Chapter 11

 

Carol stepped out of Sticky Fingers and scanned the street before hurrying to her car, keys in her fist. No sign of trouble. Paranoid, maybe, but the mystery caller said he was watching her. Would Carol know him if she saw him?

She stopped at home to feed the dog and change out of her work clothes. Nothing amiss, and no sign of Paul. She’d grabbed the mail and tossed it on the table without looking, but now a heavy cream envelope caught her eye among the ad flyers.

It looked like a wedding invitation. For her landlords, maybe? Easy enough for the letter carrier to put it in the wrong box. Jackie’s loopy handwriting surprised her, scrawled beside a scratched-through Calgary address. The original typed label addressed Mrs. Carol Daniels and family.

Who did Carol know who’d be getting married? She barely glanced at the embossed silver wedding bells before opening the card. Amy Silver and Gilles Renaud.

Strange to think of her cousin Amy as old enough to marry. She tapped a fingernail against the back of the invitation. Aunt Isobel had cut all ties when Carol married Skip, and good riddance. Carol’s reserved little cousin would be in her mid-twenties now.

Carol grabbed a pen and ticked the “will not be attending” box on the reply card. Morbid curiosity wondered how Amy had turned out living under Isobel’s thumb, but Carol had no intention of stepping back into her aunt’s sights.

She left Paul a note with Joey’s number before heading out. She’d probably be back before her son, anyway. Joey had to be on air at ten.

Joey buzzed her into the building and met her when the elevator opened onto his floor. Part of her wanted to punch “close doors” and retreat. Whatever his urgent talk, surely he wouldn’t launch into it here?

She adjusted her glasses. “Hi. Didn’t think I could follow the numbers?”

“Just being hospitable. The kettle’s on, if you’d like some tea.”

“Would I ever.”

He unlocked his apartment and held the door. “Regular or peppermint?”

“Oh, mint, please.” He’d said before that he didn’t drink herbal teas. He must have bought this for her.

Joey hung Carol’s windbreaker in a tiny but neat closet and led her past a kitchen alcove to the living room. “Make yourself at home. I’ll see to our drinks.”

A comfortable-looking brown cloth sofa and chair made a V at one corner of a leather-look square ottoman, facing a mid-sized TV. A hardcover Bible lay on the ottoman — Study Bible? There was a test? — beside a library bar-coded Dean Koontz paperback.

An oak entertainment centre hugged one wall, with a bulky stereo that must be wirelessly linked to the speakers mounted in the room corners. Carol dropped her purse beside the sofa and browsed the CDs, hundreds of them in alphabetical order by artist. The eclectic mix made her smile. Plenty of classic rock like Joey played on his show, but classical too, jazz, contemporary.

Some of the non-rock names she recognized. Louis Armstrong, Diana Krall, Johnny Reid... Carol’s eyes flicked to the bottom right. The man even had Zamfir’s pan pipes. Six Billy Joel CDs sat with the J’s.

The CD changer display showed four disks loaded but paused. What was he listening to just now?

“See anything you like?”

Carol spun, half guilty as if she’d actually opened the tray to peek.

Joey set a plate of cookies and some coasters on the ottoman. “Downloads take up a lot less space, but my music collection is all I’ve kept from my old life. Minus a certain segment of songs, and plus what I’ve added since.”

He left the room and came back with two porcelain mugs to go on the coasters. “When the player goes, I’ll have to convert to an mp3 docking station like the rest of the world.”

He opened the CD tray, lifted one out and selected random play. Piano notes danced into the beginning of “Vienna,” and Joey grinned. “You don’t mind Billy Joel?”

Carol grinned back. “What’s that one?”

“Not Billy.” He slid a case from the A’s. “Todd Agnew. One of my newer favourites. The lyrics might bother you.”

“Explicit?” Carol tried to be matter-of-fact, not to let her disappointment show. Lots of people liked crude lyrics, but Joey didn’t seem the type.

“Christian.”

A giggle tickled Carol’s throat but she swallowed it. “You mean, like hymns?”

“Mostly songs about God, and us, and how much we need Him. But he covers a few hymns like you’ve never heard them, sister. Rock and blues.”

Joey snapped the case shut and re-shelved it. “I can’t tell you how much God means to me.” His expression lightened and he spread his hands. “So don’t worry about a sermon. Let’s eat.”

Carol sat at the end of the sofa nearest the ottoman and chair. Joey hesitated, then took the chair. He held out the plate of large, chewy-looking golden cookies.

“White chocolate macadamia nut, not as good as yours.”

She grinned and took one, then settled back against the couch with her mint tea. “You didn’t have to buy special tea just for me.”

Joey raised his coffee in salute. “Hospitality. I was going to pick up cake from the deli, but I thought you’d get suspicious.”

Carol’s fingers tightened on the mug handle. “Should I be suspicious?”

“Nope.” He finished his cookie and reached for a second. “Help yourself, or I’ll have a stomach ache.”

The CD changer shifted into the driving beat of “You May be Right.” Instead of taking another cookie, Carol kept time with her fingertips against the side of her mug.

“So, Joey, what did you want to talk about?”

His moustache twitched. “Too bad our day out came to such a crazy end. Did you see my picture in the paper? They must have lifted it from the video.”

“No, but I told Paul what happened. Most of it, anyway. Thanks again for... covering for me.”

“You know I can’t lie for you again. And I can’t hide you from the police if they identify me from that video clip and need a statement.” He sighed. “But I still want to help.”

“Don’t worry, they know where to find us.”

Joey’s features relaxed. “I was afraid you or Paul were into something illegal.”

Carol’s eyes widened. She had secrets enough, without people imagining more.

Joey extended a hand, palm up. “I’m caught, here. Friends don’t pry, but they don’t let their friends struggle alone. I want to help.”

“It’s nothing. I had a bad experience with a reporter before I came here. That’s part of why I came. I thought we were dating, but he was chasing a story.” Let it go at that. No point telling him about Sunday’s terrifying phone call.

Carol inhaled a deep draft of mint. “There’s some bad stuff in my family. It all blew up in my face, and I ran. I guess Saturday it all came back at me and I panicked. I have a new life here and I’m not going to let another reporter dig it all up again.” Or let that creep from Calgary find Paul.

Joey drained his mug and set it back on the ottoman. “Is it your brother?”

Hot tea splashed Carol’s chest, soaking her cotton blouse. She was halfway to her feet when Joey dashed from the room.

He returned with a soft blue bath towel. “I’m sorry. Here.”

Pressing the towel against herself like a shield, Carol stared at him. Joey dropped into his chair, hands folding and unfolding between his knees. Waiting.

She picked up her mug and drank what she hadn’t spilled. She clutched it to her chest on top of the towel. “How did you find out?”

His hands folded and stilled. “I Googled you last night. And found out a bit more today. They have some awful, tabloid-type photos.”

“That was the supposed boyfriend.” Carol shivered at the memory.

Joey took her mug. “I’ll get you a refill. Just close your eyes and listen to the music.”

She did, but she trained an ear on the kitchen too. He ran water, sang along to “Uptown Girl.” The microwave pinged, and soon he stepped back into the room.

“Fresh tea. I’m so sorry, Carol, I didn’t think you’d do that.”

Carol stared at him. “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a brother. I don’t want to talk about him.”

Joey’s mouth tightened, and sadness washed his face. He stretched out a hand, then let it drop. “The past is past. But I care.”

“He didn’t touch me, if that’s what you’re asking. I wouldn’t be alive.” Carol drew her fingers through her hair. “He only took blonds, and I had dark hair until I came here.”

Joey nodded. “There were a few good shots online too. You looked lovely. Not that you don’t now, I mean —” His face darkened and he went to look out the window.

Carol swallowed her grin and took a sip of tea. It burned and soothed at the same time. “The last cookie is calling you.”

Joey turned, and shrugged when he saw her waving the plate, but he eased back into his seat. And he took the cookie. “If your, ah, non-brother is in jail, and the miserable excuse for a reporter’s in Calgary, what’s got you so scared?”

“I’m not — okay, I am. Joey, a man phoned on Sunday, on our unlisted number. Harry was running drugs. I just found out. So this drug boss wished me luck on some quest and said he’s been watching me.” A gulp of tea pushed back the trembles. “I don’t know anything about a quest! And I don’t think he’ll believe that.”

The last words came out in a whisper. Carol’s grip on the tea mug made her fingers ache.

Joey circled the ottoman to sit beside her, pried the mug loose and set it down. His hands cradled hers. “Could Harry have hidden something? Money? Evidence? Drugs?”

“I haven’t spoken to him in years. I don’t have a clue what he might have hidden, or where. Paul refuses to move again, and the man on the phone said he’d find us wherever we went.”

Joey’s grip tightened. “This guy doesn’t sound like he’s playing.”

“Actually, he does. He enjoyed scaring me. I could tell by his voice.”

“Could Harry tell you what the man wants? If he got you into this, he owes it to you to get you out.”

Carol nibbled her lower lip. The detective had said Harry asked them to warn her about the drug lord. Did her ex-brother really care, or was this part of his crazy plot to reopen communication between them? A sigh pushed from the depths of her lungs. “I wish I knew what was going on.”

“Would you feel better if someone asked for you? I could contact the prison, if you gave me a written note to prove I’m legit.”

Carol pulled her hands free. “No thanks, Joey, but that’s really sweet. I told you the police know where to find me? This is why. The detective I talked to said to wait for more instructions. If I have to talk to Harry I will, but only as a last resort.”

The warmth in Joey’s eyes and the worried twist to his mouth warmed her heart. She stood. “I should go.”

Billy Joel was singing “The Stranger.” Joey picked up the remote and clicked off. “I’ll walk you to your car.”