The Goddaughter (3 page)

“Ah.” Pete looked relieved. “We can go together. We'll take my car.”

Crap.

“Oh now, I couldn't.” It was true. I couldn't. I also couldn't tell him why I couldn't.

“Nonsense, no trouble at all. It's only an hour away. I've got my Nexus card on me. I can stop at WBEN Radio while we're there. We can even have dinner over the border. I know this little place in Amherst.”

I fiddled with the handles of my handbag. “Don't you have to go to work?”

He laughed. “It's Friday. They owe me about a month of overtime. Besides, I'm working on a story about cross-border rivalries between football teams and can talk to the guys at WBEN about it. I'll drop you off where you have to be and then come back and pick you up. Then we do dinner.”

This could work, I thought. Maybe it would even be a good cover.

“Where do you need to go?”

“The Walden Galleria shopping center.” I said it without thinking.

He looked straight at me. “For a business meeting?”

I gulped again. “They have offices above the stores.” Didn't they?

He tilted his head and shrugged. “Let's go, then. I'm parked over here.”

CHAPTER
SIX

B
uffalo used to be a booming dynamic city in the 1800s. You can still see vestiges of the grand old gal as you drive through areas such as Amherst. But for me, the glory of Buffalo will always be the Martin House, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in his early days. It's under reconstruction now, or I would have insisted on Pete taking a detour.

Hamilton is only an hour from Buffalo, but you need a passport or Nexus card to get into the United States from Canada now. In the old days, we used to hop across the border for dinner on the other side with a mere flip of a driver's license. Usually, customs officials didn't even ask to see it. Most of the time, they'd ask us what the specials were tonight at John's Flaming Hearth, and maybe join us at the bar after they got off shift.

The world was different now. I was expecting the worst, but going through customs was just one more surprise in a day of surprises. Pete drove up to one of the many kiosks at the Peace Bridge. The middle-aged redhead in the booth beamed a toothy smile.

“Hi, Pete,” she said. “Staying for a while this time?”

Pete—the dirty dog—smiled back. “Nah, just a day trip. Taking the lady shopping at the Galleria.”

Her smile changed to a frown. Reddy-locks peered in at me. “Where you from, Miss?”

“Hamilton,” I replied, in my sunniest voice. “Born and bred.”

“Passport.”

I handed it to Pete, who duly presented it.

Back it came through the open window.

“Nice to see you, Marcie.” Pete can be a charmer.

The smile was back on her face. “Have a nice time there.”

I waited until we were clear of the exit before starting the interrogation.

“Who's the dye job?” I asked in my most nonchalant manner.

Pete glanced over. “Jealous?”

“No, I like my hair.” Sometimes you gotta be obtuse.

Pete laughed. “I cross the border every other week. You get to know the people with the power.”

I cocked my head. “Care to elaborate?”

“I was born here,” Pete said simply. “My folks live here.”

Well, that explains the Nexus card.

“They have a house in Amherst. Kind of old.”

Figures.

“They also have a place in Florida.”

Better.

We were on some highway now. At this speed, it was hard to hear. I kept my questions for later.

* * *

Half an hour later, I was sitting on a bench in the Galleria, massaging my right foot. I deliberately avoided the Macy's end so I wouldn't run into my drop contact ahead of time. Why? Pete had insisted on coming into the mall so we could agree on a spot to meet later. I had insisted on finding a bench so I could sit down and take off my shoes. They were killing me.

“Nice place,” Pete said, gazing down the length of gilded stores. “Used to be classier, and a whole lot busier. Place is a morgue now during the day.”

I looked up. “You know this mall?”

“I grew up not far from here,” Pete said.

“So you know the people at WBEN.”

Pete smiled. I felt my heart teeter.

“Did an internship there when I was in high school. You know, the work experience thing. Made a lot of great friends and contacts. Then they followed me when I was in the pros. Local boy makes good. Until I didn't.” Pete looked off in the distance, thinking about those days, no doubt. I didn't want him to feel sad, so I rushed to speak.

“I'll bet you took a lot of girlfriends here.” Why did I say that? Of all the stupid things…

Pete looked up in surprise. Then he raised an eyebrow. “Only one. I went with one girl all through school. I'm the monogamous sort.”

I felt my face go red. What can you say to top that?

“So I'll meet you back here at five.”

“Right,” I said, looking up and away. “Opposite the lingerie store there.” I shifted over on the bench to make room for a large-breasted blond woman. She smiled her thanks.

Pete wandered up to the window with his hands in his pockets. “Come look at this.” He nodded to the strappy satin nightgown in the window. “You like that sort of thing?”

I grabbed the pair of flats from my handbag-cum-suitcase and put them on. Then I rushed to join him at the window.

“It's beautiful,” I said. Just looking at it made my heart sing.

“You'd look good in pink. Although you look pretty good in that blue suit too,” said Pete.

I felt a charge hit me clear through the chest. Damn, but he looked good from the side. Something about the casual way he stood with his hand in his pocket, the way his hair fell over his eyes, which were fixed on the mannequin…

I shook myself. “That's fuchsia. Guys never know colors.”

“Red, blue, yellow and green. And orange. That's all I need to know.”

“What about purple?”

“And purple.”

“What about brown, gray and beige? Chartreuse? Puce?”

“Never heard of it. You're making that up, right?”

Men. I shook my head and turned back to the bench. The blond woman was gone. And so were my…

“Bloody hell!” I yelled. I dashed around the back of the bench. Nothing.

“What is it?” Pete was baffled.

“My shoes! My shoes are gone!”

I was scrambling now, knees on the floor, looking under everything in sight.

“When did you last see them?”

“I left them on the floor right here. Then you called me over to look at the window, and then”—I was starting to wail—“they aren't here!”

I stood up and scanned both right and then left. No sign of the blond woman. Where could she have gone in that time?

Maybe she dashed into a store? A change room? If I tried to search every change room in the place, someone would call security for sure…

“Ah.” His voice relaxed. “Don't worry about that. I'll buy you another pair. I bet they have some really nice ones in—”

He stopped when he saw my face.

“It's not just the shoes, is it?”

I hesitated, then shook my head.

“Was something in the shoes?” His voice was tense.

I gulped.

His hand went to his forehead and brushed back hair nervously. “Don't tell me it's drugs,” he hissed. “Don't tell me I just smuggled drugs over the border.”

I shook my head. “Not drugs.”

He let out a sigh. “I'm not going to like this, am I?”

“Not so much.” It was hard to breathe. I flopped down on the bench.

“You going to tell me?”

I thought for maybe two seconds, then shook my head.

“Mind if I guess?”

I thought for maybe three seconds, then shook my head.

“Does it have anything to do with the business you're in?”

I didn't move.

“And maybe that store over there, the one with the flashy things in the window that people might buy for engagement gifts?”

I looked up at him.

“Okay.” He plunked down on the bench beside me. “What do we do first?”

I think that's when I started to fall in love with Pete Malone.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

W
e found the women's washroom. Luckily, it was empty. I took out my cell phone, punched numbers and waited for the “Hullo.”

“Sammy, I lost the shoes.” Have you ever tried to yell without raising your voice?

A pause.

“What do you mean, lost the shoes?”

I took a breath. “The shoes, Sammy! The shoes. I put them down on the floor by a bench and someone walked off with them.”

“
Holy crap!
” He got it now. “You lost the fucking shoes! Why the hell did you take them off ?”

This is where it got tricky. “They were making my feet hurt. I switched them after we got across the border and put on flats instead.”

Another pause.

“Who's the
we
?”

A blast of cold hit my face. Crap. I blew it. Sammy may be rough, but he isn't stupid.

“We.” I swallowed. Tried to breathe. “You know that bank robbery on King? My car was in the parking lot, and I decided to leave it there because I didn't want to be frisked—you know, scene of the crime, and me being who I am and what I was carrying—so I got someone to drive me here.”

“Who
someone
?”

“Um…Pete Malone.”

I heard real bad cursing. Real bad. Aunt Miriam would have his nuts for noodles if she knew
.

“How much does he know?” Sammy said finally.

“Nothing. He thinks we're going out to dinner tonight after I do a little shopping.” Lie, lie, lie. I'm going to hell, no question.

“Vinnie ain't gonna like this.” I could almost hear him shaking his head.

“Vince doesn't have to know about it. At least not yet. Look, I need you to call the Battalia people and tell them there's been a slight delay. We'll make the trade tomorrow, same time. Can you do that?”

“You going to be able to get them back by tomorrow?”

“Sure.” My voice swaggered with confidence. “I know exactly who took them. And that woman has no idea what's in them, so we're safe.”

“She just wanted the shoes?”

“You got it. Now I just have to go after her and get them back.”

We rang off. I left the washroom and found Pete leaning against a wall with his big arms crossed. He looked over and met my eyes.

“Any idea where to start?” he asked.

“Not a clue,” I said.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

T
he local food factory served large mugs of pretty good coffee. This was a good thing. I needed a whole lot of coffee to clear my brain. Or maybe I just needed a new brain.

We were seated at a table for two. As per my training, I had grabbed the chair that allowed me to look out across the restaurant, with my back to the wall Like in the old westerns.

“I hate my life,” I mumbled into the mug.

“Why don't you change it then?”

I looked up sharply. If Pete was trying to be helpful, he had a lot to learn.

“I did try.” The look I gave him wasn't warm. “I left Hamilton two years ago to do my own thing in a place far away. They found me eventually and convinced me to come back. It took awhile.” I took a slurp.

Now he looked serious. “That doesn't seem right.”

“You don't understand.” I shook my head firmly. “They brought me back for my own safety. Two attempts had already been made to kidnap me. I was a sitting target for anyone who had a thing against my Uncle Vince. Still am, in fact. But on his home turf, they don't dare try it. Besides, I like Hamilton. I wanted to come home.”

I did too. Yeah, it was a bit smoggy, and some people would call it a backwater compared to Toronto. But it was right on the lake, and it was
real
, if you get what I mean. It wasn't pretending to be anything it wasn't. No “World Class” about it, unless they've started a category for mid-century industrial. And it has character. Not to mention a pile of great Italian restaurants.

Pete was still frowning. “It's not fair that you have to live your life by their terms.”

I sighed. “I don't, really. It's on my terms now. Except I shouldn't have agreed to do this little rendezvous. I capitulated in a weak moment. Believe me, I won't ever do it again.” No kidding. I could hardly have bungled it more.

Pete sat back and seemed to relax a bit. “I can't imagine what your life has been like.”

“I had a good childhood.” I swirled the coffee around in the mug. Lovely aroma coming up. “Mom was a great mom. She's in Florida now with husband number two. He's a nice guy, a retired engineer. She met him a few years ago, when she stayed at a resort down there.”

“What happened to husband number one?”

“Ah.” I slurped again. “Now that's a puzzle. He kind of disappeared before I was born.”

“What kind of ‘disappeared'? He left town? Or something else?”

“Couldn't help you there. The story is he got scared, so he took off. Our family didn't have anything to do with it. They all seem pretty baffled about where the guy got to. And I know when they're lying.”

Pete went silent for a moment. “So you grew up without a father?”

“Yes, but don't go feeling sorry for me. I had plenty of family around me growing up. Several aunts and uncles and exactly twenty-four cousins, to be exact.” Oops. Too many
exacts
in that sentence. Maybe I needed some food. I hadn't had breakfast.

“You hungry?”

“I'm always hungry! I could eat a skunk.”

He laughed. “Always, you say the one thing I'd never guess. Why a skunk?”