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 Regina, 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."