Coverage of Lyle’s murder was limited to a shot of his driveway gate over which scene-of-the-crime tape had been draped. “That’s the gate Jamie hung her signs on ten years ago,” I said.
For maybe the hundredth time I wondered whether Lyle had wanted investment advice when he stopped by the branch or if he’d just been curious about the town’s new business. He had no children to leave his money to, but maybe he wanted to set up a charitable trust or a foundation.
“Police are still looking for Jennifer Collins,” Mara said on the television set. “Anyone who knows her whereabouts should call…”
I turned down the sound, and told Celia about my visit to Nowak Heating. “Seems like we can eliminate unhappy clients.”
She smiled in agreement.
“And I met Bruce’s father today. He runs The Highland Times.”
“I heard that Bruce and his dad had a falling out.” She paused for a few moments, looking thoughtful. “Some people can’t make allowances for what they see as others’ failings. Even in their own children.”
As I did with Tracy. I felt a stab of guilt and I strengthened my resolve to clear Jamie’s name.
Celia stretched in her seat. “I need more background on Lyle for the eulogy I’m writing. I have almost nothing to go on. The man lived here in the township for most of his life but nobody seems to have known him.”
“Lyle wasn’t from here?”
“He grew up in Lindsay. Came here as a young man to work for the heating company, and several years later he bought it.”
“Soupy may be able to help you find people who knew Lyle. He seems to know everyone around here.”
Her face brightened. “I’ll drop in on your launch party tomorrow.”
“Will you go back to Toronto when Father Brisebois returns?” I hoped she wouldn’t be transferred across the country.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “As you know, the Toronto archdiocese didn’t take kindly to what went on at Safe Harbor.”
“It was so unfair that you took the fall,” I said.
“Someone had to, and I was content to move on. Sister Roslyn has my old job as director so Safe Harbor is in capable hands. My superior thinks that I’ll do more good working outside the Toronto archdiocese. The boys at the top will have it in for me for some time.”
She reached over and patted my arm. “We’re here right now. Let’s make the most of it.”
She turned off the television. “And find Jamie.”
CHAPTER NINE
I was in bed when the telephone rang at seven the next morning.
“Shirley Corcoran here,” a woman said. “Hank’s battery’s dead and our son’s on his way over here to give him a boost. Hank’ll be with you just as soon as he can.”
I looked out my bedroom window. The world was a winter wonderland with fresh snow everywhere.
Downstairs, I found Celia dressed for the outdoors and pouring glasses of orange juice. “No sign of spring today,” she said, “but at least the sun is shining.”
I told her the driveway wouldn’t be plowed until Hank got a boost from his son, and I had no idea how long that would take.
“I’ve got to be at the rectory by nine.” She handed me a glass of juice. “You’d think the locals would know how to keep their batteries from freezing.”
“Our launch starts at ten,” I said. “I have to be at it.”
I went to the window at the front of the house and looked out at the drive. A few acres of snow separated us from the highway.
“I’ll be outside,” Celia said at the front door.
I sighed. “We could be stuck here for hours.”
I looked in on Tommy and Laura upstairs. They were both asleep.
I shook Laura’s shoulder and told her we wouldn’t be plowed out for some time. “Sister Celia and I are going out to shovel,” I said. “Get Tommy up and give him some breakfast. Then come out and help us.”
She pulled the duvet over her head.
Outside, Celia had cleared the front steps. Her Hyundai was still capped with snow, but its engine was purring.
I inserted the key into the ignition of my Volvo and the motor turned over. “At least our cars are running.”
“The temperature didn’t drop much last night,” Celia said, “so I didn’t think we’d have a problem.”
“It seems strange that Hank needs a boost. His battery couldn’t have frozen.”
Celia looked at her watch. “It’s a quarter to eight. If he isn’t here by eight-thirty, I’m taking Molly across the lakes. Coming with me?”
I looked at the snow between us and the highway. “I guess I am. I can’t miss the launch.”
Then my eyes picked out movement at the end of the drive. A dark insect seemed to be munching its way toward us through the white stuff. “Look!”
Celia clapped her hands above her head. “Hank’s here. Thank you, God!”
“What gives?” Laura bounded out of the house in her parka and jeans. “Hey, you’re leaning on your shovels. We have snow to clear.”
“What’s Tommy up to?” I asked her.
“Eating cereal.” She looked down the drive. “The plow is here!”
It inched toward us, veering off to the side of the drive every so often to drop a load of snow. We cleared snow from around the cars, and when the plow drew near, its driver waved at us. When he’d cleared the driveway as far as the cars, he cut the engine.
I walked over to him. He was in his mid-thirties and very easy on the eyes. “You must be Mr. Corcoran.” I figured he was too young to be Shirley’s husband, but he was probably the son she’d mentioned.
“Nope,” he replied cheerfully. “I’m Kerry Gallant, your next-door neighbor. When Shirley phoned to say Hank would be late this morning, I decided to try out the plow we bought last week. Shirley said you people leave for work early.”
“You are an angel from heaven,” Celia said coming up behind me.
The man laughed. “Not me.” He took off his tuque, displaying a head of wavy brown hair. He put the hand that held the tuque on his chest and gave us a bow. “I’m just a boy with a new toy.”
He put the tuque back on, flashed us a grin and headed back to the highway.
“He’s a hottie,” Laura said as she followed Celia and me into the house.
At the branch, I found Soupy on a ladder in the reception area. He was stringing green and white streamers across the ceiling. Nuala was helping the caterers set up coffee urns on a long table.
“You made it in,” Soupy said to me.
I looked up at him. “Yes.”
“We had a whack of snow last night.”
Ivy followed me into my office. “Phone call, Pat. Mr. Kulas at Toronto headquarters.”
I closed my office door wondering what Keith wanted now. “Good morning, Keith,” I said into the receiver.
“I understand there’ll be media coverage.”
“We’ll handle it.”
“And remember what I said about meeting quotas for assets under management.”
“We’re pulling out all the stops, Keith.”
“You’ll have things to do, then,” he said and hung up.
I slammed down the receiver and scrunched up a piece of paper. “Up your assets, Keith!” I lobbed the paper ball at the wastepaper basket across the room.
Just then the door opened and Soupy stepped into the office. He yelped as the ball hit him in the groin. “I shouldn’t have barged in,” he said, “but Mike from the catering company asked if we’ll need more soft drinks.”
“Ask Nuala.” I shrugged off my coat. “She placed the order.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Forget it. We’ve got less than an hour to get everything ship-shape.”
Soupy wasn’t a bad kid, I thought as I followed him out of my office. Just young and gauche.
He and Nuala and Ivy deserved a chance to further their careers at the Braeloch branch. I vowed to do my best to make the venture
fly.
At ten-thirty, I introduced our team to clients and prospects in front of Mara Nowak and her camera crew. Then the party moved into full swing.
The snowstorm hadn’t hurt us. There must have been forty people crowded into the reception area and hall. And there were plenty of sandwiches, pastries and drinks.
I turned to see Soupy behind me with his arm around Mara, a goofy grin on his face. “My fiancée, Mara Nowak. Mara, this is Pat Tierney from Toronto.”
I took her hand. “I’ve been watching your television show. There’s lots of news to report in this area.” The local media must have been having a feeding frenzy. Lyle’s murder was probably the biggest news to hit the area in a long time. That and the new Norris Cassidy branch.
“We’ve got our very own murder investigation,” Soupy said. “Mara wants to talk to Jen Collins. Or at least find out where she is.”
Mara smiled at him, then turned to me. “Jen’s mother won’t talk to us.”
I wondered if Mara could flush out Jamie. “Why don’t you try some of her friends? People she went to school with.”
Mara’s caramel-colored eyes looked thoughtful. “I went over to the high school and got a copy of the yearbook from the year she graduated. Familiar names but not many familiar faces. A lot of them moved away, like Jen did. It’s going to take legwork to find those who are still living around here.”
A light went on in my head. Veronica might have Jamie’s yearbook, Jamie’s very own copy.
“Good luck with that,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me…”
I made my way through the crowd. On the other side of the room, I found Ted Stohl leaning against the wall.
“Here for the newspaper?” I asked.
He held up a notebook. “Thought I’d add a few more lines to my story.”
It occurred to me that he must have known Lyle and that he might remember Jamie. “Lyle Critchley’s murder must have been a shock to people around here,” I said.
He was silent for a moment, probably sizing me up. Both of us knew this wasn’t small talk. “That’s putting it mildly.” He ran a hand over his chin. “It’s keeping us on our toes at The Times. We go to press at noon on Friday, so we only have a small item in this week’s paper. But we’re working on full coverage for the next issue.”
“Do you remember Jen Collins? She grew up here.”
He shook his head. “I was in Toronto for many years. I came back when I bought the paper two years ago.”
Then he looked at me with new interest. “She a friend of yours?”
I’d decided to be open about Tracy and Jamie’s relationship. As they were. “She’s my daughter’s partner.”
He didn’t blink an eye. “Emotions can get the better of anyone.”
If Jamie had wanted to kill Lyle to avenge her sister’s death, she would have done it years before. But I let his comment pass. “My daughter hasn’t heard from her for days. She’s worried. Veronica’s worried.”
A handsome, gray-haired woman came up to us. She smiled at Ted, then turned to me. “I’m Lainey Campbell, Paul’s mother. Ted’s been giving my cousin, Bea Greeley, a helping hand since her husband died last year. It was his idea that your company manage her money.”
“We’re grateful,” I said. “Ted and I were just talking about the fire last week.”
The smile left her face. “Edna, Lyle’s wife, and I were pals when we were young, but they kept to themselves in recent years. Edna died last year.” Her face clouded. “And now Lyle’s been killed in that terrible fire. That kind of thing don’t happen around here. Sure, there’s always accidents on the highways and on the lakes. Shooting accidents in the woods. But a murder?” She shuddered.
Ted turned to me. “Lyle bought property at Three Hills Lake where Lainey spends the summers.”
Lainey sighed. “He did indeed. He bought four lots the year before last. Never got around to building a cottage, but he was bucking our plan to put up a satellite tower for high-speed Internet service. He thought the tower would lower property values.”
There were cottagers at Three Hills Lake who may have wanted Lyle out of way.
“I hear the police are looking for Jen Collins,” Ted said.
“Poor girl,” Lainey said. “They haven’t forgotten her run-in with Lyle.”
“Do you know who her friends were when she lived here?” I asked.
Lainey smiled. “Al Barker. They walked around town holding hands. Set a few tongues wagging.”
Now I had a surname for Al, the friend Tracy had mentioned. “Does Al still live around here?” I asked.
“Sure does.” She inclined her head toward the reception desk. “Older sister of your Ivy.”
Another family connection. I headed over to the coffee station and poured myself a coffee. When I turned back to the party, I found Inspector Foster beside me.
“Heard from Ms. Collins yet?” he asked. His gray eyes bored into mine.
“No, but I’ve found out something you should know.”
He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.
“Lyle Critchley dropped by here last Thursday.”
“Thursday?”
“The day he died.”
“He came for investment advice?”
“He may just have been curious about the renovations. As you can see, this building’s been turned inside out.”
Foster waited for me to continue.
“Paul Campbell gave him one of our brochures and made an appointment with him for this week.”
“Did he say where he was going when he left?”
Lyle had said something before he left the branch. What did Ivy say it was?
“You’d better speak to Paul.” I pointed out Soupy across the room and Foster headed over to him.
I made a beeline for Ivy at the reception desk. She was chatting with two young women about her age, but they backed away as I approached. I pulled up a chair beside her.
“Ivy, where can I find your sister, Al?”
She stared at me for a moment. Then she lowered her eyes and toyed with a pen on her desk. “Do you—”
“I’m looking for my daughter’s friend. Jennifer Collins. Al might know where she is.”
She looked up at me. “The woman the police want.”
“They want to talk to her, yes. Did you know her when she lived here?”
“I was just a kid, but I remember Jen coming to the house with Al. A few years later, Lyle Critchley killed her sister in a car accident, and Jen hung those signs on his gate.”
“No one’s heard from her in days. Her mother’s worried.”
“The police think she killed Lyle?”
“They want to talk to her.”
“Do you think she killed him?”
I sidestepped her question. “Your sister may have an idea of where I could find her.”
She took a notepad from a desk drawer and wrote down directions.
“Drive out there.” She tore the page from the pad and handed it to me. “Al and Ruby screen their calls. If they don’t recognize the name on call display, they won’t answer the phone. But I’ll leave them a message that you’ll be coming.”
Only a few guests remained when Celia blew into the branch. She looked like a teenager in her purple parka and red boots.
“Pretty cool place,” she said.
“I’ve met someone who should able to tell you more about Lyle.” I took her over to Lainey, who was putting on her coat in the reception area.
“This is Sister Celia de Franco,” I said. “She’s running the Catholic parish while the pastor is on sick leave. She’d like some background on Lyle for her eulogy.”
I turned to Celia. “Lainey Campbell was a friend of Lyle’s wife.”
Lainey shrugged off her coat and seated herself on a sofa. “Lyle wasn’t what you’d call a people person.”
Celia sat beside her. I took the leather chair across from them.
“He wasn’t always like that, tho
ugh,” Lainey said. “When Burt and I first started stepping out, and that’s going back a good many years, Lyle and Edna had just got married. The four of us sometimes went dancing. Lyle was older than the three of us, but he was always the life of the party. A big fan of Elvis Presley back then.”
“Lyle?” Celia looked astonished.
“Lyle,” Lainey said. “He became a different man after—”
“The accident that killed Carly Collins,” I said.
Lainey winced. “That was a terrible thing. But, no, long before that. After he and Edna lost their baby boy.”
“Their baby died?” I asked.
“He was kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped?” Celia said. “They were asked to pay a ransom?”
“No ransom. Lyle and Edna lived in town then, and some of us moms used to meet for afternoon coffee at Kresge’s lunch counter. On nice days, we’d leave our babies sleeping in their carriages in front of the store. One day Edna went back outside and found her carriage empty. Little Lyle was gone.”
I couldn’t imagine leaving an infant unattended in public.
“No one would do that today,” Lainey said, as if she’d read my mind. “But those were different times. Everyone knew everyone ’round here. Burt and I never locked up at night.”
“The child was never found?” I asked.
“Not a trace. The police kept the case open for years.”
“How terrible,” I said.
“No wonder Lyle was so bitter,” Celia added.
“It changed Lyle and Edna,” Lainey said. “It took them many years to have little Lyle, and they had no other children after they lost him. They pulled away from their friends. I saw Edna from time to time, but Lyle had started drinking and he was an ugly drunk. He sobered up after the accident that killed Carly Collins, but he still kept his distance. Probably knew he wouldn’t be welcome in most circles.”
“Did he have brothers or sisters?” Celia asked.
“One sister, Pearl. A year or two older than him. She lived in Lindsay, but I heard that she died last summer.”
Lyle had recently lost both his wife and his sister. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for this man.
Black Water Page 8
