The Caspian Wine Mystery/Suspense/Thriller Series

by Maggie Thom

  He shifted a few more times to work out some kinks. A car wandered past and he turned his face away. Once the vehicle was gone, he looked out his window at the house two doors down the street. No movement yet. In fact, since she’d entered the day before, there hadn’t been much of anything happening. He’d been tempted a time or two to check on her but his gut told him to wait. So wait he did. Fourteen hours later, he was struggling to remain patient. Get him on the computer for that long and he was fine; he could spend hours online and feel useful. When it came to long surveillance, however, he hated it and would dump it on his partner Graham whenever possible. It usually cost him tickets to a baseball game but he gladly paid it.

  His stomach clenched, letting him know he was well beyond hungry. Sighing, he wished he’d thought to bring a thermos of coffee or snacks. Everything had happened so fast. He wasn’t quite ready to admit that meeting Bailey had thrown him off track as well. The picture he’d seen of her in the paper—the only one he’d been able to find of her—had fully displayed her attractiveness but he hadn’t been prepared for the vulnerability he’d witnessed.

  He’d had his strategy planned—he’d sit down with her, gently tell her that she’d been stolen, listen to her grief, connect her with her grandmother and he’d be done. It had struck him like a sonic boom at the gravesite that he was going to rip someone’s life apart, a life she’d had nothing to do with creating.

  He couldn’t do it at the gravesite. So now he had to figure out how to share with her what he knew. He couldn’t even come up with how he’d like someone to tell him. It was one thing to say yes to his grandmother and be reassured his role would be fairly easy and another thing to actually follow through. He missed working with his computer; there were no worries about how a computer would feel. When he’d taken on this assignment, he hadn’t really thought about how Bailey would take the news. At the time, it had seemed as simple as telling her and handing her over. But now that he’d seen her, he felt like he was going over Niagara Falls in a barrel, despite the fact that he hadn’t even done anything yet.

  Exhaustion and grit burned his eyes. He pressed his fingers gently against the lids. In the mirror, he noted red road maps that should have meant a night of debauchery—not that he’d ever really had one of those. Knowing he wasn’t going to stay awake without help, he started the car and drove to the nearest service station about eight blocks away. Coffee and food were not something he was willing to give up. What made him think he needed to sleep there overnight, he didn’t know, but that uneasy feeling hadn’t left and in the past, it had always served him well.

  Fifteen minutes later he was back in the same spot, though he realized it would have been smarter to park in a different place. Her car was still there, the telltale dew on the windshield an obvious sign it hadn’t moved. And there didn’t seem to be any new cars or movement in the predawn day. He’d driven down the back alley and around the block twice, just to make sure. Even though he had no reason to be that cautious, when he was on a stakeout, he liked to know who else was around and what was going on in the area.

  Knowing he was going to confront her with what he knew, he nervously drank his second cup of coffee and ate his third donut. As he waited for a decent hour to knock on the door, it occurred to him there was never going to be an appropriate time to tell her what he’d come there to say.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Bailey rolled over for at least the tenth time, her body protesting, before flipping onto her back to stare at the ceiling. Frustrated that her eyes were wide open when she felt anything but rested, she finally gave up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet hit her shoes which she’d kicked off at some point in the night. She stood shakily and while gaining her equilibrium, she took a deep, almost defeated breath as she shrugged out of her horribly wrinkled coat and tossed it onto the chair in the corner. Her outfit wasn’t in much better condition. Rubbing her hands down over the soft material of her two-piece pantsuit, she worked at smoothing out the haphazard pleats that now adorned it.

  She flipped her suitcase onto the bed and opened it, removing her shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste from the toiletry bag before heading into the bathroom across the hall. She tossed everything onto the counter and grabbed a towel from the closet just outside the door.

  Ignoring her mom’s voice ringing in her head, don’t waste water, Bails. It’s a luxury. Don’t get used to it, she spent showered until there wasn’t a drop of hot water left, despite the memories of all the times when they hadn’t had enough clean water to do more than sponge bath once or twice a week.

  Sorry, Mom, but I needed this. I think it’s okay I used all the hot water this time.

  In the bedroom, she yanked on jeans and a t-shirt and brushed her hair. Her stomach growled. When did I eat last? The thought was fleeting as the weight of the daunting task she had yet to do crowded her mind. Get it done and get home played out in the back of her mind.

  After securing her hair in a ponytail, she headed to the kitchen and put two slices of bread in the toaster. She leaned against the sink and glanced outside. Clear blue skies and beautiful rays of sun greeted her. A few cars drove by. Her mom had loved that it was a quiet street off the beaten path.

  The toast popped up, the metallic jangle of the toaster echoing in the empty room, barren of anything that suggested love. She had no deep connecting memories in this house. She’d barely set foot in it in the five years her mom had lived here.

  One thing was clear, however; her mom was no longer here. She really was gone.

  A vacuum opened up in Bailey, a hole that she didn’t know how to plug. She clutched her chest as sobs rocked her body. They’d never be together again.

  Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. What was going on with you, Mom?

  Abandoning any pretense she would be able to stop, Bailey dropped into her mom’s chair at the table, laid her head down and gave in to the gnawing pain. Tears ran down her face as she shook with the finality of it.

  She’d never touch her mother again.

  She’d never hear her mother’s voice again.

  She’d never be able to say “I’m sorry” again.

  Anguish wrapped her in its claws, holding her tight, closing off her throat. It clawed at her stomach until it was on the verge of heaving. She ached in every corner of her being. Her emotional storm went on for so long, she wasn’t sure it was ever going to end.

  Finally, the tears subsided. Bailey remained still for a long time, feeling as damp, limp and fully wrung out as a discarded cleaning rag.

  Her belly protested loudly at her failure to feed it, startling her. Pushing to her feet, she walked to the fridge, pulled out the jam and spread it on her cold toast. She nibbled on it as she made her way back and dropped down into her mom’s chair. Resting her elbows on the table, she picked up her mom’s cup and cradled it in her hands. Life is a guilt trip waiting to happen.

  Her lips curled slightly. Her mom had loved that saying but Bailey had no idea why, since it was rather depressing. Turning the mug, she noted the smudge of lipstick on the back side. Ruby Red, the only color her mom would wear. She rubbed her thumb just under the spot. She could almost feel her mom’s lips.

  Shaking her head once more, she realized she could sit there and morosely think about all that should have been; all she regretted and all she should have done—or she could get busy with the things she had to do. Her mom’s possessions needed to be sorted into those things she would take and those she’d give away. The contents of the house had been left to her while the house itself had already been taken care of. The lawyer wouldn’t budge on what that had meant.

  They’d never had many possessions. Her mom had never wanted to own something she couldn’t leave behind or dispose of quickly, just in case she decided to move. And she had been a master mover. Twenty-seven times in the first eighteen years of her life.

  She had three weeks to get everything packed and out, but she wasn’t sure her new job offer would
wait that long.

  The envelopes her mother had left popped into her mind. She’d stashed them in the glove box in her rental. She needed to give some time to them to figure out their hidden message. But not now kept running through her mind. She’d have to look at it when she had more time.

  She made her way to the cupboard, took out a set of keys and headed out the door. She crossed dry, brittle grass as she strode to a small shed in the back corner. She put the key in the lock and then just held it. This was yet another place she’d never been in, another secret of her mother’s.

  She turned the key, yanked off the lock and thrust open both doors but her forward movement was abruptly halted. A mountain of boxes filled the shed to capacity. She pried open the nearest box to reveal a stack of newspapers. Pulling frantically, she hauled newspaper after newspaper out, tossing them carelessly onto another box. Then she opened another one, only to find the same thing. Once she stopped acting like a mad woman, ripping and tearing, she realized the containers were dated.

  Jan. 2004 to Dec. 2006 – Vancouver and Victoria Newspapers.

  Jan. 2004 to Dec. 2006 – Edmonton Newspapers.

  Jan. 2004 to Dec. 2006 – Ottawa Newspapers.

  She dropped her face into her hands. What was it with her mom and the news? She’d acquired them from across the country; that was how she’d seen Bailey’s picture that had led to an argument. Her mom never wanted publicity for either of them. The idea of it almost gave her a heart attack.

  Or maybe it had. The article about her helping a needy family had sent her mom over the top. All Bailey had done was remodel a low-income family’s home. She hadn’t done it for the publicity but her boss at the time had been more than thrilled to use it to drum up business.

  Reality crashed in.

  “Dammit.”

  “Dammit.”

  “Dammit.”

  There was no way she was going to get through this, if she couldn’t stop those thoughts from creeping in. Later, she could kick the crap out of herself. She shut off her mind and got to work. She finished emptying the box she’d started on and proceeded to empty five more, unsure how many she’d eventually need.

  Bailey locked the door, grabbed hold of the empties and headed back to the house. She tossed them into the living room and then went back to the kitchen where she gathered garbage bags and the trash can from under the sink.

  She put all of it in the hallway before returning to the kitchen wall where a list of phone numbers was posted. Scanning it, her eyes settled on Lawn mowing—Jason. Perhaps he would empty the shed for a few dollars. After talking with his mother for a few minutes, they arranged for a few local kids to do the job.

  The phone clicked as she set it down. The simple act drained her. She rested her head on her arm for a minute and took a few deep breaths. After a brief moment, she stepped back and looked at the list of phone numbers. Not sure why, she tore it off the wall and tucked it into her pocket. Sighing, she forced herself to get to work.

  Time to get things cleaned out.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The single closet door opened easily. Bailey grabbed blankets, sheets and towels and pushed them into a bag. Cleaners, shoe polish, bug spray and stuff she didn’t want to know about, went into a box. She left the vacuum-cleaner sitting there as she knew she’d need it later on.

  Next she went into the bathroom. Squatting, she opened the double doors under the sink to reveal shelves packed so tightly not even a bobby pin would have fit. Grabbing some of the soft items, she pulled on them. Several things tumbled out. Nylons, cotton balls, pads of a brand that were no longer made, hair spray, room freshener. Behind that were old cleaners, more hair spray, hair products and other junk she didn’t feel like digging through. All went in the garbage. In the back were full bottles of shampoo, lotion, hair goop and other stuff she really didn’t want to go through, so she dumped all of it in the bag. Her knees cracked as she stood. The toothpaste, toothbrush, soap and containers were all used and not worth keeping. Everything on top of the counter also got thrown out, as well as everything that lined the tub. Eventually, she stepped into the hallway, her immediate gaze locked on the doorway just down the hall.

  “I can’t go in there yet,” she whispered but that didn’t stop her from moving toward it, her mom’s room. The door was wide open, giving her a clear view of the immaculately made bed. Bailey had been sure that she could have bounced a coin off the pristine white comforter. Her mom had reminded her that there was no one to look after her and she better remember that. It was one of the few reasons Bailey was quite glad the woman hadn’t come to visit her. She’d have had to clean for two weeks just to make her place look livable. It would have taken a couple of weeks and an army of housecleaners, to reach her mother’s standards.

  There was no physical barrier stopping her but she couldn’t step across the threshold.

  Spinning on her heel, she went instead to the living room, which was dominated by a 70’s-style flower-patterned love seat, a rocker-recliner and a china cabinet filled with second-hand items. She hesitated in front of the cabinet, looking through the glass at all the different salt and peppers, the cream and sugar sets. All were quite nice but had no meaning for Bailey, collected after she’d left home. A white sugar bowl covered with tiny red roses caught her attention. She opened the door and carefully picked it up. It really was beautiful and appeared to be in perfect condition. Something rattled as she brought it closer. Reaching inside, she pulled out two items.

  Gasping, she stared at what she held. Both were valueless and useless. She’d been seven when she’d given her mom a tiny, plastic rose and a clamshell she’d found on the beach. It had been a Mother’s Day gift. It had made her mom so happy that tears had run down her face.

  Mom kept these.

  The realization truly stunned her. Carefully, she tucked those two items in her pocket before putting everything back. The collection of twenty or so dishes, had been the one thing her mom had spent hours polishing and sometimes just wistfully staring at as though she’d lost her best friend. It had never made sense to Bailey and now she debated whether to keep the items. Deep down she knew she would, as it kept them connected.

  Pack it up. I’ll have to get some newspaper, I guess.

  Bailey snorted. That was something her mom had collected a lot of and had a need to devour, every single one she’d come across. She watched every news program from sun up to sun down. Bailey had tried to teach her mom how to use a computer but that had become yet another argument; Her claim was that it was the government’s way of keeping tabs on people. She’d begged Bailey not to ever be on it, to never to allow herself a presence on it—yet another puzzle she had given up trying to figure out.

  Pressure built behind her eyes and her nose got that familiar burning sensation. She closed her eyes and took a few slow deep breaths. Her fingers rubbed across her forehead until the overwhelming feeling went away.

  She headed for the kitchen and the corner drawer behind the door where important papers had always been kept. She rifled through the junk but couldn’t find the stack of envelopes which should have been there. Opening the deep second drawer, she grabbed the yellow pages sitting on top. It jerked loose in her hand and fell to the floor with a loud bang. Bailey jumped back, glad her pink toes were intact. A few inches more and she’d have been dancing around on one foot.

  She set the book on the table and started to clean up the mess—papers, pencils (enough for a first grade classroom), paperclips and lots of menus—mostly pizza places. She threw out most of it before shoving the drawer back in.

  That’s weird. She was sure that her mom had kept all her important papers in those drawers—but there was nothing there.

  Pushing the thought to the back of her mind, she began to unload the cupboards, fitting everything on the six-foot counter. Bailey frowned as she studied the meager belongings. Chipped plates, plastic glasses, pitted bowls, stained containers—all went in the garbage.

&
nbsp; The horrible feeling overcame her that she was throwing out almost everything. Her mom would have been devastated.

  Maybe the second-hand store would pick it up?

  Bailey’s eyelids dropped down, her head flopped backwards on her neck and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. There was no way she would get through this if she stopped to analyze everything she did. She needed fresh air. In her bedroom, she flipped open her suitcase and grabbed her running shoes and a gray and blue spring jacket. Once she had them on, she didn’t hesitate to race out the side door.

  Heading north, she noticed the neighbor’s rose bushes were covered in pink and peach buds with a heady scent. She breathed in deeply. Pansies, irises and petunias filled the front of the house, although it was early in the season and frost was sure to kill off most of the plants. The next house had flowering trees and many varieties of flowers as well.

  Bailey had been fifteen the last time she’d begged to plant flowers in their yard only to be met with a myriad of excuses: they moved too much or they were too much work or she was allergic despite the fact that Bailey had seen her many times stopping to admire and smell others’ gardens. The final excuse had been that all those colorful blooms did was attract attention.

  No flowers.

  No pets.

  No friends.

  No pictures.

  No home.

  No life.

  Bailey’s pace increased as the memories flooded back.

  She never really understood what her mom had wanted from her. She never seemed to please her or give her what she needed. There were times she wasn’t even sure her mom liked her.

  As a sob tore past her lips, Bailey clapped her hand over her mouth. She was running now and barely paying attention to the few vehicles traveling past. At the end of the block, she turned left for half a block and then raced into the park beyond. Majestic poplars loomed over her as she raced down the empty walking path, thankful it was midday, middle of the week. There was no one around.