by Jonas Saul
He took his wine and walked out to the deck to sit under the stars. He needed to relax, clear his head, and figure out what to do about the girl. Maybe she was someone’s sister looking for revenge for one of the girl’s Barry had flash blooded with. He loved his flash blooding games and couldn’t imagine stopping them. Not even for the strange girl at the beach.
He slid the door closed quietly and walked to the railing.
“You’re home late.”
He jumped, nearly dropping his glass over the edge of the deck’s railing.
“Deb, what are you doing?”
“The same thing you are. Sipping wine on the deck under that beautiful moon. But tell me something. Why is it just because I’m doing it, there’s suspicion involved?”
“I wasn’t questioning where you go or what you drink. I was merely asking why you were trying to scare me.” He steadied himself with another sip of wine and looked away. The moon’s reflection glimmered across the surface of the lake.
“I won’t argue that sitting on my deck at one in the morning as I relax before bed could be construed as having devious intent on my part. Maybe I’ve lived with a cop too long. Why is everything about motive with you? Ulterior or otherwise?”
“Look, Deb, I don’t want to fight tonight.”
“Neither do I.”
She grunted then swallowed a couple of times. She was probably just as drunk as she was on other nights when he worked afternoons. It’d been the same old thing, over and over. Unhappy, disgruntled, idle and drinking. What else she did with her day, he had no idea, but he knew one thing: whatever it was, it wasn’t productive.
“Answer me something,” she said.
“Hmm.”
“Why did you save that girl on the bridge today?”
“News travels fast.”
“It was on Castanet.”
He turned to face her silhouette. “You expect me to not act when I’m at work. I have a job to do, an image to upkeep.”
“What will that bitch Lesley say to the police? What will show up in her statement?”
“I was there for that. I can assure you, she’ll say nothing that’ll incriminate us.”
“Oh, you can assure me, all right.” Then under her breath, “Bullshit.”
“Look, not tonight.” He took a large gulp of his wine. “I need to relax. Tomorrow I’ll figure everything out. I’ll talk to Greg and find out what happened. Once I get to the bottom of it, we’ll smooth everything over. It’s called damage control. Nothing can go wrong. Besides, I’m the one who dove in and saved her. No one would believe a word out of her mouth if she started taking shots at me. So just relax. Stay calm. Losing our cool could screw things up. I’ll handle everything.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said, barely above a whisper.
She was trying to ignite him. He had to resist her bait. Otherwise the neighbors would hear this fight. In his mood, restraint would be difficult.
He tossed the rest of his wine over the railing and started for the door.
“I’m leaving,” she said.
He stopped, a firm grip on the handle.
“What?”
She waited a full five seconds, then said, “I’m leaving.”
“Leaving? For what, a vacation? Or leaving for good?”
“For good. There’s too much heat. We’ve gone too far. We either have to go together, or I’m leaving on my own.”
He let go of the handle and faced her. “Where will you go? Your sister’s place? We can’t afford that.”
How could she leave him at such a critical time in their marriage? Everything they had done was a joint effort. They were the originators of flash blooding in Kelowna and they were doing it well. Their small group kept it tight knit. Not much was known about flash blooding, but Barry was an expert at sharing drug-infused blood and his group fed off him as if he were a vampire and only his blood sustained them. His price was minimal, and most of the time, the girls didn’t mind. If any of them ratted him out, he could spend a lot of time in jail, but it was too late to worry about that. He was in too far and so were his fellow flash blooders.
A few people had caused them trouble in the past, but he had dealt with it. They either quit and he never saw them again, or they took off for another city. As long as the members enjoyed themselves, the risk to him was minimal. Lesley’s stupid suicide attempt could be trouble. Maybe she should have died, but he was the closest officer to her. He couldn’t not jump in and pull her from the water in front of his colleagues.
Then there was that girl at the beach. The one who knows what he’s been up to. She could prove to be a problem. There was something about her brazenness.
“I don’t care about money,” Deb said. “I don’t care about anything anymore.” She threw her glass against the railing where it shattered and dropped silently to the grass below. “You call this a marriage? A marriage of what? Two fools destined to die of an overdose or end up in jail?”
“Keep your voice down. Come inside. We’ll talk there.”
He slid the door to the end of the track and stepped inside. She couldn’t leave. She knew too much. She could ruin everything. Flash blooding had become his thing, his fun time. He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. Not for her. Not for anybody.
If she packed a bag, he would have to prevent her from leaving at all costs. Maybe she could be tied up in the basement for a while. He could feed her and offer a bucket for a toilet. That would teach her to obey better.
He would hate to have to do that, but for his wife, he would make an exception.
Some women could be taught manners, but others had to be forced.
Forcing his wife to learn would be a pleasure.
Chapter 4
The mid-morning sun woke Sarah in her new bed. Yesterday had been a long day on the road during her drive to Kelowna. She rolled over to enjoy the warmth and comfort.
She had an hour until her appointment. The cleaning company had scheduled someone to pop in to assess the size of the house and what she wanted done so they could offer a quote. The interior of the house was spotless, but an appointment for next week for the first cleaning would work out well.
After the free cleaning estimate today, there wasn’t much left to do as per Vivian’s notes. Sarah still planned to meet with Lesley Wright at the Twisted Tomato downtown Kelowna that evening. And she still planned on antagonizing Barry Ashford, her next door neighbor, but that was it.
She sat up in bed, rubbed her eyes and stared out at the lake. The view from the bedroom was spectacular. She could get used to this life. Nice, expensive house. Million dollar views. Cleaning lady.
She flopped back in bed. The only sad part was Aaron wasn’t here to enjoy it with her. They could cook breakfast in their robes. Eat on the deck overlooking the lake. Have wine with lunch, take a nap after sex and then watch movies into the evening, cuddling. She had enough money from when her parents sold their old house before moving to Santa Rosa, and new money from Oliver Payne. It was his daughter who had shot Sarah in the head. Oliver was rich and paid a lot of people off for their pain and suffering.
This wasn’t a vacation, though. Vivian wasn’t sending out her usual messages, but this was still important, she just didn’t know how.
Her hand numbed. It worked up her arm.
“Okay, okay …”
Sarah grabbed the pad and pen beside the bed and lay down. Her eyes rolled back in her head. A moment later, she snapped awake to a new message.
She read what her sister wanted her to do.
“Why do I need duct tape, handcuffs and bear spray?” she asked out loud. “Am I going hunting?”
The clock ticked audibly.
“Shit, he’ll be here in just over half an hour.”
She set the pen down, left the pad on the bed and headed for the shower. Twenty-five minutes later, she looked out the front window in time to see a small Kia pull in with a sticker on the driver’s side door that said, Re
adyMaid House Cleaning Service. The driver parked behind her BMW bike and got out.
She unlocked the front door and waited on the porch. Her skin immediately grew damp with sweat in the summer swelter. Mosquitoes buzzed around her head and a fly entered the house through the open door behind her.
“You’re on time,” she said as the man walked up the driveway.
A geeky-looking guy, small and slightly unsure of himself, his legs long and gangly, strode up quickly, fumbling and almost dropping the pad secured in his arm.
“Hi, my name’s Derek. I’m from ReadyMaid, here to do an estimate on the house.”
His voice was too high for a man in his twenties.
“I’m Sarah. I’m the one who called.”
“Great. Can you walk me through the house and tell me what you want cleaned on a weekly basis?”
“Sure, come on in.”
As she showed him around the house, Sarah studied Derek, watching for anything weird or out of place, wondering why Vivian told her to call this company. Not once did she take her eyes off him or turn her back to him. He seemed harmless, but until she found out why Vivian directed her to this company, he was her suspect.
“You live here alone?” he asked when they got back to the kitchen.
“How does that matter?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said in his weak, giggly voice. “I was just wondering why you would want to have the house cleaned weekly if it’s only going to be you living here. The norm with our company is monthly, or bi-weekly if there’s a larger number of people living in the house, like a family.”
He seemed quite nervous. Like he wasn’t used to being around girls much.
“Will it be men or women who come to clean the house?” Sarah asked.
“Only women. I just do the estimates.”
He was around women all the time if ReadyMaid only had female employees.
“To answer your other question, I’m a little anal about cleanliness. My house has to clean at all times and I don’t want to be the one doing it. Once a week is a good schedule for me.”
“Are there more rooms down that hall?” he asked.
Sarah walked toward the bedroom and en suite, waving for him to follow. As he examined the house, he scribbled notes on his notepad.
“So that’s three bedrooms, two bathrooms, the living room and dining room and the kitchen. Sound about right?” he asked.
They were in the master bedroom, the curtains still pulled back to reveal the stunning view. Derek stopped to stare.
“Wow, very pretty from here,” he said.
“It is.” But you’re not here for the view.
He glanced down at the pad Sarah had left on the bed from earlier.
Vivian’s list was clear and in big letters.
Handcuffs, duct tape, bear spray …
His eyes widened as he read the note.
She put a hand on his shoulder and physically turned him away from the pad. “Hey, pal, let’s go to the kitchen. We can finish up there.”
“Yes, yes, okay.”
More nervous now, less assured, he stumbled back to the kitchen, almost dropping his pad twice.
What’s this all about, Vivian? What am I doing here?
At the island in the center of the kitchen, he set the pad down and checked a few things off.
“A couple more questions and I’ll be on my way,” he said.
“Shoot.”
“What day of the week would you want the cleaner to come?”
“Tuesdays.”
“Morning or afternoon?”
“Morning.”
“Will you be paying by cash or credit card?”
“Cash.”
“When you give the cleaner the money, she’ll give you a receipt.”
Sarah nodded.
He wrote something on his pad.
“Will you be home when the cleaner comes?” He kept his eyes averted, like he was afraid she would see something in them if he met her gaze. “If not, will you be leaving a key hidden outside for us to enter? Our girls are all bonded. And is the house alarmed? If so, we would need the code.”
Is that normal? Do strangers allow other strangers to enter their houses with a key and an alarm code?
“No access whatsoever,” Sarah said. “Only when I’m here to unlock the door myself.”
“That’s fine. We have to ask because some people give us a key and then forget about the alarm and boom, we set it off.” He ran a finger down his pad again. When it stopped, he said, “Any pets? Dogs or cats?”
“None.”
Maybe Vivian wants Sarah to give these guys unfettered access to the house.
“Listen, Derek, change my answer on the key. I will leave one under the flower pot by the front door. There’s no alarm on the house. All I ask is they knock first. If there’s no answer, they can let themselves in.”
He scratched something out and then added a new note.
“Perfect. Well, I guess that wraps it up. I’ll check the schedule and get back to you to confirm the first appointment and to give you the price quote from my notes here.” He collected his pad and started for the front door, still not looking at her as if he was embarrassed. “After the first cleaning, we’ll call to see how satisfied you are and schedule the next one. How does that sound?”
“Perfect.”
She waited until his shoes were on and he had stepped out the door.
“Hey, Derek?”
He stopped on the front steps and turned around, this time meeting her eyes.
“Yes?”
“What went through your mind when you read that note on my bed?”
He stumbled, his eyes widened and his lips tightened. For a second, the tips of his white teeth showed through his thin lips. He was embarrassed and genuinely so. If Vivian meant for her to meet this guy because he was doing something illegal, she probably had the wrong guy. Derek was so nervous and bashful he looked about ready to piss his pants.
“Uh, I’m sorry. I’m not sure what it said. I just looked down, but I’m, please forgive me …” he said, stumbling over his words.
“It’s okay. Just tell me your boss’s name. Who owns ReadyMaid in case I want to lodge a complaint?”
“Um, the Wrights own ReadyMaid. Greg and his sister, Lesley Wright. She’s usually the one who does the estimates, but they sent me because Lesley called in sick today.”
“I’m sure she did. Goodbye, Derek.”
Sarah shut the door and leaned against the back of it.
“Holy shit, Vivian. You could’ve let me know. A simple note. Damn girl, what’s with all the mystery?”
Sarah pushed off the door and went for her keys. She needed to explore Kelowna, pick up the items from Vivian’s list, buy a few groceries and then meet Lesley at the Twisted Tomato at six.
Lesley would have an interesting story as to why she had to end her life and Sarah intended to find everything out to see how it connected to Barry Ashford.
Something was wrong with ReadyMaid and something was wrong with Lesley. And in a week, a representative of ReadyMaid was going to be in Sarah’s house cleaning it.
She smacked her hands together.
“Maybe this is going to be a busy week after all.”
Chapter 5
Spy vs. Spy, a store on Kirshner Street in Kelowna, had all the supplies Sarah needed. The GPS tracker she got had a two-week battery life and the small black box she placed it in had strong magnets that would attach to RCMP officer Barry Ashford’s cruiser and stay attached under almost any conditions.
She could stick it under his car, log into the tracker from her computer, and monitor wherever he drove within an accuracy of five feet. The tracker was also motion sensitive. When there wasn’t any motion, it turned off, saving the battery. The best feature of the new units was that it logged bread crumbs. If she hadn’t watched his action for a day or two, the tracker logged where he went and how long he stayed at each spot. She could easily go back an
d view all the places he visited, how often and for how long, hopefully pinpointing whatever it was Vivian had sent her to find.
She strolled down Bernard Avenue heading to the Twisted Tomato after having walked along the beach. Kelowna was a summer city. The streets were crowded with families, teenagers here to party and other tourists looking for a sunny place on the beach in a town surrounded by mountains. Kelowna was beautiful and wasn’t just considered the eighth happiest city in Canada, it was also called the whitest city in Canada because of the high ratio of Caucasians living here.
