The Canary List: A Novel

by Sigmund Brouwer

  Mainly though, Nanna loved Murder, She Wrote because it showed that an older woman could have spunk and class, and that’s exactly how Nanna had decided she would die. Doing her best to survive, and doing it with grace.

  “Yeah. It’s a steak knife,” Nathan said, in reply to her questions.

  “I know. Crockett often grilled for me, so I recognize his cutlery. He’s such a nice young man. Like you. But of course, Crockett doesn’t cook nearly as well as you do.”

  Nathan gave a Tourette’s-like flinch and turned his head to the camper door, where his invisible demon stood guard.

  “I don’t know why I need to do this,” Nathan said to the invisible demon. “Nobody has ever treated me like a real person … like Nanna does. We should let her go. She wouldn’t tell anyone. She promised.”

  Nathan listened, then recoiled, then shook his head in disgust. “And she certainly doesn’t deserve that kind of language.”

  Turning back to Nanna, he said, “I’m glad you can’t hear him. He’s had centuries and centuries to learn the foulest language.”

  She was still shackled on the cramped bed. Efforts to maintain her appearance, to keep herself neat, had become more and more difficult. Nathan, at his demon’s instructions, didn’t even allow her to go to the tiny bathroom in the corner of the camper and gave her a bedpan instead. But she wasn’t going to give up.

  The man in the trailer was clearly insane, but she guessed he had more of a reason than his insanity for kidnapping her. It had something to do with the girl and the fire. Which meant it involved Crockett too. Nobody had found her yet. Maybe it was because she was prone to leave on trips without warning. A few days of noncontact with her family wouldn’t alarm anybody. Except Crockett, who knew she always asked him to feed her cats. Crockett would be worried. Crockett would be looking for her, and Crockett would know it had something to do with the girl and the fire. All she needed to do was find a way to stay alive long enough for Crockett to find her. She had faith in Crockett.

  “I wouldn’t be too hard on Abez,” Nanna said to Nathan. “I’m sure it hasn’t always been easy for him.”

  From the beginning, when he engaged in a monologue with the camper door as he cooked the first meal they shared, Nanna had guessed the delusion. She’d decided to treat it as real, believing she might be the first person to treat Nathan normally and hoping he would see her as a harmless, nice old woman. It had worked so far.

  “See?” Nathan said over his shoulder. “She’s even nice to you!”

  “Shouldn’t you have a plastic sheet or something?” Nanna asked. She was gleaning from Nathan’s conversation with Abez that Nathan was slowly caving in to his demon’s demands to kill her. She wanted to try to talk him out of it, but her instincts told her that she’d be better off being a friend than a frightened woman. She could subtly find a way to diminish Abez. For that, she had a guardian angel in mind.

  “A plastic sheet?” he asked.

  “To collect the blood. If any of it gets on a blanket, the police will find it, and you’ll be caught. You need plastic to protect the bed. I don’t want to see you hurt, and I think your friend has forgotten how important it is not to leave evidence behind.”

  “Even now,” Nathan said to his demon, “she’s looking out for me. Can you say that about yourself? ”

  She’d seen the industrial roll he brought in the night before, orange Home Depot sticker on the side. She guessed he was going to use it anyway, so it wasn’t like she was giving him an idea. Just faithfully working on reverse psychology. Wasn’t much else at her disposal except her wits.

  She had used the trick earlier in life when one of her daughters, Jenna, was dating an obnoxious jerk, a fact that was obvious to everyone but Jenna. Nanna had decided that trying to point out the young man’s character flaws would alienate Jenna and put her closer to the jerk. Instead, every time Jenna brought up the slightest complaint, Nanna tried to make an excuse for him, until finally Jenna ended the relationship and questioned what her mother could possibly have seen in such a loser.

  “Don’t be so hard on Abez,” Nanna soothed Nathan. “Having one wing would be difficult. My guardian angel has two wings, and sometimes even he gets a little out of sorts.”

  “Guardian angel?” Nathan darted his eyes all over the camper.

  “I think I’m the only one who sees him,” Nanna said. “Remember I told you about him? When I was little, people thought I was crazy, but I wasn’t going to turn my back on my friend. His name is Gabriel. He’s one of the archangels.”

  Nathan spoke to his demon. “Heard of Gabriel?”

  Then, “Archangel, is that a big deal?” Nathan paused in his conversation with Abez. “You and Gabriel, who’d win in a fight?”

  He turned back to Nanna. “My demon said he would win, but I’m not sure I believe him.”

  “Hey, Gabriel,” Nanna said, rolling slightly so she was addressing her own imaginary entity at the head of the bed. “When I’m gone, can you protect Nathan? Just whenever his demon misses a thing or two.”

  To Nathan. “He says he will help you. But Gabriel can’t make promises about being nice to your demon. They are mortal enemies, you know.”

  Nathan, who had been staring at the blade of the steak knife, turned back to the door to speak to Abez.

  “Funny how you don’t bring this up.”

  “No, no,” Nanna said. “Don’t be mean to Abez. Losing to the angels when the Red Sea drowned the Egyptians must have been hard on him. Right now, he’s probably hesitant to admit that he’s afraid what might happen when Gabriel makes a move after I’m gone.”

  Nathan gritted his teeth. “I never thought of that. Abez did lose once, didn’t he?”

  He winced and spoke to the camper door. “Keep it down. Yes, yes. I know we need the knife.”

  He turned back to Nanna. “I’m so sorry about this, but I need to get the plastic first. Then I’ll do my best so it doesn’t hurt, okay?”

  Forty-Nine

  ’m sorry for causing you that trouble.”

  Less than a minute after Julie left, Mackenzie had walked into the bathroom wearing a miniskirt, carrying her shopping bag of clothes. She’d stepped out in armor that would protect her from any accusation of femininity or youth—a loose-fitting drab olive jacket over a brown blouse, matching pants, flat-heeled shoes. The transition was a stunning reversal.

  Crockett was waiting for her in the living room. He was in jeans now, same Disney T-shirt, and holding his first cup of coffee. He knew that the caffeine charge didn’t have a hope of improving his mood. Or outlook. He was too frustrated to even wonder why she’d shown up in the outfit, with a flashy Corvette parked outside.

  Crockett ignored Mackenzie’s apology and walked from the living room, through the small kitchen, and out the back door. He sat in one of the chairs on his deck. Closed his eyes. Took the first sip and tilted his face to the morning sun.

  Only hours ago, he could have died. Even though his life had cratered even further than he could have imagined thanks to Julie’s arrival, he told himself to focus on the small pleasures. Prove somehow that being alive was a better alternative than what nearly happened. The warmth of sunlight felt good. Coffee rolling over his tongue felt better. The small things.

  The screen door creaked. Mackenzie had followed him.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “I presume she was your wife. She’s beautiful.”

  How did that comment help in any way? A tip of the hat to Crockett’s good taste that he’d married a beautiful woman? Or that his longing to put his family back together was justified?

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “I can call her from my office and offer to meet. I’ll explain.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Please. Let me apologize to her. If she really believes that the rope and the way I was dressed mean something, and if it threatens you in a custody issue, then as a child psychiatrist—”

  “Please stop talkin
g. Unless you want to tell me why you are here.” Crockett pressed his fingers to his eyes.

  “I understand your frustration. You need time alone in your cave.”

  “What?” He snapped out the word.

  “Men often deal with anger differently than women. They will go into a cave and stay inside until they are ready. They—”

  Crockett stood, then hurled his coffee mug against the side of the house. He enjoyed the shattering sound.

  “I’m out of my cave now,” he said. “Why are you here?”

  She looked so shocked and vulnerable that he immediately felt small for losing his temper.

  “I accept your apology,” Crockett said more softly. “Can you accept mine? I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She nodded. Tiny smile.

  A male ruby-throat swooped in to one of Crockett’s bird feeders, with the buzzing of a loud bumblebee, a sound that never failed to fascinate him.

  They both watched, wordlessly, until it swooped away again, accelerating almost straight up, like a miniature fighter jet.

  “Dr. Mackenzie … what’s going on?” Crockett asked. “The Corvette? Miniskirt? Change of clothes?”

  “It was the easiest way of disguising myself that I could think of on short notice.”

  He studied her, thinking about the implications.

  It wasn’t the time to suggest that choosing a streetwalker disguise had intriguing Freudian implications. Crockett was capable of knowing when some thoughts were better left unsaid. He would have admitted, however, that the disguise had been effective. Not many people seeing her in the outfit would have noticed her face, much less remembered it. For the hetero male, there was too much else to absorb. And in Julie’s case, too much else to scorn.

  “That leads to another question,” he said. “Why did you think you needed a disguise?”

  “My question first. Why wouldn’t you explain about the rope to your wife?”

  “Ex-wife,” Crockett said.

  “Ex-wife. It’s not difficult to guess that something happened last night. Did someone try to hurt you? Maybe it’s the same person I was trying to escape.”

  “Wait,” Crockett said. “I need more coffee. You?”

  She nodded. “I’d love some. Black.”

  When he returned, she was sitting. He handed her a mug, then took the other lawn chair.

  “Last night.,” she prompted.

  “I didn’t hang myself.” He gave her a succinct, unemotional recap of what had happened.

  Furrowed eyebrows. “Are you going to report what happened to the police?”

  He snorted, thinking of his last encounter with the police and Pamela Li in particular. “A guy is about to lose his career and family because a hard drive with horrific images was found in his attic. Do you think they are going to believe a conspiracy theory? Or the more sensible conclusion that the guy is suicidal? Or that said guy fakes a suicide attempt to throw blame somewhere else?”

  “You could have at least told Julie.”

  “Not in front of my five-year-old son. He’d worry. Too much.”

  Madelyne nodded. “Laudable.”

  “Maybe I don’t care if you think it’s laudable.” It was a dig at one of her earlier comments, but he gave her a smile to rob it of insult. “You don’t seem surprised that someone strung me up during the night.”

  “No. Not after what’s been happening to me too.”

  Crockett could have told Mackenzie about the note on the mirror, but he didn’t trust her—a woman hiding something about Jaimie, and somehow involved in this mess. He didn’t trust her at all.

  “This has something to do with Jaimie,” Crockett pointed to his neck. “And you know something about it. Otherwise you would be surprised to hear that someone almost killed me. Did somebody try something last night on you too?”

  “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” she said. “Even after what happened last night?”

  “Not a chance,” Crockett said.

  She was silent for a few moments, as if trying to make a decision. Wavering, maybe, about what to tell him.

  “Jaimie is the link between us,” Crockett said, needing to nudge her into giving answers. “And you’re here because you’re afraid. Of what?”

  “It started with my condo,” Mackenzie said after a shorter silence, as if she’d come to her decision. “Two days ago. Actually two nights ago. I got back after a long day, and I noticed things were different. Barely different. Like someone had searched, but was trying to be careful.” She set her coffee down on the deck, untouched. “It would have been difficult to prove to a police officer, but I knew. I’m almost obsessive-compulsive about details.”

  Obsessive-compulsive. Hmm.

  “And yesterday morning,” she continued, “I learned my computer was loaded with spyware.”

  “Spyware.” Crockett gave the courtesy repeat, making it seem automatic, although he had a tingling sensation that cat burglars might feel hiding in a closet when a homeowner arrives unexpectedly. Which layer had she found? The first? Or the second? Or both?

  Crockett sipped more coffee, noticing she still hadn’t touched hers.

  “My computer had been driving me crazy for weeks,” she said. “Running really slow and it has been crashing often. I thought it was me, because I’m not good with technology. I finally called an IT person to come to the office. It took him about a minute to tell me that my computer was so buggy that if it was an apartment, cockroaches would have been coming out of the drains, walls, and furniture.” She shivered at the image.

  “The IT guy told me the computer had a keystroke-logging program. And another program inside the firewall that let someone roam around my computer at will.”

  “So someone could monitor your Victoria’s Secret account?”

  She glared at him. With not quite as much ice as she’d been able to muster on previous occasions.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” He gave a sheepish grin. She shook her head with resigned exasperation, not the previous icy disdain.

  “Then,” she said, “yesterday afternoon, after you left, I think someone was following me. First in a car. Then on foot, when I went to the market. He looked like the man you described as the fake social worker.”

  “So finally, you believe me?”

  “With the computer bugged, it makes sense.”

  Her story left unanswered the question as to why so much interest in Jaimie, but Crockett felt the rise of fury again. “Hang on. You believed me all along and did nothing to help me? You treated me like I was guilty.”

  She answered his look without flinching. “Jaimie was, and is, my first concern.”

  “Except now, when it looks like you’re in danger. Now you are your first concern.”

  “I need to take care of myself so I can take care of Jaimie. I don’t blame you for your anger.”

  “Too hypocritical,” Crockett said. “It’s the same argument I brought to you. Wanting to protect Jaimie, knowing it would protect me.”

  “I came here because I thought if he’s after you and he’s after me, well, it means we can at least trust each other.”

  She paused, as if waiting for Crockett to agree.

  “Makes sense,” he said. That didn’t mean he would trust her. Only that her logic had merit.

  “Today I needed to talk to you. I didn’t want to call. Maybe phones are bugged too. So I went to a Wal-Mart first thing this morning and bought this stuff. Found a place to change to disguise myself. Then went and rented the car. I don’t think I was followed. I was thinking—okay, we can work together.”

  “You want to help me now?”

  “Yes. But I’m not good at asking for help, and I need your help too.”

  “Why would someone want to bug your computer?” Crockett didn’t state the obvious. This, too, had to do with Jaimie. He just wanted to see how Mackenzie would answer.

  “That’s what I want you to help me find out.”

  He gave h
er an arched eyebrow. Silent question. She could do furrows. He could do arches.

  She continued, “I don’t know what to do about the computer. I don’t know what to do about the guy following me. I’m scared. Correction. Way beyond scared. Did I mention I fight a combination of obsessive compulsion and paranoia? It means I’m not a trusting person to begin with. Thinking that a person or people have been spying on me, searching my condo, pawing through my clothes—I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

  “Why don’t you go to the police?”

  “Sure. I’ll do that when you go to them with a story about someone trying to hang you. Of all people, you can understand the paranoia that the police might be in on this.”

  He grunted agreement.

  “I decided,” she said, “that if there is one person in the world who has more motivation than I do to find out what’s going on, it’s you. That’s enough for me to trust.”

  “Why don’t you hire a security service for protection?”

  “It’s too easy for whoever’s following me to learn that I’m on to them.”

  “If we are going to be in on this together,” Crockett said, “let’s start with the exorcist.”

  She shook her head. “Let’s not start there. I don’t think you’re ready for the answer.”

  “My neighbor next door is missing,” Crockett said. “I’m about to lose my career and my family. I’m ready for the answer.”

  “You don’t play the part of a bully that well. I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Wonderful. We’re on the same side. Why take over her file? Why the priests? You should know that my only hope is to find out what’s happening, and I’m not going to stop until I find out. Or get killed trying.”

  Mackenzie let out a long sigh. “Maybe. But I think it would be better if you came out to the Bright Lights Center today and talked to Jaimie about it.”

  “If that’s what it’s going to take, tell me when.”

  “Now,” she said. “In the rental Corvette. You drive.”