Fiona Silk Mysteries 2-Book Bundle (28 page)

I liked Grandma Silk even less than Irene, and it was mutual. I was pretty sure she was the source of Philip's personality quirks. Maybe it skips a generation, because his parents were both relaxed people. I'd had a warm and jovial father-in-law and an affectionate mother-in-law. I'd been very sad to lose them both. While they were alive, they'd spent a lot of time scratching their heads about the way their only boy had turned out, although they'd been far too loyal to admit it. Granny Silk was another story. She and Philip shared the fusspot gene for sure. We had managed to avoid each other for most of the years of my marriage and for all of the years afterwards. Now that she'd hit ninety, there was always the chance she might have mellowed, but I wasn't counting on it. Sometimes you just have to straighten your spine and march off to war. I checked the garage. Sure enough, a shiny new
BMW
M5-E60. Not Granny's, I was betting.

I ducked around the back of the house, to the kitchen entrance. The inside door to the house was open, the Victorian style screen door keeping the bugs out. A shadowy figure loped around the kitchen. I whipped open the screen door and stepped in. A small matter of unauthorized entry was nothing compared to the rest of what I'd been dealing with.

Philip whirled and almost dropped his glass. I put a finger to my lips. He pursed his.

I said, “Don't alert your grandmother, and no one will get hurt. Step outside. We need to talk.”

He blanched. He was already pasty, so that was something. “Did anyone follow you?”

“Absolutely not.” I had no idea and hadn't thought to look. I wasn't accustomed to being followed. Of course, I wasn't used to having my house burned down either.

He hesitated.

“Fine,” I said, “we'll stay inside, but I don't want to deal with
you-know-who, and if you betray me, I'll shop you to the cops.”

He said, “You wouldn't.”

“I would,” I said, “and what's more, I'll tell your grandmother everything you've done. Every single, vile, messy thing. I will use words like bankrupt and bailiff and prison.”

He fell for that. Which was good, because I actually didn't know the vile, messy details. This bluffing business was going pretty well. I felt I'd learned a good deal from my executive assistant. “She won't hear us. She sleeps for about an hour every day at this time. Nothing wakes her.”

I followed him into the parlour, which was the place where blindingly white starched doilies live out their days. He sat on the sofa, and I sat on a chair that felt like it was made of concrete. I knew from memory that the sofa was just as unyielding.

“I want to hear everything from your viewpoint, Philip. And if you know what's good for you, you'll do that without a single criticism or dig at me.”

Too late. “What are you wearing? You look like a goat herd. Is that a Grateful Dead T-shirt? I hope you didn't run into any of my colleagues dressed like that.” He just couldn't resist.

“And you,” I said, “are wearing two different socks.”

“I am not,” he huffed.

I pointed to his feet. I kind of liked this mean stuff—on a purely temporary basis.

He stared down at his mismatched socks and deflated a bit. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“What was Danny up to?”

“A deal. An amazing deal.”

“Maybe you mean an amazing death. What happened?”

“I didn't know everything. It's not my fault.”

“Jury's still out on that.”

“I didn't know he'd signed your name too.”

What? Well, that came from nowhere. Of course, if I asked all the questions that were about to leap from my mouth, especially if I shouted them, Phil would clam up. Trust me, no one clams up like Phil.

“Didn't you?” I said, with great restraint.

“Well, no. I'd hardly condone forging your name on a legal document, would I?”

Forging my name on a legal document? What could that be? A loan application? Hardly. No one in the world could get credit based on me as a co-borrower or collateral or anything else.

It hit me. I probably turned pastier than Phil. “No. Not possible,” I said. “Not the house. Not our house. He couldn't have done that.”

One look at Philip's face, and I realized he'd thought I already knew. I said, “You sold the house?”

“Not sold. Mortgaged. I mean, you hadn't lived in it for three years. Don't get all sentimental on me.”

“Sentimental?
You were party to a scheme to defraud me of my share of the house I worked to pay for, and you are calling my reaction sentimental?”

“Danny did it. I didn't know.”

“You're a lawyer, for Pete's sake. How could you not know? Did he forge your signature too? Oh, my God, he did.”

Philip managed not to meet my eyes after my outburst.

“Spill,” I said.

“I confronted him when I found out he'd forged your name. I couldn't believe it. He kept saying that house was half-mine, and the deal was going to make us a fortune. We couldn't lose. It was just a couple of days, and then I'd get my funds back and pay off the mortgage with a nice profit, and you'd never know.”

“I guess I got mine, all right. So now, even my property is mortgaged.”

“That didn't come out right. What I'm trying to say, Fiona, is that he duped me too. And Irene. And who knows who else. He was crazy. Nuts. Out of control. He could be so charismatic. He convinced me that if he had access to cash and a bit of time, he'd be rich. And so would I.”

“If I remember correctly, he was more of a jerk than a charismatic businessman. Anyway, now he's dead, you'll have to go after his estate to recoup our funds. What's that look on your face, Phil?”

Phil stared down at his feet. The bags under his eyes matched the navy sock, and his skin tone was equal to the grey one. I realized that he was hyperventilating.

“Breathe!” I said. “Then talk.”

“He had it with him.”

“The money?” I have always prided myself on not being a slave to money. This might have been less true than I thought.

“Don't shout, Fiona. You'll wake my grandmother.”

I lowered my voice. “He had the cash with him when his car incinerated?” I didn't have to hear the answer to know that it was true. I said, “But why?”

“He was about to make the big transaction. He was very excited about it. He told me like it was good news.”

“You actually knew that he was driving around like a maniac with our money in his oversized status symbol?”

“Please keep your voice down. It's not like you to shout.”

“I never had anything this big to shout about before.”

“I found out just before the accident. I tried to meet up with him. But I didn't get there in time. The road was blocked off, and he was...”

Okay. Big exhale, as they say in yoga class.

“It's all gone, Fiona.”

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2 cups whole-wheat flour

1 tablespoon baking powder

1 cup, less one tablespoon, chunky peanut butter

1 tablespoon liquid honey

1 cup milk

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You should check with the V-E-T before you serve these to your canine companion.

I was halfway to St. Aubaine when it hit me: how had Philip found out that Danny Dupree had the money with him? I did a U-turn and headed back. This time I wasn't lucky enough to avoid the grandmother. She blocked the screen door.

I raised my voice and bluffed. “Get out here, Phil. I don't have much time.”

Philip slunk to the front door. “We can't talk here.” Meaning in front of his grandmother.

“How did you find out about that situation we were discussing? With Danny, the other day.”

“He texted me.”

“But I was trying to reach you. Irene insisted you had your Blackberry turned off that day. Was she lying?”

He shook his head. “I was at the hospital having a test. They make your turn them off.”

“So when was the text message sent?”

“I don't know. I never looked. “

“Even I know that there will be a record of the call. Now would be a good time to check.”

Philip handed me the Blackberry. I clicked around until I found it. But that couldn't be right. “Is your clock wrong on this?” I said.

He bristled. “Of course it's not. What are you talking about?”

“I saw that accident. I know what time it happened. At the time that this message was sent, Danny Dupree was already dead.”

I took a detour past my late home, for once glad to see the garbage can. Then I drove to see Sarrazin.

Sarrazin took the offence. “Were you planning to tell me that you have been in contact with your husband?”

“I just spoke to him. Now I want to cut a deal.”

He massaged his temple and sighed.

I said, “Remember that cigarette butt?”

“Remind me.”

“The one I told you about. The one that the woman in the Escalade flicked out at me. The same woman that Cyril must have picked up in Tulip Valley. I still have that butt. It didn't burn up in the car. Josey cleaned up the car and put the trash in the garbage can.”

Sarrazin sighed dramatically. “I thought I'd already explained the importance of chain of evidence to you.”

“Fine, I understand that, but there will be
DNA
on that butt, no? And you could find out who the person is, since you don't believe it's Anabel. I know a bit about this stuff. I watched television the odd time when I still had one, you know.”

“
DNA
? Don't make me laugh. Leaving aside the backlog at the lab, you can only match
DNA
when you have someone to match it too. There is no database called
EBWIQ
.”

“What?”

“That would be Every Blonde Woman in Quebec.”

“Very funny, but... ”

“And don't start again with Anabel Huffington-Chabot either. I want to talk about your husband.”

“Ex-husband.”

“Right. The one you're shielding.”

In the end I gave Philip up, with the minor concession that
Sarrazin would agree to send the butt to the lab. No guarantees.

I hit the Hull hospital as soon as Josey provided me with the good news that Cyril was conscious. Luckily, I wasn't
persona non grata
there, although I still was in the rehab centre. As I tiptoed in, he lay sleeping, snoring gently. There was black bruising around both eyes, his nose had been broken, and judging by the bandages and stitches and
IV
hookups, he still had a way to go.

“Cyril,” I whispered. “Cyril.”

“He's sleeping. As if you didn't notice.” Cyril's fellow patient in the semi-private room looked to be about a hundred. Wicked little blue eyes sparkled at me.

“I thought he might be just resting,” I said.
“Cyril!”

The eyes opened slowly. He croaked something, but I couldn't really make it out.

“Shhh,” I said. “Listen to me. Did Anabel Huffington give you something to eat or drink before you had your accident?”

“Who is...?”

“You know who she is, Cyril. The good tipper.”

He shook his head, but that caused him pain. The other patient said, “That didn't sound good. They. can up his painkillers.”

“Okay,” I said, “I'll call the nurse.” I pressed the button by the side of the bed. “But tell me about Anabel. It's urgent. It could save your life.”

“Don't know.”

“Sure you do. You waved to her. Blonde. Tall.”

It was painful to listen to Cyril's breathing. “No.”

“What? Sure it was. You picked her up.”

“Didn't.”

“Yes. Did.”

“Pain.”

“The nurse will be here. I'll get help. Hold on. What is taking her so long?”

The roommate said, “Spend much time in hospitals, lady?”

“More than I want to,” I said, heading for the door.

Cyril croaked out. “The other one.”

“The other nurse? The other buzzer? What?”

“Pretty, smile. Hair. Different.” Then nothing but erratic breathing. Eyes closed.

“You lost him again.” The roommate seemed to find that quite satisfactory. Probably needed a bit of drama in his life.

I headed down the hall and snagged a nurse. “I can only be in one place at a time,” she said, crisply.

“Oh, right. I'm glad you're here now. He's in bad shape.”

“Yes, we're getting used to him,” she said, striding up to his bed. “Can you wait outside, please?”

“But—”

“Won't be long.” She whipped the curtain around the bed. With all the violations of personal privacy that routinely take place in hospitals, such as the catheter quite obviously displayed by the side of the roommate's bed, I wasn't sure why Cyril's nurse was so uptight.

I paced in the hallway, while Cyril's roommate positioned himself to send me lascivious looks. It's good to know when you reach your nineties, not all the sparks are out. By the time I got back into the room, the morphine had hit the target, and Cyril was sleeping.

“He'll sleep for a couple of hours. You can wait here with me,” the roommate said.

“Sorry, other plans.”