The Caspian Wine Mystery/Suspense/Thriller Series

by Maggie Thom

  The receptionist led Bailey to a plush room that could have easily housed ten individual offices. Behind the desk was a well-dressed older man in a blue-gray fitted suit. His thinning white hair carefully slicked to the side and the hard lines around his mouth disclosed he was past his prime and nearing retirement. The curve of his lips might have resembled a smile, except that it never reached his hard black eyes. He strode purposefully around his massive cherry wood desk.

  “Bails.”

  “What?” Her eyes widened as she stared hard at him, waiting for an explanation.

  “Whales. I’m sorry. I was just finishing up on a case I’m working on.” He extended his hand. “Miss Saunders. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

  She carefully schooled her face in only a slight frown but her mind was racing. Something wasn’t right. Her mom was the only one who had ever called her Bails. She tilted her head, wondering if she had heard him correctly. Exhaustion and a thousand unanswered questions might have added to her wariness but she knew she needed to listen to her gut instinct. It had always served her well.

  It went against every impulse she had but knowing it was the expected norm, she accepted his handshake but dropped his hand as soon as was acceptable.

  “I’m really sorry for your loss. It was such a shock.”

  Scrutinizing him, she asked, “You weren’t aware of her being sick?”

  His eyes remained hard and fixed on her for a moment before he reassumed his seat behind the desk. “No. No. I was quite surprised that she had died.”

  Bailey pondered what she knew but nothing added up. She continued to examine his facial expression. “Yet she had her funeral organized and paid for. Who put up the money?” She sat on the plush leather chair facing him.

  “Donna told me you’d be full of questions. Even if I knew, I couldn’t tell you. Client Confidentiality.” He sounded smug.

  His attitude grated. “You don’t know?”

  “What I can share with you is what’s in Donna’s Last Will and Testament and that her funeral was paid in full, in cash.”

  “What’s in her Will?”

  “Customarily we discuss that after the funeral.”

  Bailey glowered at him.

  He grabbed a file on top of a stack to his left. “Well...” He read aloud the formal introduction and sailed through the three pieces of paper that were the last connection she had to her mom.

  She wrapped her mind around the information and asked, “Essentially I get everything except the house? What about the Dandy Candy store and inventory?” She slumped back in the soft leather chair.

  “Uhm, there’s a letter to do with the store.” He picked up an envelope.

  As she accepted it from him, she could barely restrain herself from ripping it out of his hands and leaving immediately. Turning away from him, she opened it, careful not to distort or ruin any of the doodles on it. She read the note inside then put it in her bag, careful to hide the extra page that was in the envelope. She’d save that to decipher later.

  What the hell is going on? Her fists thumped against her thighs. She strode over to the large windows that overlooked the river valley. The Bow River flowed freely, winding through the concrete and noise to continue on its journey from the mountains across the prairies. She wanted to walk right into it and let the water take her where it would. Tempting, but she had to get this over with. She sighed.

  Turning, a framed picture on the wall caught her attention. The name “D. Zajic” was again scribbled in the bottom right hand corner. The picture was a tree with branches that draped over a creek.

  The cabin was nestled in trees, with the gurgle of a river nearby. The rutted road was rough and overgrown, hiding the entrance. She was running and laughing. A man was chasing her. She giggled and ran faster, loving the game they played.

  ****

  Lund picked up his phone and dialed a number he knew well. “Follow her. Keep me informed who she talks to. Where she goes. What she does.” He almost said what she finds.

  “All right. Fifty thousand up front.”

  “That’s pretty steep.”

  “Yeah and you wouldn’t be coming to me if you weren’t desperate.” Lund’s caller laughed. “Is she a looker?”

  “Touch her and you’ll answer to me.” He shuddered as he thought about Payme’s grimy appearance—stringy, matted brown hair, grease-stained clothes, runners that looked more like sandals now. At least that was how he had appeared the last time he’d kept his butt out of jail.

  “Good one. You might be a big shot in your world. But you’re nothing in mine. Remember that. The price goes up if I have to dispose of anyone.” Payme, as he had been dubbed due to the graffiti he always wrote by his victims, ‘pay me with your death’, might have been a small, wiry man at 5’4” but also very deadly. Lund had hoped never to use Payme again; once had been more than enough. Unfortunately, fate had a different agenda and he needed someone who was loyal enough and could take her out, if the necessity came. He’d rather not get his hands dirty again, if he didn’t have to.

  “Hopefully we won’t have to discuss that. Just keep me informed.” He set down the receiver with a shaky hand, knowing he was into something that may backfire on him. He was already going to hell for what he did. What he was. What he had done.

  This, though, was something he’d thought would die with Donna. Only she’d stolen a photo taken of him a long time ago and hidden it. Actually she’d led him to believe she’d destroyed it but the photocopy that had arrived today had been enough to know it still existed. He’d burned that little present in a pail with a liter of gas. It was just like Donna to reach from beyond the grave to let him know he wasn’t off the hook. He’d pay for what he’d done to her.

  It had been an invigorating game, letting Donna think she’d been in control. He could have taken her out at any time. He’d made so much money because of her. He chuckled as he sat straight in his chair and slowly climbed to his feet. It had been too easy. She’d been a scared rabbit, trying to act tough. He was going to miss her hard smackin’ demands. She’d fed him so much information about all those men in government. Her husband included. Really he was going to miss her. She’d given him enough to blackmail at least fifty more people. Ah... the sins of the rich and powerful.

  He brushed his hand back over his hair as he made his way across the room to his scotch. As he reached for a glass, he froze.

  What if someone else finds it?

  Feeling lightheaded, he rested his fingers on the table to steady himself. The picture should have been little more than an embarrassment, one he could have explained away or cast him as a victim. His in-laws didn’t like him, though, and would do anything to get rid of him. If they knew the photo existed... well, the things he’d done to protect himself—the bribes, the blackmail, the man he’d murdered, the extortion—and the lifestyle he lived, were acceptable. People finding out about him and his real preferences in life was not. He made a lot of money from just that kind of secret. If his were known...

  He shuddered. He couldn’t take the chance. His game of twenty-nine years would have to end. He just had to make sure that not all parties were aware of what exactly he’d been playing at. It had been so damn invigorating and thrilling, especially knowing a degrading picture of himself existed that would have solved all their problems, had they gotten their hands on it. One of them would surely like to actually put the bullet between his eyes that he’d been threatened with on many occasions.

  He had started it and now must end it.

  All because of a damned picture.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Oh Heavenly Father please accept Donna into your arms. Take care of her for those on earth who loved her...”

  The minister’s voice droned on. Bailey bowed her head, letting the tears fall freely. She couldn’t understand why her mom hadn’t told her she was ill. They never really talked about anything personal without it turning into a disagreement, but she didn’t think tha
t was an excuse for her mom to withhold something of this magnitude.

  Bailey dug in the right pocket of her long, blue coat for a fresh tissue. All she managed to find was a mangled one that had seen better times. The left pocket was already full of used ones. She held the shredded pieces together and blew her nose as best she could. Stuffing it back in her pocket she raised her head. The few other attendees, whom she had no idea who they were, still had their heads bowed. Thankful for the reprieve from the I’m-so-sorry look everyone was giving her, she looked straight up. Clouds and blue sky mixed, letting the sun play hide-and-seek. She let herself drift with the ever-changing sky, blanking out all that was going on around her. A stiff breeze whipped around her, enveloping her in its cool biting presence. She shivered. She shifted from foot to foot. Normally two-inch heels didn’t bother her but today they were pinching like crab pincers. The minister’s voice carried on in a monotone that was an instant sleep inducer. She tuned him out. Sleep was something she could use. About seventy-two hours worth.

  But not yet.

  She’d had a conversation with her mom just the week before. It had been awkward and stilted and about the weather and politics rather than their fight several days prior. Her mom never said a word about being unwell.

  But she’d known.

  Bailey clenched her hands. She was tempted to look at her watch but she could hear her mom telling her it would be just plain rude. ‘It’s over when it’s over.’ She didn’t want to do anything that would upset her mom on this day. Maybe she could do something just once that would make her proud.

  The pressure sitting on her chest felt like a hundred-pound anvil, teetering, ready to crash. Anger, frustration, anguish, fear, sadness, rolled, twisted and churned in Bailey’s stomach as all the times she and her mom used to fight ran through her mind. They came fast and furious, spinning like a top, zipping from one to another and back again. Startled by the speed with which it hit, she guiltily looked around as though exposed, as if everyone knew what she was thinking. And thinking she deserved it.

  She forced her thoughts to other things. Had she called Tina before she left? She hoped her friend hadn’t driven across the city to find out she wasn’t there. A niggling memory of something planned with Tina and Deb this weekend popped into her mind but she couldn’t remember the details. She’d have to call them.

  They’d be upset. It wasn’t the first time. The other times had involved her mom too. Not that her friends knew that. She’d never discussed her family or lack of it. This was another rule she’d had to live by.

  It’s all fixable.

  Looking up, her gaze was caught by the sight of the casket. The finality of what it meant slammed into her.

  This... this isn’t fixable.

  She buried her face in her hands and pushed hard. Not here. Not now. She wanted privacy when she let loose. Until now she’d been too numb to really take it in. But this...this was final. There was no going back. No, ‘I’m sorry Mom. We disagree but that’s okay; I still love you.’

  Why didn’t you tell me you were sick, Mom? Or did you?

  A few months before, a time when she’d left her friends high and dry to zip home because of her mom’s urgent and very bizarre phone call wouldn’t be pushed away. She’d phoned and demanded that Bailey come home immediately.

  Bailey had panicked and taken the next flight. It had been a really bizarre week. Her mom had insisted she just needed to see her daughter; they didn’t spend enough time together but she wouldn’t share more than that. She had sworn she was just lonely and feeling bad about the relationship they had. Everything had felt off. Bailey had felt queasy, the same feeling she’d had growing up, every time they’d fled from their latest location. At her mom’s insistence, she’d finally put the bizarre behavior down to stress, being overworked, worrying too much about the store, about Bailey being in the news.

  But maybe it had been something else.

  Was it part of your illness, Mom?

  Bailey sighed. Exhaustion rolled over her. Her hands fell to her sides, her shoulders sagged, her chin fell to her chest and her mind went blank.

  “She was taken from us...”

  Bailey shook her head, trying to deny what was happening. Stretching her eyes open wide, she blinked several times. Restlessly she shuffled her feet. The scent of lilac drifted up to her. The funeral home had taken care of every detail. The gravesite was covered with a carpet of lilacs. Her mother’s favorite flower and fragrance from her childhood. One of the few memories she had shared with Bailey. That and the fact there were no living relatives. And the rest of her childhood was too painful to share—especially regarding why there was no other family.

  “Let’s bow our head in prayer. Oh Heavenly Father...”

  Bailey closed her eyes while the reverend recited the words, not because she was following the ritual of prayer but because she didn’t have the energy left to keep them open. She clasped her hands in front of her. A strong spring breeze whipped around her, slicing through her thin dress coat.

  “Excuse me, Miss Saunders?”

  It took a moment for Bailey to realize the Minister was talking to her. She blinked at him. Genuine concern was etched in his features and it pulled at Bailey with the deepest yearnings of an emotionally starved child. She barely caught herself from leaning against him. Just for a moment she wanted someone to take this away.

  Stand on your own two feet, Bails. I didn’t raise a weakling. Bailey snapped upright as her mom’s words popped into her mind.

  “The service is done. Your mother will be laid to rest in the ground later today....”

  Bailey blinked several times. Too numb to talk or to really understand what he was saying, she nodded. Squeezing her hand, he said, “May God be with you.”

  “Thank you, Reverend,” she mumbled in return. He moved toward a waiting car. The funeral was finally over. Could she finally go home and... and...

  “Hello. We’re Mr. and Mrs. Prichard.” They grasped Bailey’s limp hand. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”

  Bailey smiled wanly at them.

  “We were regulars at your mom’s store. She found some of the most exotic candies I’ve ever tasted. That Delafee Chocolate she imported was very expensive but it was to die for.” The woman’s eyes opened wide as what she said registered. She turned a bright shade of red. “She’d never give away her secrets as to where she got her stuff. She was a very mysterious lady but such a pleasure. I’m really sorry she’s gone.”

  Bailey nodded, not sure what else to do. “Thank you. Mom would be happy you’re here.” The middle-aged couple silently made their way toward a beautiful red convertible.

  “Ooooohhhhh. My dear—”

  “How tragic. This is just so wrong—”

  “Your mom was in the prime of her life. I’m so sorry.”

  Two stooped, cane-carrying ladies popped right into her face, talking over the top of each other. Bailey looked from one to another and then gave up trying to figure out who was saying what.

  “It’s never the right time. But she’s with God now—”

  “She’s walking in the hands of the Lord...”

  It dawned on her these two might be professional funeral mourners. Her mom didn’t have any best friends—or real friends, for that matter. Everyone was just an acquaintance. That was one of the things they’d argued about over the years. Her mom had taught her from a young age not to make friends—‘they’ll just hurt you or you’ll hurt them’.

  Her friends Tina and Deb immediately came to mind. Isn’t that what she’d done to them? Again. And again. She’d tried to be in a friendship, thinking it would solve everything but it only created headaches. She sucked at it as she felt she did at most things in her life.

  “Thank you. Excuse me.” Bailey backed away from the two women who were openly bawling like they’d lost their very own child. Sidestepping them, Bailey made her way around the gravesite. A couple and a young girl of about twelve stepped in front
of her. Bailey tried to hide her annoyance.

  “Hi. We’re sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” She tried to go around the threesome but the woman put her hand on her arm, detaining her. Bailey looked at them blankly.

  “Your mom was so good to Taylor.” The woman smiled at her daughter. “She used to watch Taylor dance. She taught her more about ballet than the instructors did. Our Taylor blossomed under your mom’s guidance.”

  Bailey nodded. It wouldn’t do any good to tell them they were at the wrong funeral. She’d begged her mom to put her in dance school but her mom had said it was an expensive waste of time. She doubted her mom even knew what a plié was. The woman gave her a quick hug before leaving.

  Everyone had gone. She took a deep breath before looking at her mom’s casket. The beautiful black onyx shone as though under a spotlight, draped with a white satin scarf and a large bouquet of flowers—daisies, irises, carnations, tiger lilies, pansies, roses and several others she didn’t know. It exploded with colors—reds, oranges, yellows, purples—and reminded her of the hill in The Sound of Music, her mom’s favorite movie.

  I think you would have loved it, Mom. Bailey squeezed her hands together as though in prayer then pressed them against her lips for a moment. Her thoughts were rapid fire.

  Were there enough flowers? Were they the right ones? Was that the right outfit for Mom? Did it really matter what she wore? The blue one was her favorite; all those frills. The red, sleek dress was the one Bailey would have chosen. It was something else from the old days her mother wouldn’t talk about. Her mom had obviously arranged for the blue outfit. The funeral home already had it. But who had given it to them? How long had she known she was dying? Who had paid for the funeral? What else haven’t I been told?

  She took in several calming breaths. When can I get out of here? When can I go back home? The estate—what possessions she had—must be settled. Then she could go. Should I have found more people to come to this?

  The letter had made it clear she had not wanted her death advertised. She had placed a small notice at the shop stating it was closed until further notice and only those who had phoned her cell to find out when it would reopen had been told she had died. Stepping backward, she took one last look before bowing her head. Pain radiated through her skull with the blunt force of a hammer. Stopping, she pressed her fingers into her temples and counted to ten.