Cut to the Quick (32 page)

Her animation cheered Hollis. Manon appeared to have taken a new course, a positive one.

“Guess what—good news.” Etienne raced out of the house to his mother and threw his arms around her. He looked at Hollis. “Guess, guess what.”

“I don't have any idea, but it must be really good. Tell me.”

“Tomas is taking David and me. Did you hear that—me, taking me tomorrow night when he practices for Tuesday's race.”

Manon was allowing Etienne to sail. This was amazing.

A
t
Monday's class, Curt showed no distress. “It seems everybody's out to get me. This time a demented woman tossed a bomb at my house.”

The crises in his life seemed to invigorate him. Hollis couldn't believe it. She knew that in his circumstances, she'd be a basket case. She'd be jumping at every unexpected noise, checking behind her to see if disaster was sneaking up. In fact, she was a secondary player in this drama, and she still felt threatened and nervous, still feared something else was about to happen.

Those who hadn't heard about the bomb looked shocked.

“Not a ‘serious' bomb—little homemade thing—probably made from the fireworks you buy at those highway stores.” His tone was light. He was letting them know he refused to take this seriously. “I'll need a new hedge—blew the cedars to kingdom come, but they were pretty weedy anyway.” He shrugged. “Who knows what my enemies will do next? Probably a plague of locusts. Now it's time to talk about impermanent colours.”

Curt nodded at Lefevbre, who sat in his usual seat, drawing the other students. “Take my colleague here—it would be a shame if his brilliant portraits faded. The impact of his colour choices and the coordination with his psychological insights would diminish if the colours lost their intensity. In this age of synthetics, the long term properties of many are unknown. Perhaps untested would be a better word. We must assure ourselves they are colourfast before we use them.” His mouth lifted into a smile. “I expect my colleague will have enough material from the drawings he's made in class to mount his own exhibition.”

Lefevbre nodded in acknowledgement of Curt's compliment.

“As I said in an earlier lecture, Turner was a serious offender when it came to using fugitive colours. In fact, Mr. Winsor of the well-known firm of Winsor and Newton wrote and warned Turner not to use certain colours because they would fade. Turner told him to mind his own business. But buyers did bring paintings back to Turner and request that he repaint beautiful red sunsets that had turned grey. He refused. He told them if he did one, he'd have to repaint them all.”

At the break, Lefevbre made no move to join the others on the food and drink trek. Should she stay and talk to him? She didn't want to field the questions that would come her way downstairs. However, her throat felt like she'd spent a week in a Sahara sand storm. She opted for water.

Downstairs, Kate led the charge. “Tell us about it.” She pursed her lips. “You have had more excitement in your life in a week than most people have in a lifetime.”

“Believe me, I wish I hadn't. The police have arrested the alleged bomber. She's a militant
SOHD
opponent.”

“Did she set the fire?” Kate asked.

“They didn't charge her.”

“The poor Hartman family. There must be something we can do,” Kate said.“Flowers. We could send flowers.”

“What a stupid suggestion. Why would they want flowers?” David said.

Kate stared at him. “You really are insensitive.”

“You must have talked to Tomas when you were sailing. Did he say anything about what the family needs?” Hollis said.

“You went sailing with their son, and you can say my suggestion is stupid. Well, Mr. Smarty Pants, what do you suggest?” Kate said.

David glared at her. “I suggest we help with the rebuilding just like we said we would. They don't need us milling around trying to be useful.” He faced Hollis. “If you're staying there and are Manon's friend, why would you think that I know anything you don't know? Tomas and I did not, get this,
not
talk about his brothers or his father. We did discuss the rebuilding and how much we could do and what Curt will have to hire contractors to do.” He turned back to Kate. “Why don't you concentrate on painting?”

“Thanks a lot, jerk,” Kate said and turned her back on him.

“Speaking of painting, that's what I'd like to focus on. Actually I'm doing the ostrich routine—I'm trying to ignore everything except painting while I'm here,” Hollis said.

“Okay, but let us know what we can do to help,” Kate said to Hollis.

* * *

“Which suspect should we concentrate on?” Zee Zee asked after hauling a chair over to sit beside Rhona's desk. She'd brought paper from her inbox with her.

“I intend to pin Hollis down. I'm
sure
she can identify the woman at the funeral and tell us her connection to the crimes.” Rhona thumped her desk in frustration, making her mug jump and coffee splash. She mopped the spill with a wad of tissue she pulled from her bag. “Hollis has been in this situation before. She should realize how important it is to identify every puzzle piece. Sometimes the oddest items lead you in unexpected directions. I think she's protecting someone.” She dropped the sodden tissues in the waste basket. “That said—the fire has anti
SOHD
hallmarks. Arson is an anti-abortionist specialty, and the two groups are pretty well interchangeable. One problem—the turpentine we took from Barney's and Allie's wasn't the accelerant.”

“Maybe we should give them credit for not being total idiots and keeping it around, or maybe they chucked the container. Did we do a garbage search in the alley?” Zee Zee said.

“We did and didn't turn up an empty turpentine can. Have you had a gander at the Hartmans' incoming phone records?”

“They're in here,” Zee Zee said, reaching for her in-basket. She waved a sheaf of paper before she zipped through it. “The calls came from phone booths,” she said.

“It's going to be trickier for anonymous callers in the future—phone booths are an endangered species.”

Zee Zee agreed. “We're recording their calls, but it's a bit late.”

“Have you read this?” Rhona held up Curt's biography.

“Skimmed.”

“And?”

“I'm wondering if we should have pushed to find disgruntled students. We concentrated on peers and colleagues.”

“It's another angle to explore,” Rhona said.

“We should ask his wife and the other professors about students.” Zee Zee shook her head. “Although I think we would have heard about a crazy former student gunning for him.”

Rhona interlaced her fingers, locked them behind her head and stretched her tense neck muscles. “I'm wondering if we're on entirely the wrong track.”

Zee Zee raised her eyebrows. “How's that?”

“What if, after all, Ivan, Etienne or Hollis was the intended victim? We should be looking at who would want
them
dead.”

* * *

Monday evening, Hollis and Manon had settled in the garden. MacTee stretched out for a deep and serious nap. The leaves of the tall trees overhanging the garden rustled in the cool breeze.

Hollis folded the paper she was reading to stop it from blowing. “Wonderful wind. The men will enjoy their sail.”

“I hope it isn't too strong,” Manon said. “Sailing in a stiff breeze can be a challenge.”

Curt, carrying a tray with glasses, vodka and tonic bottles and a jar of salted peanuts joined them. “Time for a little R and R,” he said.

In the kitchen, the phone rang.

“I'll get it.” Hollis, closest to the house, ran for the French doors.

“Manon,” the voice squeaked.

“It's Hollis Grant, I'm a house guest. Shall I call Manon?”

“It's David.”

His voice had been unrecognizable. Alarm bells rang.

David, what was wrong with his voice? Why was he phoning—he was supposed to be sailing. “What's happened?”

“You won't believe it. I don't believe it myself…” His voice trembled.

“What is it?”

“An accident.”

“Oh, my God. Etienne.”

“Etienne
is fine, but…”

“Tomas?”

“He's missing.”

“What happened?”

“The boat sank.”

“Sank! It's a lovely evening. How could it sink?”

Manon entered the kitchen. She stopped. Her mouth moved but no words emerged. Not the time for Manon to faint. She needed to talk to David, to hear that Etienne was alive.

“Here's Manon. Better talk to her.”

Manon's wide eyes reflected her fear. She grabbed the phone as if it were a lifeline holding her back from the precipice.

“Etienne,” she gasped and listened. “Can I hear his voice?” Her face softened. “Etienne. Thank God…”

She listened again. “Yes, yes, don't worry about that. Let me talk to David.”

“How could it have happened? What do you mean you
think
Tomas may have swum for shore?” Manon's eyes filled with hopelessness. “You're telling me you're
hoping
he swam to shore, but you don't know.” Another pause. “Everyone knows you don't leave the boat. Even though Tomas is a champion swimmer, he would have stayed with you and Etienne.”

Manon clutched the phone and leaned on the wall as if she'd fall to the floor without its support.

“Listen. We'll be there soon. Take care of Etienne.” Hollis pried the phone from Manon's hands and replaced it in its cradle. Manon, her face slack and her mouth open, didn't react.

“I'm sure Tomas made it to shore, or a boat picked him up,” Hollis said.

Manon shook her head. “I'd like to agree, but the water's rough and cold. David would have heard if the Harbour Police or a rescue boat had found Tomas.”

She took a shaky breath. “David and Etienne are waiting in the Royal Canadian Yacht Club lounge. It's over on Toronto Island—you have to take their launch to get there. Wouldn't you know it—Etienne's worried about Curt's reaction to losing his folkboat.” Her lips curved into a caricature of a smile. “How typical for Etienne to think about Curt. David will stay with him until Curt and I arrive.” The smile disappeared. “I'll tell Curt.”

“Should I come?”

Manon shook her head again. “No, I'll do this myself, but it would help if you'd follow us to the
RCYC
. In case we have to…” She didn't finish the sentence. An awareness of the terrible circumstances that would keep Manon and Curt at the
RCYC
flashed between them. “If necessary, you could bring Etienne home.”

Tomas. A few hours ago, he was alive and well. Had the killer struck again? But that was silly: how could anyone have predicted Tomas would try to swim to shore and not make it? If someone had sabotaged the boat, he probably hadn't intended to murder Tomas.

Although Curt seldom mentioned his heart problems, they weren't a secret. Anyone who knew him might have thought that immersion in Lake Ontario's always-frigid water would cause Curt's heart to fail. The saboteur would have assumed Curt would be aboard and also know Tomas, a strong swimmer with a normal heart, would wear a life jacket. He wouldn't have known that Etienne and David would be in the boat that day.

I
n
the
RCYC
lounge, Etienne, a soft drink in his hand and a bag of chips on his knee, sat close to Manon who had her arm around him. Cartoons filled the wide screen
TV
, but no one paid any attention. People crowded the room. Individuals came and went. Manon and Etienne sat isolated from the room's activity as surely as if someone had erected a wall around them. David was not with them when Hollis arrived.

“I'm here,” Hollis said, touching Manon's shoulder.

Etienne jumped to his feet and raced to Hollis. The fact that he publicly flung his arms around her revealed his anguish. “It was awful,” he said. She hugged him tight and murmured sympathetically into his hair.

“Any news?” she said to Manon.

Manon shook her head.

“News?” Etienne repeated.

Oh lord, she'd put her foot in. Maybe David hadn't told Etienne that Tomas's whereabouts were unknown. Quick save needed.

“The boat—did it come to the surface or float in or anything?”

“It's a keelboat. When they turn turtle, they sink like stones.” Etienne said. “Maman wanted Papa to give it up and buy a safer fibreglass boat, but Papa loved it.”

A vessel guaranteed to sink: what better way to kill someone. The sabotage evidence would lie on the bottom of Lake Ontario forever.

“Curt and David have gone out in the search boats,” Manon said. “Will you drive us back to the house? We'll wait there.”

It was close to nine o'clock when David brought Curt home.

“They've called off the search until first light tomorrow. David will pick me up at four thirty tomorrow morning.” Curt hovered uncertainly in the kitchen doorway. Manon, Etienne and Hollis sat at the kitchen table, picking at sandwiches.

“We must make plans,” Curt said.

Manon shot to her feet. Her lips quivered. “Plans?” Her normally tidy hair was no longer pulled back from her face but hanging in a tangled mass. Her face pale and her lips trembling, Manon repeated the word as if came from some unknown language. “Plans for what?” Her face crumpled, she hugged herself and rocked back and forth. “I'm sorry. It's too horrible. I'm sorry, but I can't stay here. Can't risk anything happening to Etienne. I am sorry, but I can't stay.”

Curt didn't move.

“Who's next? Not Etienne. I'm not allowing Etienne to stay one more day.”