“That’s why he was still hanging around when you got there.”
“It was getting light. The sun was up. He couldn’t find it in the dark.”
“So maybe he bought it for her. Paid a lot of money and wanted it back.”
“Or maybe for more than the money. Maybe for what it might tell us about him. Jim said the ring was from Bentley’s. Whoever bought it for her paid a lot of money. And if he bought it new, there would be a record of the sale.”
“Do you think Henry will come back with the ring?”
“I doubt it.”
“So why send him and Bop to look for it?”
“To give me time to think about what to do next.”
“I can take a hint,” Margie said, and she closed the door behind her.
Maxine began by phoning Pam Rosart at the Ainslie Inn to ask another favor. Then she called out to Margie, “How do you think Henry would feel about shaving off his mustache?”
NINE
Sparky’s Cycle Works was in two buildings in east Toronto. One, all white brick and chrome, displayed new motorcycles through its plate-glass windows. The other was an old frame building next door. A faded sign over its door said Sparky’s Repairs. Instead of chrome and tiles, it had worn wood floors covered with tools and grease.
Arnie Sparks had launched Sparky’s more than forty years earlier. It had become a favorite of outlaw motorcycle gangs in the city. Sparks was good at fixing things but not at running a business. Almost broke, he had sold the part of the business that handled new bikes and kept the service and repair side to pay his debts.
Martin Zeyer was often in the repair shop, but not as a mechanic. He paid Sparky to let him be there. This let him claim he had a job at Sparky’s, which explained his income. Zeyer also paid for the use of a telephone in Sparky’s repair shop. Zeyer had his own cell phone, but it was for friends. The shop phone was for business.
It was his cell phone that rang the next morning when Martin Zeyer was leaning against a work bench, sipping coffee. Zeyer set aside his cup and answered in his usual way. “Who’s this?”
The man on the other end sounded drunk. Or sleepy. Zeyer couldn’t be sure which. “Hey, yeah,” he said. “I’m trying to reach a guy named Zeyer, see.”
“Who are you?” Zeyer didn’t know the voice, and he didn’t trust anyone he didn’t already know.
“Okay, okay. See, my name is Casey, Hank Casey. Is this Zeyer? You don’t know me, but—”
“Damn right I don’t know you. What do you want? Make it quick—I’m a busy guy.”
“Yeah, I figured that. Busy making all that money.”
Zeyer’s face grew hard. “What money?”
“Whatever it took to buy this ring. I figure ten, maybe twelve thousand retail, right? Am I close?”
Zeyer looked around to make sure no one was nearby. He lowered his voice. “I don’t know anything about any ring.”
“Sure you do. I’m looking at it now. Standard cut, about two carats, looks like VVS2 clarity, platinum Bentley’s mount. Good taste you got. Or maybe it was your girlfriend’s.”
“So you found some ring. What makes you think it’s mine?”
“The laser etching.”
“The what?”
“You don’t know about that? Most people don’t. See, I used to be a jeweler. Good one too. But I got greedy, fenced some goods to get drugs. So I got caught. Did time and now nobody will hire me. Now I’m up here cutting grass at the Ainslie Inn. I spend a lot of time looking at stuff. Mostly stuff on the ground.”
“What’s that—” Zeyer began.
The caller kept talking. “See, good stones like this one, they get lasered. Cut a code into the bottom of the stone. So’s they can be traced. The insurance people like it. And I still got some friends in the business. So I put it under my loupe—”
“Your what?”
“My glass for getting a close look at stones. Only thing I kept from my jewelry business. So I use it to read the code, call it in to Bentley’s, and they tell me it’s yours. Or used to be. The ring, I mean. I got a chain too. Did she wear this ring around her neck on it? The chain, I mean? Would’ve looked better on her finger.”
Zeyer took a deep breath. “How’d you find me?”
“Not a whole bunch of Zeyers in the book. What is that, your name? Sounds like a country in Africa—”
Zeyer cut him off. “What do you want?”
“Well, I could use a few grand.” The caller’s voice got stronger, sounding more sure of itself. “See, I don’t know if you heard, but a woman got herself beaten up pretty bad and drowned here couple of days ago. The word I get is she was wearing a ring like this one. On a silver chain around her neck. The law’s saying they’d like this ring pretty bad. ’Course, they won’t pay me for it, and there’s no way I’ll try to sell it retail. That’s what got me two years in Millhaven. I figure maybe she had it coming.” The caller paused. “Are you gettin’ my drift?”
Zeyer looked around again. “Keep talking,” he said.
“Now, even if it’s not your ring, see, I figure you could give me a couple big ones for it. You could come up here and get it. Then you could fence it in the big city for four, five thousand easy. Double your money, right?”
“You want me to ride all that way on your say-so?”
“Okay, okay. I ain’t goin’ nowhere else to sell it. So you don’t want it, I’ll kinda find it all over again. Down under them pines near the shore. Where that girl was beaten up and drowned. I’ll give it to the cops and be a hero. They’ll track it just like I did and come talkin’ to you. If you’re cool with that, it’s okay with me. I’m not too fond of cops myself, but…”
A long pause.
The caller said, “You still there?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zeyer said.
“Well, if that’s how you feel…”
“What’s your name?”
“I told you. Hank. So you comin’ or not?”
“If I want that…that ring,” Zeyer said, “and I show up with the cash, what do we do?”
There was a smile in the caller’s voice. “Well, see, I’m workin’ alone in the back garden today. Nobody’s ever around. You come by, you’ll see me in a green uniform. Maybe holdin’ a rake. Just walk up and introduce yourself. Can you get here by three? ’Cause I’m finished my shift then. I don’t want to hold this too long, you know?”
“I’m not saying I know anything about any damn ring,” Zeyer said.
“Make it around three, okay? I need to get rid of it one way or the other. If it’s not to you, well…” And he hung up.
Martin Zeyer stood with the phone in his hand, thinking. Then he called across to Sparky, “You got my cycle ready?”
Sparky walked toward him, cleaning his hands on a rag. “Had it ready an hour ago. Where you riding to? You pickin’ up some stuff?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“You’re not bringing it in here, right?”
“I’m not picking up anything. I just got to meet a guy. Up north.” He forced a smile. “Just an easy ride there and back on a nice day.”
• • •
Before leaving, Zeyer stopped at his rented room. From the freezer in his kitchen he took out an opened bag of frozen peas. Beneath the peas were bundles of twenty-dollar bills. He took out a bundle, closed the bag and put it back in the freezer. The money went into an inside pocket of his leather jacket.
He planned to come back with both the money and the ring.
TEN
Most people who visited the Ainslie Inn were into sports. In summer they swam, sailed, golfed and played tennis. In winter they skied and skated. The food was good, and the rooms were cozy.
In summer, much was made of the inn’s gardens. Benches and tables were set alongside a rose garden at the back of the inn, facing a large, open lawn. The garden area had been set aside for future use. If the inn were to grow in size, this area would provide spac
e for expansion. Meanwhile, it often sat empty. A wooden shed at the back of the garden served as storage for tools, plant food and equipment.
Martin Zeyer arrived at the Ainslie Inn before three that afternoon. It had been an easy ride north. More than easy—it had been fun. Someday, he thought while he rode, he might buy a place in Muskoka. When he made enough money selling drugs, he could retire there. Then he laughed at his own idea. Retire? Hardly. He was going to raise hell every day of his life.
He parked his cycle in the lot and avoided walking through the lobby. The fewer people who saw him, the better. He walked around the building and entered the garden through the street gate. He stopped to pat the roll of money inside his jacket. Then he strolled through the garden, trying to look interested in flowers and grass.
The only other person in the garden was a man in a green shirt and matching shorts, raking the grass. He wore a straw hat and cheap sunglasses. The guy’s a loser, Zeyer said to himself. It’s gotta be him.
Zeyer looked from side to side as he approached the man. When he was close enough, he said, “Your name Hank?”
The gardener kept raking and said, without looking up, “Who wants to know?”
Zeyer wanted to punch the skinny old loser in the face and teach him some respect. Instead he said, “I’m a guy looking for jewelry. Know where I can buy some?”
The gardener stopped raking. He rested his hands on top of the rake, looked at Zeyer and then away. Keeping his voice low, he said, “I know where you can get some. For free.”
Zeyer forced a smile. “Free’s good. Where do I get free jewelry?”
“Well, you see…” The gardener began raking the lawn again. “You gotta walk to them roses back there.” He lifted his head and nodded back toward the inn.
Zeyer waited for the man to say more. When he didn’t, Zeyer barked, “I don’t want any damn roses!”
“Not gonna get any.” The man in the green shirt and shorts kept raking. “You pick them flowers and you’re gonna get yourself in trouble. Can’t pick flowers around here. Buy ’em at the florist shop inside. That’s what you do, you want flowers.”
Zeyer stood glaring at the man. Finally he walked closer, so close that the gardener stepped back. Zeyer spoke in a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t come for any damn roses. You know what I’m here for. Hand it over or I’ll put that rake someplace where it hurts.”
The gardener seemed to think about that. Then he said, “You bring the money?”
Zeyer slapped the bulge in his jacket. “Yeah, I did. So what’s this about free? What’s free? You show me what I want, I give you the cash. I don’t even know if you got the thing, right? You show me you got it, I’ll give you cash and go.”
“I’m just tryin’ to prove I’m on the up and up,” the gardener said. “We gotta trust each other, right? Am I right? I gotta trust you got the money, and you gotta trust I’ve got… the thing. The thing you came for.” He raised an arm and pointed to the rose garden at the back of the Ainslie Inn. “You go back there to the pink hybrid tea—”
“The what?”
“The pink rosebush in the far corner. Go behind it, see. That’s where the chain is. On the shady side. It’s yours. That’s the first part, right? To prove I got it. The other thing, I mean. What you come for.”
“I don’t want the chain. You know what I want.”
The gardener lowered his voice. “You think I’m gonna hand it over out here?” He looked around, still talking. “And you’re gonna hand over all that money out in the open? Where anybody can see us? Listen, my mother, she didn’t raise no dummies. Thought you were a smart guy.”
Zeyer made a fist. “You’re gonna be a dead guy if you don’t get to the point.”
“I’m gettin’ there, I’m gettin’ there.” The gardener bent forward to whisper again. “You get the chain, you know I’m on the level. That’s why it’s there. To prove it, see? I found ’em together. You get it, you’ll know I’ve got the—” The gardener looked around. “What you come for. Then we can trust each other, right? Am I right?”
When Zeyer said nothing the gardener went on.
“I’ll give you what you come for in there.” He nodded toward the shed. “Wouldn’t expect you to go in there unless you know I’m on the level. See, I’m tryin’ to do things right, okay? I know what it’s like to stay away from the law, not let ’em catch you at anything.” The gardener turned to walk away toward the shed. “I’ll be in there waiting. The chain’s free. The other thing isn’t. So bring the cash.”
Zeyer watched the man walk to the shed and enter it. This guy’s smarter than I thought, he said to himself. He never mentioned the ring. Anybody listening would have no idea what we’re talking about. Sounds like he was telling the truth about having dealt with the law. He must have found the ring and the chain together.
Zeyer had searched for them in the dark among the pines. He couldn’t see his own feet, it was so dark. When the sun came up, they must have been right there in plain sight, the chain and the ring.
Just like Lana was. Out in the water. Sexy, stupid, dead Lana.
Walking back to the rose garden, Zeyer tried again to look like a guest. He stopped to stare up at the inn. Each room had a balcony, and some rooms had hot tubs. Too bad it wasn’t him and Lana who had stayed here.
She had it coming. That’s what he told himself as he walked. That’s what he had been telling himself since it happened. She had it coming.
He walked faster as he got closer to the rosebush in the shady corner.
She’d made him do it. If she hadn’t tried to make him jealous, she’d still be around. It was her fault. Not his.
His hands were shaking when he reached the garden and stopped, as though admiring the roses. Then he turned to look around him. The garden was as empty as when he had arrived. From the pool on the other side of the resort he heard laughter, splashing and music.
In two strides he was behind the bush, in the shadow of the building. And there it was—the silver chain strung across low branches of the rosebush. Lana had put the ring on that cheap chain after he bought it for her. He’d wanted her to wear it on her finger. When you tell me you want to marry me, she had said, it will go on my finger.
Yeah? he had said to her. Well, in that case it’ll be around your neck for one hell of a long time. It had been there for three weeks. He was dumb to buy it just to show her that he could, he thought. And she was even dumber to do and say the things she did.
He knelt to take the chain from the bush and slip it into the pocket of his jeans. He stood and looked around. The garden was still empty. The gardener in his stupid green outfit was going into the shed.
He thought about that. Who else might be in there with him? Could this be a trap?
Neither of them had mentioned a ring. It was worth the risk. And the guy had been straight, showing him the chain. He must have the ring. Might have to get a little rough, getting the ring and keeping the cash. But he could handle this loser. And what could the dude do? Run to the police? Complain about some guy taking a ring that he should have handed over himself?
No, he won’t, Zeyer told himself. If I have to, I’ll give him a couple of slaps on the side of the head and get it for nothing. But he’s not getting any money. Not if I can help it.
He smiled to himself as he walked.
He’d hide the ring and wait a few months. Then he might sell it for five, maybe six grand. He knew a guy who would pay that much.
Or maybe he’d find another sexy Lana. A better one, nice enough that he’d give her the ring. Somebody who wouldn’t tease him. Somebody who’d believe he could afford to buy her stuff like that. Somebody who wouldn’t run off two weeks later for a weekend with an ex-cop. A dumb cop who just might take the fall for killing her.
Now that would be neat. A cop getting life for something he didn’t do.
He started to mount the steps to the door of the garden shed.
Sometimes things work out better tha
n you expect.
He reached for the door and opened it without knocking.
ELEVEN
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. When they did, he saw the gardener sitting behind a table with a deck of cards. Behind him hung several garden tools—rakes, shovels, pitchforks.
Zeyer looked around. Bags of lawn food and fertilizer were stacked against the wall to his left. The wall on the right was covered with charts and calendars. Some were hanging in front of a power lawn mower and a large trash can. One was a poster for a tractor company. It showed a green tractor among giant daisies. For flowers or forage, this is the one! the poster said.
Zeyer sniffed the air. The place smelled of dead grass.
“You find what you’re looking for?” the gardener said. He was dealing cards on the table. He didn’t look up as he spoke.
Zeyer walked to the bags of plant food and weed killer. He looked behind them, making sure they were alone. “Where is it?” he said.
The gardener scooped the cards into a stack and handed it to Zeyer. “You wanna pick a card?” he said.
“Do I want what?” Zeyer snarled.
The gardener spread the cards in his hand. “Go ahead. Pick a card. Any card.”
“Are you nuts? You know what I came for. Where is it?”
“I’ve been working on this trick for a week—”
Zeyer slapped the cards from the gardener’s hand. They flew through the air and onto the wooden floor. Zeyer’s other hand reached across the table and grabbed the man’s shirt. “You think you’re some kind of clown?” he said. “Well, you’ll be a dead clown unless you get me that ring.” He pushed the gardener back into his chair.
“Gonna do to me what you did to that woman?” the gardener said. He smoothed the front of his shirt. “The one you killed for the ring?”
“Is that what they think? That I did it to get the ring back?”
“Looked like that to me. Told you, I know diamonds and things. I’m out there the other day, look down, and there’s ten, fifteen thousand dollars at my feet. Ring like that, you don’t see every day. You didn’t come up here for what it’s worth, did you? You came for what it could prove. Somebody would know you bought it for her, I’ll bet. They found it, they’d be on you like mud on a hog, the cops. Where’d you get that kind of cash anyway?”
Murder Among the Pines Page 5
