How would I ever get through the ledgers by Monday? My flight was at 5 P.M. Could I finish the Nicolet report today, do those for the babies tomorrow, and work through the ledgers on Sunday? No wonder I had no social life.
By the time I got to rue Parthenais, steadily falling snow was sticking to the street. I found a parking spot just outside the door, and said a prayer that the car wouldn’t be plowed in when I came back.
The air in the lobby felt steamy and smelled of wet wool. I stomped my boots, contributing to the slick, shallow pool of melted snow spreading across the floor, and punched for an elevator. On the ride up I tried to clean streaked mascara from my lower lids.
There were two pink message slips on my desk. Sister Julienne had called. No doubt she wanted reports on Anna and Élisabeth. I wasn’t ready on either. Next. Ryan.
I dialed and he answered.
“Long lunch.”
I checked my watch. One forty-five.
“I’m paid by the hour. What’s up?”
“We’ve finally tracked down the owner of the house in St-Jovite. Guy’s name is Jacques Guillion. He’s from Quebec City, but moved to Belgium years ago. His whereabouts remain unknown, but a Belgian neighbor says Guillion has been renting the St-Jovite place to an old lady named Patrice Simonnet. She thinks the tenant is Belgian, but isn’t sure. She says Guillion also provides the tenant with cars. We’re running a check.”
“Pretty well-informed neighbor.”
“Apparently they were close.”
“The burned body from the basement could be Simonnet.”
“Could be.”
“We got good dental X-rays during the post. Bergeron has them.”
“We’ve given the name to the RCMP. They’re working with Interpol. If she’s Belgian, they’ll track her.”
“What about the other two bodies in the main house and the two adults with the babies?”
“We’re working on it.”
We both thought for a moment.
“Pretty big place for one old lady.”
“Looks like she wasn’t all that alone.”
I spent the next two hours in the histology lab teasing the last of the tissue from the babies’ ribs and examining them under the microscope. As I’d feared, there were no unique nicks or patterns in the bone. There was nothing I could say except that the killer had used a very sharp knife with a blade which was not serrated. Bad for the investigation. Good for me. The report would be brief.
I’d just returned to my office when Ryan called back.
“How about a beer?” he asked.
“I don’t keep beer in my office, Ryan. If I did, I’d drink it.”
“You don’t drink.”
“Then why are you asking me for beer?”
“I’m asking if you’d like one. Could be green.”
“What?”
“Aren’t you Irish, Brennan?”
I glanced at my wall calendar. March 17. The anniversary of some of my best performances. I didn’t want to remember.
“Can’t do it anymore, Ryan.”
“It’s a generic way of saying ‘Let’s take a break.’”
“Are you asking me for a date?”
“Yes.”
“With you?”
“No, with my parish priest.”
“Wow. Does he cheat on his vows?”
“Brennan, do you want to meet me for a beverage this evening? Alcohol-free?”
“Ryan, I—”
“It’s St. Paddy’s Day. It’s Friday night and snowing like a sonof-abitch. Got a better offer?”
I didn’t. In fact, I had no other offers. But Ryan and I often investigated the same cases, and I’d always had a policy of keeping work and home separate.
Always. Right. I’d been separated and living on my own less than two years of my adult life. And they hadn’t been banner ones for male companionship.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
There was a pause. Then,
“We got a break on Simonnet. She popped right up on the Interpol search. Born in Brussels, lived there until two years ago. Still pays taxes on a piece of property in the countryside. Loyal old gal, went to the same dentist her whole life. The guy’s been in practice since the Stone Age, keeps everything. They’re faxing the records. If it looks like a match, we’ll get the originals.”
“When was she born?”
I heard a paper flip.
“Nineteen-eighteen.”
“That fits. Family?”
“We’re checking.”
“Why did she leave Belgium?”
“Maybe she needed a change of scenery. Look, champ, if you decide you do, I’ll be at Hurley’s after nine. If there’s a line, use my name.”
I sat awhile, thinking about why I’d said no. Pete and I had reached an accord. We still loved each other, but couldn’t live together. Separated, we were once again able to be friends. Our relationship hadn’t been as good in years. Pete was dating, I was free to do the same. Oh, God. Dating. The word raised images of acne and braces.
To be honest, I found Andrew Ryan extremely attractive. No zits or orthodontics. A definite plus. And technically we didn’t work together. But I also found him extremely annoying. And unpredictable. No. Ryan is trouble.
I was finishing my report on Malachy and Mathias when the phone rang again. I smiled. O.K., Ryan. You win.
The voice of a security guard told me I had a visitor in the downstairs lobby. I looked at my watch. Four-twenty. Who would be coming this late? I didn’t remember making any appointments.
I asked for the name. When he told me, my heart sank.
“Oh no.” I couldn’t help myself.
“Est-ce qu’il y a un problème?”
“Non. Pas de problème.” I told him I’d be right down.
No problem? Who was I kidding?
I said it again in the elevator.
Oh no.
10
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”
“Well, you could look glad to see me, big sister.”
“I—of course I’m glad to see you, Harry. I’m just surprised.” I couldn’t have been more astounded if the guard had announced Teddy Roosevelt.
She snorted. “That’s about as heartfelt as grits.”
My sister sat in the lobby of the SQ building surrounded by shopping bags from Nieman Marcus and canvas packs of varying shapes and sizes. She wore red cowboy boots engraved with black and white loops and swirls and a matching leather jacket with fringe. When she stood I could see jeans tight enough to cut off blood flow. We all could.
Harry hugged me, fully aware of but completely unself-conscious about her effect on others. Especially the others with Y chromosomes.
“Whew, it is bad-ass cold out there! I’m iced enough to freeze tequila.” She hunched her shoulders and wrapped her arms around her rib cage.
“Yes.” I didn’t get the analogy.
“My flight was supposed to touch down at noon, but the pissant snow held us up. Oh well, here I am, big sister.”
She dropped her shoulders and held out her arms, causing the jacket fringe to shimmy. Harry looked so out of place it was surreal. Amarillo comes to the tundra.
“O.K. Great. What a surprise. Well. I— What brings you to Montreal?”
“I’ll tell you all about it. It’s awesome. When I heard about it I just couldn’t believe my ears. I mean, right here in Montreal and all.”
“What is ‘it,’ Harry?”
“The seminar I’d done. I told you about it, Tempe, when I called last weekend. I did it. I signed up for that training course in Houston and now I’m mainlinin’ this stuff. I have never been so pumped. I cruised the first level. I mean cruised it. Some people take years to realize their own reality and I just whupped that puppy in a few weeks. I mean I am learning some powerful therapeutic strategies, and I am taking hold of my life. So when they invited me to this level-two workshop, and right here where my big sister lives, well, I pack
ed my bags and pointed my nose north.”
Harry beamed at me with clear, blue eyes surrounded by gobs of mascara.
“You’re here for a workshop?”
“Exactamundo. All expenses paid. Well, almost all.”
“I want to hear all about it,” I said, hoping the course was short. I was unsure if Quebec Province and Harry could survive each other.
“This shit is awesome,” she said, rephrasing her initial assessment, but adding little additional information.
“Let’s go upstairs and I’ll wrap up. Or would you rather wait here?”
“Hell, no. I want to see where the great cadaver doctor works. Lead on.”
“You’ll have to submit a photo ID to get a visitor’s pass,” I said, indicating the guard at the security desk.
He was observing the scene, a half smile on his face, and spoke before either of us could make a move.
“Vôtre sœur?” he bellowed across the lobby, exchanging looks with the other guards.
I nodded. Obviously everyone now knew that Harry was my sister, and found it terribly amusing.
The guard gave a sweeping gesture toward the elevators.
“Merci,” I mumbled, and shot him a withering glance.
“Mercy,” Harry drawled, giving each guard a radiant smile.
We gathered her bundles and rode to the fifth floor, where I stacked everything in the hall outside my office. No way to fit it inside. The quantity of her gear raised apprehension as to the likely length of her stay.
“Hell, this office looks like a twister just traveled through here.” Though she was only five feet nine and thin as a fashion model, Harry seemed to fill the small space.
“It’s a little messy right now. Let me shut down the computer and collect a few things. Then we’ll head out.”
“Take your time, I’m in no hurry. I’ll just chat with your friends.” She was looking up at a row of skulls, her head tipped back so that the ends of her hair brushed the bottom fringe on her jacket. It looked blonder than I remembered it.
“Howdy,” she said to the first, “decided to quit while you’re a head, did you?”
I couldn’t help but smile. Her cranial friend did not. While Harry worked her way along the shelf, I logged off and gathered the ledgers and books from Daisy Jeannotte. I planned to be back first thing in the morning, so I didn’t pack my unfinished reports.
“So, what’s new with you?” Harry spoke to the fourth skull. “Not talking? Oh, you’re so sexy when you’re moody.”
“She’s always moody.” Andrew Ryan stood in the doorway.
Harry turned and looked the detective up and down. Slowly. Then blue eyes met blue eyes.
“What the hey?”
My sister’s smile for the security guards was nothing compared with the one she now beamed at Ryan. In that moment I knew calamity was predestined.
“We were just leaving, ” I said, zipping my computer case.
“Well?”
“Well what, Ryan?”
“Out-of-town company?”
“A good detective always notices the obvious.”
“Harriet Lamour,” said my sister, sticking out her hand. “I’m Tempe’s younger sister.” As usual, she emphasized the birth order.
“Reckon you’re not from around these parts,” Ryan drawled. The fringe went to town as they shook hands.
“Lamour?” I asked, incredulous.
“Houston. That’s in Texas. Ever been there?”
“Lamour?” I repeated. “What happened to Crone?”
“Once or twice. Mighty pretty country.” Ryan was still doing Brett Maverick.
“Or Dawood?”
That got her attention.
“Now why would I ever go back to using that retard’s name? Do you remember Esteban? The only human being ever fired for being too dumb to stock the 7-Eleven?”
Esteban Dawood had been her third husband. I couldn’t summon an image of his face.
“Are you and Striker divorced already?”
“No. But I have dumped his ass and scrapped that ridiculous name. Crone? What was I thinking? Who’d ever choose a handle like Crone? What kinda name is that for your descendants? Missus Crone? Cousin Crone? Great-granddaddy Crone?”
Ryan joined in. “Not bad if you’re a lone Crone.”
Harry giggled. “Yeah, but I don’t ever want to be an old Crone.”
“That’s it. We’re outta here.” I reached for my jacket.
“Bergeron says we’ve got a positive,” said Ryan.
I stopped and looked at him. His face had gone serious.
“Simonnet?”
He nodded.
“Anything on the bodies from upstairs?”
“Bergeron thinks they’re probably European, too. Or at least they got drilled and filled over there. Something about their dental work. We had Interpol run a search in Belgium, because of the Simonnet link, but they came up empty. The old lady had no family, so that’s a dead end. The RCMP got no hits in Canada. Same for NCIC. No matches in the States.”
“Rohypnol’s pretty hard to get here, and those two were loaded. A European connection might explain that.”
“Might.”
“LaManche says the bodies in the outbuilding were negative for drugs and alcohol. Simonnet was too badly burned to test.”
Ryan knew this. I was thinking aloud.
“Jesus, Ryan, it’s been a week and we still have no idea who these people are.”
“Yip.” He smiled at Harry, who was listening closely. Their flirting was starting to annoy me.
“You haven’t found any leads in the house?”
“You may have heard about a little altercation on the West Island Tuesday? The Rock Machine blew the lights out on two Hell’s Angels. The Angels returned fire and left one of the Machine dead and three others bleeding bad. So I’ve been otherwise engaged.”
“Patrice Simonnet took a bullet in the head.”
“The biker boys also took out a twelve-year-old kid who happened to be on his way to hockey practice.”
“Oh, God. Look, I’m not suggesting you’re dragging your feet, but surely someone must miss these people. We’re talking about a whole damn family. Plus two others. There must be something in that house that provides a clue.”
“Recovery took forty-seven cartons of crap out of there. We’re sifting through it, but so far zippo. No letters. No checks. No photos. No shopping lists. No address books. The utility and phone bills are paid by Simonnet. Heating oil is delivered once a year, she pays in advance. We can’t find anyone who’s been into the place since Simonnet’s been renting.”
“What about property taxes?”
“Guillion. Pays by an official check drawn on Citicorp in New York.”
“Were any weapons recovered?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“Pretty much rules out suicide.”
“Yeah. And it isn’t likely Granny slashed the family.”
“Did you run a history on the address?”
“It was negative. The police were never called there.”
“Have you gotten the phone records?”
“They’re coming.”
“What about the cars? Weren’t they registered?”
“Both to Guillion. At the St-Jovite address. He also pays the insurance by official check.”
“Does Simonette have a driver’s license?”
“Yeah, Belgian. Clean record.”
“Health insurance card?”
“No.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing comes up.”
“Who serviced the cars?”
“Apparently Simonnet took them to a station in town. The description matches. She paid cash.”
“And the house? A woman that age couldn’t do her own repairs.”
“Obviously there were other people living there. The neighbors say the couple with the babies had been around for several months. They’d seen other cars pull in, sometimes in
large numbers.”
“Maybe she took in boarders?”
We both turned to Harry.
“You know. Maybe she rented out rooms.”
Ryan and I let her go on.
“You could check the newspapers for ads. Or church bulletins.”
“She doesn’t seem to have been a churchgoer.”
“Maybe she ran a drug ring. With this dude Guillion. That’s why she got killed. That’s why there are no records or anything.” Her eyes were round with excitement. She was getting into it. “Maybe she was hiding out there.”
“Who is this Guillion?” I asked.
“He’s got no police record here or there. The Belgian cops are checking him out. The guy kept to himself, so nobody knows much about him.”
“Like the old lady.”
Ryan and I stared at her. Good point, Harry.
A phone shrilled, indicating the lines had been switched to the night service. Ryan glanced at his watch.
“Well, I hope I’ll see y’all this evening.” Maverick was back.
“Probably not. I’ve got to get through this Nicolet report.”
Harry opened her mouth, but seeing my look, closed it.
“Thanks anyway, Ryan.”
“Enchanté,” he said to Harry, then turned and headed up the hall.
“That’s one good-looking cowboy.”
“Don’t train your scope on him, Harry. His little black book has more entries than the Omaha white pages. ”
“Just lookin’, darlin’. That’s still free.”
* * *
Though it was only five, we walked out into deep dusk. Headlights and streetlamps shone through falling snow. I unlocked and started the car, then spent several minutes cleaning the windows and windshield while Harry scanned the radio choices. When I got in, my usual Vermont Public Radio had been replaced by a local rock station.
“That is so cool.” Harry voiced her approval of Mitsou.
“She’s a québécoise,” I said, shifting between drive and reverse to rock the Mazda out of the snow rut. “Been big here for years.”
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