Gina started. “You mean like prison?”
Becki cocked her head. “That’s one possibility. I can think of other places too.”
A pause.
“Be careful, Gina. I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”
“You aren’t suggesting we let this go, are you?”
Becki shook her head. “We have to try to do something. The fact that we discovered her body makes us suspects, whatever Karl says.”
“Then her killer must be found. I don’t want this hanging over my head.” So far, Karl had managed to keep this out of the Toronto papers. But it was only a matter of time.
“I’m planning to do a little sleuthing from my end,” said Becki. “We just both need to be careful. Let Tony know what you’re doing, and where you are at all times.”
Gina pulled the suitcase off the bed to the floor. “The last part should be easy. But I’m not looking forward to telling him what we’re doing.”
Chapter 10
From: Gina Monroe
Sent: June-10-14 7:15 AM
To: Rebekkah Green
Subject: LOVED IT!
Hi Becki,
That was fun! I loved spending time with you and Karl and I loved, loved, loved the shower you threw me! What a great way to kick off the summer! I miss you and Black Currant Bay already. Look forward to seeing you again in just a little over 2 weeks!
Thanks again,
XO Gina
From: Rebekkah Green
Sent: June-10-14 2:30 PM
To: Gina Monroe
Subject: YOU ARE SOOO WELCOME
Hi Gina,
Totally my pleasure throwing that little shindig! I had fun too. I have to tell you that guests have been commenting about how much they enjoyed your shower and I can tell by their expression that you have them completely under your spell. Forever fans.
How did Tony react when you told him you were going to try and find out more about Louisa through her stashed collection of designer clothes? I know you were imagining when you left here that he wouldn’t be happy about it. I really hope you’re wrong.
Thought you’d be interested to know that before I even started asking around about Louisa on this end, a tiny piece of the puzzle seems to have fallen into place on its own. Remember that guy we spotted on Louisa’s property on Friday? Well, Saturday while you and I were partying it up, a man came into Beautiful Things and talked about hiring us down the road to decorate a sales centre/model home for a new waterfront development coming to town.
Anne, who you remember was minding the store, says this Douglas Spellman fellow has been buying up as many waterfront properties as he can get a hold of, all on the hush hush. His initial proposal to the Black Currant Bay Planning Board is for a community of 100 town homes. Get this. Each town home will be built above a boathouse. His spiel: Small-town Black Currant Bay—Port to the World.
According to him, new homeowners will have access to a private sandy beach, tennis courts… All very exclusive. He thinks he’ll soon be at the pre-sell stage and is hoping to hire local firms such as ours for construction etc. in order to help with community relations. Gina, I’m telling you, it’s the first I’ve heard of it.
Anyway, I’m betting it was Mr. Spellman we saw scouting Louisa’s property. Probably figures a deceased person’s land is easily negotiated. How does he even know Louisa lived on the waterfront?
Whoa, have I gotten off subject! A heartfelt “you’re sooo welcome” to the loveliest bride-to-be in all of Ontario!
♥ Becki
PS Thanks for giving us a sneak peek of your wedding dress. I’m still dazzled!
From: Gina Monroe
Sent: June-12-14 7:18 AM
To: Rebekkah Green
Subject: TONY WAS NOT HAPPY
Hi Becki,
Tony said I should keep my nose out of things that are way out of my element. It’s like he thinks I’m good for the weather and for looking good and for…well you know what men are always obsessed with…and that’s it that’s all. I am so pissed!
Okay. Calm down, Gina. I’m trying to get a hold of myself here as you can tell. The worst part of it is I was upfront with Tony—I believe in open, honest communication between partners after all—and yet here I am, and I haven’t told you this yet, suspecting for a while now that Tony is not being honest and open with me.
Becki, you know that I’m intuitive. That I have a knack for interpreting signs, be they weather-related or not. That’s why I’m sure I’ll dig up something about Louisa by talking to clients and owners of some of the stores down here. That’s also why I’m sure that Tony has secretly returned to his Canadian Security Intelligence Service job. After he promised he was happy working as an architect.
Trust.
It’s the most important thing in a relationship. I bet Karl doesn’t keep secrets from you.
XO Gina
From: Rebekkah Green
Sent: June-12-14 10:30 AM
To: Gina Monroe
Subject: TONY
Oh Gina,
I’m sorry you’re upset and I feel responsible since it’s me that got you involved in the Louisa thing in the first place.
Yes, Karl has kept secrets from me. I’m trying to train him never to do it again.
A man seems to think that what his partner doesn’t know won’t hurt. Often he won’t talk about what’s going on until whatever it is is over with, figuring that the end result is all that matters. In the meantime, his partner knows something’s not right, and of course, she feels left out, unappreciated and imagines the worst.
Am I getting any of this right?
Hope you and Tony straighten this out. I know he loves you, Gina, and you love him too. If not, you wouldn’t be so angry right now.
Becki
Chapter 11
Tony didn’t answer his phone when Gina called after work. He wasn’t in the condo when Gina got home from the studio. She reread the hand-written note he had left on the black granite countertop. He’d obviously written it before he made the call to Black Currant.
Something came up. Have to catch a plane. Call you when I can. Sorry.
It was the ‘sorry’ that gave it away. Gina was pretty sure he had never said ‘sorry’ in his entire life.
This meant he was doing something he shouldn’t be. And Gina had a pretty good idea what that would be.
Yup, he was feeling plenty guilty, all right.
Gina dropped her keys on the counter. She threw her purse on the bar stool, kicked off her Manolo heels and then walked over to the floor to ceiling windows.
The city looked grey tonight. Twilight was being masked by thin clouds. Still, the lights of the city underneath the clouds were starting to twinkle.
It did little to soothe her frustration. And yes, if she were being honest, her fear.
For if there was one thing that scared Gina above everything else, it was Tony going back to his old job. The one nobody talked about. The one he had promised to give up.
Good thing she was fully occupied for the next few days. Tomorrow was a full day of work. And Saturday, she would have lunch with two of the women from her mother’s hospital charity committee.
In the meantime, she would try to find out where Tony had gone.
The Bloor Street Diner was a fixture in Toronto. In the 80s, it had been a hip black and pink resto located on the second floor beside Holt Renfrew, that bastion of retail couture. Some years ago, it moved across the street to the Manulife Centre, where it continued its career as a lunch spot for the movers and shakers in the city, and their well-heeled wives.
Gina was the last to arrive. She saw her mother Anna seated at a black granite-topped table with two other slender women, and waved.
As she walked over to the table, she smiled to herself. These women made her own smart mother look small town. Of course, they were a few years younger than her mom, she figured.
Still, Gina was glad she had chosen to wear the new Prada dress toda
y.
She slid gracefully into the sleek chair and smiled her greeting.
Gina had met these women before, of course. You couldn’t be a local television celebrity and not get invited to all the charity functions in town.
Delia was a natural blonde, and seemed slimmer than ever. Her face looked good though. Work obviously done there.
Cathy was a little more rounded, but still in good shape. Her caramel hair was shorter but perfectly cut to the shape of her head in a tumble of curls.
“I was just telling the girls about that photo, Gina. Have you got it with you?” Gina’s mother said.
Gina reached into her portfolio purse and pulled out the photo of Louisa taken up north last summer.
“This is the woman we’re trying to find the name of,” she said.
Cathy took it from her fingers. She squinted at it, then cursed. Next, she reached into her Gucci purse to retrieve reading glasses.
Not just any reading glasses, of course. Christian Dior. Gina watched as Cathy perched them on her nose and peered down at the photo.
A pause.
“Nope. Don’t know her,” said Cathy. She passed the photo to Delia.
The second woman gazed at the photo for some time. “Hand me your glasses,” she said to Cathy.
“You should get your own.” Cathy grumbled, but handed over her specs.
“I have my own. They just don’t fit in this purse, with my sunglasses.”
Gina had to smile. A lipstick and credit card would fill most of that tiny Kate Spade clutch.
Delia stared at the photo for several seconds.
“Cath, take a peek at this again. Imagine her twenty-five years younger, as a blonde.”
Cathy took back the glasses and the photo. “Oh. You’re thinking, the chin?”
Gina peered at the photo. It was true. Louisa had a sweetheart-shaped face with a gently pointed chin.
Delia nodded. “Remember that wife of the guy who was charged with embezzlement? The entertainment guy? You know.”
Gina’s mother looked excited. “I know who you mean! She used to hang out with the older girls on the charity circuit—you know, the Brazilian Ball belles. What was her name?”
“There was Anna-Maria…Catherine…I can’t remember the other one.”
“She used to wear Oscar de la Renta,” Delia mused. “And Clotheslines. I remember she had this fabulous gown, black satin strapless, with a huge blue bow on the back. Very late 80s. I tried to get it for the St. Andrew’s Ball, but they wouldn’t do two of them.”
Gina felt her blood rise. The Clotheslines gown that had been in the closet in Black Currant Bay! It had to be the same one.
Finally—a solid lead to her identity!
Now, if they could only remember her name. But it wouldn’t be too hard to find out. The entertainment guy, who went down for embezzlement, shouldn’t be difficult to dig up. She could call her newspaper contacts. See if they could search the file stories to come up with the name.
Did they have computer files back in the late 80s? Maybe not. Maybe it would have to be an in-person search.
What did they call that old stuff…microfilm?
Delia reached for the photo again. “Gad, what the march of time will do to you if you don’t have the proper services.” She shivered.
Services, meaning Botox, proper hair salons and hot young personal trainers, Gina thought wryly. Louisa had let natural aging take place. These women wouldn’t admire her for that.
“So what happened to her husband? Didn’t he get convicted?” Delia said to Cathy. Her face had a funny look on it.
“I read he was connected to the mob,” Cathy said, fiddling with her purse. “But they were several years older than us, so we weren’t in their clique.”
“I can’t remember what became of her. She sort of faded from view,” Gina’s mother said.
“It was worse than that,” Delia said, pursing her Dior-red lips. Her forehead should have wrinkled, but of course, it didn’t. “Society can be cruel. Sort of like in the olden days. If you had a scandal in the family, you never got invited anywhere again.”
“So you’re saying this woman would have become a pariah because of her husband?” Gina asked. The pieces were beginning to fit together. Husband going to prison. All the money gone. Friends jumping from a sinking ship. Maybe even the mob involved.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t know her personally. But it sounds logical,” Anna said.
“Those high society matrons can be such bitches,” Delia said.
Gina watched her mother smother a smile.
“It was all such a long time ago,” Cathy said. “So much has happened since then. All the Toronto high flyers are different. Why are you trying to track her down, anyway?”
Gina hesitated. She didn’t know if this should be common knowledge, or something she should keep secret. So she hedged just a teeny bit.
“The woman in the photo died up north. People are trying to track down the family.”
Delia brushed her platinum hair back behind her ear. One large diamond winked on her earlobe. “There wouldn’t be much money in it. The guy went bankrupt, for sure.”
Anna frowned. “Not everything is about money, Del.”
“You bet your sweet ass it is, honey. Don’t let anyone tell you different, Gina.”
The smarmy waiter returned with lunch plates. Four green salads with fresh berries, avocado, and dressing on the side, plus another bottle of white wine. Gina snuck a piece of Italian bread onto her plate. She didn’t dare reach for a butter ball with all those eyes watching.
“So I hear you bought Vera Wang for the wedding dress,” Cathy said.
Gina nodded. Her mouth was full.
“Here’s something I don’t understand,” Delia said. “If you’re already living together, how do you keep the groom from seeing the dress before the wedding?”
“We’re not exactly living together yet,” Gina said. “But Tony doesn’t care much about clothes. He wouldn’t bother to go looking. Besides, he’s away right now, so it isn’t a problem.”
Gina’s mother raised an eyebrow. “Why is he away, sweetheart? I thought all his clients were in town now.”
Gina instantly realized her mistake. She couldn’t tell them why Tony was away. She couldn’t even tell them where he really was. She didn’t know herself.
Her hesitation was a dead give-away.
The two women opposite exchanged glances. One looked away, awkwardly.
Delia sniffed. “My first husband cheated on me.”
Gina started. “Tony isn’t cheating on me. He’s just away on business.”
Cathy ran a manicured finger down the stem of her wine glass. “The only good thing about being cheated on is if you’re married. Makes the divorce settlement richer.”
Delia laughed. “So get yourself married to him, Gina. The sooner the better.”
“Girls, don’t be nasty. I’m sure Tony’s not seeing anyone else. He’s not the sort,” Gina heard her mother say.
Delia snorted. “Anna, don’t be naïve. They’re all the sort.”
“Not this one. If you could see him with Gina, you would know.” Anna was firm.
For the umpteenth time in her life, Gina thanked God for giving her such a terrific mother.
Delia figured she’d done well to keep her mouth shut in the restaurant. That’s what good friends were for. But now, in the car, she couldn’t keep quiet.
“Why didn’t you tell them his name?” she said to Cathy.
“Whose name?” Cathy’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Come on, Cath! We’ve been friends for a long time. You wouldn’t forget his name. Not him.”
Cathy fiddled with the handles of her purse. “You’re wrong, Del. I tried to forget everything. I really did.”
Chapter 12
The information she had gleaned called for more than an e-mail. Gina dialled Becki at work.
“Beautiful Things,” Becki respon
ded.
“Hi, it’s Gina. Have I caught you at a good time?”
“Any time’s a good time for you.”
“Really? Are there clients in the store?”
There was a pause while she assumed Becki took a quick look around.
“No. I’m all by myself here, struggling to eliminate items from this pile of ideas and samples that I’ve gathered around me. I’m searching for the best solution for the job we’re working on.” She sighed. “Not easy. How about you? You okay?”
“I guess. As you know, Tony is away on a trip.” Gina thought about it, then admitted, “That conversation that Tony and I need to have about underestimating me will have to be had later in person.” Then she hurried on because she didn’t want to put Becki on the spot. “Guess what? I found out who Louisa is.”
“Already?”
The surprise in Becki’s voice was just a little bit unflattering, but Gina made light of it. “You know what they say, ‘follow the clothes’.”
“And where did they lead?”
“To an entertainment head honcho. One who apparently embezzled, who perhaps was connected to the mob, and who may have gone to jail.”
“In-ter-est-ing…”
“This guy may be Louisa’s husband, or her ex since the two of them were obviously separated for years.”
“I can’t picture it. Our quiet Louisa married to some sleazy showbiz mogul? Some guy who sits behind a great big chestnut desk with a matching built-in bookcase behind him. The furniture too heavy and the room dark. Signed black and white head shots the only frames on the wall and the wee bit of sparkle in the space coming from the decanter of whiskey on a side table—”
A Killer Necklace Page 5
