58.

Jacqui said nothing until they left the hospital and stepped into the cab that was waiting for them. Ben’s phone call just after noon still resonated in her ears. He had confirmed the lab results: a crude bomb had blown up her car. He told her to go home and stay there until he got back. She was considering it.

“What are we going to do, Mom?”

“Go home,” said Anne. “Just one stop first.”

The taxi took them to Kelly Rentals, and they completed their trip home in a late-model blue Ford sedan.

“Mom, I’m scared.”

“I know you are, and until this is cleared up, you can’t stay here…or around me. It’ll just be a couple of days. How ’bout Aunt Delia’s? You liked visiting her there in the country, and it would be pretty this time of year.”

“I can’t. I’m babysitting. I promised Madame Desjardins, and she’s depending on me.”

“How ’bout Mary Anne’s? She’d love to have you, too, and I wouldn’t be far away.”

“Okay, but I promised Madame.”

“Great. Pack a bag. I’ll call her and take you over. Lunch first, though.”

Anne took Jacqui to The Blue Peter. Mary Anne helped Jacqui gather up her things, and they headed toward a back room that served as Mary Anne’s office.

Anne headed for her office, too. A small pile of letters had accumulated below the mail slot inside her door. She shuffled through them, looking especially for a letter of reinstatement from the Department of Labour, but to no avail. She hadn’t really expected one. The rest she left unopened on her desk.

The thought that someone was trying to kill her had never left her mind, but she had avoided the subject and played down the gravity of the threat as long as Jacqui was around. Mary Anne had read that message in Anne’s eyes, and she, too, had kept mum about it while the girl was there.

Now, alone for the first time, it was a time to make decisions and put together a game plan. Whoever had been tracking her movements throughout the investigation had attempted to cripple her progress and had been pretty successful. Anne was even uncertain whether Edna’s withdrawal of support from the case arose from a personal decision or as the result of outside pressures.

Anne’s options were limited. Legally, she couldn’t engage a new client. Nor could she conduct surreptitious activities or follow up her previous case regarding the death of Carolyn Jollimore. What choices did that leave her? She could say “to hell with it” and violate the regulatory restrictions. The downside to that was the likelihood that she was still being watched, or tracked with new surveillance devices. If either were true, she would be stopped again pretty quickly, detained by the police, or worse.

Doing nothing wasn’t an option. She was too pig-headed for that, and she knew it. Even thinking about doing nothing, willingly or not, made her angry and bolder. The trick was to do nothing, break no laws, get some answers, and not get killed. Piece of cake, she thought glibly. But how?

Then it came to her. Perhaps having no client presented another opportunity, not a road block. Technically, the Simone Villier murder had nothing to do with Carolyn Jollimore’s death. Legally, she could still dig around in that backyard. No one could fault her for asking questions about a closed case, and it might prove useful to see what alarm another wild card tossed on the table would stir.

She picked up the phone and dialled.

“Bernadette? Billy Darby. I’d like to speak with you. It’s important. Not over the phone.”

In her hurry to leave her office, Anne collided with the two detectives who had interviewed her at the hospital that morning.

Detective Iris Caine appeared to be the senior of the two. She did most of the talking. Detective Will Bryant stood behind her. Caine said they needed a word with her. Anne ushered them into the outer office and shut the door.

Caine had a long, though not prominent, nose and small eyes, which gave her a bird-like appearance. She stood six inches shorter than Bryant, but she moved with a muscle-bound stride.

“Do you know Michael Underhay, Ms. Brown…or is it Darby?”

“Yes, and I answer to both…my married and single names. Why?”

“He may have a role to play in the attempt on your life.”

“I can’t see why. We have some serious history, but that was over a year ago.”

“What kind of history?”

“I had a valuable package from a client that had to be delivered. Cutter’s men stole it. I got it back. He didn’t like it, and a couple of his boys are doing time for a related abduction.”

“Anything else?”

“In the course of retrieving my merchandise, the bar he runs caught fire. It was closed for a month. He didn’t like that either. What makes you think he had something to do with the explosion?”

“We viewed some surveillance videos of Victoria Row for the night of the break-in at your office. Underhay’s Camaro was spotted on those tapes. It circled a couple of times.”

“Interesting, but I don’t see a connection between him and anything that may have been in my office.”

“He and his gang have connections with Hell’s Angels. They’ve used dynamite to settle scores in Montreal that way. It’s a crude method, but they’re not big on subtleties, and they’re indiscriminate when they’re targeting the competition or people who get in their way. It sends a big message.”

“It seems like a tenuous link.”

“We’re still gathering information, but there is one more connection. The dynamite wired to your car was partly encased in a rubber hose. RCMP crime lab has just identified it as an old radiator hose. It came from a Camaro, same year as Underhay’s.”

“Are you going to pick him up?”

“We will be…now that we have a motive. Revenge.”

Michael Underhay was a vicious sonofabitch, no doubt, but Anne never took him for stupid or ostentatious. He had always been more direct in his brutality, a hands-on kind of thug, but maybe he had changed. Maybe he was learning a new thing or two, Anne thought, as she drove across the bridge toward Bernadette Villier’s home.

Anne didn’t have to ring Bernadette’s doorbell. She was watching as Anne pulled up, and she invited her in.

“Thank you for seeing me,” said Anne.

“You didn’t give me much choice, dear. Your news sounded urgent and, frankly, you sounded desperate, too. Come in. Sit down.”

Hospitality was a time-honoured tradition in many homes, especially among older residents, and that was evident in Bernadette Villier’s welcome. She led Anne into the dining room. Table was already set with a pot of tea, two china cups, saucers, and small silver spoons with an old pattern. Homemade sweets were stacked on the glass dish between them.

“Tea?” Bernadette asked. Anne nodded and thanked her again, and they sat. “Help yourself. They’re fresh,” she said, pointing toward the pastries and scones.

It was evident to Anne that Bernadette wanted company. She was a working widow, childless, living alone with few relatives or friends to pass the time. So Anne hadn’t the heart to rush her through the formalities of a tea and, for the next half-hour, Anne and Bernadette chatted about the fall weather, speculated on the severity of winter, and found a common thread in acquaintances they both knew slightly. Anne had felt the urge to brag about her daughter, Jacqui, but caught herself on two occasions. Instead, they ate sweets and lamented the doings of several local legislators and, at what seemed an appropriate lull, Anne shifted topic to more serious business.

“You were right earlier, Bernadette. My business is urgent, and I am desperate. In the last four or five days, several people have threatened me, my office has been ransacked, my business has been shut down…and yesterday someone tried to kill me…and anyone near me.”

“Oh my!” said Bernadette. The shift in topic from the mundane to attempted murder stunned her. She looked genuinely horrified.

“What made it even worse was that my daughter and her girlfriend almost lost their lives as well. All of this followed my investigating the connection between your daughter Simone’s death and Carolyn Jollimore. Someone wants to stop me one way or the other, but now I’m running out of options. That’s why I’ve come here today. I have to ask you to do something…something that will be extremely painful for you.”