Fiona Silk Mysteries 2-Book Bundle

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “Oh. Stella. I am so embarrassed. When we were here the other night, I forgot the most important thing.”

  “Shhh. Sleeping.” She mouthed the words and pointed towards the far end of the house.

  Sleeping. I liked the sound of that.

  She beckoned me into the kitchen. We tiptoed.

  We both slumped into the chairs by the kitchen table. I, being less experienced, failed to check the seat for the sharp edges of half-built LEGO houses and shot up again quickly.

  “You learn,” Stella said.

  “Right.”

  “Where’s your little friend? Not playing hooky today?”

  “Pressing business at school. Couldn’t be avoided.”

  “And the fuzzy white one?”

  “Hiding out.”

  Stella rebuttoned her blouse and fluffed her hair. She smiled encouragingly at me. She seemed to be waiting for something. I wondered what.

  “The most important thing?” she said, after a while.

  “Oh, right, right, right. Yes. Here it is. Benedict’s own last book of verse. He wanted you to have it.”

  “Be serious.”

  “Oh, no, absolutely. He did.”

  “Who cares? I mean, have you lost your mind? What are you doing lugging that crap of Benedict’s around and pretending it’s important?”

  I couldn’t think of what to say. I didn’t give a flying fig about Benedict’s poems, and I certainly didn’t think they were important in any way, and I guess the pretense was obvious.

  “Maybe it’ll be worth a lot of money some day. I mean, he did win the Flambeau.”

  “Go figure. So what’s this about?”

  “Okay. Remember when you said Benedict leaves a residue in your life?”

  She nodded. “Plus a major residue in yours lately.”

  “No kidding. Here’s my problem. Abby Lake has been following me, she tried to run me down, she stalked me, she trashed my car and she’s still on the loose.”

  “All part of the Benedict benefit,” she said. “So getting back to your story?”

  “Did I mention she shot at me? I actually spent the night in a cave to escape.”

  “Ick.”

  “Exactly.” I liked talking to someone on the same wavelength, which Stella definitely was. “But that’s not the worst part.”

  “It gets worse?”

  “Yes. Josey’s been there every time.”

  “My God, she’s just a kid.”

  “I know.”

  Stella rubbed her upper lip. “I can’t believe it, anyone endangering a child like that. So, um, why don’t you just make sure Josey stays home?”

  “Because she can’t go home. Her uncle’s just jumped bail, and her grandmother has some form of dementia. Her mother’s been gone for eleven years or so. There’s no one else.”

  “Tough one.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Don’t you have any friends who...?”

  Obviously, Stella hadn’t met my friends.

  “The only one who is suitable can’t get her husband to agree. And Bridget’s on the verge of a breakdown.”

  Stella nodded. “What about some kind of home?” “Out of the question. Josey’s terrified of falling into the clutches of Social Services. I’m certain she’d run away.”

  “For sure.”

  “So the point is, I feel incredibly responsible.”

  “That’s an amazing story. Abby attacking you.”

  “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Well, no. She’s a flake. Always was. But why you? I could see it if she took off after Bridget or Zoë. She really hates them. Oh yeah, it must have been the place where he was... Yeah, that would do it for Abby. It would be personal.”

  “It is. She even slashed my clothes.”

  “Maybe I’m wrong, but I can’t see her trying to hurt Josey.”

  “Probably not, but she does have a gun and doesn’t mind firing it. Josey could get caught in the middle.”

  “That’s scary.”

  “Another thing. Do you know a fellow called Dougie Dolan?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Big guy, slanty dark eyes. Dresses like a tramp sometimes. He went to school with Benedict.”

  “Sorry. Why?”

  “He’s following me.”

  “Someone else is following you? He must be connected with Abby in some way.”

  “Right, and I don’t know the connection, but he’s supposed to be dangerous.”

  “What about the police? They must be able to do something. Even in St. Aubaine, for God’s sake.”

  “You’d think so.”

  “Idiots.”

  “So, the point of all this is, I’m in a real pickle about Josey. Since you two seemed to get along, and since you understand how Benedict can leave a residue in your life, I thought maybe you would be willing to let her stay here for a couple of days. She’s extremely helpful. I don’t know if she’s good with children, but she’d certainly earn her keep. It’s a lot to ask and I’d understand, of course, if you say no.” The original brook, babbling.

  Stella had gone quiet. I wished I were on another planet.

  “It couldn’t be Josey who’s attracting all this violence, could it?”

  I felt goosebumps rise on my arms. Josey? “I don’t see how it could be.”

  “I have to think of my own children.”

  “Naturally. But it’s all to do with me, for some reason. Nothing has happened to Josey or at her home.”

  “All right,” she said.

  “And if it doesn’t work out...” I was still babbling.

  “Don’t worry, if it doesn’t work out, you’ll hear from me soon enough.”

  “Oh, absolutely. When can I bring her by? Do you need to discuss this with your husband?”

  “When I tell him someone else might be handling bath time, he’ll think he won Lotto 6/49. Let’s do it as soon as possible.”

  Too good to be true. I felt like crying in gratitude. I blew my nose instead. Good thing I stayed dry, because Stella’s twin boys took that moment to drag themselves into the room and drape themselves around their mother. They stared at me with sleepy eyes while Stella wiped their noses.

  She washed her hands and handed me a small plate with five tollhouse cookies. The twins got one each.

  “I can’t eat...”

  “People who blow their own noses get more cookies,” she said.

  The twin on the left managed a charming, scamplike grin. The other one matched it.

  Then it hit me. I’d seen that scamplike grin before. But not for seven or eight years, if you didn’t count the Krazy Glue.

  “I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea what this will mean for Josey.”

  “Sure I do. I’ve been there, a teenager with lots of problems, and no one to look after my wellbeing,” Stella said.

  “Right.”

  “And major residue.”

  “No kidding.” Now I knew, and she knew I knew.

  “So.” I got up to go. “I’m not sure if you’ll want to keep this. It’s the last available copy of Benedict’s last book. The one that won him the Flambeau.”

  “Oh right. That’s the reason you came here, wasn’t it.”

  “Actually, that was a ploy.”

  “Uh-huh. Don’t ever try to get work on the stage.”

  Liz was pacing in my living room when I walked in. Natalie occupied the seat of honour, looking corporate. Kostas, fresh and fluffy, hovered in the kitchen door, regarding the wingback with longing.

  “I couldn’t keep them out, dear lady,” he said.

  Liz shot him a look. He shot one back, defiantly.

  “Who could? I thought it was best to give her a key,” I said. Nothing could put a dent in my excellent mood. Josey was going to be all right.

  “Where’d you put that Courvoisier, Fiona? And no stalling.”

  “What are you doing here in the middle of the day?” I said. I stall whenev
er I want to.

  “It is an emergency.”

  “It is?”

  “That’s certainly what your message seemed to imply. The one where you claimed you were about to be arrested. Right at this exact minute, I should be at Dr. Fairooz’s office for a consultation on an upper lip dermabrasion. But no, I’m sitting here trying to help you save your skin. I dragged Natalie over, and God knows she’s a busy woman. What do we find? You gone and Rumplestiltskin here instead. And not a drop to drink.”

  “Have you tried the kitchen? There’s always coffee,” I said.

  Liz followed me and seemed surprised when I turned on her. “How come Natalie is always available when she doesn’t do this kind of work? And doesn’t like me.”

  Liz shrugged. “So what do you have to drink?”

  “Water, water everywhere.” Except in the washing machine, which I chose not to mention.

  “Funny,” Liz said as she stalked back into the living room. “Listen, Natalie here doesn’t think you should be charging into the cop shop twice a day and getting them all agitated.”

  “Bad idea,” Natalie said. “Really bad. Really really really...”

  “Natalie’s had a whole lot more experience dealing with the police than you have. Ergo, you’d better listen to her.”

  “I’m sure she has.”

  “Don’t be snarky. I’m worried about you. Natalie has agreed to represent your interests. Leave everything to her.” Natalie swung her feet.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “Oh, and while you’re at it, Natalie, do you handle divorce work?”

  “Thought they’d never leave.” Kostas hustled up, smelling nicely of jasmine.

  “Good news. I’ve found an excellent place for Josey.”

  “I told yis before, dear lady, she’s not going to like it.”

  “Probably not. But she’ll like it a lot better than the alternatives.”

  “She feels rejected, that young lady. I can tell. I’m a man of some sensitivity, you know.”

  “You are, Kostas. But it’s better all round. And she’ll like it at Stella’s.”

  “Stella’s? Our Stella’s?” I could tell this met with approval. “When does she go?”

  “As soon as she gets home from school, I’ll take her over.”

  “Oh, indeed. It’s a shame we didn’t have the chance to celebrate her birthday first.”

  “We’ll do something later. Really.”

  “Since it’s turning into such a nice day...”

  I peered through the window. He was right. I’d been so relieved about Stella’s offer, I hadn’t even noticed the sun breaking through.

  “...why don’t we take her over to the Park at the Marina for ice cream, and we’ll promise her something special for her birthday and then tell her?”

  “Look, Kostas. We don’t know where Abby Lake is or Dougie Dolan. The police aren’t taking them seriously. I don’t want to take Josey to a deserted spot.”

  “Dear lady, you can hardly call the Marina deserted. There’s always a bit of a crowd there. And since it is such a nice day, it’ll be jammed.”

  “I still worry about Abby or Dolan following us.” It was one of my major worries. Minor worries included finding something that would look enough like the urn to be substituted during the scattering.

  “Leave it to me. I can shake anybody,” Kostas said. “Guaranteed, dear lady.”

  I didn’t doubt it.

  “And my treat, of course. Just got me pogey. I’m flush.”

  Tolstoy’s tail thumped. He loves the Marina. He had the Frisbee in his mouth. I know when I’m licked.

  The sun beamed as we swung out of Chemin des Cèdres on our way to surprise Josey at the school. I was dressed in shorts and a cotton top to take advantage of the unusually hot weather. I brought an extra T -shirt for Josey and a pair of shorts that were much too small for me and would be much too big for her. The grey indefinable clothes Kostas wore never seemed to be related in any way to the weather. Tolstoy always looks just right in white.

  We swung through St. Aubaine on our way. Kostas claimed an urgent need to check up on his consignments at the La Tricoterie. I thought I’d better get cracking and find a birthday gift. I still had no idea what to buy for Josey. I ducked into the Roi du Dollar and found a card and wrapping paper. Whatever I found, it would have to fit into two pieces of maple leaf paper. The mood was not improved by spotting Sarrazin and the glamorous coroner tucked into a corner table of Thé Pour Deux making eyes at each other over a cream tea. I pivoted nicely but not before he looked up.

  She smiled the way the cat does after a canary canapé. He smiled the way you might smile at someone you were planning to arrest any minute now. I smiled the way someone who has nothing to smile about smiles.

  I went to round up Kostas and Josey. I could trust them.

  Josey hummed rock tunes in the back seat. The sweater grew longer and Kostas coached from the front.

  “Your tension’s much improved. That’s the secret, you’ll be an artist yet.”

  Tension improved. What kind of tension were we going to experience when Josey found out about her new accommodations?

  Shortly after five we pulled into the stationnement near the Marina. The waterfront park was full of people. I relaxed. No one, but no one, could have followed us through Kostas’s road maze. Even if they had, what could they do in a crowd like this?

  The park felt cool and green, with patches of filtered sunlight visible through the cedars. The air was fresh and wood scented. We picked up ice cream cones in the Marina.

  Josey and Kostas selected Rocky Road. I had Mint Chocolate Chip. They discussed techniques for Fair Isle knitting.

  First things first. Ten minutes spent tossing the Frisbee to the loyal hound. Then Josey took over, and I listened to the river lapping on the shore and admired its crayon blue colour. I wished I could relax in this wonderful spot as a regular ordinary unpursued visitor. I scanned the environment for signs of something not quite right and kept my back from being exposed. The slightest crack of a twig made me spin around, my heart thumping like a reggae drummer.

  Of course, I felt even more guilty about Josey. Rationally, I had no problem placing her with Stella. Josey was a fourteenyear-old girl. I was an adult. I had a responsibility not to get talked into things I knew were wrong. No arguments.

  Emotionally, I knew she’d do a number on me. And I always fall for Josey’s numbers. What a patsy. For the first time in my nearly forty-five years, I wondered how parents cope.

  Josey and Kostas joked and bantered. The ice cream had rekindled our spirits. But the Mint Chocolate Chip wasn’t enough to do the trick. Kostas and I practically tripped over each other when we spotted Abby Lake’s small white Jetta snuggled next to Skylark Jr.

  Even from a distance, you could tell at least two of the Skylark’s tires had been slashed. A few cars away, a young couple leaned against a Jeep Cherokee with Manitoba plates.

  I felt a rush of rage. She’d managed to track us, when the police should have been watching her. You couldn’t trust that Sarrazin as far as you could toss a grizzly.

  Abby sat behind the wheel of the Jetta, resting.

  “Thank heavens you’re here,” the young woman by the Jeep said. “We’ve been waiting for you. And we wrote down her license number, in case she left. I can’t imagine why anybody would do such a thing.”

  “You saw her? You saw her slash our tires?”

  She nodded. He said: “When we were coming out of the trail. I guess we should have spoken to her, but she had that knife, so we decided to call the police and wait here, out of her sight.”

  “And anyway,” she broke in, “when we went to the phone booth, a man went over to her car. I think he gave her a piece of his mind for slashing your tires.”

  I felt a little buzz of anger around my ears. Abby Lake represented the story of my life. My forty-four years and some months of being badgered, bossed and bothered by anyone who felt like pushing me around.
My ex-husband-to-be, my friends, my dog. Everyone from country policemen to nosy neighbors, to fourteen-year-old girls. Everyone figured they could tell me what to do, what not to do, how to live my life, where to keep my booze. The fact I found myself in charge of Benedict’s scattering was typical of the life of Fiona Silk, prize wuss.

  And now, ten feet away sat the deranged woman who had endangered our lives and given me nightmares. Relaxing a bit after destroying my tires. If that’s not pushing you around, I don’t know what is. I stood totally still, rage washing over me.

  Kostas tugged at my arm. I pulled away and barrelled toward the Jetta. I approached the car window. “Miz Silk,” Josey yelled. “Don’t go, the cops are already on the way.”

  Oh, right. We just knew how much we could count on them.

  It was time to look her right in the eye and say “enough”. Of course, I also figured this would be less dangerous than it sounds. Even Abby Lake wouldn’t shoot or stab me with four witnesses staring straight at her. Especially with the wail of a siren getting closer.

  But Abby Lake didn’t pull out any guns. She didn’t react. When I stuck my head in the open car window, I could see why.

  Abby’s dead white hand lay draped over Benedict’s urn. A revolver sat propped beside it, on the seat. Abby’s head was turned toward the window, a single, perfect bullet hole centred in her forehead.

  Twenty-Six

  If Sarrazin was a black bear, the officer who took my statement was Winnie the Pooh. Lucky for me he was not only cute and cuddly, but he spoke fluent English. You can’t always count on it. My tolerable command of the French language had deserted me along with my normally adequate control over my knees.

  For the second time in one day, I found myself behind the door of the Sûreté. It wasn’t the kind of place to grow on you, even when Sarrazin was off duty. Five agitated people and one dog garnered stares from the other officers. One by one, we repeated our explanations with carefully selected background bits to the nice Sergeant. This time I took the precaution of calling my lawyer.

  Natalie was not available. Why was I not surprised?

  The young couple who’d witnessed the shooting found the situation much more dramatically satisfying than I did. Kostas exuded bonhomie throughout, surprising me somewhat, and Josey quivered with suppressed enjoyment. Go figure.