by B R Snow
“That’s okay,” she said, arching her back. “I’ve had my fill.”
“What gym did you go to?” Max said.
“I was at the one in Jennifer’s building. I took a break from my tour,” I said, reaching for a piece of garlic bread.
“Oh, that’s right,” Max said. “The search for the tattooed lady. How did you do?”
“A total whiff,” I said, shaking my head. “But I did run into the two models and George Theo.” I grinned at Josie. “Paradis sends her love.”
“Good for Paradis,” Josie said, making a face at me.
“And on my way out, I ran into Wilma. She said to say hi.”
“How did you manage to get a tour?” Max said, pushing his plate away and sitting back in his chair.
“I told the building manager I was thinking about buying a loft,” I said.
“That’s all you’d need, right?” Josie said. “One more thing to worry about.”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding.
“Not to mention the size of the mortgage on a place like that,” Max said, taking a sip of wine.
“No, if I was going to buy it, I’d just write a check,” I said, casually waving it off as my neurons began to flare.
“What?” Max said, staring at me.
“What?” I said, staring back at him, then glancing down. “What is it? Did I spill something?”
“You said you’d just write a check for it,” Max said.
“Yeah, I guess I did say that,” I whispered, then glanced at back and forth at Josie and Chef Claire.
Max continued to stare at me as I toyed with what was left on my plate.
“I think somebody decided not to tell somebody something,” Josie said to Chef Claire.
“I think you’re right,” Chef Claire said. “Should we leave the table?”
“No, you’re fine,” I said, exhaling.
“Tell me what?” Max said, confused.
“I didn’t tell you about my money,” I said after a long pause.
“You have money?”
“Yeah, a little,” I said, shrugging.
Josie and Chef Claire snorted. I shot them a dirty look, and they both sipped their wine in silence.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Max said.
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Okay, I can understand that,” he said, nodding. “You were worried I might only be interested in your money.”
“Not really,” I said. “My not talking about it is sort of a defense mechanism.”
“You must know by now that I wouldn’t care if you were dead broke, right?”
“I do,” I said, placing my hand over his. “I probably should have said something by now. I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize,” Max said. “It’s certainly not a problem. I’m just surprised. And more than a little intrigued. What sort of money are we talking about?”
I leaned over and whispered the number in his ear. He flinched and stared at me, then glanced back and forth at Josie and Chef Claire who both slowly nodded their heads.
“You’re joking, right?” he said.
“No,” I said softly. “Not only do I not like to talk about it, I never joke about it. It’s a ridiculous number.”
“Well, now I understand why you’d just write a check for the loft,” he said, shaking his head in amazement. “And it would certainly be a lot faster than your usual real estate deal. You know, just write the check and walk out with the deed.”
My neurons exploded, and I flinched in my chair and grabbed my forehead. I focused on my breathing as I waited it out staring off into the distance.
“Uh-oh,” Josie said. “Here we go again.”
“Are you okay?” Max said.
“She’ll be fine,” Chef Claire said, casually sipping her wine. “Just give her a minute.”
“She looks like she’s seen a ghost,” Max said, patting my hand. “Hey, where are you?”
“I’m fine,” I whispered. I sat quietly and waited for my neurons to coalesce. Eventually, I focused on my immediate surroundings and smiled at Max. “Excuse me for a minute. I need to make a phone call.”
“Who are you calling?” Max said.
“I’ve got a real estate question I need to run by somebody,” I said, then looked at Josie. “Can I borrow your phone?”
“Sure,” she said, reaching into her bag and handing it over.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, heading into the living room. I bent down to pet all four of the sleeping dogs who thumped their tails but continued to snore softly in front of the fire. I located the number on Josie’s phone and made the call.
“Hi, Josie. What’s up?”
“No, it’s me. How are you doing, Paulie?”
“Hey, Suzy. How’s Ottawa?”
“It’s great. Am I interrupting anything?”
Paulie put his phone on speaker.
“She wants to know if she’s interrupting,” Paulie said, laughing.
“Hello, darling,” my mother said. “Your timing is impeccable.”
“Sorry, Mom. But I have a question for Paulie.”
“Shoot,” Paulie said.
“You used to be a criminal, right?”
“That’s your question?” Paulie said.
“No, that’s not my question,” I said, frowning. “I was just establishing the framework for the conversation.”
“Darling, must you?” my mother said. “What on earth does Paulie’s past have to do with anything? What do you need? We’re completely snowed in, and we were just about to have dessert. If you catch my drift.”
“Got it, Mom,” I said, frowning. “I’ve got a real estate question.”
“She could have given me a thousand guesses, and I wouldn’t have come up with that,” I heard my mother whisper.
“I’m not much of a real estate expert,” Paulie said, laughing. “But I’ll give it a shot.”
“When you were working on the dark side, you must have come in contact with people who dealt with real estate transactions that were a bit out of the ordinary, right?”
“If you mean out of the ordinary deals that didn’t go through traditional lending practices, sure. All the time,” he said.
“And you did things on both sides of the border, right?” I said, rubbing my forehead.
“If you’re asking me if my former business occasionally took me into Canada, yes, it did.”
“Ottawa?”
“Sure,” Paulie said. “It’s the capital city, and a lot of deals come out of there. I’ve always preferred Montreal, but Ottawa’s a nice place.”
“If I wanted to do a real estate deal in a hurry, who would I talk to about that?”
“Darling, if you’re thinking about buying a place up there, just write them a check.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll do that,” I said, shaking my head. “But, hypothetically, who would I want to talk to, Paulie?”
“I’m assuming you’d want to keep it as quiet as you could, close the deal in a hurry, and make sure the deal was in cash, right?”
“You’re good,” I said, laughing. “That’s exactly what I’d want to do.”
“Well, if I were looking to do something like that up there, there’s only one guy I’d use,” Paulie said.
“Who’s that?” I said, squinting as my headache deepened.
“Morty the Milker.”
“Didn’t you ever work with anybody who had a normal name?” I said, frowning. “What is it with you guys?”
“It’s the perfect nickname for him,” Paulie said. “Morty knows that pretty much everybody who comes to him for help must be desperate. And as such, he likes to squeeze people pretty hard. Hence, The Milker.”
“Is he still in business?”
“I’m sure he is,” Paulie said. “Morty will keep working until he drops. He loves what he does.”
“Squeezing desperate people?”
“Yeah,” Paulie said. “And making money in th
e process, of course.”
“I need to meet him,” I said.
“Why?” my mother said.
“I just have some questions for him.”
“Again, why?”
“I’m just trying to figure something out, Mom.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re sticking your nose into the investigation,” she said.
I remained silent for several moments, then my mother continued.
“Darling?”
“What?”
“Aren’t you going to answer me?”
“You asked me not to tell you.”
“I don’t believe it,” she snapped. “Just let the police handle it, darling.”
“Oh, I’m working with them,” I said. “But they have the flu at the moment.”
“Well, then that changes everything,” my mother said.
“There’s no need to get snarky, Mom.”
“Is this guy dangerous?” my mother said to Paulie.
“No, Morty’s a sweetheart,” Paulie said. “But she shouldn’t drop in unannounced. Let me give him a call and prepare him for what’s about to descend.”
“Funny,” I said, listening closely to their sidebar conversation. “Thanks for doing that, Paulie. You’ll let me know as soon as you talk to him?”
“I will,” Paulie said. “I’ll give him a call right after we have dessert.”
“Please don’t anything stupid, darling. Like getting yourself into a dangerous position.”
“You either, Mom,” I said, grinning.
“You’re really not funny, young lady.”
Chapter 23
Morty the Milker lived in a large stone house in a high-end section of the city called Old Ottawa South on what looked like a couple of acres. I drove up the long stretch of driveway that had been plowed to perfection and parked in front of the house. I rang the bell, and a woman somewhere in her thirties answered the door and smiled at me.
“Ms. Chandler, right?”
“Please call me Suzy,” I said, extending my hand.
“I’m Lucinda Miller,” she said, waving me inside. “My father is expecting you. Let me take your coat.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking a look around as I handed her my parka. “Your home is amazing.”
“Oh, I’m just visiting,” she said. “But thank you. My father loves it here. Come. He’s in the atrium.”
I followed her down a long hall then into a large room that was dominated by glass and plants. A small man in his sixties with a full head of gray hair got up from his chair and beamed at me.
“Ms. Chandler, I presume,” he said, reaching out for my hand, then surprising me by gently kissing it.
“Suzy,” I said, smiling at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. And thanks for seeing me on short notice.”
“Any friend of Paulie’s is always welcome here,” he said, gesturing at the overstuffed chair directly across from his.
“Do you need anything, Father?” Lucinda said. “Perhaps something to drink?”
“Suzy, can we get you anything?” Morty said.
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
“We’re fine, Lucinda. Thank you.”
“I’ll leave you two alone then,” she said, exiting with a small wave.
“I love it when she visits,” he said, staring after her. “I just wish she was here under better circumstances.”
I looked at him and waited for him to continue.
“She’s going through a divorce,” he said.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “They can be nasty.”
“Yes, it did start out that way,” Morty said, smiling. “But her husband recently made the wise choice to calm down and be a bit more…pliable.”
“A decision I assume he needed some help getting to?” I said, cocking my head.
Morty laughed and nodded his head at me.
“Good one. Paulie said you didn’t pull any punches.”
“Yeah, I really need to start working on that,” I said, glancing around the room. “Your home is magnificent.”
“Thank you,” he said, looking around with pride. “I was able to pick it up several years ago for a song.”
“What song was that?”
Again, he laughed and didn’t stop until he started coughing.
“You’re funny. I think he was singing, Let Me Go, You’re Hurtin’ Me,” Morty said.
“I’m not familiar with that one,” I said, playing along.
“At least that’s what I think he was trying to say at the time,” Morty said, laughing. “The man had a terrible singing voice.”
“It’s probably hard to sing with a foot on your throat, right?” I said, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Yes, I’m sure it is. But, no, it was nothing like that,” he said, waving me away with a coy smile. “He just needed to get out in a hurry, and I was able to accommodate him.” He wiped his eyes with a tissue and shook his head at me. “You’re a piece of work. So, how can I help you?”
“I need to show you a photo of someone,” I said, reaching for my bag.
“And you’d like to know if I’ve done business with this person?” Morty said, leaning forward.
“Yes.”
“Can I ask you why you need to know?”
“Because I think it involves a blackmail attempt that turned into murder,” I said, handing him the photo.
“Oh, that’s dreadful. I hate hearing about things like that” he said, then his eyes narrowed. “I certainly hope you don’t think I was somehow involved.”
“Absolutely not,” I said, shaking my head.
“Okay,” Morty said, nodding. He studied the photograph then looked at me. “Yeah, I did that deal a few weeks ago.”
“That’s all I needed to know, Mr. Miller,” I said, getting up. “Thank you very much.”
“Don’t you want to know how much I paid for it?”
“It was five hundred thousand, right?”
“How on earth did you know that?” he said, frowning up at me.
“Lucky guess.”
“If you’re in the market,” he said, giving me a small smile. “I still have it. Since you’re a friend of Paulie, I can let you have it for six.”
“Thanks, Mr. Miller,” I said, extending my hand. “But I don’t know what to do with all the stuff I’ve already got.”
“Yes, having too much stuff around can be a real problem,” he said, nodding. “I never know where to put everything.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” I said, heading for the door, my head packed to the rafters with my neurons on overload and looking for a place to land.
Chapter 24
I grabbed the ticket from the parking attendant who was bundled tight in a parka and headed inside the restaurant. I stood near the door and waited until my eyes adjusted to the light, then spotted Victor Rollins sitting at a table near the back. I removed my coat as I walked across the dining room and sat down across from him.
“How are you doing?” he said, glancing up from the menu.
“I’m okay,” I said softly.
“Are you sure?” he said, staring at me.
“I’m just tired,” I said.
“Have you been here before?” he said, again studying the menu.
“No.”
“Their soups are fantastic,” he said. “I’m glad you called.”
“I thought we should talk,” I said, rubbing my forehead.
“Sure, and I have an update for you. Abby and I met again yesterday, and things are looking great. Did you get the photo shoot rescheduled?”
“Yeah, for tomorrow,” I said. “If we need to do it.”
Victor frowned at my comment, then stared at the front door of the restaurant.
“Hey, aren’t those the two cops from the Middleton case? The ones you brought to the Christmas party.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said, not bothering to turn around.
Bill and Shirley approached the table, removed
their coats and sat down.
“Well, why don’t you just make yourself comfortable?” Victor said, laughing as he glanced back and forth at them.
“We were invited,” Bill said, still sounding like he had a bad head cold.
“You were?” Victor said with a frown. Then he looked at me. “What’s going on, Suzy?”
“Like I said, I thought we should talk,” I said, then looked at the two detectives. “How are you guys feeling?”
“Like crap,” Bill said.
“Maybe some soup will help,” Shirley said, coughing as she reached for a menu. “I wouldn’t wish this thing on my worst enemy.”
“Okay, somebody needs to tell me what the heck is going on,” Victor said.
I glanced back and forth at Bill and Shirley, and they both gestured for me to take the lead.
“You go ahead,” Bill said. “If I try talking, I might throw up.”
“We invited you here to talk about Melinda’s murder,” I said.
“Have you figured out who did it?” Victor said, glancing around the table.
“I’m afraid so,” I said, looking at the cops who silently nodded their agreement.
“That’s great,” Victor said, perking up. “Whoever killed her deserves to go away for a long time.”
“Yeah, that’s what we think, too,” Shirley said, pushing her menu away. “What’s that old saying about eating when you’re sick?”
“You mean, feed a cold, starve a fever?” I said.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Shirley said.
“What about it?”
“What are you supposed to do when you have both?” she said, coughing.
“If it were me, I’d probably just start eating,” I said, shrugging.
“Good call,” she said, blowing her nose.
“How’s Wilma doing?” I said.
“She’s okay,” Victor said, confused. “She said she ran into you yesterday. Are you really thinking about buying a place in our building?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
“Suzy,” he said. “How about you quit dancing and just tell me what’s on your mind?”
“Okay,” I said. “How strained is your relationship with Wilma at the moment?”
“What? What sort of question is that?” Victor said, annoyed.
