Frank gave her a look that discouraged any arguments. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to argue. The letters bothered her more than she wanted to admit.
The following morning, Charlie knocked on her neighbor’s door at precisely eight thirty. It was opened by a woman with a small, wrinkled face, squinting through the crack. When she recognized Charlie and her little pug, she flung the door open widely.
‘Bonjour!’
‘Bonjour, Madame Lafrance. I wondered if I could ask a favor of you.’
‘Of course. You want me to keep Harley for a while?’ the woman asked hopefully, with a slight French accent.
‘Yes, please. I shouldn’t be too long, and he’s already done his business, so you don’t have to take him out in this weather.’
Harley, for his part, was quite happy to visit the octogenarian, certain to be hopelessly spoiled.
Within minutes, Charlie ducked her head and skipped over puddles in her rush to reach the subway, the two letters tucked securely into her bag. She suspected she might be on a fool’s errand, but she had to see it through, if only to reassure Frank. She asked herself how long she could put up with his constant hovering. One night was more than enough.
The previous evening, the pub had been full to the seams. She had hired a popular local band, and the small dance floor was almost worn thin from all the shuffling and jumping feet. Normally, Charlie would have helped with the table orders, but Frank insisted she stay behind the bar with him where he could keep an eye on her. Charlie complained about his demands, but she didn’t put up much of a fight. Her first love had always been to work behind the bar, mixing drinks and gabbing with the customers.
It was also Frank’s specialty. He could talk sports and cars with the guys and come off as a man’s man, while his charming smile and his good looks attracted the women. Charlie suspected many of the female regulars had a crush on Frank, and he had a way of making each of them feel special. Charlie smiled as she thought how they didn’t stand a chance. The bartender’s heart was already taken.
At three o’clock in the morning, Frank delivered Charlie safely to her door, but it was four o’clock before she eventually fell asleep. Wide awake by seven thirty, she prepared to go to the police station and get it over with. It may be an exercise in futility, but at least she could say she tried.
Inside the police station, the silence was almost eerie. It may have been the damp weather. Or it could have been the dullness of the walls and furniture, but it was as if a pall of dreariness was cast over the building.
Charlie told her story to the officer at the front desk and was directed to a small waiting room until someone could see her. What she was told would be a few minutes turned in to an hour. She was about to give up and go home when a young woman came to her, speaking in rapid French and gesturing to an adjacent hallway.
The police officer to whom Charlie was led was an older man with a heavy beer-gut hanging over his belt. His head was a shiny dome full of dents, like a metal ball that had been kicked around a few too many times.
Officer Martel’s smile reeked of insincerity as he waved his hand vaguely at a dingy chair facing his gray metal desk, his eyes bored and distant. Charlie knew she had wasted her time by coming here, but, nevertheless, she removed the papers from her bag and got to the point.
‘I’ve received two letters this week. I don’t know who they’re from, but they seem to be written by the same person, even though he or she uses different names.’
The man took the letters, unfolded them, and laid them beside each other on his desk. After less than a minute, he looked at her, his eyes still bored and expressionless.
‘Which one did you get first?’
‘The one from Vincent.’
He nodded as if the information made a difference, but Charlie sensed he truly didn’t care.
‘They don’t sound threatening.’
‘No, I know that, but they’re creepy.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘I wondered if you’ve had anything else like this come in recently.’
‘Not that I know of.’
Charlie gestured to the computer on his desk.
‘Is there any way of checking?’
He looked at her as if considering the idea, then glanced at the computer with a puzzled expression.
‘Maybe.’
He spent a few minutes typing on the keyboard and staring at the screen with the same flat expression. Finally, he shrugged.
‘Don’t see anything.’
Charlie glared at him, thinking the city of Montreal was in trouble if this attitude was typical of all its police officers. She reached over, gathered the letters, carefully folded them, and put them in her bag.
‘Thank you for your time,’ she said stiffly, standing to leave.
‘If there’s anything else, let us know, but I don’t see anything there for you to worry about. If you really want, I can open a case file.’
‘No, don’t bother. You’re clearly very busy.’
Chapter 3:
Monday’s mail brought another letter. This time, Frank was lounging in a chair, his long legs settled on the corner of her desk, when Charlie found it among her pile of bills.
‘Here we go again,’ she said shakily. The floor vibrated as Frank’s feet came off her desk. He stood and leaned over, peering across at the envelope.
‘Maybe you should wear gloves or something, in case we need to have it tested for fingerprints,’ he suggested.
‘First of all, God knows how many hands have touched it by now, and, second of all, the police won’t be bothered testing for fingerprints.’
‘I think you just landed on a lazy cop. You should go back.’
‘Yes, I agree, and no, I disagree.’
‘I’ll go with you. I’ll get them to listen.’
His tone suggested he would be only too happy to make them listen.
‘How about we look at this one first?’
Dear Charlene,
Hello, my name is Ben. I always wanted to live in Montreal. It seems like a great city, with a lot of exciting events. I know it can be cold in the wintertime, but I think I would have gotten used to it. Your bar looks like a nice place to hang out. I would have loved to have the chance to spend more time there.
Maybe some time we can get together and discuss it. I think we would have a lot in common.
‘It’s someone who came to the pub.’
Frank’s voice was strained and angry. Charlie looked up from the letter to see his fists clenched and his jaw set.
‘It’s okay, Frank. It’s just a prank,’ she said, not believing her own words, but wanting to say something to deflect his anger.
‘Bullshit! Don’t try to pretend you’re not worried about this.’
He was right. She was worried, and getting more worried with the arrival of each letter. She felt watched, and she had no clue how sane the watcher was. But, she didn’t want Frank to get involved in an incident with some nutcase. She reached across the desk and put her hand on his arm, her pale skin a sharp contrast to his.
‘Frank, we won’t get our boxers in a twist. I can handle it. He’ll eventually get bored with the whole thing and move on.’
‘How can you be sure of that?’
‘It’s a feeling I have.’
He snorted, shaking his head.
‘What if you went back to the police?’ he asked, circling back to the same subject.
‘They blew me off last time. And this letter is no more threatening than the other ones. It’s just creepy.’
‘I don’t know. What could he do? How would he ever find the guy?’
‘They have ways. If he can’t do it, he’ll tell you.’
Within seconds, his cell phone appeared in his hand, and he was sending off a text.
‘It won’t be long. Joe’ll get back to me, and we can call the guy.’
‘Frank, I don’t want you to get involved in this. I can handle it.’
‘Stop it. We’re in this together. Do you really think I’d turn around, walk out of here, and leave you to handle this on your own?’
Charlie glanced at the floor before returning her gaze to Frank. This was the guy who had been her best friend and her rock for the last five years, as she had been for him. Instinctively, he would be the first person she would call if she was in trouble, but she also worked hard to maintain her independence. It went against the grain for her to ask for help.
‘No, of course not. It’s just…I worry about you.’
‘That was a long time ago. I was a teenager. I can handle myself now. Physically, I think I’m better equipped than you, no matter how tough you are.’
‘Of course,’ she said, glancing at his muscular arms. ‘But all the same, I’m a big girl. I want to handle this.’
Chapter 4:
Charlie was doing an inventory count when the door banged open behind her. Her heart pumped madly as she spun around and saw Frank coming toward her, an excited look on his face. She forced a smile, not wanting him to notice how jumpy she was. Fortunately, he was distracted by Harley’s greeting, which customarily involved a full-body wiggle and a few happy whimpers.
‘He’s coming here this afternoon,’ he announced proudly.
‘Who?’
‘The private detective guy.’
‘Really? Frank, I thought you would have discussed it with me first. I’ve got a lot to do today. It’s not good timing.’
‘When will it be good timing? When you’re in the hospital because you’ve been attacked by some creep?’
‘Come on. It won’t come to that.’
‘Of course not,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘Look, all you have to do is talk to this guy. Tell him what’s going on and ask him if he can help.’
Charlie replaced the bottles under the bar with a little more force than necessary. The clanging echoed through the empty barroom.
‘All right. I’ll see him. What time?’ she asked brusquely.
Frank looked at his watch.
‘Pretty soon, I think.’
Charlie groaned. There were two things she hated. One was having her routine disrupted, and the other was having people prying into her personal life. Now she would have to suffer through both.
On the heels of that thought, the door to the pub opened. His head cleared the door frame by about four inches. He wore an old, Montreal Expos ball cap and a t-shirt that had seen better days. His jeans were clean but well-worn, and the whole distinguished outfit was completed with a pair of work boots.
Charlie released her breath. It wasn’t the detective, so she had additional time to check her inventory while Frank took care of this guy. She gave the stranger a nod and a welcoming smile, turned her back to him, and continued her work.
Harley’s nails clicked on the hardwood floor as he trotted over to the man to do a sniff check.
‘Hey there, little guy. You’re a cute one, aren’t you?’
Charlie smiled to herself. General opinion was divided between pugs being really cute, or just ugly-cute. She considered them genuinely cute, and invariably appreciated someone who fell along the same lines.
She heard the scrape of a stool as it was pulled away from the bar.
‘What can I serve you?’ Frank asked.
‘Are you Charlie?’
‘Why are you looking for Charlie?’
Charlie winced. Frank was in full protective mode. She turned to get a good look at the stranger. He was in his mid to late thirties, lean, and good-looking in a rough kind of way. This couldn’t be the private eye, could it?
‘I have business with Charlie. If you’re not him, where can I find him?’
‘I’m Charlie.’
There was a split-second of hesitation when he focused on her. The man stood up, stretched over the bar, and reached out his arm. As his hand closed around hers, she could sense Frank’s tension beside her, and she gave her friend a quick look to say, ‘Hey, you asked him to come here’.
‘You’re the private detective?’ she asked, directing her attention to the stranger.
‘I am. My name is Simmons. Everybody calls me Simm.’
‘Your name is Simm Simmons?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘My last name is Simmons, but everyone calls me Simm.’
‘What’s your first name?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does if I decide to hire you. I’d have to know what name to write on the check.’
‘You’d just write it out to my company name.’
‘You don’t look like a private detective.’
‘Don’t worry, I am. I’m working undercover right now.’
Charlie’s eyes narrowed. She couldn’t tell if he was pulling her leg or not.
The man pulled a business card out of the back pocket of his jeans and set it on the spotless counter. She glanced at it, noting its plainness. It had the name Simmons Investigations written on it with a phone number underneath. No logo, no fancy graphics, no address, and no full name.
Chapter 5:
‘Got any ideas?’
‘About who it could be? No, none,’ Charlie said.
‘Fallen out with anyone lately? Friends? Acquaintances? Relatives?’ Simm asked.
‘None of the above.’
‘Boyfriends, current or past? Wives of boyfriends, current or past?’
Charlie gave him a look that could have curdled milk. She didn’t find him amusing.
‘No. How long is this going to go on? I have work to do.’
‘Look, you hired me to find out what’s happening with these letters. I need information. I can’t work in the dark.’
‘I didn’t hire you. Frank did. As a matter of fact, he could answer all your questions.’
‘You’re the one who seems to be the target,’ he said flatly.
Charlie winced. She didn’t like the sound of the word ‘target’. This man’s attitude rubbed her the wrong way, for some reason. It seemed as if he had taken an instant dislike to her, a reaction that was foreign to her. She regretted agreeing to Frank’s decision to hire a private detective, although she recalled she hadn’t been given much chance to decline. She stood, intending to head out to the main room.
‘What are you hiding?’
‘I’m not hiding anything,’ she answered, her eyes flashing.
He looked at his notepad.
‘Your name is Charlene Butler, a.k.a. Charlie, you’ve owned this pub for eight years, you have no family, and Frank is your full-time employee. You’re a fountain of information.’
‘That’s all there is to tell.’
‘How about your parents’ names?’
‘They’re both dead. They have nothing to do with this.’
He pulled off his ball cap, ran his fingers roughly through his hair, and yanked it back on.
‘All right. Have it your way. It’ll take me a lot lon
ger, but I’ll start with what I have. I’ll end up knowing everything anyway.’
The chair scraped noisily on the ceramic floor as he stood. Charlie felt petty. She hated talking about herself, and she hadn’t been mentally prepared for this inquisition.
‘Okay, sit. I’ll tell you more.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
He made a show of poising his pen over his notepad. He certainly had his fair share of sarcasm, Charlie thought.
‘My parents were Pat and Patricia Butler, and…’
‘Pat and Patricia? You’re kidding, right?’
‘No, I’m not, Mr. Simm Simmons,’ she responded, her eyebrows raised.
‘Okay, fair enough. Was this your father’s place?’
‘No, he was a dentist.’
After a couple of strokes of his pen, he looked at her expectantly. She shrugged.
‘My mother worked as a school secretary. That’s it.’
‘No siblings?’
‘None.’
‘You grew up in Montreal?’
‘Yep. About five blocks over. I never lived anywhere else.’
‘Okay, you already told me you studied business at Concordia. Then you bought the pub, right?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Business is good?’
‘Pretty good. Steady.’
‘How many employees do you have?
‘Seven, apart from me. Some are full-time, some part-time. We have a lot of shifts.’
‘How long have your parents been dead?’
‘My father passed away ten years ago from cancer. My mother was killed in a car accident six years ago.’
He grimaced.
‘Sorry to hear that. It must have been tough.’
‘Yep.’
‘Slow down. I’m having trouble taking this all in. Are you always so talkative?’
She didn’t smile, but she enjoyed making him work for his money. She may have to give up the information, but she didn’t have to make it overly easy for him.
Sins of the Fathers Page 2