She shrugged and added an e-mail address and a telephone number.
“Becca doesn’t know you call yourself Daisy La Douce?”
“No reason for her to know that,” she said.
“The phone number you gave?”
“Amy’s cell. She disabled her caller ID, and her voice-mail message is automated.”
She put the cursor in the message box, and her fingers flew over the keyboard. “Really jazzed about 68 Redman Road! Can I see it?” appeared in the box.
She turned to me. “Should I give a time for a viewing?”
“Let her get back to you first.”
She hit the submit button.
***
I saw two clients that morning. At noon, I put on my coat, and grabbed my handbag.
“I’m going over to Giorgio’s for a bite of lunch,” I said to Sam, “then I have an appointment with Patrick O’Hara. If I come back here, it won’t be until after you’ve left for the day. Try to schedule meetings with the clients I haven’t seen.”
At the door at the top of stairs, I turned around. “Let me know if Daisy hears back from Becca.”
***
Maria was helping Giorgio in the diner that day. I ordered two Greek dips, pita wedges, and a salad at the counter, and took a seat at a window table.
I smiled when Maria brought my lunch to the table. “That looks delicious,” I said. “Maria, I’m planning a cocktail party for my clients. Could I hire you take care of the food?”
She beamed. “Certainly, Mrs. Tierney. I make tiny kebabs and other finger foods for your guests. How many people at your party?”
“With spouses, it could be around 120. I may hold it in an art studio, so you’d have to prepare the food here or at your home. I believe the studio has a stove and a microwave to heat it up.”
“That is no problem. When you have this party?”
“November or early December,” I said. “I’ll give you plenty of notice.”
I was finishing my coffee when Giorgio came over to my table. “Maria, she is very excited,” he said. “She wants to cook for your party.”
“She’ll do a great job.”
“More coffee?” he asked.
“No, thank you. How is your son doing in Peterborough?”
He slid into the chair across from me. “We are very proud of Nick. He want to study biochemistry here in Toronto, but…”
“Lots of competition for places,” I said.
He nodded. “So he attend Trent University, get good marks. Soon he will apply to medical school.”
Giorgio sighed. “If he get accepted, medical school fees are very high.”
“He can apply for a student loan.”
“We do not want Nick to borrow money.” He shook his head. “Debt is terrible thing. There is interest to pay, as well as pay back money itself.”
He rubbed the backs of his hands, which were red and swollen. He was clearly anxious about his son’s future.
“Maria and me, we thought we could help with Nick’s medical-school fees. But that is no longer possible,” he said.
“Nick is your only child?”
“Yes. Our baby daughter, Sofia, die many years ago. Crib death, they call it.”
“Does Maria have a card for her catering business?” I asked.
“I get you card.” He went over to the cash register and brought back five business cards. Maria’s Fine Foods, they read.
“Please give to your friends,” he said, handing them to me.
“I’ll do that,” I replied.
***
It was almost 3:30 when I said goodbye to Patrick, an elderly widower who lived in a condo off Don Mills Road. It wasn’t far from Patrick’s building to Ben’s home, so I drove north on Don Mills, then turned west onto Lawrence Avenue. Becca’s For Sale sign was still on Ben’s lawn. Why hadn’t he removed it?
I thought of Ben calling Mindy feisty. How well did they know each other?
I drove back onto Lawrence, turned north onto Leslie Street, and kept driving. All the way to Markham.
A silver Lincoln was parked in front of Mindy’s sister’s home. The big car was a clone of Ben’s. I parked four houses down the street, where I could still see the house.
Ten minutes later, the door opened, and Ben walked out. Mindy stood in the doorway. He beeped his horn as he pulled away from the curb. The woman who’d been held captive in his home gave him a jaunty wave.
Blood pounded in my ears as I headed back to Toronto with thousands of other Friday-afternoon commuters. Ben not only knew Mindy, but he had been visiting her. Was he the boyfriend who had brought her laptop and clothes to her sister’s home? I tried to push my feelings about that aside and focus on the larger picture. Had Becca and Gabe really taken Mindy to Ben’s house? And, if they had, was it a kidnapping?
And what had Ben been up to during the second act of Cosi Fan Tutte?
I hadn’t come up with any answers when I reached home. I knew Sam would be with her students, but I called her cell number, intending to leave a message.
To my surprise, she picked up. “Can you talk for a minute?” I asked.
“I’ll step into the hall. The kids are drawing up budgets.”
Seconds later, I heard her voice again. “Okay, Pat,” she said. “This must be important.”
I asked her to think back to the day when Mindy came to Dean’s office, eight days before he was murdered. “Was Ben Cordova in the office when she was there?”
“Ben? Let me see.” Sam spoke slowly, clearly thinking out loud. “No, Ben wasn’t around that morning.”
My mind was racing. Ben had told me he had met Mindy in Dean’s office. Was that another of his lies? Maybe Ben and Mindy had both been lying.
“Pat, you’ve discovered that Mindy knows Ben,” Sam said. “Like, hello!”
“Get back to your students, Sam. I’ll see you on Monday.”
Chapter Forty-one
At seven that evening, Laura and I set out for Yvonne Shingler’s home, a few streets away from ours. I’ve never been a fan of baby showers, but I figured an evening oohing and aahing over infant clothes and playing silly parlor games would be a good distraction.
Laura took my arm as we headed down our front walk. “I loathe a party where I can’t have a drink,” she said with a groan. Then she brightened. “But Jessie and I plan to spice up this shindig.”
“Don’t do anything foolish,” I warned. “It’s kind of Yvonne to throw a shower for you. You’ll get clothing and gear for the baby. You’d better show your appreciation.”
Laura groaned. “You saw the invite she sent out. It says I’m registered at Baby on the Move. Yvonne registered me without even asking! I looked this shop up online, and you know what? She put me down for a scarf-and-hat set that costs $400.”
“That your son will outgrow in two months,” I said. “But don’t worry. Gift registries are just suggestions. Your friends can give you whatever they like.”
Laura sighed. “According to Miss Manners, it’s bad form for family to hold baby showers. It’s, like, begging for gifts for a relative.”
“Let it go,” I told her. “Yvonne means well.”
Kyle’s mother greeted us at the door wearing a Suzy Wong white-chiffon cocktail dress and silver stiletto heels. “Here you are at last!” she cried.
Laura looked down at her maternity frock that had been designed to show off, rather than hide, her baby bump. “I’m glad you made me dress up,” she whispered to me.
Yvonne took us into the sunroom at the back of the house, where light classical music was playing. The room had been transformed into a fairyland, with blue-and-white streamers and twinkling lights hanging from the ceiling. A navy-blue Silver Cross pram stood beside the door, overflowing with gifts. More gifts were heaped on the floor around it, including the infant car seat I had brought over that morning.
Twenty young fashionistas were seated and standing around the room. Many were wearing short, sparkly s
kirts, their high heels displaying their long, shapely legs. A few looked a bit apprehensive; they’d probably never been to a baby shower before, and didn’t know what to expect.
There were a few women my age and older, but no one I knew other than Yvonne.
“Welcome, ladies,” Yvonne said, “and a very special welcome to our blooming mom-to-be. Laura is going to be a terrific mom, devoted to her son. She has patience and a sense of humor that will serve her well during sleepless nights.”
She put an arm around Laura and ushered her over to an armchair decorated with swaths of blue tulle and blue fabric flowers. “Your throne for the evening, my dear.”
Clapping broke out, and Laura approached the confection with caution.
Tracy entered the room, saw me, and waved.
Laura’s friend, Jessie Winters, came over to me. “Hey, Mrs. T!”
As I hugged Jessie, I saw Laura wistfully eyeing her friend’s slim figure in a short, body-hugging dress. I felt a pang of sadness for my daughter; I wanted to tell her that she’d be wearing her party dresses in a few months.
“Help yourself to food and drink, ladies,” Yvonne called out. “Laura will lead the way.”
Laura hoisted herself off her throne and followed Yvonne to a long table, laden with platters of fancy sandwiches, fruit, and bite-sized desserts. A large tiered cake stood at its center.
Yvonne handed Laura a plate, and her friends lined up behind her. A few girls drifted over to the bar, run by two women in kitchen whites. I hadn’t had time for dinner, so I headed for the buffet, stopping short in front of the cake—which I realized wasn’t a cake at all. It was an arrangement made of five tiers of rolled-up white fabric, each roll tied with a blue satin ribbon. A blue velveteen elephant sat on the top tier.
“A diaper cake,” Tracy said beside me. “Laura’s friends brought it, much to Yvonne’s dismay. They must think Laura will be using cloth diapers.”
I rolled my eyes.
When everyone had been up to the table, Yvonne wheeled in a cart holding a giant blue cake decorated with It’s a Boy! in chocolate icing and a pair of yellow sugar baby boots. “How lovely!” Laura exclaimed from her throne. I shot her a warning look.
“Prezzie time!” Yvonne warbled when the plates had been collected and wheeled away by one of the women in white. “I hope everyone had fun shopping for itsy-bitsy outfits and darling socks and shoes.”
Some of the girls nodded. Laura’s cheeks turned pink, and she lowered her eyes.
“Pat, you can be our recorder.” Yvonne handed me a clipboard and a pen. “It’s your job to write down who gave what.”
She handed Jessie a tin pie plate and a roll of cellotape. “This is Laura’s hat. Decorate it with the trimmings from her gifts.”
***
Jessie fastened the pie plate, covered with bows and ribbons, on Laura’s head.
“Stuff here I’ve never heard of,” Laura whispered to me when every gift had been opened, raved about, passed around and recorded. “Swaddles and sleep bags and a breast pillow. Who knew?”
The haul was way beyond baby necessities. Laura had been given high-end infant clothing, a Prada diaper bag, pampering gifts for herself, and the status Silver Cross pram from the Shinglers.
“Sophie the Giraffe is so adorable,” Jessie said, looking at a plastic giraffe with coal-black eyes, caramel spots, and a blush of pink on each cheek. “I hear she’s from Paris. Yeah, says on her tag that she’s Sophie la Girafe. Ooo-la-la!”
“And she’s three times the price of other teethers,” Tracy said to me. “Seriously, a status teether toy?”
Yvonne must have heard her. “Why do we spend $800 on designer purses when we can buy handbags at Walmart for $30?” she asked. “Simply because we can!”
“Time for your thank-you speech,” I said to Laura.
“Laura has something to say,” Jessie called out.
Laura started to remove the pie-plate hat. I motioned for her to keep it on and remain seated.
She cleared her throat and looked at Kyle’s mother. “Thank you, Yvonne, for bringing my friends and family together for this lovely party.”
She looked around the room. “In the past few months, you’ve all shown your love and support in this exciting and scary time in my life. And today you’ve showered me with amazing gifts that will be very useful in the months to come. Thank you, everyone. I am so grateful to have you in my life. And thanks again, Yvonne!”
Her words were heartfelt, and tears glistened on her face. Yvonne went over and hugged her. Laura hugged her back.
Jessie moved to the center of the floor. “Now for something a little different.”
“Oh dear!” Tracy muttered. “The dreadful shower games.”
Another girl appeared in the doorway with a tray of baby bottles filled with golden liquid. “A beer-chugging contest,” Jessie said. “The prize goes to the one who finishes first.”
Yvonne looked appalled as Jessie and her friend handed out the bottles. Beside me, Tracy was trying not to laugh.
Eighteen contestants warped their lips and bent their bodies trying to suck beer from plastic nipples. The prize, a mini-keg of craft beer, was awarded to a petite blonde with china-blue eyes.
“The next game!” Laura cried, clearly enjoying herself.
Beside her, Jessie held up a paper with Labor or Love? centered at the top. Below it were headshots of 12 women, all contorted in what might have been either agony or ecstasy. “You have to guess whether they’re in labor or making love,” Laura said.
“Laura!” Yvonne cried.
“Nothing wrong with this game,” Laura said, as Jessie handed out the papers and pens. “We bought it online.”
We were casting our votes—labor or love—under each photo when my cell phone chimed.
“Excuse me,” I said, and left the room.
“Daisy La Douce got a reply,” Sam said at the other end of the line.
I tightened my grip on the phone. “What did Becca say?”
“‘I’d be happy to show you the property this weekend,’” Sam said in a sing-song voice. “‘Let me know a time that’s convenient.’ Over to you, Pat.”
I thought for a moment. “There can’t be any harm in setting up a viewing time. How about noon tomorrow?”
“You and I can’t show up there.”
“Of course not. I’ll talk to Detective Hardy. Have Daisy ask Becca for a noon appointment.”
“Okay,” she said and disconnected.
I sat on a stool in the Shinglers’ kitchen and punched in Hardy’s number. My favorite homicide detective was not in a good mood when he answered. “You what?” he shouted, when I told him about our plan to smoke out Becca. “You will not stop meddling, will you?”
“I’m trying to help,” I said sweetly. “Rebecca Quincy will be at 68 Redman Road at noon tomorrow.”
Back at the party, Jessie was holding up a white board with 20 numbered baby photos on it. One of the photos was mine. We were writing down our guesses of which photo belonged to which girl or woman in the room when my cell phone chimed again. I crept off to the kitchen.
“You will not go anywhere near Redman Road tomorrow,” Hardy said. “The same goes for Samantha Reiss.”
“Of course not,” I said. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”
“Let us handle this. Please.”
Chapter Forty-two
Kyle whipped up a mountain-man breakfast the next morning: sausage, bacon, eggs, hash browns and toast. I wasn’t sure whether he had moved in with us, but he was proving to be a big help around the house.
“Shouldn’t you be cleaning up at home this morning?” I asked, watching him slide eggs onto plates.
“Did that last night,” he said. “Balloons and streamers are down, dishes washed and put away. Everything’s back to normal.”
Awesome kid, I thought as I dug into my food.
After breakfast, Kyle drove Laura to Marilyn’s boutique. I handed him some cash and
a grocery list before they left.
As I checked e-mails in my study, the image of Mindy waving at Ben from her sister’s front door popped into my mind. Mindy, the woman who’d been taken to Ben’s home by the Quincys, who’d considered becoming Dean’s client, and whose aunt had been murdered. Mindy was linked to all the bizarre events of the past few weeks.
My cell phone chimed. “Like to meet me for lunch?” Sam asked.
“Why don’t you come over here?” I asked. The least I could do was keep Sam company while the police brought in her sister.
I gave her my address, although I realized she knew it, and set about making a salad for lunch.
She arrived on her bike an hour later. “Fresh bagels and cream cheese,” she said, handing me a paper bag and a plastic container.
We ate in the kitchen with Tommy, who helped keep Sam from dwelling on her sister. “You ride your bike every day?” he asked her.
“I walk to work,” she said, “and I take transit after work to my volunteer job and to my evening course. But I bike as much as I can on weekends.”
“Nana says I’ll get a two-wheeler for Christmas,” Tommy said to me.
I smiled my approval. What would I do without Tommy’s grandmother directing from the sidelines? It was about time the boy had a two-wheel bike. Tracy and Laura had been on two wheels when they were six.
After lunch, Sam and I watched from the front window as Tommy crossed the street to visit Jake. “Cute little guy,” she said.
I told her some of Tommy’s background while I made coffee.
“Poor boy, losing his mother at his age. And the way she died.” Sam shivered.
She brought our coffee mugs to the table. “You like helping stray dogs,” she said. “Tommy. Me. And it sounds like you’ll be bringing up Laura’s baby.”
“I’ll just be providing a roof,” I said, joining her at the table. “That child will have two doting parents.”
“And now you’re worried about Mindy,” Sam said, pouring milk into her mug.
She took a sip of coffee, then put down her mug. “Well, don’t be. Mindy is part of all this. I’m sure of it.”
Uncharted Waters Page 22
