down just a teeny bit. She rebalanced them in two hands and continued on.
Nah, nothing can stop me from soaring into high-rise condo airspace! And it will be soon, because all my recent efforts on several fronts have paid off beautifully.
She would continue her upward climb. Even if most people she’d confided in about her varied projects didn’t understand or approve.
My time listening to sceptical naysayers and their judgemental lectures about my money-making methods is so last year.
Ouch! The multi-coloured cords and ribbons of the bags were cutting right into her flesh. Perhaps in her excitement she had purchased just a little too much stuff at the same time.
Here, about halfway up the hill, lots were very wide and long. Trees stately. The traffic calm to non-existent.
She set down her packages on the smooth cement sidewalk to rearrange them once again. Not much further now and she would be flying up the few stairs outside her home at the edge of town. She would surge past door number 1A, then she would unwrap all her splendid items. She’d admire the décor pieces in several different spots around her apartment until she found just the right one. She’d check out how she looked in her new clothes in all her mirrors.
Bending over to pick up her packages again, she looked up in the direction she was headed, more determined than ever to traverse the remaining blocks with no more stops.
A dark sedan drove toward her. Nice, she thought. But nothing like the compact gem of a vehicle she’d chosen at the dealership.
Weird. The car seems to be speeding up. Um…down. Down the hill.
Automatically she checked the driver behind the wheel of the increasingly fast-moving vehicle.
Is there a problem?
Sylvia’s expertise in observation served her just as well in everyday matters as in gambling, which is all about reading people’s tells.
Facial expression.
Body language.
No mystery to her—
Then her bags slipped from her hands.
The car was almost upon her.
No mistaking the expression in the sedan driver’s stare.
She had miscalculated.
For the first time since she could remember, fear crept into her consciousness. Her breathing came in short pants past her lips. Her mind raced.
The wheels of the car bounced up over the curb.
Don’t panic. Play your
hand. Fifty-fifty chance. Should I leap left or right?
Sylvia was a gambler.
She bet left.
Becki was taking a break from work. Fresh air and exercise were important parts of her life in Black Currant Bay so instead of grabbing a coffee and sitting somewhere and relaxing like most city workers would do, she had flung open the front door of Beautiful Things and headed north.
Up Main Street this time, not down to the lake. Uphill all the way. She would turn around where the road levelled off and then, before heading back down, she’d take in the panorama of the semi-circle of town hugging the isolated shore of Lake Huron’s Georgian Bay.
Lake Ontario was her favourite Great Lake because she grew up in Toronto, but she remembered that in school she’d been fascinated by all five of the Great Lakes, including Lake Huron. She distinctly remembered colouring inside the mapped lake borders in blue pencil crayon.
High up at this end of town, there was more breeze and there were fewer people. The only other person she could see ahead was a lone woman, weighed down with bags in both hands and walking like maybe she was tired, and wearing uncomfortable shoes.
Whoa!
What’s going on?
A dark car streaked down the hill at an angle that would have him hitting the curb vis-à-vis where the woman was walking.
“Watch out!” Becki cried.
Horrified, she saw the woman try to leap out of the way but she was hit.
Thrown like a rag doll.
She lay crumpled on the strip of grass between the sidewalk and the road.
And the car kept coming.
Instinct insisted Becki take cover.
A nearby maple with a trunk nearly three feet in diameter would protect her from this maniac, who had careened across the road, mounted the sidewalk, mowed down a pedestrian, never stopping.
His full-size, luxury vehicle, dark blue with a silvery quality, flashed by and Becki drilled her eyes at the spot where the license plate should be, willing herself to record the letters and numbers, but the car sped away too quickly.
The front tire’s missing a hub cap thingy. It’ll be up near the scene.
She slipped out from behind the tree and ran as fast as she could to assist the victim.
Many miles away, a man worried about another woman.
Tony was not happy. It was happening again, and he seemed powerless to stop it.
Why couldn’t Gina leave this small-town murder alone? Why did she and Becki insist on trying to solve a killing that even the experts were struggling with?
Sure, they were smart. They’d probably solve the thing, if given half a chance. But at what risk?
It was dangerous and foolhardy. You didn’t poke a snake. The murderer was still out there, and it didn’t take a government agent to figure out that a deadly snake might strike again, if threatened.
Nobody was more dangerous than a human who had already killed. He knew that from experience.
Tony drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his late-model sports car. Gina wouldn’t thank him for interfering. But he didn’t have time to guard the ladies, as they played Sherlock. Not with the other pressing thing on his agenda.
The irony of this situation was not lost on him. Gina worried constantly about his safety while performing his ‘other’ job, the one he was leaving right before the wedding. Now, Tony was in the panic seat, over her.
It had come to a crescendo earlier today in the condo. Tony had entered quietly, as was his habit and training. He stood there, frozen in the foyer, as Gina put down the phone.
Gina turned around and started. No other word for it. She looked guilty.
“I didn’t see you there. When did you come in?”
He stared back at her, leaning back against the door with his arms crossed. “A few minutes ago. Long enough to figure out you were talking with Becki about that murder.”
Gina turned away. She walked into the living room and started tidying up the newspaper sections that littered the coffee table.
“We were just discussing who might be suspects.”
“I heard you,” said Tony. “Does Karl know you’re still at it?”
Gina’s hands shifted from neatening up newspapers to adjusting pillows on the sofa.
“At what?” she said.
Tony cursed under his breath. “Don’t be coy, Gina. It’s obvious you two are still playing Nancy Drew.”
He could see her flinch with anger at the childish reference.
“We’re not ‘playing.’ I found out who the victim was, remember? I was the one who made the connection, and we gave it to the police.”
And the conversation just went downhill from there.
Mere minutes later, he had walked out of the condo to cool off.
What to do? Put a tail on them? He could do that. H certainly had the contacts. But would it do any good? Might be too much, too late. You can’t stop a murderer intent on killing. You simply can’t be everywhere, and in a position to stop violence from a distance. He knew that from experience too.
Tony cursed. It wasn’t like him to ask for help, but this involved more than just Gina, and he was sure the other guy would be just as concerned.
Karl answered on the second ring, tension clear in his voice.
Tony got right to the point.
“They’re still investigating that damned woman’s death, did you know?”
This time, Karl cursed. “I can’t talk now. There’s been another attempted murder.”
Part II
Chapter 24
Roles had switched. Becki was not Gina’s host in Black Currant Bay. She was Gina’s guest in Toronto.
Tony had retreated to his bachelor pad for the final week before the wedding.
It was Saturday noon and the girls would have been sitting outside on a restaurant patio for lunch except the heat was so brutal they’d asked for a table inside instead.
That old expression “so hot, you could fry an egg on the sidewalk” is not hyperbole, Becki thought as a determined bead of sweat trickled down her back.
She knew this because she had once looked it up on the Net.
Anal of me to fact-check something like that, she admitted to herself. But hey, next time the subject comes up I won’t have to be concerned about making exaggerated and unverified statements. Except of course I’ve never actually fried an egg on the sidewalk myself, have I? I’m still taking someone else’s word for it. But I can trust Bill Nye the Science Guy, right?
It was he who confirmed that, indeed, sidewalks can be hotter than air temperatures because they are not only heated by air convection but by the sun’s radiation as well.
And right now the sun blistered a cityscape that was wall to wall man-made elements like cement, asphalt, brick and glass. Natural vegetation was limited to dwarf trees—strictly decorative—bordering the sidewalk, a few planters of flowers along patio railings and some giant potted arrangements in front of trendy store entrances.
The natural elements are hardly proportional, she thought. OMG! Here I am trying to redesign Toronto. This heat must be affecting me. For example, how many times have I re-read this same menu section?
She tapped it with her forefinger to help with concentration. It’s not like the offerings didn’t interest her. In fact, Gina was indulging her and had suggested a meal here at Rawlicious, where everything on the menu was both vegan and raw.
Two steps beyond her vegetarianism. And utterly intriguing.
For example, apparently the underlying principle behind raw was the conservation of vitamins, minerals and especially digestive-friendly enzymes by not heating food above 118ºF.
Better not let the food touch the sidewalk, she mused.
Gina’s voice cut through the haze of heat and the drone of noise. “What are you getting?”
The floor to ceiling windows in the front were open to the street so there was no air conditioning happening. Get it together, Becki. Pick something and…and answer Gina�
��s question. “Hmm. Chocolate Nut Milk and…um…Pad Thai, I think. You?”
“I wonder what the Creamsicle Smoothie would be like. Remember Creamsicles? When I was little I used to ride my bike to the corner store and that’s what I’d buy.”
And now she’s getting married. In one week. “Yeah. At one time they were my favourite frozen treat too. Then I went on a Fudgsicle binge. Anyway, nutmilk, banana, avocado, orange, vanilla, agave. Sounds delicious.”
“I’ll try it with Spring Rolls. If I’m still hungry I’ll have dessert.”
They placed their orders and chatted about nothing and everything until the food arrived. It was delivered by a friendly waiter and they both found their dishes well-presented and tasty. Filling too. Not surprising as there were no animal products in any of the items, which meant plenty of fibre in all of them.
Maybe nourishing food was all Becki needed after her long drive from Black Currant Bay this morning. Once they’d finished eating she felt re-energized. Which was a good thing because this afternoon they were going for the final fitting of Becki’s maid-of-honour gown.
Even if the wedding was going to be quite the grand gathering, there would be only two attendants in the bridal party. Becki, as more of a witness, really, than virginal maid of honour, and one of Tony’s friends as his witness/best man.
Becki picked up her purse because she knew their appointment loomed. She dug out her wallet and paid the tab for both of them. After all, Gina was letting her stay at the condo. She added a generous tip and was about to get up when Gina said, “Before we go, I want to give you something.”
“You do?” It should be she who was handing over a sweet little box embellished with polka-dot trim to the bride to be.
Gina’s wedding gift will come later, Becki consoled herself. And Gina and Tony will open it after their honeymoon.
“Open it now!” The future bride’s eyes danced like those of a child offering a valentine heart made of doilies.
Becki tugged on the two ends of the ribbon and the bow dissolved into swirling lengths of satin on the table. Slowly she lifted the cardboard lid, spread the glittery tissue and revealed…a stunning neckpiece.
A Killer Necklace Page 11