by Elka Ray
They’re still bickering as I walk down to ground level. I sit on the bottom step. Is this a waste of Colin’s time? I don’t care. I want to call him.
To prevent the flutter in my stomach from reaching my voice, I take a deep breath, then press Call.
Colin picks up on the second ring. He sounds upbeat. “Hey, Toby! What’s up? How are you?”
“Colin,” I say. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. “Never.”
There’s something soothing yet buoyant about Colin’s voice, alert yet optimistic. I can’t help but smile too. “Colin,” I say. “I’m with my mom. We need your advice.” When I’ve finished explaining, he says he’s nearby and can stop by in ten minutes.
“Great! Thanks,” I say, gratefully. I’m glad he didn’t pass me off to some beat cop, or even worse, tell me not to worry. I give him Daphne’s address. It’s been almost a week since our last date: Thai food and an action movie. The film was pretty lame, but we didn’t watch much of it. I tamp down my smile at the memory of us cuddling in the back row. We’re overdue for a repeat. I can’t wait to see him.
It’s only after I’ve stashed my phone that I remember my date with Josh. A look at my watch makes my stomach plummet. I’d better call him. I’m supposed to meet him in a few minutes.
I retrieve my phone. Back to recent calls. Josh and Colin’s names come up a lot. I met them both this past summer, or rather re-met in Josh’s case, since we’d had a brief, painful, and mostly one-sided teenage romance—that is, I had a hopeless, childish crush on him that I couldn’t shake, even as an adult.
Not long after I moved back to Victoria in June, Josh hired me to handle his multimillion-dollar divorce from a girl who’d made my life hell as a teen. She ended up being murdered, which is how I met Colin, the lead detective on her homicide case.
Both men are amazing: gorgeous, funny, interesting . . . More amazingly still, they’re both interested in me. After years of Saharalike dating drought, this double attention is overwhelming. I like them both. I like them a lot. Choosing feels impossible, like being asked to renounce booze or coffee.
Still elated from my chat with Colin, I wait for Josh to pick up. He answers on the fifth ring. “Hi, Toby. You on your way yet?”
“I’m so sorry but not yet,” I say. “That problem I told you about with my mom. It’s ongoing. I need another half hour. Maybe forty minutes?” I swallow hard. “I’m really sorry.”
There’s a pause. Is he mad at me? Will he tell me to forget it? I’m still not sure where I stand with Josh. He’s so successful and good looking, the kind of blond god who stops women in their tracks, slack-jawed and drooling. It’s hard to believe he’s into me when he could choose anyone he wants.
“Okay,” he says, slowly. I’m not sure if he’s disappointed or angry or both. “Shall we make it another night?”
Now I feel disappointed. He’s met my mom. They seemed to get along great. He could at least ask what’s wrong, and if he could help. He could offer to meet me here. “If you prefer,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why don’t you just call me when you’re done and we’ll see where we both are,” he says. My stomach sinks lower. His tone sounds so clipped, like I just canceled some business meeting. I’ve never flaked out on him before. I’m reliable as an atomic clock, and obsessively punctual. He should understand that I’m well and truly stuck here.
“Okay.” I apologize again and hang up feeling lousy. My shoulders slump. Have I messed things up with Josh? I sigh. Enough already. This insecurity must stop. It’s ridiculous and pathetic. If he dumps me because of a family emergency, so be it. Not that this is a family emergency, but he doesn’t know that.
I sigh again. Damn Daphne and her missed appointment, and damn my mom’s crazy, pseudo-psychic feelings. If it weren’t for them I’d be sitting in the best restaurant in town, eating haute cuisine, and drinking good wine with a guy who’s at least partly to blame for global warming. Instead, I’m huddled on a hard step, freezing my bony ass off.
I hug my knees. When she shows up, Daphne had better have a damn good story.
CHAPTER 4:
COMING UP SHORT
I advised Colin to come around back. If the front hall is a crime scene, which I highly doubt, the less people tramping through it, the better.
I’m still sitting on Daphne’s back steps, feeling hungry and glum, when I hear the click of the side gate being unlatched.
Time to cheer up. I run a hand through my hair and rise to greet Colin.
He rounds the corner and stops. “Toby!” he says. His shy smile stokes mine. “Have you been waiting out here the whole time?”
I nod and stamp my high-heeled feet, which are frozen. In the glow cast by Daphne’s path lights, Colin reminds me of a 1950s movie star, dark hair framing an expressive face, bright-eyed and serious. He studies me intently. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, which is suddenly true. I push my shoulders back and walk toward him. “Thanks for coming, Colin.”
He smiles and walks my way too. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Good,” I say. Two months back, Josh and I were both badly hurt fighting off his ex-wife’s killer. Colin saved our lives. Having witnessed my recovery, he keeps reminding me to take things easy. Now, faced with his searching gaze, I find my hand going to my scarred shoulder. I force it down. When we’re a few feet apart I stop walking.
I inhale, ready to bounce onto my toes and give him a quick kiss, only to freeze. He’s not alone. A tall woman has rounded the house behind him. As she strides closer, her long ponytail sways. Despite the cold wind, she’s not wearing a jacket, just black pants and a dark turtle-neck that shows off her stunning figure. In the golden lights, she looks bronzed, impervious to the weather. I bet rain would bead off her.
The pig has noticed her too. Tail wagging, it trots toward her. Covered in glistening mud, it resembles a very fat slug, all its white bits now brown. When it gets close, I expect the woman to recoil in horror. Instead, she laughs and bends to pet it. “Ooh, a pig!” she says. “Did you dig up the garden? You naughty piggy!” Even her voice is lovely—deep with a sexy rasp, although with that perfect skin, there’s no way she’s ever smoked. The pig looks suitably charmed. She crouches to scratch its muddy chin.
When she stands, Kevin dives into a fresh mud puddle and starts to roll.
With a wide smile, the woman turns toward us.
“Toby,” says Colin. He looks a bit awkward now, like he’s not sure how to greet me. He touches my elbow, then gestures toward the tall woman. “This is Miriam Young,” he says. “My new partner.”
What? My stomach flips. He’s partnered with this goddess? Miriam Young looks like she just stepped out of Shape magazine. She wipes the mud off her hand and extends a slim yet muscly arm. We shake. Even though I’m in heels and she’s in flats, she towers over me. As do most people.
Her smile widens. Like the rest of her, her teeth are dazzling. “Toby. Nice to meet you.” A quick glance from me to Colin, like she’s trying to suss out our relationship. She turns to look up at the house. “So, who’s missing?”
I explain about Daphne Dane. “Come inside,” I say. “My mom and Daphne’s kids are up there.”
Colin and Miriam follow me up the back steps. The large deck lies empty. Lukas and Isobel have moved their argument indoors. Their angry voices float out of the kitchen: “You can’t just borrow it without asking!”
“What’s it to you?” says Lukas.
“I’ll tell Mom.”
“So? Go right ahead.” Lukas sounds sulky. “She’d let me use it.”
As an only child, I can’t judge. I have friends with siblings who never outgrew their early family dynamics. That’s clearly the case here: Lukas at least thirty and Isobel nearing forty, continuing a rivalry that’s been raging for decades.
I step inside, Colin and Miriam behind me. “Hello?” says Colin.
Lukas
and Isobel fall silent. Gerard and my mom are sitting at a long table. Recognizing Colin, my mom’s face lights up.
He goes over and pecks her on both cheeks. “Hi, Ivy! Good to see you.” He turns and introduces my mother to Miriam, then introduces himself to the others. He looks around the kitchen. “So what’s the trouble?”
“We don’t know where my mother’s gone,” says Isobel. She nibbles anxiously on a hangnail.
My mother jumps in to explain about Daphne’s missed appointment. Thankfully, she doesn’t mention tarot or the Kau Cim. Gerard is busy typing on his phone. Lukas is peering into the cupboards. He withdraws a box of Dane crackers.
I watch Colin and Miriam for some reaction, but their faces remain neutral. Do they think Isobel and my mom are overreacting? Will Colin be annoyed that I’ve wasted his time?
“Can we have a look around?” Colin asks the Dane siblings.
“Of course. Follow me,” says Isobel, clearly relieved he’s taking this seriously. “It’s not like my mom to turn off her phone.” She swallows hard. “And she’s not getting any younger.”
While Lukas stays seated in the kitchen, eating crackers, the rest of us troop around the house again. Even Gerard joins us, although he keeps looking at his phone.
Colin and Miriam start by surveying the front hall. Having seen the destruction wrought by Kevin outdoors, I can see they’re unconvinced this was the scene of a struggle.
In each new room we enter, Colin asks if anything is missing or out of place. Library. Living room. Dining room. TV room. Office. Everything is neat and tidy.
Isobel keeps shaking her head. “No, it seems fine. No, it looks okay. No, nothing.”
We all plod upstairs. Isobel’s in the lead. We enter a bedroom with faded surfing posters on the walls. A shelf of model airplanes lines one wall. The narrow bed is covered by a bedspread in rasta colors. “Lukas’s room,” says Isobel, curtly. It’s got a weird smell: like old, musty spices.
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Does Lukas live here?”
“He moved out last year,” says Isobel—the finally there but unsaid. From the look on my mom’s face, I sense there’s a story.
Next up come two guest rooms, both decorated like five-star hotel rooms. Latte-toned quilts and cream pillows. Heather accents. Matching towels.
“And this is my mom’s room,” says Isobel.
It’s not a room but a suite—a sitting room with pretty floral wallpaper, a cream and antique-gold bedroom, and a fancy, white, spa-style bathroom. An Instagrammer’s dream. I’m reminded of my new client, Vonda. Can so-called Influencers earn a real living? What does Vonda actually model?
Colin peers into Daphne’s walk-in closet. He repeats his standard question: “Is anything missing or out of place?”
Isobel starts to say no, then stops. She squints into her mother’s vast closet. “One of her suitcases is gone,” she says. “The medium-sized LV one. Not the big one or the carry-on. It’s about . . .” She holds out her hands. “This big.”
Gerard looks up from his cellphone. “Are you sure, chéri?”
Isobel nods. “Mais oui,” she says.
Miriam studies some shelves lined with expensive shoes. “How about her clothes and shoes?” she asks. “Is everything here?”
“Her green raincoat is gone,” says Isobel. “And her black patent heels.” She opens another drawer. “Plus her favorite robe, the cream velvet one.”
Gerard shoves his phone into the pocket of his golf-slacks. “Well, that settles it,” he says. “She’s gone on a little vacation. Maybe Vancouver, or up island, for a few nights.” He smiles at his wife. “All this worrying for nothing.”
Miriam nods. “That does seem likely.”
While Colin and Miriam seem convinced, I know my mom isn’t. And Isobel? She still looks anxious, although that might be her normal expression.
Colin hands Isobel his card and smiles kindly at her. “Keep us posted,” he says. “But from what we’ve seen, I’d say she’s gone on a trip. Have you called her other friends? Is there anyone she might have gone on holiday with?”
Isobel’s eyes slide to her husband. He doesn’t meet them. “The housekeeper might know,” she says. She frowns, crossly. “She should be here! Her phone’s off. I’ll try her later.”
Colin nods. My mom offers to call her and Daphne’s mutual friends.
We all troop downstairs.
We’re on the front porch when Colin’s phone rings. He answers it and looks grave, his high forehead creasing. “Just a second.” He covers the mouthpiece with his hand. A meaningful look at Miriam, followed by a quick jerk of his chin. “We’d better go, Miri.”
Miri? They’ve been partners for what, twenty minutes, and she’s already got a pet name?
Miriam nods. I can see the excitement in her brown eyes. They have a real case. She says goodbye to everyone.
“Ivy, Toby—see you soon?” says Colin. He gives me a twinkly smile. I nod, suddenly breathless. He resumes his phone conversation.
Watching him and Miriam—Miri—walk away, I have a strange, tight feeling in my chest. Is that heartburn? But no, it’s jealousy, stirred by the sight of two smart and beautiful people heading off to do what they do best. Together. Why couldn’t his new partner be old, ugly, and male? Ew. I hate that I’m jealous. It’s a nasty, petty feeling. I’m too old for this insecurity. Either I’m right for Colin as I am—short, scrawny legs and all—or he’s not the one for me. End of story.
CHAPTER 5:
WHO’S STEPHEN?
We are on Daphne’s front porch. My mother is bidding the Danes farewell. “Please let me know if you have news!” she begs Isobel. “And if I hear anything, I’ll call you.”
Lukas has joined us again. He takes a seat on the front steps, still clutching his box of crackers. “Sure thing,” he says, then grins. “But seeing as you’re psychic, can’t you just tell us where she’s gone?” He bites into a cracker.
While I’d snap out a reply, my mother responds with good grace. “I wish,” she says. “Unfortunately, it’s rarely that clear. I just have a bad feeling about Daphne. And the signs are worrying.” She revives her tale about doing Daphne’s tarot cards. And the I Ching. And the Kau Cim sticks.
While Lukas keeps nodding, his eyes look glazed. I don’t blame him.
“Mom,” I say, freshly embarrassed. Although my mom has been telling fortunes for almost twenty years, I’m still not cool with it. How could I be? It’s humiliating to admit that your own mother has fallen for a load of crock—hook, line, and sinker. And she doesn’t just buy it, she sells the stuff. It’s worse than Amway. At least she’s toned down her clothes. Back when I was a teen, she dressed like a fairground fortuneteller, her head, neck, and hips swathed in colorful scarves. An Arab bazaar’s worth of beads hung off her small Asian body. These days, she looks almost normal. Or at least normal for Victoria, where most folk dress like affluent beatniks out hiking. I make a show of checking my watch. “Mom? Let’s get going,” I tell her.
We’re walking toward the road, when a plump woman in her sixties opens the gate, carrying two bulging cloth shopping bags. At the sight of us, her steps quicken. Dressed in a long, quilted, rust-colored coat she reminds me of a gingerbread lady—all round and cheery. Despite her age, she exudes energy, her face ruddy beneath a pink woolen hat with a pom-pom. Gazing at my mom, her wide face cracks into a merry grin. “Why hello Ivy,” she calls. “What a nice surprise! Is Daphne back then?”
“Hi, Grace,” says my mom. “No. Where is she?”
Grace walks closer. We all stop. Her dark eyes twinkle. “I’m not sure,” she says. “I’m terribly late. I was meant to feed the pig hours ago . . .” She sets down the bags. “But I had a wee emergency. My washing machine broke. It flooded my entire place! Water everywhere!” While most people would describe this as a catastrophe, this woman makes it sound like a great adventure. “I got so caught up I forgot about the pig.” She smiles up at the house. “Has anyone fed him?�
�� she asks my mother.
My mom waves a hand. “Oh don’t worry. The pig’s fine,” she says. “He’s out back.” She peers at Grace. “But I’m worried about Daphne. When did you last see her?”
Grace rubs her mittened hands together. “Last night,” she says. “But she texted me earlier today, said was going away for a few days . . . I was meant to fix Kevin’s lunch.”
Behind us, I hear fast footsteps. Isobel is walking to join us. “Grace!” she calls out. She eyes the housekeeper with cool disdain. “Grace!” Her tone is imperious. “Where have you been? Where’s my mother?”
Grace repeats her story about the text message, and her washing machine, and forgetting.
Isobel checks her watch, pointedly. “The pig made so much noise the neighbors called us.” She looks petulant. “Now we’ve missed our seven p.m. golf slot.”
For a second, Grace’s cheery face hardens. “Right. Sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry. She stoops to retrieve her bags. “I’d best go fix Kevin’s dinner. He must be starving.”
“Wait,” I say. That pig sure doesn’t look starving. “I’m Toby, by the way, Ivy’s daughter.”
My smile is met with a hearty nod. “Oh right.” She beams from me to my mom. “You’re the spitting image of your mother.”
“Thanks,” I say. It’s a compliment but not strictly true. I look fine. My mom has a face off a cameo brooch. “What time did Daphne text you?” I ask Grace.
She looks thoughtful. “Just after eleven,” she admits. “I meant to come right away . . . but then . . .” She shrugs.
I nod. “Your washing machine.”
“Right.” She laughs. “It’s been one of those days.”
“She didn’t say where she was going?”
Grace shakes her head. “No, but I figured it was somewhere with Stephen.”
I glance at Isobel. Her hands are curled into tight fists. “Who’s Stephen?” I ask.
Isobel’s narrow lips pinch to oblivion.
For a moment, there’s silence. Grace looks at my mom, like she fears she’s said too much. Isobel glowers.
