Sloane tossed the to-go container with the pie into her tote and left the Spotted Owl. She had upset Rose Keane, a free informant, the best kind, and broken a cardinal rule, keep your sources happy.
Pearl was still in Chinatown from the day before when Elvina had bestealced her home. She wasn’t sure if Dorathea had even noticed, but she knew she’d better bring the car back before she did.
Walking toward Mallow Avenue to pick up an Uber, her phone rang. She hoped it was Garcia or Chen, but the number was Canadian. Rose? She answered quickly, “West speaking.”
“Why the hell are you meddling in my business?” Charles Huxham was shouting in a frenzy. “I demand to see you immediately.”
“Whoa, buddy. How about you settle down and tell me what’s wrong?”
“My office, now.”
The line went dead.
Sloane grinned at her phone and canceled her Uber. Gannon had obviously informed Charles about her visit. With his bookie due to collect payment the following night, Charles was panicked, and a panicky suspect was prone to mistakes.
Charles was waiting in the lobby and rushed her. “Who do you think you are asking Gannon Ferris questions about me?” he yelled. “And don’t deny it. He just left me a message.”
Sloane held her arms out. “You need to back up and calm down.” She waited for him to step back. “Jesus. How many times do I have to tell you people, it’s my job? I’m investigating your uncle’s murder, and Gannon Ferris came up.”
“Right. Just like that.” He swore under his breath and walked to his office.
Sloane followed and dropped her tote on the floor next to a chair at his desk.
Charles white-knuckle grasped the back of his chair. “Gannon Ferris is not the type of person you want to anger, and you did. What did you say?”
“Really? I thought we got along smashingly.” She sat and crossed her legs. “We talked about the weather. His lovely office.” She studied his face. “C’mon, Charles. You know what we talked about. You owe him a lot of money, and he expects you to pay up. The only problem is you offered him something that belongs to me. And he wasn’t too thrilled when I showed up.”
“Son of a bitch.” Charles dropped into his chair and buried his face in his hands. “You don’t understand what you’ve done. I had everything worked out. I was stalling. Gannon was never taking your painting.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t believe you,” Sloane said. “I think you told Gannon that Harold had found me in New York, so you couldn’t pay out your debt with the painting. My guess is Gannon said a deal’s a deal. My guess is he had a permanent solution.”
“That’s not true.” Charles coughed and wiped away spittle with the back of his hand.
“You tried to stall him, but it didn’t work,” she continued. “He told you all you had to do was tell him when and where Harold was meeting me, and he’d take care of everything.”
Charles’s lower lip trembled. “I loved my uncle. I had nothing to do with what happened in New York. Someone called Liam Morris killed my uncle and tried to kill you. That’s all I know.”
“Yeah. The stranger-who-was-really-after-me cover story would’ve worked. But I’m alive, and I know Morris was a hired professional.”
“I didn’t have my uncle murdered. But if any part of what you’re saying is true, Gannon Ferris could have. Except I didn’t tell him about my uncle going to find you or anything about you. None of it.” He lowered his head.
“Why didn’t you tell the police about Gannon? You must have considered he might have had something to do with Harold’s murder.”
Charles looked up. “That would have been my death sentence.” His eyes were bloodshot, and the corners of his mouth twitched.
“Tell them now. Tell them he’s threatening your life. That you got mixed up in his illegal gaming. It’s a crime, but it’s not a murder wrap. Turn witness against his uncle’s gambling syndicate, and you won’t serve a day. They’ll put you in witness protection.”
He rubbed his face with his hands. “Denwick is my home. The law firm is my legacy. I brought Gannon to Denwick. I’ll get rid of him.”
Without help, Charles Huxham didn’t have a chance of quitting Gannon. “Well, Harold’s estate is enough for a clean slate. With no spouse or children, he probably left it all to you, right?”
Charles’s face reddened, and suddenly, a stack of papers fell off a side table behind his desk. “Another one!” He jumped to his feet.
“What’s the matter?” Sloane asked.
“Rats. I’m sick of this goddamn infestation,” he yelled, chasing something to the back room.
Sloane could hear him behind the closed door stomping around and slamming objects against the walls. Elvina, I need you.
The familiar appeared beside her. You spoke to me. It’s a day of firsts, huh?
“Yeah. Can you pause time for me?” Sloane whispered.
Yes, dear. But only briefly.
“I know, I know.”
Elvina’s tail flicked. Nothing moved. Even the air was still.
Sloane hurried to the back and found Charles, frozen, in midstride, his arm reaching out. She laid her hand on his arm and considered the detection spell. It would be easy to secure his guilt or strike him off her board. What was the saying, she thought? It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
Not without approval, dear. Elvina sat in the doorway.
“Fine,” Sloane said and stepped past Charles. She searched behind stacks of boxes and around file cabinets and old furniture. Her head whipped to the back wall.
What are you looking for?
“A rat. Charles said he heard a rat. I want to know if he was lying because something else, maybe magical, is going on.”
Tick-tock, dear.
“All right. Just a minute.” Sloane returned to Charles’s desk and pushed play on the answering machine.
One message. It was Gannon Ferris’s voice. “Charlie, my friend. You and I seem to have another problem. I had the pleasure of meeting a friend of yours. Seems she’s interested in our business. You know I don’t like attention. I’d like you to make our new problem disappear by the time I collect. Or I’ll make both my problems go away.”
He’s arrogant for someone who doesn’t fight his own battles. Elvina’s tail uncurled and tapped the desk. When does he collect?
“I heard Charles say Friday night.” Sloane searched the files on his desk, in its drawers. She rifled through a large credenza and stopped to page through a file before putting it back. The cabinet’s top left drawer was locked. “Where would he keep the key?”
You’ll have to find it later, dear.
“But I need to get my hands on Harold’s will.” Sloane slammed a drawer shut.
Even so, time needs to carry on.
“Fine.” Sloane sat exactly as she was before Elvina arrived. “I’ll see you at home.”
Elvina disappeared, and Charles’s footsteps resumed.
“The bastard got away,” he said as he entered the office. “We’ve tried everything to kill the rats. Nothing works. We haven’t gone a day without their filthy messes.” He picked up the papers and returned them to the side table. “I guess it’s my problem now.”
“You don’t need to have quite so many problems.”
Charles stared at her and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. “I made a mistake calling you. I’ll take care of Gannon.” He walked to his office door and opened it. “Go. Please. Just go.”
Sloane left with few answers and a whole lot of new questions. But mostly, she had a desire for dinner in New Denwick. She needed to figure out why Charles had a thick file in the credenza labeled Isobel Gildey.
* * *
Sloane picked up Pearl, but instead of turning toward the cottage, she headed to the coast. New Denwick’s shopping plazas had modern storefronts, bold signage, manicured gardens, and walkways to several piers, artfully woven into the Salish Sea’s coastline. There was no doubt these businesses siphoned money from Old Denwick. This was Isobel Gidley’s realm.
Sloane drove through the parking lots of each plaza and read the required building permits, safety, and legal postings at each of the active construction sites. Dorathea was right. The noted legal representation was a construction law firm out of Toronto. So why did Charles have a file with Isobel Gildey’s name on it and dated January this year? That’s when her husband died. What was his name? Sean. That’s right. Did Charles suspect something nefarious in the Gildey patriarch’s death?
After eating Dungeness crab at a quaint restaurant overlooking the Georgia Straight, Sloane drove Pearl back to Old Main. The quiet, dark night smothered her. She missed the city with its shrill car horns, sirens, and people hustling. She was gripped with longing. Once she found Harold’s killer, she would hire an estate company, sell the Wests’ things, and go home.
She could buy the brownstone and raise Gary’s rent. Maybe she would turn the basement apartment into her own covenstead. The idea made her grin.
Mallow Avenue was empty and dark. Creepy small towns. She parked Pearl in the garage and went inside the cottage. She poured a measure of whiskey into a rocks glass, took the Saskatoon pie out of her tote, and grabbed a fork. She dragged the case board into the middle of the living room.
The night Tom Hanson made detective, she and Jess had invited him over to celebrate. He brought her a corkboard, her first case board. She had previously kept her photos and notes in a binder. He also taught her to organize suspect pictures in rows, but she now arranged them in circles, a new style she had developed.
“I understand Elvina assisted you today.”
She spun around. “Jesus, Dorathea.” Her cousin and Elvina reclined on the sofa as if they had always been there. “You’re never going to stop appearing out of nowhere, are you?”
Elvina curled her tail around her feet. You might as well adapt, dear.
“At least until our case is solved,” Sloane said under her breath.
Dorathea raised an eyebrow. “I understand you spoke telepathically with Elvina. Well done, indeed. And Elvina stopped time for you? What did you learn?”
Sloane waited for Elvina to gloat, but the familiar only lay on the top cushion, swishing her tail.
“Really, pet, your dramatic pause has me on the edge of my seat.”
Sloane turned to her cousin. “Gannon wants me dead. Charles has until tomorrow night to get rid of me, or Gannon kills us both.”
“That is absurd. The idea of Charles Huxham murdering anyone. Hire a murderer, maybe. But carry one out himself. Nonsense.”
Sloane nodded and turned to the board. “I’m having a hard time believing it, too.”
The doorbell chimed and they all looked toward the entryway.
“Don’t move,” Sloane said in a low voice and set the pie on the coffee table. She walked to the foyer. Charles or a hitman could be on the other side of the front door, and she would not make the same mistake twice. “Who’s there?”
“Hey, tough guy, it’s Rose Keane.”
Sloane’s grip on the doorknob relaxed as she opened the door.
Rose stood on the porch in a faded T-shirt tucked strategically behind the front button of her jeans. “Hey. Got time for a drink and an apology?” She held out a bottle of Hyde.
“You don’t even have to ask. I always make time for gorgeous redheads and whiskey.”
Rose laughed as Sloane led her to the living room.
Dorathea was on her feet, and the case board faced the wall, hidden from view. “Good evening Rose, dear,” she said.
“Hello, Ms. West.” Rose looked down at Elvina. “Aw, what a beautiful cat.”
“Call me Dorathea, dear. This is Elvina. She lives with Sloane. But I am quite fond of her, too. In fact, the two of us were just leaving to dine on fresh salmon.” She bent over and picked up the familiar.
I’d much rather stay here , Elvina said and jumped out of her arms.
“If you refuse, you will have canned tuna,” Dorathea warned her.
Sloane stared at Dorathea and then Rose.
Fine. Elvina sashayed back to Dorathea’s feet.
“Oh, wow. It’s like she understood you,” Rose said.
Dorathea swept Elvina up into her arms. “It is, indeed.” She turned in a flurry of dark-green cloak. “Nice to see you, Rose, dear. See you in the morning, pet.”
After the front door closed behind Dorathea, Rose turned to Sloane. “She’s so eccentric, isn’t she?”
“Trust me, more than you could imagine.” Sloane picked up the plate with her pie, but her glass of whiskey was gone.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I can imagine some wild things.” Rose followed Sloane to the kitchen. “Do you like the pie?”
“Yeah. It’s delicious.” Sloane pulled two glasses from a cupboard. “So what’s this about an apology?”
Rose rested her hip against the island. “For earlier. I’m sorry I lost my temper. It’s just the pub…I’m protective. It’s my life. But you were only doing your job.”
“No problem. I can be too blunt sometimes.”
“This is the first time I’ve seen the inside of Mallow Cottage. You could get lost in here.”
“Yeah, it’s way too much house for me. How about a tour?” Sloane put the rest of the pie in the refrigerator. She walked Rose around the main floor, through a study, library, and an art studio, finally stopping in front of a large wooden door. “I haven’t been in the basement. I’m not sure I want to. I’m guessing it’s packed floor to ceiling with junk.”
“Junk? I doubt it. If it’s anything like the rest of the cottage.”
“Maybe not junk but still crammed full of stuff.” Sloane walked back to the kitchen, picked up the bottle of Hyde, and opened the French doors. “Join me?”
“Sure. But only for a few minutes. I have to be up early.”
The light from the house barely penetrated the new-moon sky, and a mild, salty breeze drifted from the east, mingling with the scent of winter jasmine. Sloane left the porch dark, pulling two deck chairs together. “Have a seat, Keane.” Sloane opened the Hyde and poured one for Rose and one for herself.
Rose eased herself into a lounger. “Let me guess, you live in a studio apartment decorated minimalist in the heart of Manhattan where all the action is.”
“Even if I could afford to, I wouldn’t live there. I live in the Bronx. Jane did, though, in a one-bedroom in Tribeca.” She stared into her glass. “I need to put her apartment on the market.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mention your mom. It must be painful. I don’t know what it feels like to lose someone so close.”
“You bury it deep, and the next death gets easier.” She took a drink.
“That’s cold, West. I should’ve brought food, too. You aren’t such a grouch when I feed you.” She sat up and laid her hand on top of Sloane’s. “If you want to talk about your mom, I’m available.”
Sloane expected heat from Rose’s hand, a temperature to match the warmth of the whiskey. But Rose’s skin was cool to the touch. She had a brief desire to turn her hand around and share her warmth.
Rose pulled back her hand and sighed. “I wasn’t honest with you before. I think the pub is struggling. The thing is, I close almost every night and handle the daily closing reports. So I know what comes in, and I know what our expenses are. But my mom’s month-end reports show us in the red, and she complains about finances all the time.” She stared into the dark garden. “She’s been acting strange these last few months. But I can’t believe she could hurt anyone. She’s lived here for over thirty years. The Huxhams and Wests are like family to her.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Besides, if your mom wants to retire and leave Denwick, why would she kill for money to keep the business afloat?”
“I guess she wouldn’t,” Rose answered, sounding hopeful. She turned back to the garden as if something startled her and peered deep into the black night, tilting her head toward the trees.
“What’s wrong? Do you hear something?” Sloane was angered by the thought of Elvina out there, spying. “A few obnoxious crows roost in one of the big trees.”
“I guess that’s what I heard.” Her face grew serious. “If your contact can find irregularities with the pub’s financials, please tell me.”
“All right. Are you sure you can’t talk with your mom?”
“I’m not sure I can even fully trust her right now. But I might be able to help the pub if I know the true state of things. I can’t let my business fail. It’s all I have.” She swung her legs around and sat on the lounger’s side.
“Are you leaving so soon?” Sloane asked.
“I open in the morning.” She finished her drink and held up her glass. “One’s my limit. I’ll leave you to the bottle.”
Sloane laughed and got to her feet. “I’ll ignore the implication.”
“I imply nothing.” Rose grinned and held out a hand. Sloane helped her stand. She slipped her arm around Sloane’s waist. “You realize we could consider tonight our third date.”
“Really? Our third? We’ve been busy.” Sloane placed Rose’s hand behind her back, bringing their bodies together. Adrenaline shot through her. She exhaled and let her hand go, stepping back.
Rose released Sloane’s waist and pushed her away playfully, downplaying the shift in emotion. “We have. And I like this kind of busy work. But I do have to go. Walk me out?”
“Where’s your Jeep?” Sloane asked as they stood on the front porch.
“I walked. I love new-moon nights.” Rose stepped closer to Sloane and asked teasingly, “Are you worried about me?”
“Of course, I am. There’s a killer out there.”
Rose took Sloane’s hands gently and leaned into her body, her lips brushed against Sloane’s ear, and she whispered, “If anything lurks out there in the dark, West, it should be more afraid of me.”