IT TOOK ME a while to track down Dodgy Dave. Rachel and Big Bob had been egging me on—insisting, actually. I found him on Wellesley Street, just outside of Queen’s Park, showing his wares to people who looked like they actually worked in that pink castle building.
“Hey, Dave!”
“Hey, Star of David chick!”
Wow, not only did he have an excellent memory, but he didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed or caught out. That gave me pause, but I’d been practicing, so I didn’t let it stop me from chewing him out in front of potential customers for selling me jewelry that had turned my neck green. Even then Dodgy Dave didn’t lose his cool.
“Okay, chickie, you got me. What can I do to make up for it?”
Well, that had gone better than expected. Big Bob had coached me on various scenarios, and here Dave had just up and folded in front of me.
“Oh. Uh, I need a pin for a gentleman who has just become a Canadian citizen. He passed his exams and everything.”
“Lucky for you, my little bunny”—Dave reached into an inside pocket in the great big trench coat—“I got this little baby. It’s an artist’s rendering of the top three designs for the new Canadian flag. Perfect, huh? It’ll be a keepsake to be passed down from generation to generation.”
It was beautiful. Mr. Kenyatta would love it. “I’ll take it! How much?”
“Come on, kid, you were doing fine right up until then.” We had attracted a few extra bystanders. “You done real good reaming me out and now you blow it by asking me how much. Start again.”
I cleared my throat. “It’ll do.” I shrugged uncertainly. “So, uh, I’m going to take this pin as compensation for the, uh, other item that was a grievous mistake on your part.”
He groaned, but he gave me the pin. “Look, kid, you got to get yourself some grit, or you won’t survive out here.”
Was a con artist giving me advice?
Besides, I’d always thought of myself as being chock-full of grit. “Yes, sir. Thank you very much.”
He groaned again. “Take it from me, not everything or everyone is what it appears to be.”
I nodded politely.
“Especially if it’s pretty and shiny. You paying attention?”
“Yes, sir. Can I really have the pin?”
Sigh. “Yeah, go, get lost. You’re bad for business.”
“Thank you so much!” I headed straight for the Yorkville Public Library. What a city! Even the con artists were sweet.
“Miss Toni!” Mr. Kenyatta beamed at me as soon as I burst through the doors.
We walked back to the reference desk together. “You did it, didn’t you, Mr. Kenyatta? You’re a Canadian citizen.”
He beamed again.
“I have a little present for you.” I pulled the pin out of its miniature plastic bag. “It’s like the three official renderings of our new flag. As you know, we don’t officially pick one until the end of the year, but it’ll be from one of these three. Isn’t it great?”
“It is indeed.” He pinned it to his lapel. “I will wear it with pride every single day, Miss Toni. I am beholden to you. That was most considerate.”
“No, not really.” I shook my head. “It’s not one of my shinier qualities. But I try real hard to make up for it.”
“I have a little something for you too.” Mr. Kenyatta slid a piece of folded paper over to me. “The lady you were searching for in the Andrew Mercer, your Scarlet Sue?”
“You found her?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Scarlet Sue’s real name is Miss Susan O’Reilly. She has been incarcerated in that unfortunate place for almost nine years. I believe I have procured the correct telephone number for you to call and request a time for visitation. As I understand it, if Miss O’Reilly is not in solitary confinement—what the prisoners call the dungeon—she will be allowed to see you if she so wishes.”
I thanked him and slipped the paper into my purse, surprised by the sense of urgency I felt.
“A word of caution, Miss Toni. Miss O’Reilly has apparently spent a great deal of time in the dungeon, for various infractions. The gentleman I spoke to took a fair measure of delight in telling me she got what she deserved for not playing along proper like.” Mr. Kenyatta paused. “He was an odious gentleman, and I fear it is an odious place. Do prepare yourself.”
Was I really going to go to a prison?
“Thank you again, Mr. Kenyatta. I’m always thanking you.”
“And it is always my pleasure, Miss Toni. But please consider this step carefully.”
“Yes, sir, I promise, really.”
I couldn’t get home fast enough. I was sure that Grady would let me use her telephone.
“Grady?” I knocked on the parlor door. “Grady, it’s me. Can I please use your phone? Grady, are you there?”
“Keep your toga on.” She opened the door and then swept back into the room. Grady was wearing one of her more glamorous ensembles. A stiff navy-blue silk dress that flared out dramatically at her tiny waist and, of course, her shiny black high heels. Her makeup was flawless, and her blond hair spritzed and teased within an inch of its life.
And she was clearly refreshed. Weeks and weeks of watching Mrs. Grady Vespucci up close had let me in on the telltale clues. Grady was swaying on the inside. This was what she described as “the sweet spot.” Thing was, she rarely stopped there.
“How about I make us a coffee and tell you about my visit to the library.”
“Coffee?” She looked crestfallen until I told her that we had tracked down Scarlet Sue and that I was going to visit her and finally get some answers.
“You’re going to the Mercer?” She sat hard on the kitchen chair while I prepared the coffee.
“Yes, ma’am. If she’ll see me. Scarlet Sue is the best I’ve got in terms of leads. Don’t worry, everybody’s been warning me about the place, and Mr. Kenyatta even said she might not be right in the head on account of spending a lot of time in solitary. They call it the dungeon.”
Grady shivered.
I placed her cup beside her on the kitchen table. “Grady?”
“At the Kingston Pen, it’s called ‘administrative segregation.’ That’s where my first husband was. The guys call it ‘the hole.’ He was put in there a lot in the early days. A lot.” I could tell she was eyeing the bottle of vodka on the counter behind me. “It changed him. He was…unrecognizable after a time.”
Did I dare?
“Grady? Is he—is that maybe why you drink so much?”
“Is that why I drink? Ha!” She rose quickly and headed for the bottle. She opened it and poured a splash into her coffee. “Is that why I drink?” She was angry now. “Hell, I wasn’t the one in the hole. And I got remarried and then remarried and remarried! I got this beautiful place and all the money I’ll ever need, right?” She waved her arm around the kitchen. I remembered what Big Bob had told me about her subsequent husbands. The last two were “meaner than snakes.”
“Honey, I drink ’cause I’m a flat-out coward.”
What? No. Grady was spectacular, and she was strong. Any fool could see that. What did Dodgy Dave say about pretty shiny things? Well, he was dead wrong, at least when it came to my landlady.
I took her by the arm and led her back to the chair. “I don’t believe it, not for a minute, Grady. You’re beautiful and kind and gentle and…really beautiful. Everybody thinks you’re like a queen or something!” Her eyes watered, but no tears broke through. Grady wasn’t a crier, not even in her various states of refreshment. She shook her head and gulped her fortified coffee.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She waved me away. “Go make your phone call, kid. Go on. You can never brace yourself for whatever’s coming. And sometimes it’s just best not to know.”