The door is answered by a harassed–looking woman in her thirties, a baby in her arms. “Yes?”
Charlie flashes his agency badge. “We’d like to talk to Ronnie.”
“Who are you? I don’t know anybody called Ronnie.”
“Yeah, you do. She’s your sister. Look, she’s not in trouble, we just need her help with a case. You know North Shores, right?” Charlie says, turning on the charming smile and demeanour.
The woman nods.
“Well, I’m Charlie and this is Amber, and we’re investigating the death of the three actors from that show. We’re speaking to everyone who has worked on North Shores and we really need Ronnie’s help on this. Can you give us a break here? I’ve been up all night working this case and I’m dead on my feet. Please? Can you help us?”
The woman’s expression softens and the baby gurgles delightedly at Charlie. What is it with him and children? They seem to love him. Charlie chucks the baby’s cheek and the little boy, who according to his bib is also called Charlie, reaches out pudgy hands towards him. “Charlie, no, don’t do that, sweetie,” the woman says to the child. To us she adds, “You’d better come inside.”
We take a seat in the living area and within seconds a woman appears, tugging nervously at her baggy top.
“Ronnie?” I check, and she nods.
“You wanted to talk to me about working on North Shores?”
I nod as she perches on the edge of a chair.
“Is this about the murders?” she asks, eyes-wide.
What else would it be about? Hmm… does she have a guilty conscience about something perhaps? “Yes,” I reply. “It’s about the murders.”
Beside me, Charlie doesn’t say a word. Has he gone into ‘Amber’s better at charming answers out of people’ mode, or is this too a part of his ‘not holding you back’ philosophy?
“Cate was lovely,” she says, still picking at the sleeve of her black top. “Maurice was a sweetheart. He looked after everyone, especially the new actors and actresses. He was like a father to them all. Ed, well, he was gorgeous and he knew it, but he was pleasant enough when he came in for wardrobe fittings.”
“Did the three of them have much to do with each other? Were they all friends?” I ask, opening my bag and fishing out a notebook and pen.
Ronnie looks thoughtful and then says, “No, I don’t think they were. Cate loved to be in wardrobe and she’d chat with us for ages. She mentioned Maurice and how much she treasured him. Told us how he’d been a big help with something to do with her family. I know she liked Ed but I don’t think he was interested.”
I scribble some notes. “You’ve no idea why she was driving his car on the night of the crash?”
“I think she said her car was playing up so it was going for repairs. I guess she must have somehow persuaded Ed to lend her his car.”
“If there is a link between the three murders other than the fact they all worked on North Shores, then it seems to be something to do with Cate. Do you have any idea if she was, maybe, involved in something dodgy in connection with the show?”
Ronnie’s expression changes at my question and a flicker of unease flashes in her eyes. She avoids looking at me and instead stares at her hands. Classic signs she’s hiding something, I seem to recall from my agency training. I need to get this woman back on side – fast. “We only want to catch whoever did this so that the rest of the actors and people working on the show know they’re safe, and that the show will go on and they will still have jobs to support their families and pay their rent. You want that too, don’t you, Ronnie?”
“Of course.” She’s still staring at her hands.
“You must still have some friends on the show, people you used to work with, right? You’d want to help them out if you could.”
“I don’t know anything,” she says stiffly.
Charlie and I exchange glances. We both know she’s hiding something or protecting somebody, but how do we get her to tell us what or who it is?
“Looks as though this is another dead end,” Charlie says, getting to his feet. “We’re getting nowhere with this case and if people continue to keep secrets and protect people who don’t deserve their loyalty, then we never will. The clock is ticking and soon we’ll be adding a fourth murder victim to the tally.”
Ah. He’s playing the ‘make them feel guilty and dishonourable’ card. Ronnie fidgets on the chair and continues to avoid looking at us.
“You know, before I came here, I thought this city was voted as one of the best and most popular places to live in the world.” Charlie shakes his head in a ‘what’s the world coming to’ way. “If murderers are allowed to walk free around the streets, amongst innocent people, going about their lives, amongst people taking their kids to school and then, bang, somebody wields a knife or fires a gun and…”
Finally, Ronnie cracks. “I don’t think it’s connected to the murders,” she says in a rush.
Charlie swoops in. “What isn’t?”
I crouch down before her and rub her hand reassuringly. I notice she’s shaking. Not just a nervous tremble but a full on terrified shake. “It’s all right, Ronnie, you can tell us anything and it will go no further. We’ll protect your identity as the source.”
Charlie stands next to her and softly rests a hand on her shoulder. This is new. He usually backs off when people get emotional, but this time he’s actually attempting to reassure and comfort her. “If it’s something of a personal nature and you’d rather just talk to Amber I can leave the room. Just say the word.”
I shoot him a grateful and encouraging smile.
“No, it’s not anything like that,” she sniffles into one of her sleeves. “I’m just scared they’ll know it was me and they’ll find me.” She straightens up and looks first at me and then at Charlie. “How did you two find me?”
“The local police department. We issued your old work photo ID to the relevant teams and they were on the lookout for you,” Charlie explains. Her face closes down again, her expression stricken.
Hmm. I think she’s spooked now at the thought of the police pounding the streets in search of her. Maybe Charlie’s people-skills still need a bit of work when it comes to this side of an investigation.
“Only because your former colleagues were worried about how you’d disappeared,” I reassure her. “We wanted to make sure you were safe and that you’d left your job with North Shores voluntarily. You’re not in any trouble, Ronnie.”
Charlie pulls his phone from his pocket and checks it. “I just need to sort something for Jack,” he says to me. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
I wonder if he does actually have to sort something or if he’s just playing his usual trick, making an excuse to leave Ronnie and me alone in the hope that I’ll have more chance of getting her to talk.
“You’re not in any kind of trouble,” I repeat. “I promise you. Will you talk to me, Ronnie? Tell me what you know?”
There’s silence. I rack my brain, trying to remember various tactics from my training days to help with getting people to open up. “What was your boss like when you worked for North Shores?” I ask.
She flashes me a curious look.
“You worked with Aimee and Lindy, right? They’ve already talked to us. I got the feeling Lindy can be a bit of a cow. Was I right?”
“Yeah, she is a handful,” Ronnie says, looking as though she’s happy to gossip if not to spill the beans on her secret.
I nod towards the door. “Charlie is my boss. He’s a handful too. I’m still in training and if I don’t get some positive results for him on this case, then I’ll be history. The agency we work for still has me on trial, like a kind of probationary period, you know?” Getting to my feet, I tuck the notepad back into my bag. “Well, thanks for at least agreeing to meet us.”
“Will you get the sack?” she asks tentatively as I walk – very slowly – towards the door.
“Probably,” I say with what I hope is a he
artfelt sigh. “Well, ‘bye then.”
She gets to her feet. “Wait!”
Bingo. It worked. Yay!
“You promise my identity will be kept a secret? Nobody will know where this information came from?”
“I promise,” I say, painting a suitably-solemn expression on my face.
She looks as though she’s teetering on the brink of telling all, and I hold my breath. Please don’t let her change her mind. Glancing out of the window, I see Charlie doing yet more pacing. This time he’s walking back and forth on the front porch, his phone clamped to his ear.
Ronnie nods as though she’s giving herself approval to share. “Well, one day last week I was sent on an errand,” she begins.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Yes,” I nod encouragingly.
“Lindy gave me this package to deliver to an address,” Ronnie continues. “At first I thought, what am I? UPS? But then I had some shopping I needed to do and hadn’t had time for a lunch break so I figured, kill two birds with one stone, you know? Lindy gave me cash for a taxi, which I thought was a bit weird, usually she’d have made me pay and then claim it back on expenses.”
“And where was the address you took the package to?” My fingers are itching to retrieve my notebook but I don’t want to freak her out. I need her to keep talking, so I’ll just have to commit everything she tells me to memory so I can recite it to Charlie afterwards.
“Down near the harbour,” she replies. “Which is another weird thing. I mean, what wardrobe-related errand would take place where people haul cargo and run boat trips for the tourists?”
“Can you remember the exact address? Did you write it down?”
She shakes her head. “Lindy never gave me the address. She walked with me to the taxi waiting outside and she gave a slip of paper to the driver. I guess the address was on there or she’d given the details to the company when she booked the cab.”
Hmmm. Not ideal. “Was it the area and the way Lindy behaved which made you suspicious?”
Ronnie nods. “Plus, I did something I shouldn’t have.”
Charlie chooses that precise moment to walk back in, causing Ronnie to jump in her seat. Perfect. Is she going to clam up on me again now? Has Charlie’s presence put her off?
“How’s it going?” Charlie asks, and I try to convey via various eye-rolling, head nudging and meaningful looks, that it might help if Charlie went and found another reason to leave the room. He gets my message, spins round and says, “Sorry, another call.”
I gather my thoughts and try to stay calm. I was so close to finding out something which could help us with his case. “And what was it you did that you shouldn’t have?” I press gently.
Ronnie stares at her hands.
“Ronnie?”
“I opened the package Lindy gave me to deliver. I know I shouldn’t have, but I was worried. Lindy can be a bit psycho at times, mood swings and the like. I was worried she was taking drugs and had dragged me into the middle of some deal she had going on.” She goes back to tugging anxiously at her sleeve. “I was real careful and discreet. I didn’t know if the driver was in on things and might go telling if he spotted what I was doing.”
“And could you see what was in the parcel?”
She nods.
“What was it?” Boy, this is like getting blood out of a stone.
“Two designer dresses from the North Shores wardrobe. They were skimpy little things so they didn’t add any bulk to the parcel. There was also some jewellery in there.”
My heart sinks. This was nothing more than taking a few dresses to some trendy clothing place on the docks. To people in the fashion business, having a place in an unexpected area like that is probably making some kind of hip and cool statement.
“Well, thanks, Ronnie,” I say, full of disappointment as I get to my feet.
“There’s something else though,” she adds, and I turn round. “A few days later I saw three versions of one of the same dresses hanging in Cate’s wardrobe.”
“And that’s unusual?”
“Yes. They were identical, even down to the designer label. I know that dress cost a fortune and budgets are carefully managed on the show. They wouldn’t have purchased three versions of it. Plus, if I’d dropped one of the dresses off at this place in the docks, where had these ones come from?”
My heart skips a beat. Maybe we do have something here after all. Whether it’s connected to the murders remains to be seen. It could just be another dodgy deal, like we uncovered at the property development place, but nothing to do with the case we’re investigating. Still, it’s got to warrant a bit more sniffing around, surely. “Would you recognise this place at the docks if you saw it?”
She scrunches up her nose. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Would you be able to spare us an hour or so to show us where it is?”
“I guess. If you think it’ll help. But…”
“Like I said, nobody will see you. It’s all completely safe.”
I hold my breath, waiting for her response.
“Yeah, I’ll do it.”
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
An hour later, we’re cruising through the area near the harbour, but not the picturesque bit over near Stanley Park and the touristy waterfront. No siree, we’re in the working bit of the docks. Not the heavy-duty cargo area admittedly, just the ancillary bits around it. It’s not too rough-looking. “Recognise anything yet?” I ask Ronnie, who is hiding in the backseat.
“No, I don’t think so. Er, maybe, take a left up ahead.”
Charlie does as instructed. We reach the end of that road and still nothing looks familiar to Ronnie. We try the next one and then the one after that. Still nothing. I can see Charlie is beginning to think we’re on some wild goose chase. I’m starting to think the same thing.
“Stop the car! There! That’s the place!” Ronnie squeals from the backseat, making me jump a foot.
Charlie pulls the car over and we all stare at a nondescript cream-coloured building.
“You’re sure this is it?” I check.
She nods emphatically. “I remember the name of the business next door to it.”
I lean forward and peer at the sign. Diligent Designs. Why couldn’t she have told us that ages ago? It would have seriously cut down on the not-so-scenic tour of the trading estate. The cream building doesn’t have a name plaque on it. Its façade is completely blank. Strange.
“Now what?” Ronnie asks nervously. “You guys aren’t going to go in there and leave me out here on my own, are you?”
“No, we’re not,” I say. Then I glance at Charlie with a questioning raise of my eyebrows, just to check. He shakes his head.
“Let’s get out of here.” He spins the car round in a nifty three-point-turn and I hear a distinct and rather large sigh of relief from the back seat. “On the way back you can fill us in on what happened when you took the package to the place at the docks.”
“I just went to the door, it was locked, I rang the bell and some guy appeared and accepted the parcel without so much as word, then he slammed the door in my face,” she tells us.
No much to go on there, then.
We drop Ronnie back at her sister’s home in Coquitlam. On the way back she’d morphed into Miss Chatty, telling us all about how she suspected something underhanded was going on with the wardrobe department on North Shores and how she’d quit because she didn’t want any part of it. Then she’d told us how she has a friend she was at college with who recently landed a job in the make-up team on City Wives and how she’s recommended Ronnie to the wardrobe boss and, long story short, she’s heading to Toronto for an interview. I don’t dare mention she might be jumping from one place with criminal activity to another.
“So, what do you reckon?” I ask Charlie once we’re alone. “Do you think she’s just paranoid or could she really have got caught up in a crime? I mean, she must have been pretty worried to have quit her job over this.”
“True,” Charlie concedes. “I spotted some security cameras on the building just across the road from the place Ronnie took the parcel to. I’m going to get hold of their footage and see who else has been visiting these premises. If nobody else involved in our investigation has been there then I say we hand this one over to the local guys and get back to finding the murderer.”
I’m not about to ask how he plans to get his hands on that security tape footage. I don’t think I want to be party to that particular piece of information. “What’s up next on the to-sort list?”
“The waterfront North Shores house. I want to check through some of the stars’ dressing rooms, see if we can find duplicates of other designer items or not,” he says. “We could head over there straight away; maybe grab some lunch en route.”
“Sounds good.” Why does he keep choosing to work with me and not one of the others? I honestly don’t know what’s going on between us. We should probably find some harbour side café and make time to have a proper talk, see if we have a future or not. But I know this case is the priority, not our personal issues. That’s what’s important. For now. As if there’s been a short circuit between my brain and my lips, I hear myself asking the question I probably shouldn’t ask while this case is ongoing. “Why are you working with me and not one of the others?” I blurt out, then feel my cheeks flush with concern. Sugar. Charlie has enough going on without me getting on his case about our relationship. Why can’t I just keep quiet about it for now?
We stop at some lights and he taps his fingers on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. “I could say it’s because my options are limited. Jack’s in Toronto working that side of things. I’d never voluntarily work with Stone, and Martha does my head in sometimes, she can be so full on and full of herself.”
“But you’re not saying that?” I venture, my fingers twisting around the edge of the passenger seat and gripping tightly.
“I am saying that, yeah.”
Oh.
“All of those things do apply, but the main reason is, I like working with you. I think our investigative styles complement each other. Don’t you?”
Past Perfect: A Fun and Flirty Romantic Mystery (Amber Reed Mystery Book 4) Page 12