by Joan Boswell
Willem attempted another lopsided grin. “Sounds great, but,” he ran his hand over his chin, “I’m a man who likes to shave. I feel dirty if I don’t. If you have a razor, I’ll do that and maybe have a shower.”
After the talk of mutilated bodies, thinking of Willem’s body in the shower with rivulets of water coursing over it was a welcome relief.
“Sure. I have hot water, soft towels and a new razor.” She grinned. “I could do candles and soft music too.”
Their eyes met and held. “Another time,” Willem said.
He meant it. Hollis’s heart did a flip flop.
“Would you like help getting your clothes off?” she said and felt a telltale flush warm her face.
“What red-blooded man would refuse an offer like that? Seriously though, I can’t manage my socks and if you unbutton my shirt, I can do the rest.”
She did as she was asked and carefully refrained from stroking his bruised body although, to herself, she acknowledged the strength of the urge. Instead, she did the job quickly and held out a hand to help him up. He leaned heavily on her and took small cautious steps to the bathroom. He hung on to the door frame and staggered to the sink, where he anchored himself to the vanity with one hand and set about his task with the other.
“You’re sure you can manage? Why don’t I turn the shower on and get what you need?” Hollis said.
Willem, shaking slightly, looked as if he wished he hadn’t embarked on this program. “I’ll shave first. Then, if I’m okay, you can come in and start the water.”
Message received. He didn’t want her watching him shave. She closed the bathroom door and waited outside for a few minutes.
“I don’t think I’ll have the shower,” Willem said from behind the closed door. “Could you help me back to bed?”
When he’d lowered himself carefully to the bed, she did up his shirt buttons before she lifted his feet and helped him lie down.
“That was frightening. I’m really weak,” Willem said.
“To be expected. I’m going to make you an easy-to-swallow power drink to start you back on the road to health.”
“I’m in your hands,” Willem said and attempted a roguish grin. “I wish.”
“Me too. All in good time,” Hollis said and hurried to whip up a comforting mixture of banana, yogurt, apple and carrot juice. Once he’d drunk it and taken his pain pills, she encouraged him to sleep again. Five minutes later, he was.
She checked to see who had phoned and picked up a message to call Rhona.
What to do? If Rhona had news about Danson she would have called Candace and Candace would have told Hollis. More likely Rhona had called her because she wanted to know what Hollis was doing. If she contacted Rhona, the detective would ask questions that would be hard to answer truthfully. Hollis shook her head. She had Rhona’s card in her wallet. Maybe later she’d return the call, but right this minute it was phone book time.
* * *
Hollis opened the Smith pages. Why couldn’t the man have had a unique name? Smith—that was a joke. She couldn’t face the idea of calling all the Charles and C Smiths in the book. There had to be an easier path. Who would know where he lived? Of course? The stamp dealer. Should she phone and ask? His reluctance to give her information flashed through her mind. It would be too easy for him to say no and hang up. Face to face, she would do her best to explain why it was important and why he wouldn’t be violating ethical reservations if he did.
She grabbed her bag, left another note for Willem and raced to her truck. As she headed back up Yonge Street, she formulated her speech.
Inside the store, she did a rapid reassessment. The man behind the counter was not the one to whom she’d spoken earlier. No welcoming smile and his, “how can I help you,” did not promise easy access to the information she needed.
“I came earlier today and spoke to another gentleman. Would he be available?”
“I’m here alone this afternoon.”
She repeated her story. He gave her little encouragement, but finally she screwed up her nerve and said, “Could you give me Charles Smith’s address?”
The man, whose long face had remained expressionless during their exchange, paused and examined her. His eyebrows rose and his lips reformed into what could be described as a sardonic smile. “So that you or your accomplices can break in and see if the collection is in the empty house? I wasn’t born yesterday. The answer is no. My brother shouldn’t have told you as much as he did, and I’m certainly not going to share any more information.”
“Thanks anyway,” Hollis said and slunk from the store. Damn. She’d have to make those calls after all.
Back at the apartment, Willem sat on the sofa contem-plating the gold painting.
“That has potential,” he said.
She’d almost forgotten her trouble with the painting. Other issues had taken precedence in the last week.
“I’m having problems with it,” she said.
“Is it one of a series? I’d guess it’s autobiographical, maybe about exploring.”
Hollis thought about it. She hadn’t cottoned on to the fact that it might relate to her own life, although almost all art was self-referential. She’d thought about it as a painting where things were half-hidden, half-revealed. Her life was like that. Almost at the halfway mark, and she hadn’t found the answers she was looking for. Very perceptive of Willem to home in on the ambivalence and ambiguity in her life.
“It is. I thought I was exploring colour as well as burying and retrieving information, but you’re right. Thank you.”
“Any time. I may have a new career as an art critic. So where have you been? Did you find out anything?”
“The identity of the stamp collection’s owner.”
Willem raised an eye brow. “That’s enigmatic.”
“You’re the one who intends to be a lawyer. I’ll share the contents of a will that I read and you can tell me what you think it means. First I have to see where Charles Garfield Smith lived.” She examined Willem. “You had a shower?”
“I did. Now I wish I had clean clothes. I hated putting these back on.” He brushed a hand over his filthy pants.
Would her clothes fit? She stood six feet tall in her stocking feet and owned a number of men’s shirts she used when she painted or made her papier mâché animals.
“Maybe I can do something about that,” she said, heading towards her closet. She pulled out a clean but paint-stained blue shirt.
“You can wear this on top and wrap a towel around your waist. I’ll throw your stuff in the washer in the basement.”
“I accept,” Willem said and slowly levered himself to his feet, took the proffered shirt and shuffled to the bathroom. When he emerged, it almost covered his chest, and he’d draped a white towel like a sarong around his waist. He clutched his bundled clothing.
“Very fetching,” Hollis said, taking the clothes and heading for the door.
When she returned, Willem had returned to bed.
“Anything I can get you?” she asked.
“Every time I do anything, I’m exhausted. My body tells me to take it easy, to take another nap, and I’m listening,” he said.
“If you do want something to eat or drink give a shout,” Hollis said. “I’m going through the phone book searching for Charles Garfield Smith’s address.”
She left the bedroom door ajar and crossed the room to collect a highlighter. MacTee, who’d been lying by the front door, rose when she walked through the room. He stared at her and went back to the door. A glance at the clock and she realized he hadn’t been out since just after she’d spoken to Poppy that morning. The search for Charles Smith would have to wait. She reached for her hoodie and, with MacTee at her heels, set off for a walk.
Indian summer, if that’s what they’d been having, was over. Grey clouds stacked in horizontal layers, a chill wind and a dark afternoon that had become a sombre evening reminded her that November’s dark days had arrived. T
ime to haul out the winter clothes and prepare for the cold.
Deep in thought, she didn’t notice Jack pull up to the curb beside her as she neared the house. The slam of his van’s door didn’t break into her reverie, but his inquiry did.
“How’s the patient?” Jack asked and touched her arm.
She jumped then felt embarrassed at her skittishness.
“Sorry, I was thinking about something. Wasn’t expecting to talk to anyone.”
“How’s your friend doing?”
“Much better. Thanks for your help. Were you coming from practice or work?”
“What?”
“I thought you might be returning from work or a lacrosse practice.”
“Work,” Jack said and peered at the house. “Did the dancer get back?”
His voice betrayed his conviction that a woman Poppy’s age really couldn’t be a legitimate dancer. Since Hollis too had been startled when she’d learned Poppy’s occupation, Jack’s attitude didn’t surprise her.
“She did. Came in on the red-eye from Vancouver this morning.”
By this time they’d reached the door and separated.
“MacTee, sometimes walking you helps me clear my mind. Same thing for meditation. Walking didn’t help, and I haven’t got time for meditation. I’m going to have to wing it with a muddled mind,” Hollis said to the dog when they were back upstairs.
In the apartment, Willem slept with his mouth open, snoring gently.
She pushed the chickens to one side and plunked the massive phone book on her work table.
Smith, Charles.
Should she phone each one and ask for Charles? The Charles she wanted was dead. If a family member answered the phone, her call would be a hurtful reminder of their loss. Other Charles Smiths might also be dead, and that reasoning would apply. For her particular Charles Smith, the only family member who might answer the phone would be Jacob. She was guessing, but she didn’t think he’d been overcome with sorrow when his father died. Anyway, it had to be done because he was the one she wanted.
Trying to locate Charles Smith would be even more tedious than sending the e-mails.
An hour later, she’d made no headway and developed an admiration for telemarketers. There had to be another way. One more thing to try. She moved to her computer, typed in the phone number that had been in the Globe advertisement and went on a reverse search. She hadn’t known how to do this when she’d called the number before.
It worked. She had the address. Now it was time to see if anyone was home.
Twenty-One
Six o’clock on a Friday night in November. She’d wait until seven, when anyone living in the house would have had time to return from work and then she’d scout the place. Meanwhile, she and MacTee would update Candace on her activities.
Candace, clutching a bag of groceries in one hand and guiding Elizabeth up the stairs with the other, reached the top step as Hollis and the dog descended. Hollis thrust out her arms for the groceries, leaving Candace free to fumble in her shoulder bag for her key.
“Tee, Tee,” Elizabeth shouted and swarmed forward to grab the dog’s neck.
MacTee surreptitiously licked her. This was his alternate form of greeting when he didn’t have a toy to present. Elizabeth shrieked. “Kiss, Tee kiss me.”
Candace herded them inside, flicking on lights as they moved to the kitchen. She unpacked hamburger buns, meat and a pre-washed salad bag along with a Spanish onion and a tomato. She waved at the collection, “Want to stay for a hamburger and a salad?”
“Love to, but not tonight. I’m feeding Willem before I embark on a special mission.”
“Willem’s back. That’s great. What happened at the hospital? What mysterious mission are you on?”
Hollis brought her up to date on Willem’s condition, on his information about Super Bug, her own stamp collection investigation and about Charles Smith’s house. “It’s time Poppy came clean about her stamp collection and told us why Charles Smith gave it to her. Why hasn’t she told you about it? And most of all, why did Danson go off to see someone about the stamp?”
“She has the key to all this, and she isn’t talking. It’s as if she’s protecting someone and ignoring the fact that by doing that she may have put her own son in grave danger,” Candace said. She unwrapped the hamburger, tossed it in a bowl and added seasonings. Forming patties as she talked, she said, “What do you think you’ll find tonight?”
“Probably nothing. Don’t get your hopes up. The house may be unoccupied. It may even have been sold. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that, Jacob, Charles’ son lives there.”
Candace, ready to slice tomatoes, stopped with the knife suspended above the cutting board. “Hollis, have you considered that if this was the man Danson talked to before he disappeared, you may be in danger if you confront him?”
Hollis had weighed this possibility. Having read the will with its strange wording, she understood that Jacob might be dangerous. She could think of no other reason for hiding the child’s identity. It partially explained why Poppy had been uncommunicative. However, she believed she might uncover a vital clue leading her to Danson and was willing to gamble that she wouldn’t come to any harm. She ripped a sheet from the memo pad beside the phone, extracted a slip of paper from her pocket and copied the address.
“If I don’t return by nine thirty or ten, phone Rhona Simpson, she’s the detective I know, and bring her up to speed.” She smiled. “It’s great to have a detective on call in case anything bad happens.”
“She’ll be mightily pissed off that you haven’t shared this information; that you’ve trotted off on a wild goose chase on your own.”
“Maybe, but let’s face facts. The Toronto police have not found Danson. Moreover, because they suspect him of killing Gregory, they may have marshalled their forces to locate him. I’m worried that if they think he may be hidden or hiding at Jacob’s, they’ll marshal the heavy artillery. If Jacob has kidnapped Danson, he’s a bold guy, and if he suspects the police are closing in on him, I’m afraid that if he hasn’t already killed Danson, this might compel him do it. I want to find Danson, not collar this guy. You’re right. If Jacob does turn out to be bad news, Rhona won’t be pleased that I didn’t tell her about him.”
Elizabeth stopped further conversation by falling. She’d been leaning on MacTee, and he’d walked away letting her crash to the floor. Her mouth opened on impact, and she howled.
Candace wiped her hands on her apron before scooping Elizabeth into her arms. “Sweetie, dogs aren’t like chairs or tables. You can’t lean on them, because they move. MacTee didn’t mean to hurt you. He’s sorry. Give him a pat and tell him you love him.”
Elizabeth stopped crying. “Tee, see Tee,” she said. After Candace set her down, the toddler wrapped her arms around the dog.
Upstairs in her own kitchen, Hollis found the table set and tomato basil soup simmering on the stove.
“Thought it was time I did something,” Willem said with his half-smile. “Since liquids are my option, I rummaged around and found soup.”
Hollis added bread and grated cheese to the meal.
“Soak the bread in the soup until it’s soft enough to eat. If you cut the cheese in tiny bits you’ll manage it too, and it’ll provide the protein you need.”
They sat down and ate companionably.
“Time for me to go home,” Willem said. However, his tone of voice made it a question not a statement.
Hollis had risen to spoon ice cream into two bowls. She spoke over her shoulder. “Not as far as I’m concerned. However, if you think you should go back and get on with your life, I’ll understand.” What she didn’t say was that she would be quite happy if he stayed for an indefinite period.
“It isn’t that. I must be a nuisance. I’m not used to being dependent.”
“You aren’t.” She brought the dishes to the table. “I worry about the thugs who beat you up. If they had instructions to kill you, somebody i
s not going to be pleased to discover they blew it. I don’t want them coming back to finish the job.”
Willem’s warm hand covered hers. “I don’t either. The mob must have realized that if the unidentified body is Super Bug’s, the police would identify it eventually. The danger may be past. Once the mob bigwigs know the police have identified him, they won’t be interested in me.” He squeezed her hand.
Hollis wanted him to hang on to it forever.
“Can’t hold hands and eat ice cream,” Willem said with a second half-smile and released her hand.
“I’m going out tonight to follow a lead that may take me to Danson.”
“Why don’t you let the police do it?”
“Because I’m afraid they might go the assault route with sirens, guns, loud hailers—the whole nine yards.”
“My god, why would you think that? If the police would react that way, there’s no way you go,” Willem said.
“I don’t think it’ll be that dangerous. I’ve already left the address with Candace. If you don’t hear from me by ten, you both have my permission to phone Detective Rhona Simpson and tell her what’s happening and where I’ve gone.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go, but in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve become perfectly aware that you’ll do whatever you have to do to locate this guy. All I can do is wish you luck,” Willem said.
“I’m taking MacTee. There’s no better way to incon-spicuously assess a neighbourhood than to have a dog. When we walk dogs at night, we take a flashlight to see what they’ve done.”
Willem wrinkled his nose.
“Sorry, more information than you needed. Anyway, I’ve often thought burglars should employ dogs when they case a house or a neighbourhood. A well-dressed thief accompanying a dog would attract no attention whatsoever.”
“Maybe that’s what they do. Who knows how they zero in on a target.”
Hollis wrote the address and left it beside the phone. She removed MacTee’s leash from the hook beside the door. When she did this, he shot into his anticipatory dance. He leaped in the air with four paws off the floor and rebounded when they hit the floor.
