Chapter 14

 

Carol lay on her back in the darkened bedroom, eyes closed. Even the glow from her bedside clock hurt. Patrick’s smug expression swam in her memory. He’d been right about Joey, and his satisfaction still burned her. Why couldn’t people mind their own business?

She tried to concentrate on the radio’s soft music. The pills blunted the pain, but Carol’s head throbbed enough to keep her from escaping into sleep.

She’d left Paul a note not to disturb her and climbed into bed. A muffled thump and footsteps told her he’d arrived. Carol’s mother senses could relax now, but sleep stayed out of reach.

Almost ten o’clock. She should turn off the radio, or change channels. Morbid curiosity pinned her to the bed until the opening theme to Joey’s show. Carol drew the covers up to her chin. Would he even mention the article? Surely he’d heard about it, even if he hadn’t seen it.

“Welcome to the Thursday edition of All-Request Oldies. I’m your host, Joey Hill.”

Was his voice a bit strained, or was that just her imagination? “Listeners in the Greater Toronto Area may be wondering who I really am, thanks to the diligence of a local tabloid.”

He did sound strained. Carol’s lips flattened into a satisfied line.

“I guess you can call me an example of ‘before’ and ‘after.’ The ‘after’ is the guy you’ve been spending your evenings with at City Classics FM. For those who haven’t heard, the ‘before’ was a swelled-headed celebrity with a drug problem, who wrecked his career and landed in jail.

“In hindsight I should have been more open about my past, but who wants to start over with his old reputation hovering over his head? I hope — I pray, if I can say that on the air — you’ll forgive me and accept me as I am.”

Carol rolled onto her side, knees tucking up into a fetal position.

Joey’s laugh sounded forced. “Enough talk, let’s get to the music you love. Tonight, the first request goes out to a mixed-up deejay whose initials are J.H.”

Wordless voices and a light drumbeat. Carol recognized it just as Ringo Starr began to sing. The “No No Song.” Her mouth twitched into a smile in spite of herself. The floor’s not a good place to wake up, is it, Joey?

When the dreams woke her at two, Carol made herself a cup of peppermint tea. The light didn’t hurt her eyes as badly, so she wrapped up in a blanket. She thought she could lose herself in the middle of the graveyard shift movie with Cary Grant, until she realized it was Charade.

Carol clicked off and shuffled back to her room with her tea, wishing she could afford cable or Netflix.

In the morning her muscles ached like she’d been wrestling an elephant, and even her soul felt bruised. As hard as it was to crawl out of bed, she wanted a few minutes with Paul before he left for school.

Paul glanced up from his cereal bowl when she walked into the kitchen. “Hey, you look terrible. How’s your head?”

She groaned. “Better, but it’s going to be a long day.”

“Call in sick. You never miss time.”

Staying home would just give Carol time to think. “I missed a few hours on Tuesday for my catering project. Plus, Friday baking stocks the café up for the weekend. I need to be there.”

“Not if you scare the customers.” Paul stood and carried his bowl to the sink.

When he left, Carol locked the door behind him. The apartment felt empty despite the dog shadowing her every step.

She had a couple of hours before work. Activity might keep Joey out of her head, save her from a mental rant that made less sense every time she rehashed it. By the time Carol left the apartment, the bathroom sparkled and both beds had fresh linens.

The day’s baking took extra concentration, and her eyes brimmed as she mixed a batch of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies for the weekend customers. She should never have trusted Joey.

Carol heaved a sigh of relief when her shift ended without Patrick coming in. He often did on Fridays, even if just for coffee and a fruit cup. She’d joined him once since his initial invitation to cater for him.

Thoughts of Patrick pushed another hot button. He didn’t have to go out of his way to let her know about Joey’s past, or be so smug about it. Maybe his perfect looks matched perfect behaviour, but the world Carol knew was full of broken people.

Why did Joey’s down side have to be drugs? She couldn’t face that, not after losing Keith.

Carol had let Joey get closer than she realized before this bombshell hit. Her heart lay like a deflated balloon. They’d talked enough. Would it have killed him to tell her?

When she reached the apartment, a hungry dog met her at the door. No sign of Paul. If he stayed home once in a while, Carol would have someone to talk to beside a late-night disc jockey. Their place wasn’t much but she did the best she could. Paul had too much of Skip in him if he always had to be out.

She fed Chance and grabbed some toast, and by the time Joey’s show began Carol was ready. He opened the program by thanking the kind listeners who’d phoned to encourage him the night before.

It took six tries on speed dial one — she’d delete that after this call — to get through.

“Hi, welcome to All-Request Oldies. What can I play for you tonight?” His voice was back to the rich baritone Carol used to find so comforting.

Her glare should have burned the radio, but the song played uninterrupted. “I called to say our visit to Kensington Market tomorrow is off.”

“Carol! I am so sorry! You could have just stood me up. I deserve it. I didn’t think I’d hear from you again.”

“How could you deceive me like that?”

Joey’s groan sounded near tears. “I tried to tell you in the park, but I couldn’t.”

Carol remembered his struggle, how she’d sympathized. Anger coalesced and burned like a new-formed star. “You deceived me.”

“By the time I realized what drugs had done to your family, I was afraid to break your trust.”

“Well that worked fine.” Carol slammed the phone back into its cradle and stalked out of the room even though he was in a sound booth halfway across the city.

Too upset to focus on TV or a magazine, she roamed back to the kitchen for some tea. The radio was playing John Denver’s “I’m Sorry.” She hit the power button, but the song finished in her mind.

Let him be sorry. Instead of the drink, she’d give the apartment a good vacuuming. Her landlords lived upstairs, but they were hard of hearing, and Paul didn’t have to be in until eleven on Fridays.

By Sunday afternoon, the apartment and the car were spotless. Paul kept himself scarce. Saturday he’d gone out to get help writing something. Today he was out again, supposedly studying with Barry.

Worry teased Carol’s stomach. Paul seemed evasive lately, but she couldn’t pin it down. At least he was clean of drugs. Every search came up blank, and he showed none of the behavioural clues.

She unwrapped a square of margarine and plopped it into the mixing bowl to make peanut butter cookies. Some parents would jump on her for invading her child’s privacy. She’d bet they’d never lost one to drugs.

The phone rang and she tensed. Unknown name. Carol’s teeth caught her lower lip and she hissed in a quick breath. Heart hammering, she pressed the receiver to her ear. Please be a telemarketer! “H-hello?”

“Ms. Daniels, you sound distressed. Can I help?”

“You can stop calling and leave me alone!” Carol clapped a hand to her mouth. Making him angry was not a good idea.

The caller’s laugh carried more pleasure than a healthy mind should take in her fear. “Not yet. I have a little job for you first.”

“Job?” Carol’s voice came out in a squeak.

“For now I just wanted to express my sympathy about your friend Joey’s past. An unfortunate end to a promising relationship. I’ll be in touch about the job.” Click.

Carol swore at the phone and slammed it back in the wall cradle. Arrogant creep, jerking her around like this. Tormenting her with how closely he was watching. How could he know she and Joey were friends, let alone know the tabloid news ended the friendship?

One of his spies must have been at Sticky Fingers when Patrick did his big reveal.

But the place had been nearly empty, and none of the regulars would be involved. Carol gasped. She’d phoned Joey Friday night. Had they tapped her phone? Or wasn’t there new technology that let people listen through glass? After dark, with the light on in the kitchen, she wouldn’t see someone outside the window.

She checked it now. No one around. Carol felt itchy, as if someone had been watching — and as if his eyes had left a dirty residue.

This caller knew too much, and she didn’t even know his name. And he had a job for her. Dread settled deep in Carol’s bones.

She hurried out of the kitchen for her purse with the detective’s card. Behind her, the phone shrilled.

Carol froze. Forced her stiff legs to carry her back into the kitchen. Please, not the drug lord again. Calling back with “Incidentally...” would probably appeal to the sadistic creep. Holding her breath, she glanced at the call display.

“P. Stairs.” Carol had given Patrick her number when they made the catering agreement. Odd that he’d keep it afterwards. His satisfied expression as he unfolded the tabloid sprang into her mind.

Guilt pierced her resentment. She shouldn’t have been rude to him, but apologies would have to wait. Carol spun on her heel and went for her purse. Behind her, the phone rang a few more times before it stopped.

She brought the detective’s business card back to the kitchen and keyed the number into the phone. One of these days, she’d convince her landlords to move into the new century and get a cordless.

“Garraway speaking.”

Some of the tension ebbed from Carol’s shoulders. “Detective, it’s Carol Daniels. I’m sorry to bother you on the weekend again, but I’ve had another threatening call.”

“No worries, Ms. Daniels. It goes with the badge. By the way, I’ve come up negative on any hint of a safety-deposit box for Silver. We’re following up with some of his former contacts, but nobody’s too eager to talk to us. I understand you’re not on speaking terms, but we may have to ask you to contact him, depending on what this caller says to you. Did he give you more information this time?”

“He said he has a job for me. That he’d tell me later. And he told me something he shouldn’t know — about a falling-out I had this week with a friend. The only way he’d have that information is if he’s tapping my phone or somehow listening to my conversations.”

Garraway snorted. “Just wants you to know he’s watching. That’s a standard intimidation technique. I’ll have a tech team come by and check your phone line. Stay alert, and let me know when he contacts you about this job.”

“Unless he’s listening now and realizes I’ve already talked to the police. Maybe he’ll quit calling.”

“In our dreams, Ms. Daniels. In our dreams. Goodbye now. Don’t let him spoil the rest of your weekend.”

Carol hung up and roamed through the apartment, peering out every window. Nothing suspicious in sight, but would she know what to look for? She scrubbed her palms against the sides of her leggings. Curse Harry for dragging her into this — whatever this was.

 

~~~

 

Patrick’s phone buzzed like an angry hornet in his pocket. He dropped his magazine and jumped from the chair as if stung. Lear must think he’d sweated long enough. That was the drug boss’ style. Hang up on the end of a bad report and let the minion stew for a few days.

Maybe Patrick could have patched things up after Thursday’s debacle, with Lear none the wiser, but the network’s eyes were everywhere. He didn’t want Lear to think he was holding out on him. And he needed to keep this assignment. If he could bring Lear the money...

He thumbed the call pickup. “Yes?”

A volley of obscenities hit Patrick’s ear and he held the cell phone away until Lear’s tirade slowed. He continued as if the drug lord hadn’t spoken. “I couldn’t do what you wanted with that deejay around. Isolating Carol from her friends makes her rely more on me.”

“I was using him too, you fool. Did you think you were the only player in this particular chapter of my game?”

Patrick blinked. Ignored the insult. “Yes, I did. If I’d known...” He’d have done the same. He had to be the one to produce the cash. Had to get out of this mire.

“Give me one good reason not to pull the plug on this.” Lear’s voice grated dangerously low.

Patrick pulled at his collar, needing air. “It’s a setback, that’s all. Scare her, and she’ll run back to me. Don’t worry.”

“I never worry. I act.” Click.

Patrick shoved the phone into his pocket and went to rest his forehead against the cool strength of the wall. What a mess.