“Hmm. The plot thickens. How do you feel about snooping on them?”
Part of me wanted nothing to do with Michael Taylor. I didn’t think I could even look at him without wanting to throw up.
But deep down, I knew Grace was right. If we didn’t get involved, the police would never find the killer. And then I had an idea. “What if I hire Jim Nelson to keep an eye on Michael and those men who gave Anna May money?”
“That sounds great.” Grace clapped her hands. “Does he have enough resources to follow six men?”
I remembered that small, cramped office and wondered if he had any other partners. “I’ll ask how many he can handle. I still remember the names on that list. I know that Ray Centis would be at the top of my list of suspects. I’ll rank them and then decide which ones are priority one.”
“This is starting to sound exciting,” Grace’s eyes lit up. “I wish I could blog about our investigation. It has the makings of a novel and maybe even a feature film.”
“Don’t you dare! We don’t need any attention directed our way. I feel uncomfortable keeping this from your mom. She should know what’s going on.”
“No! You’ll only upset her. She’s not as strong as Carrie Ann and Melly Grace. And she still hasn’t recovered from Anna May’s bullying. That woman made her life hell since they started living together.”
I thought of my own need to protect my mother. It seemed to be a trait many of us shared, one that had crossed over into the next generation of women.
“I want to get to Toronto before rush hour.” She rose and headed toward the door. “Give me a call if you find out anything at all about those men. I’ll let you know when I finish decoding Anna May’s diary.”
I walked with her to the front door.
Before she left, she hugged me again. While I had never regretted my decision not to have children, today I wondered what it would be like to have a daughter, especially one as beautiful, intelligent and kind-hearted as Grace Godfrey Robinson.
Chapter 21
I went back into my office and called Nickel City Security. I got the answering machine and left a message asking Jim if I could drop over later in the afternoon. I decided not to call Adele. All I could think about was the investigation Grace and I had decided to launch. Instead, I heated up a Michelina dinner and worked through lunch.
My first client of the afternoon arrived. Janice Evans, a retired boomer. I perked up. This was the distraction I needed to tide me over until the end of the day.
Unlike the younger clients, Janice volunteered very little information. I had to pry it out of her. It took over half an hour to find out the details of her life. The fifty-nine-year-old retired nurse was already bored after one year of retirement. She and her husband had taken a Mediterranean cruise last summer, and Janice had spent the month of September visiting a friend in Provence. The rest of the time, she puttered around her house and garden.
“I need more structure and variety, and I don’t know how to get it,” she said as she clenched and unclenched her hands. “It seems all I do is clean the house, make meals, do laundry, and visit my mother.” She sighed. “There aren’t any grandchildren yet.”
“What had you hoped to do during retirement?” I wondered about her expectations and wanted to know just how realistic they were.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She sighed and looked out the small window. “Thought I would be traveling more, at least three or four times a year. Maybe taking a few cooking courses. Improve my French. Volunteer.” She managed a tight smile. “I know I’ll be busier when the grandchildren come.”
“The grandchildren aren’t here yet. And I would be very careful about making that kind of commitment. You don’t want another full-time job for the next five years.” I thought of the many retirees who were now parenting the next generation of children. Some of them relished their new role while others were exhausted and counting the days until the children went to school full time.
“My husband has made it clear he doesn’t want a full-time babysitting job.” She made a face. “I think that’s why he isn’t planning to retire for a while.”
A touchy subject I did not wish to address. I was not a marriage counselor and, given my own track record with relationships, had no intention of helping others in that arena. I decided to focus on her retirement goals. “Are you planning any other trips?”
“We’re going to Mexico in January, and I have an open invitation to visit Marie in Provence—” Her voice faltered. “The days are much too long.”
“What about the volunteering?”
“I’m pretty active in my church, and I’ve been helping with some local fundraising events, but I don’t find any of that stimulating. Too many meetings and committee work. And lots and lots of politics.”
I paused as I checked my notes. “Check into cooking or language courses at Cambrian College. Ask your friend in Provence to check out Cordon Bleu courses in France.”
While Janice smiled and nodded at the right places, I knew that she wouldn’t rush home and start implementing any of these suggestions. Could she be depressed? New retirees are disappointed when life on golden pond turns out to be as exciting as watching grass grow.
I decided to try another approach. “Do you swim, golf, ski…?”
“I’m not that athletic. I thought of joining a gym, but I didn’t like any of the ones I visited. They remind me too much of high school Phys Ed which I hated with a passion.”
“You could do yoga. It’s very relaxing and much easier on the joints. I go to Jean Taylor’s studio regularly.” At least I did until recently. Regardless of my feelings toward Jean, I had no qualms recommending her to any of my clients.
“I could do that.”
“Are you getting out each day? You could incorporate a twenty-minute walk into your schedule.”
“I try to consolidate all my trips into three days a week,” she said. “It saves on gas.”
I shook my head. “Get out each day. You need to interact with people.”
Janice forced a smile. “I should go. I promised my mother I would drive her to her doctor’s appointment.”
I handed her several brochures. “Give us a call if you want to schedule more appointments.” As I watched her leave, I wondered if she would return.
A puzzled Belinda came into my office after the last client left. “A woman called from Nickel City Security. She said that Jim would be available any time after four-thirty. Are you upgrading the alarm system?”
She must have assumed Jim Nelson handled that type of security. Just as well. I didn’t want to arouse any of her suspicions, which could feed the gossip mills of two separate generations.
“It doesn’t hurt to research other options.” I pointed toward the back alley. “We could use more lights and security back there.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost four. Why don’t we call it a day? I can pick up any calls that come in now.”
Belinda left within minutes. I tidied up, checked my email messages and left shortly afterward. I considered walking over, but still felt apprehensive about the back alley. It wouldn’t hurt to beef up the security and the lighting.
I drove over to the other plaza and parked my car at a distance. This time, a receptionist greeted me when I entered the office. The young woman had a hard look about her—blue-black hair asymmetrically cut with pale skin, heavily made-up eyes and piercings. She wore a black turtleneck which probably covered up multiple tattoos and more piercings. But her smile was authentic and lit up her face.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “How can I help you?” Her pleasant voice belied her appearance.
“I’m Gilda Greco. I’m here to see Jim.”
“You’ve got a four-thirty with him.” She nodded toward the closed door. “He’s on the phone right now. You can take a seat over there.” She pointed toward two chairs.
The office had undergone a major transformation since the last time I had visited. There were no loose files,
odors or remnants of food. And there was a fresh coat of paint on the walls along with four Monet prints. I smiled at the young woman as I read her name plate—Mel Nelson.
She flashed me another beautiful smile. “He’s my dad.”
I gestured toward the walls. “And did you do all of this?” I watched her nod enthusiastically. “You’ve done a lovely job.”
Mel beamed. Before she could make any further comments, the door opened. Jim frowned and motioned for me to follow. As soon as I sat down, he started speaking. “What can I do for you this afternoon, Miss Greco? Doing more research for your boyfriend?”
I winced at the mention of Carlo. Jim appeared hostile toward me and didn’t sound too thrilled about Carlo. I wondered if Carlo or one of the constables had taken him to task when they visited last week. “I want you to follow these men. Let me know what they’re up to.” I handed the list to him.
He gave the list a quick glance and then threw it down on his desk. “Lady, you’re barking up the wrong tree. These guys had nothing to do with the murders.” He paused. “I’m assuming you’re still on that kick.”
“Yes, I’m still on that kick. And what makes you so sure that these men are innocent?”
“For starters, five of them are my buds.” He picked up the list and pointed to the five men who had given Anna May money. “I don’t investigate my friends.”
I wondered if we had been at school together. I didn’t recall his name or his face, but over three decades had passed, and he had not aged well.
He smiled, but seemed distracted. “I was at Sudbury Secondary when you were there, but our paths didn’t cross.”
I didn’t want to go down Memory Lane with Jim, so I decided to focus on the task at hand. “What about Michael Taylor?”
“The photographer?” He raised a brow at me. “Are you serious?”
I pushed the list toward him. “Four women are dead, and nothing is being done about it. I think a professional was involved, and that’s why I want to hire you.”
“You think that Michael Taylor is a professional?”
“He may not have committed the crimes, but I think he knows who did.” Or Jean knows. That would be one explanation for her bizarre behavior. “That’s why I want him followed. I believe he will lead us to the murderer.”
“Sounds farfetched to me, but it’s your money and if that’s how you want to spend it.” He paused. “Now if I had your money, I wouldn’t be wasting it on a police investigation.”
“What would you be spending it on?” The career counselor in me wondered what he would be doing if he didn’t have to work.
“I’d close up this business and get out of Sudbury. Start all over somewhere warm, somewhere where that little girl of mine could get a fresh start.” Jim’s face softened. “She’s had too many hard breaks for one lifetime. She deserves a better deal.”
I wondered about Mel’s past, but didn’t want to pry. In spite of appearances, Mel Nelson was still the apple of her father’s eye.
He scowled at me. “Did your boyfriend ask for your help? Is that what this is all about?”
“Carlo Fantin is not my boyfriend, and he did not ask me to get involved with the investigation. It’s a personal choice I have made, and I need your help. Now do you want to do it or not?” I had switched to my teacher voice.
Jim sat up straighter. “Let’s get something straight from the beginning. I don’t want police constables at my door. I’ll report to you and only you once a week until you decide to terminate the investigation. As for my rates—”
“Bill me at the end of the investigation.” I had no intention of bickering about money. “When can you start?”
“How about tomorrow?”
I nodded in agreement. We shook hands, and I left the office.
Exhausted, I forced myself to stay awake until after supper. My first full week in almost two years. Thankfully, I hadn’t made any plans for the evening.
Chapter 22
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Adele and I drove to Sudbury’s first holistic fair. Teresa, Laura’s daughter, was one of the organizers and very keen to help the practitioners in the city. All the booths had been allocated a few months before I decided to open ReCareering. Teresa had promised me a booth if one of the participants canceled, but that had not happened. For the time being, I was content to visit and observe.
Teresa and her committee had selected an excellent location. The Howard Johnson was one of the older hotels in the city, located within walking distance of downtown and near Highway 69. And more important, there was lots of free parking. When Adele and I arrived, we found the large hall bustling with activity. Laura and Teresa waved to us from across the room. We made our way there, nodding to a number of friends and acquaintances along the way.
Teresa jumped up and rushed toward me, arms outstretched, and gave me a tight hug. “I’m so glad you could come.” She gestured toward the crowd. “Isn’t this a great turnout?”
“You’ve got a full house here,” I replied.
“We’ll hold the fair over two, maybe three days next year. And maybe we’ll book a hall at the university,” Teresa said.
Laura touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Calm down. Focus on today. Stay present.”
We laughed. Teresa is a Reiki master who specializes in soul intuitive readings and mind clearing. Usually, she’s the one telling everyone else to calm down.
“Let’s pick our workshops,” Adele said.
I studied the day’s program and indicated my choices: Balancing Your Energy Field, Blossoming Heart Healing, and The Forgiving Heart. Adele picked All About Reflexology and Getting Clear. Laura would be spending most of the day manning Teresa’s booth. We decided to go for lunch at twelve thirty.
Adele and I spent some time visiting all the booths. I recognized many of modalities represented: personal health coaches, nutritional counselors, acupuncturists, emotional freedom practitioners, Reiki masters, reflexologists, and shamanic healers.
I spent some time with the young woman who did akashic records readings. These were new to me, and I listened as she explained, “Akashic records are the record of everything that has ever happened as well as the possibilities for the future. During the reading, you can ask questions about your life, relationships, work…whatever you want and I will reveal the answers. That is, if you give me permission to access your akashic records.” She handed me her card. “If you want, we could do a twenty-minute reading here.”
I fingered her card. “I’m attending a couple of workshops this morning. I’ll drop by later in the afternoon.”
As we walked away, Adele whispered, “You’re not serious about that?”
“I’m curious.” While I didn’t usually go for New Age readings, I was intrigued by the thought of someone accessing records in my brain.
My heart beat faster as we approached the largest booth in the room. Dressed in royal-blue-and-black matching outfits and flashing perfect smiles, Jean and Michael Taylor stood behind a beautifully designed booth. Blue balloons and streamers showcased the yoga clothing, accessories and books from Jean’s studio. Jean came out from behind the booth and hugged both Adele and me. Michael smiled and nodded in approval.
I longed to change direction, but I forced a smile as Jean shook a finger at me. “I haven’t seen you at yoga for a while. I hope you’re still not upset with me. You need to relax, and let things go. And you need to get out of that office. Remember, you need balance in your life.”
I had been too busy to think about yoga, but I knew I could never go back to Jean’s classes. It wouldn’t be the same. “Things should settle down in a week or two.” I changed the subject. “Your booth is amazing.”
“We have Sofia to thank for that,” Michael said. “When she heard about this fair, she volunteered to organize our booth. She arrived at the crack of dawn and spent over two hours putting the booth together. She left about thirty minutes ago.”
Why would Sofia g
o out of her way to help Jean? I had many questions I longed to ask my cousin, but I had to tread carefully. And I had to watch what I said about Roberto. She had always been very sensitive to criticism and would bristle at the slightest negative comment.
“Sofia did a fabulous job.” I glanced at my watch.
Adele picked up on the cue. “The workshop on The Forgiving Heart is starting in a few minutes.”
As we made our way to the smaller hall, Adele whispered, “You’re not that comfortable with them. Is it him?”
Before I could reply, one of Adele’s friends approached and hugged her. We spent the next two hours listening to practitioners talk about forgiving hearts and being open to change. While I took notes, I realized most of the information was not new to me. But the physical act of taking notes distracted me from troublesome thoughts about Sofia, Jean, and Michael.
We met with Laura in the main lobby. Adele volunteered to drive. Within minutes, we arrived at Culpeppers. We managed to get a booth at the far end of the restaurant, away from the entrance. We sat down and studied the menus. Adele and I decided on large green salads with grilled chicken while Laura selected the club sandwich and fries. She had been working all morning and decided to treat herself to a substantial lunch.
After the waitress had taken our orders, Laura spoke, “I’m so glad we decided to eat out. I needed a break from all that positive energy and body heat. We’re packed in like sardines, and you can barely hear yourself think.”
“Teresa and the other organizers must be pleased,” I said.
“Everyone’s ecstatic. Kudos to that lovely daughter of yours.” Michael Taylor appeared at our table. He smiled at Laura and patted her on the shoulder. He then included all of us in the conversation. “And how wonderful to run into the three of you here. May I join you?”
I watched as Laura’s face paled and Adele raised her eyebrows. None of us liked this man, but good manners prevailed, and we all nodded in agreement. Adele spoke on our behalf, “Of course.”
A Season for Killing Blondes Page 15
