Notorious D.O.C. (Hope Sze medical mystery) (29 page)

"I don't like it. Can you find stay
with someone else after I leave? Or check in with a neighbour every so
often?"

"I'm on it." I thought of my
messages to Tucker and Tori. Wouldn't that be screwed up, if Ryan was
encouraging me to crash with Tucker. Well, murder and intimidation make strange
bedfellows.

"Don't go anywhere, and lock your door."

I glanced outside. The sunlight was
mellowing into yellow and gold, bright but gentle, with longer shadows and
cooler evening breezes. It was one of my favourite times of a summer day, but I
didn't feel safe. I was glad Ryan had barred my windows. "Okay."

"Good thing I tightened up your
security. Okay, I'm about packed. See you in two. I love you. Take care of
yourself, Hope."

One last, hot tear seeped out of my right
eye. "Ryan, I can't thank you enough."

"Don't worry about it. I'll be there
soon." His voice softened. "First, last, and always."

After I broke the connection, I pressed
the receiver to my forehead, wordless. That was what we used to say to each
other. First, last, and always.

He and Tucker were both such good men and
I was hurting both of them. In theory, I had always liked the idea of a
threesome with me and two other guys, both as a sex fantasy, and as a potential
reality, as seen on www.polyamory.com. But in this lifetime, with these
players, I knew my two men would not settle for that long-term. I would have to
make up my mind. Soon.

And I would have to find out who was
targeting me. Sooner.

Chapter
30

First, just to clear my head, I ran
Ryan's computer program.

A window popped open. It showed a red
velvet curtain with sashes, the heavy ones you see in theatres. Two cartoon men
stood on either side. When I clicked on one, they opened the curtain and moved
off-stage.

At first, the window was black. Then the
black churned around, became turbulent, and a picture of me popped out. Me as a
kid in a Brownie uniform, cuter than a ladybug. It bugged me that my orange and
white scarf was tied with the right wing bigger than the left, but I could see
the determination in my eyes and in the way I lifted my chin. I hadn't bothered
to smile.

"Take on Me," by A-Ha, started
to play in the background. And at that moment, a cartoon bubble popped above my
picture, saying, "I am not beige."

While I was still laughing, the picture
was replaced by one of me in a slim-fitting evening gown, black satin, slit up
to mid-thigh. I was smokin'. Ryan had escorted me to my faculty's formal ball
in second year university and told me he loved me. "If everything goes
right for the next two years, Hope, I want to marry you."

I blew a kiss at the screen and
straightened my spine. No, I didn't know how to sort out my love life, but
somehow I felt calmer.

I was not going to die. I was not going
to get hurt. Two good men loved me and I was going to find Laura Lee's killer.
The fact that someone was threatening me meant I was getting close.

Or, as Ryan had pointed out, the last
murderer was still holding a grudge, but let's not quibble.

So when the phone rang again, I snatched
it up, ready to do battle. "Hello?"

"Hope." Mrs. Lee's voice hummed
with excitement. "I talked to Michael Martinez. He's willing to meet
us."

"Mrs. Lee!
 
You promised—"

She paid no attention. "I've been
waiting eight years, Hope. Eight years. When every day, sometimes every hour
feels like eternity."

That silenced me.

She sighed. "I know I told you we needed
a plan
.
It's the most logical thing to do. But I
am so tired of waiting! The police, the detective, the lawyer, and now you.
Everyone pats me on the head and expects me to knit at home. I cannot wait any
longer when this man may have information about her death. Can you meet us at
eight-thirty?"

Oh, my God. I wasn't planning on leaving
the apartment, and now Ryan was on his way. That left me just over an hour and
a half to make it there, just about the same time Ryan might buzz my apartment
if he really kicked it.

Mrs. Lee was still talking. "I chose
the Xpress Café half-way between us, in case you wanted to come. Regardless, I
will be there."

"Mrs. Lee. This is crazy. You want
to meet with the man who might have killed your daughter?"

"I have to, Hope. Whether you come
or not. It's the one on Queen Mary." She hung up.

I clapped my hands to my cheeks. Dear
Lord. She was not joking.

I called Tucker. To hell with pride.
Someone had to go with Mrs. Lee. I'd prefer a giant ninja versed in
hand-to-hand combat and assault weapons, but Tucker would do.

No fucking answer at home. I left my
number on his pager again, but I was beginning to suspect his pager batteries
had died. It wasn't like him to ignore me.

I called Stan Biedelman. He was a
reasonably big guy. He answered his cell. "What's happening?"

"Do you want to play bodyguard for
Mrs. Lee?" I filled his dumbfounded silence with the details.

Longer pause. "I don't think that's
a good idea. You shouldn't encourage her."

"Did you hear me or not?
 
I'm not encouraging her, she's on her
way!"

"First of all, my entire family is
here for dinner, including my uncle from Moose Jaw, so I can't go. But even if
I could, I wouldn't. I'd call the police."

"And tell them what? We're meeting a
guy a psychiatrist fingered eight years ago. We have no proof, but he could be
dangerous?"

"Yeah, something like that."

I hung up on him and called Tori again.
Maybe together, we'd be adequate muscle. In psych, if a patient is acting up,
you do a "show of force." I saw it once as a med student. A woman was
in isolation, under camera supervision, when she lost it. She picked up the
armchair and started ramming it against the safety glass window in the door.

The nurses and orderlies gathered
together and walked up to the door. That was the show of force. It doesn't
matter if it's men, women, or both, as long as it's a group. At least it worked
with that patient. Between Tori, Mrs. Lee and me, in a public place, we'd
probably be okay.

Still no answer.

God damn it.

I could not allow Mrs. Lee to meet this
potential murderer alone. I didn't care if it was in a public place. It wasn't
safe. And she never would have found this guy if it weren't for me. I could not
live with myself if she died because of me.

I called Ryan. He, at least, answered right
away again. "You gotta be kidding."

"It shouldn't be long. Here's the
address. You can meet us there." I rattled the directions. I could hear
traffic in the background, so he was already on the road, without a GPS, but I
wasn't worried. Ryan was born with a compass in his head, kind of like a homing
pigeon. He'd find us.

"Hope, the whole point is for you to
be safe. Jesus! I want you to come home to Ottawa."

"No. I'm off, Ryan. I'll see you
there. I've got my cell and pager."

***

I'm not a complete idiot. I drove to the
Xpress Café instead of walking. And I left messages with Tucker, Tori, and my
parents, plus a note on my dining room table saying where I went. Just in case
I got offed.

I wasn't worried about myself so much as
Mrs. Lee. Everyone was always criticizing my judgment, but now I thought she
was the one in more danger. Not only was she grieving and angry and impatient,
she may well not want to live anymore.

The Xpress Café was easy to find. A sign
with plain, white lettering on a navy background hung over the glass-fronted
building. A single, empty, plastic table sat on the sidewalk. I pushed open the
door, rattling a jingle bell, but I hardly noticed it, the faint aroma of
coffee, or the look from a white-aproned guy behind the counter. A girl paged
through her book—no. A couple ignored each other as they read the
newspaper—no.

It was only 8:20. Maybe I'd beat them
there?

But at the back, near the washroom, I
spotted Mrs. Lee parallel to the wall. She noted me out of the corner of her
eye, but she kept talking to a pale man with messy black hair.

Michael Martin. I materialized at their
side. They were sitting at a table for two, so I kept standing with a fake
smile at my face, waiting for the right moment to interrupt.

"—
fi
-nal offer," Mrs. Lee said, accentuating the long i in the
first syllable. She looked remarkably calm. Her purse was still looped around
the shoulder closest to the wall and her left hand rested on it, a dead
giveaway that was where she was holding her money.

Instead of answering her, he turned to
look at me. I caught my breath. His eyes were an eerie, light, milky blue, the
kind you might see on a Siberian Husky; not what I expected with dark hair and
olive skin. He was good-looking—not as arresting as his head shot on his
website—but his eyes were a bit close-set, and his forehead a little
prominent. He was the kind of guy you might say to yourself "Hey, not
bad" if you lined up behind him at the grocery store. Still, something
about him set my senses on alert.

"I'll have a soy latte," he
said, pushing an empty coffee mug toward me.

I goggled at him. He thought I was the
help?
 
Totally unexpected.

So was his laugh. "Just kidding.
Coffee's fine." After a beat, he said, "I assume you're her
back-up?" He smiled and gave me a quick, appreciative once-over. To my
surprise, I almost smiled back before I caught myself.

Of course, antisocial people can be very
charming. "Hi, I'm H—Helen."

"Hi,
H—Helen
," he said, imitating my hesitation. "Nice
to meet you. I'm Mike, but you probably already know that."

I glanced at Mrs. Lee. Her face really
did look inscrutable, but I could sense her anger. "May I join you?"
I was asking both of them. I knew it wasn't a coincidence they'd already
started. She'd built in time for herself for a one-on-one. Good thing I'd been
early, for once.

Her head jerked down in a yes. I started
to drag a chair over. "Oh, allow me," said Mike, picking it up and
setting it down for me. "Could I buy you a drink? Since I'm about to
become a rich man?"

"Not until you accept my
offer," said Mrs. Lee.

"I'm fine," I said. "Could
you bring me up to speed?"

Mrs. Lee compressed her lips together.
She didn't want me to talk. She wanted to run the show. Fine.

Mike leaned back in his chair with his
knees akimbo. "Sure. What part do you want to hear? The dinero or the
conditions?"

I checked Mrs. Lee's face. She stayed
mute. This was why we should have had a plan. I had very little idea what was
going on in her head.

"Your Mrs. Lee is very anxious to
know what happened to Laura. I'm happy to tell what I know, but I want to be
well-compensated for it. After all, you're not the only ones asking."

I narrowed my eyes at him. Had Tucker
gotten a hold of him first? Was that why he hadn't been answering his phone?

Mike shook his head and flicked the spoon
in his mug. It clanged lightly. "Uh-uh. I want the cash first."

"How do we know you have anything
worth paying for?" I asked, just as a waitress moved toward us to clear
the table.

"Honey," he said, grinning at
the waitress, "I've always got something worth paying for."

The server averted her eyes, but the
spoon rattled in the cup again as she swept it on to her tray along with some
crumpled napkins. "Would you like a refill?"

"Fill 'er up," he said.

I couldn't help thinking he wasn't very
smart, talking about money in front of the waitress. She could come back as a
witness later, if needed. Maybe we could use his overconfidence against him. I
tried to signal Mrs. Lee with a look, but she was so focused on Mike, I might
as well have been a pack of sugar on the table.

"Do you accept my offer, then?"
Mrs. Lee said.

"Wait." I still didn't know the
terms.

"Sure. I've got to check the money,
though. No offense."

"Mrs. Lee,
please——" But I felt a hand brush against my right thigh and
jumped. Mike winked at me. I scooted my chair back, mouth open in outrage, but
the next thing I knew, he was sliding an envelope into his back pocket.
"I'll be right back."

Chapter
31

I grabbed Michael's wrist. "You must
be joking."

"Hey, H-H-Helen, I've got to make
sure it's not Monopoly money, right? I'll be in the men's room."

"So you can climb out the window
with her money?"

"You've been watching too many
movies." But he covered my hand with his left. "I'll let you come
with me and watch."