The Minstrel & The Beagle

by Lila K Bell

  Somehow it didn’t surprise me this was where Jeremy had ended up. He’d always been one for the easy, catered, pampered life.

  I ran through the directory until I found Jeremy’s name. My finger hovered over the call button as my insides did loop-de-loops over whether I should press it.

  The same reservations that had swept over me last night in the Trove returned with a vengeance, locking my arm in place and refusing to let me move forward.

  Not only was I not a cop, I was a thief. Despite what I’d told Sam, I was not just an innocent bystander who had happened across the house at just the right moment. I had been in the house. Aiming to rob it before I’d stumbled into a situation I was not prepared to cope with, and I was now trying to find my footing before I drowned. Was that really enough of a reason to barge in on someone I hadn’t seen in almost eight years to assess how hard he was taking the loss of his last remaining parent?

  I was pretty sure making that move would classify me as rude with a capital B.

  But not to do it would leave me in the same predicament I’d been in the moment Sam caught me standing over Barnaby’s body. Up to my neck.

  Without giving me a chance to quadruple guess myself, I hit the button. My heart jumped into my throat and hovered there for a while, cutting off my air supply and making me feel a little bit sick. Before I could throw up all over the polished marble floor, a voice came through the speaker.

  “Hello?”

  Man, it was like I was back in high school. Jeremy Coleman’s voice had this timbre to it that made a girl’s knees weak. Too bad he was such a tool that the effect wore off pretty quickly.

  “Jer? It’s Fiona. Fiona Gates. I heard the news and wanted to come by and see how you were doing.”

  A moment’s silence stretched out, and I began to wonder if the problem wouldn’t be my flagging courage, but Jeremy himself. It had been a long time since our paths had crossed. He was well within his rights not to invite me up. I had nothing to do with him. Hadn’t really been a presence in his life when his mom had died a few years ago or even congratulated him on social media when he’d won the Hoey Grant for his engineering work. He might wonder why I didn’t just show up at the funeral service like every other member of our graduating class.

  Oh no. What if he thinks I’m here for a condolence booty call?

  The thought was enough to make me shift toward my escape. I’d just rested my hand on the outside door when his voice filtered through the speaker again.

  “Sorry for the wait, my buzzer’s not working well. Come on up. It’d be great to see you.”

  The buzzer sounded, and I pushed through the last of my hesitation to grab the inner door before it stopped.

  Once in the lobby, there was really no going back, so I crossed through the space, navigating around the sofas toward the elevators, and stepped into the car. Hitting the button for the sixth floor, I held my breath as I waited for the doors to close.

  It’d be fine. He’d be grieving for his father, too distracted to make any kind of move on me.

  I crossed my fingers that would be the case as the elevator doors opened and I got out, heading down the hallway to apartment six-oh-four. I didn’t think, I didn’t consider, I just raised my hand and knocked.

  A moment later, the door opened and the movie-star quality jock of my memories stood before me. Only now, instead of a hockey jersey, he wore a wine-coloured button-down shirt that set off the green in his eyes and the blond in his hair. His smile was as bright as I remembered, his physique just as well maintained.

  And the glint in his eyes was just was leering.

  Yuck.

  “Fiona, hi. You look amazing. It’s great to see you.”

  He went in for the full hug, and I cut him off with a quick embrace around his neck before pulling away.

  “It’s really nice of you to stop by,” he said.

  “When I heard the news this morning, I couldn’t believe it.” I figured it was a safe first move. If the police had mentioned my name at all, I’d rather know first off what I was getting into.

  But Jeremy made no reference to my having been there. His shoulders slumped, and in the lines on his face my rose-tinted glasses came off. Yes, he was still an attractive man with an eye for women, but he wasn’t sixteen anymore, and the years were showing.

  “I know,” he said. “I’m still in shock, I think. I knew the old man had some problems, but I never would have dreamed they’d lead to this. Murder? Are you serious? I don’t think it has sunk in yet, you know? Feels more like I’m stuck in some thriller-movie nightmare.”

  He shoved his hand through his hair and stood back, giving me room to come inside. I stepped in, making sure to keep a safe distance between us so he didn’t misread my intentions.

  Just as I’d suspected, the apartment was small, though I had to give the designers credit for making good use of it. A narrow rectangle of an open kitchen took up the space to the left of the door, with the living room beyond, halted by a wall of windows. I guessed the bedroom and bathroom were somewhere to my left, but the doors were closed.

  “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling,” I said, and that was true enough. It was partly why I was here. “To have this happen is just…well, things like this don’t happen in Brookside.” I kicked myself. “Didn’t. I’m sorry.”

  He offered a small smile. “Don’t worry about it. No one really seems to know what to say.”

  Nice to know I wasn’t the only person who had come in to check on him. And that foot-in-mouth disease was a raging Brookside epidemic in times of crisis.

  “Do the police have any idea yet about what happened?” I asked, keeping my tone gentle and concerned. Not prying, not nosy, just making sure the people being paid to solve these crimes were doing their jobs.

  “Not that they’ve told me,” Jeremy said, “but I gave them enough information to go on I think. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have the guy behind bars by the end of the week.”

  That stopped me in my tracks. “You think you know who did it?”

  “Think? I know,” he said, his words laced with anger. He clenched his hand into a fist at his side, squeezing so tightly his knuckles turned white. “It’s his backstabbing friend, Roger Hardwick.”

  I bit my tongue to prevent myself from pointing out that if it was Roger, he hadn’t exactly stabbed Barnaby in the back. It had definitely been closer to the heart area.

  “Why do you think it was him?” I asked.

  Jeremy shrugged and stepped into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of scotch. He offered one to me, but I declined. Nine in the morning was still a touch too early for me.

  “I just don’t like the guy. There was something going on between him and Dad, though I don’t know what it was. Something to do with his boat, I think. But the last time I saw him, he was storming away from the house. Nearly clipped me with his car as he drove off.”

  I made a mental note to track this Roger follow down and have a word with him. I’d figure the “how” out later.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “The police haven’t been giving you any trouble, I hope?” I said, offering the words with as much concern and sympathy as I could muster.

  Despite my efforts, I spotted the discomfort in his eyes that I couldn’t help but read as suspicion. It was fair. I’d come here to offer condolences and now I was acting like the worst kind of gossip-fiend. He was probably worried I’d take whatever he said and spread it around town. I scrambled to find a line of explanation to backtrack, but didn’t figure my chances were very good.

  “I just mean, with everything you must be going through right now. Emotionally, dealing with all the funeral arrangements and stuff. You must be devastated and exhausted. I hope they’re not badgering you too much.”

  The lines around his eyes relaxed. “No, they’ve been pretty good. Not that they’d be able to badger me too hard. I was n
owhere near Dad’s place that night. I was — actually, I was with your parents at the Brookside Historical Society gala. It was quite the dinner.”

  I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved that my high school acquaintance couldn’t have killed his father or disappointed that one of my leads had been so horribly squashed. At least I still had two more to go on.

  “It’s a shame your night came to such an end,” I said, and my sympathy was real. No matter what I thought about the Colemans, I was sure this couldn’t be an easy time for Jeremy.

  He took a step toward me, his eyes downcast. “It was rough,” he said. “And this morning hasn’t been any easier. I need to get to the lawyer’s office to start going over Dad’s estate, and the police want to speak with me again. I’m feeling so overwhelmed, Fi.”

  I recognized the tone in his voice and held myself back from rolling my eyes so hard my eyeballs tumbled from my skull and rolled across the room to disappear somewhere under the couch.

  The man was still a rake. Even is his time of loss, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to use his grief to get someone into bed.

  “I have no doubt,” I said, stepping away. “It’s a good thing you’re strong enough to handle it.” Remembering Charles hiding out at my place, I thanked him for giving me a reason to change the subject. “What about your dad’s dog?”

  That jerked Jeremy out of his leering. “His dog?”

  “You know that gossip mill,” I said. “Rumour has it your dad had a dog. A beagle, I think? Poor pup is going to need a good home.”

  He snorted. “The cops can do what they want with it. Bringing that dog home was one more mistake in my dad’s long line of them.”

  Well, then. That would change things. Hopefully Sam would have somewhere else for Charles to go.

  “I hope that gets sorted out then,” I said, and inched toward the door.

  The change of subject wasn’t enough to get Jeremy’s mind out of the gutter, however. He raised his dark gaze to meet mine, the expression full of want and longing. “Maybe you could stick around?”

  Sixteen-year-old me might have fallen for his tricks, but twenty-four year old me was more than willing to run.

  “Sorry, Jer, I’m meeting my mother for lunch, so I should get going. But it really was so good to see you again. Be sure to take care of yourself.”

  “But—”

  I offered him a regretful little finger wave as I stepped out of his apartment and closed the door behind me.

  ***

  I wished I’d been lying about having to meet my mother, but unfortunately our lunch date was looming. I also wished I had time to go home and shower before meeting her. Jeremy’s sliminess lingered around me like a bad smell, and I wanted to get the scent of his cologne off me before my mother noticed. Because I was sure she would. It would come out as a comment about my choice of laundry detergent or questions about my recent social circles, but she would notice.

  I pulled into the parking lot of Jennifer’s Tea Room and checked my hair and makeup in the rear view mirror before getting out of the car and heading inside.

  Mother was already there. As soon as the bell jingled above the door, she looked up from the menu and her gaze homed in on me. Her neatly waxed eyebrow rose, and I held my breath as I approached.

  I found it was easier to deal with my mother’s greetings when I wasn’t breathing. It prevented me from yelling at her right off the bat.

  “There you are, Fifi,” she said, leaning in to give me an air kiss. “I thought I would have to order without you. What is that smell? Did you try the Lady of the Valley perfume again at Evelyn’s? You know that scent doesn’t mesh with your natural aroma. You should stick to the Wisteria. And is that… dog hair?”

  I think her heart might have actually stopped.

  “I stopped by the Brookside Gardens on my way here,” I said. “I must be a magnet for flowers and dogs.”

  My mother’s lip curled as she sniffed, and I bit down on a smile. She hated those gardens. They were run by the same company that was refurbishing the old City Hall, and she had a grudge against any site in the city connected with them.

  Yes, my mother was a walking stereotype, but at least she was good for the occasional laugh.

  “Did you have a good morning?” I asked her.

  “It was interesting enough. Susan Featherby and I were going through the colour scheme for this year’s Christmas pageant. I think it will be lovely.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said. “Shame you need to start thinking about Christmas already, but at least you’ll get into the spirit in lots of time.”

  “It has nothing to do with spirit, Fifi,” Mother said. “The Garden Society put their holiday banquet on the same day as the Historical Society’s. We need to make sure we’re the organization the city will sponsor. Our plans for next year depend on it.”

  Politics. It all came down to politics. I wanted to tune her out as I always did, but an idea tickled the back of my mind.

  “Susan’s the president of the Historical Society, isn’t she?” I asked.

  “She is. Personally, I feel she’s outlasted her uselessness–pardon, usefulness as president, but she insists she still has more to offer. The board is willing to give her another year to prove she has what it takes to keep us at the top.”

  I ignored my mother’s opinions, not caring a whit who was responsible for what. Until the day that my sanity cracked and I joined all of these committees, I was content in my ignorance.

  “You didn’t make it to the gala last night, did you?” I asked. “You had to be somewhere else?”

  Mother waved her hand in dismissal. “Your father and I popped in for a few minutes, but yes, we had to leave early to make it to the opening of the latest art exhibit. It had something to do with lights or something, so it had to be in the evening. Why it had to be so late in the evening is beyond me, but I suppose it was a pretty sort of display.”

  As my mother went off on a tangent about the state of Brookside’s arts community, I finally allowed my thoughts to drift. I couldn’t rely on my mother to tell me whether she’d seen Jeremy at the gala, but maybe Susan would know. While I had no reason to doubt that Jeremy was telling the truth, it seemed naive not to follow up.

  Maybe, I thought, just maybe, I’m getting the hang at this whole investigation thing.

  7

  After lunch, fed and fueled on even more next steps, I decided to take my bolstered courage and speak with Ed Fraser. Ryan’s warnings lingered in my mind that I shouldn’t be prepared for him to hand out information like free samples at a grand opening, but I figured it was worth a chat. If Barnaby owed him money, he was bound to be upset. Either he killed Coleman in a rage at being ripped off, or he hadn’t killed him and would be in a rage because was going to be ripped off. Maybe, if I played this smart, he would let something slip.

  “I went to Coleman’s house to get my money and, oops, wound up stabbing him with a pair of kitchen scissors.”

  It was a nice dream, and I held on to it as I entered the bland grey office building on the edge of downtown.

  I wouldn’t say Fraser was located in a shady building by any means. It doesn’t take a long stay in Brookside to figure out there aren’t that many shady buildings to find. In a well to-do tourist town, “shady” is pretty much banned by council consensus. Fraser happened to share his building with a dentist’s office on the first floor, located beside a pharmacy, and a few doctors’ offices on the floors above. Totally family-friendly.

  But there were also an awful lot of offices with initials in their names and no clear idea of what services they provided. More than I ever realized existed in Brookside.

  I tried not to read into it. It wouldn’t do to judge.

  I took the elevator to the fourth floor and made my way down the hallway until I reached the door with a smoked-glass window and E. Fraser stamped in black letters. Beneath his name were the words Financial Loans and Advice.

  So friend
ly. So open and legitimate looking. I supposed it was possible I was barking up the wrong tree, but somehow I doubted it. I trusted Ryan and Troy a lot more than a man who kept his office next to something called B&E Imports.

  I rapped my knuckles on the door and stepped into a small reception area. A man sat behind the desk, probably around my age. His dark hair was neatly styled and waxed, and his suit looked impeccably cut. His own personal taste, or a requirement of Fraser’s? He was focused on the computer screen, his fingers moving over the keyboard so the diamond on his little finger winked in the light.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said without looking up.

  I took a seat and flipped through a fishing magazine, but my attention remained on the room. The walls were painted a warm off-white, and the carpet was a soft gray that made the place look surprisingly clean and bright. The four chairs along the wall were comfortable. The closet to my left was open, but only two jackets hung within and no shoes, so I guessed it was a quiet day on the moneylending front.

  The bathroom was to my right, and a sudden desire rose in me to hide in there and make sure my hair was tidy and my teeth were clean. Again, the question shouted in my mind of what I thought I was doing here. The police might look my way, but surely I would be at the bottom of their persons of interest list. No doubt they’d already spoken to Fraser, or at least were going to. I would just be getting in their way.

  But since I was here anyway, I didn’t see the point in leaving without at least trying to get some information. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do with my day.

  Finally, the man behind the desk swiveled his chair to face me. “How can I help you?”

  I stood up and approached the desk. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Fraser, please.”

  “In regard to…” He trailed off slowly, drawing it out in a way that suggested I should have known better than to make him ask.

  This man was quite the gem.

  “Some finances,” I replied. I wasn’t about to give him my entire life’s story. With that introduction, I hardly felt inclined to give him the benefit of a creative lie.