Dos Equis (13 page)

It was a tempting invitation, but I had other priorities. I needed to assess what havoc had been caused me by JP Taine. I

unlocked the door and entered my kitchen. Immediately I knew that he’d made off with two very valuable items.

Barbra and Brutus were gone.

After a quick rush about the house to see what else there was to see, I concluded that the dogs were the only things missing.

What was this? Some sort of crazy kidnapping scheme? Who was JP Taine? What was he really up to?

I decided to go next door after all, in the vain hope that Sereena had perhaps seen or heard something that would tell me

what had happened to my two dogs.

Sereena opened the door. She was wearing a black, slinky sheath that fell seductively off one shoulder, revealing the silky

skin which had driven powerful men the world over crazy with desire. Me, not so much. Her dark hair shone with health, and

her sparkling eyes relayed epic adventures without her ever having to speak a word. Behind Sereena were Barbra and Brutus.

Their eyes told me they were happy and safe and recently well-fed.

“Come in out of the cold, Russell. I’m sure we can find you a few drops of something to warm you up.”

Leaving my outerwear behind, Sereena led me to her living room. The expansive space would not have looked out of place

in a New York City penthouse overlooking Central Park. Seated around a low coffee table, the lighting dim, the music soothing and big band-ish, were JP and a woman I did not know.

I gave the man whom I now knew to have a mysterious past an inquiring glance, and then shifted my attention to the woman.

“Russell, my love, I want you to meet Elena Petrokovich. She’s the infamous crown princess of Novaskalyich, which of

course you know from your history, was a major power annexed by the former Soviet Union. Until, that is, Elena’s father,

Victor, a charming man with a shocking reputation with the ladies, put down his foot and famously said ‘Chairman Gorbachev,

give me back my kingdom, or I’ll have to sleep with your wife…again!’ Isn’t that right, Elena?”

Elena’s laugh was throaty. She raised her left hand in such a way that made me think I should kiss it rather than shake it, and said: “Oh my dear friend, Sereena, you forget nothing. You have a true gift of making us all seem so much more interesting than we actually are.” She then turned her powerful gaze upon me. “Russell Quant. How charming to meet you finally. Sereena has

told me a great deal about you. And if she’s done the same in reverse, I beg you, only believe half of it…well, maybe three-

quarters.” I found myself unsure whether Elena truly was a crown princess, or Sereena’s dry cleaner who’d dropped by for a

snort. But she certainly looked the part. Elena was well into her seventh decade, and dressed in a loose tunic of deep rich

colours, that somehow bestowed upon her an air of “to royalty born.” Likely an attractive woman in her youth, she now bore no attachment to cosmetics or cosmetic surgery. Her face was pale and jowly, age spots dotted her temples and hands. Her fingers were twisted with arthritis, yet still she’d managed to don several sizable rings that sparkled with a vitality reflecting their owner’s.

“My dreary children are thinking of deposing me this week,” Elena proclaimed without a hint of a smirk. Her voice was

deep, carried by a gurgle from somewhere far back in her throat. “So I thought to myself, what better time to visit my dear

friend Sereena in Canada.”

“Sounds sensible.”

“Will you join us for a
caipirinha
?” Indicating JP, she told me, “I’ve just instructed this delightful young man how best to prepare one.” She sipped from her own glass. “A skill which he’s picked up rather nicely.”

“What is it?”

“Only the toast of all Brazil; its national cocktail. It’s made with
cachaça
, sugar, and fresh lime. Quite impossible to resist.”

Giving JP a look he likely did not deserve, I responded with, “It seems no one can.”

Likely, JP could sense I was not quite myself. But he simply smiled good naturedly, rose, and ambled over to the bar saying,

“Why don’t you try one, Russell? I think you’ll like it.”

I looked at Sereena. “You just happen to have
cachaça
in your bar?”

She swept past me to resume her seat. “Of course, darling. Doesn’t everyone?”

Two
caipirinhas
and a rather long soliloquy on the life and times of Elena Petrokovich, crown princess of Novaskalyich, later (she wasn’t big on two-way conversation), and still feeling the effects of my dirty martini with Darren, I needed to go home and put food in my stomach (Sereena rarely pairs food with drinks, especially if she has to make it herself). JP and the

schnauzers followed.

In my kitchen, I let my eyes wander through the refrigerator, looking for something to soak up the alcohol in my system.

Sensing JP standing behind me, I gallantly asked: “Are you hungry?”

“I stopped by the grocery store on the way home,” he said. “When I heard on the news that a storm was coming, I thought it

was the perfect time for you to try JP’s chili. It’s on the stove.”

“I thought I smelled someth…” It was only then I noticed he hadn’t taken off his coat or boots. I looked at the wall clock.

Eight p.m. “Are you…going out?”

“I’ve booked a room at a motel. I think I’ve used up enough of your hospitality for the time being.”

For a moment I was speechless. Indeed, I had been thrown off by Kirsch’s revelations of JP’s past. Coming home to find him

visiting
my
neighbour, with
my
dogs, didn’t help either. But all I really knew was that I didn’t know anything. Rebellious youth get in trouble with the law all the time. The fact that JP seemed to have no life history for about ten years afterward was a little harder to rationalize. But looking him in the eyes, hearing his gentle voice—the man made me chili, for pity’s sake—I just

couldn’t bring myself to conclude he was a bad guy.

“Oh, okay,” I finally responded. “I’ll get my coat and drive you.”

“No, it’s okay. I rented a car today.”

Rented a car. Was it JP who’d rented the car Millie saw in Hilda’s yard? God, Quant, get a hold of yourself. That’s

preposterous. Or is it? Sometimes I hate my detective’s brain.

“You made all this chili—thanks by the way…”

“No problem. I hope you like it. I put a little molasses in it. Just adds a touch of sweet.”

“Why don’t you stay and have some with me? It seems wrong that you made it and don’t have any. And the storm is really

getting wicked out there. The roads will be a mess. Besides, we’ve got a lot of work to do if we want to get to the bottom of this case. You still want that, right? I’ve got a terrific Chianti I think will go great with your chili.”

I was babbling.

I didn’t want this man to leave.

So I said it. “JP, I want you to stay with me tonight.”

He didn’t move.

I didn’t move.

Finally he began: “I know I come off all loud and confident and say things that I probably shouldn’t. It’s just…it’s just the way I am. But most of it is just for show, you know. But this afternoon, when we kissed, I…I took that very seriously. More

seriously than I expected to. And now I’m…I’m…” He laughed nervously and licked his lips and petted Brutus who’d nuzzled

up next to him. “Now I’m feeling something weird. I feel…kind of stupid for saying all those inappropriate things to you about moving in and falling in love and now I…Jeez Louise...I don’t know what to say.”

Now he was babbling. We were even.

“How about this,” I suggested with a calm voice, approaching him like he was a skittish deer who might bolt at any second.

“Give me your coat. You heat up the chili. I’ll open the wine…well, first I’m going to drink about four glasses of water to

drown the
caipirinhas
…then I’ll open the wine. We’ll eat. Talk. See what happens. You can go to your motel any time you want. Sound okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Several minutes later, we were sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, a roaring fire toasting our toes, and two big

bowls of fiery chili with a hint of molasses.

“How did you ever end up at Sereena’s with a Russian princess?” I asked as I poured the wine.

“I’m not exactly sure. I was out walking Barbra and Brutus. The next thing I knew I was playing bartender and listening to

these amazing stories. Did you know Elena and Sereena were once charged with stealing some billionaire’s yacht in Capri?

Apparently they’d ‘innocently’ neglected to check if the guy was actually on board before telling the captain to head out to sea.

Crazy stuff, right?”

I guffawed. “Knowing Sereena, I have no doubt every word is true…ish.” I cleared my throat. “So let me get this straight.

While I was working my fingers to the bone, you were partying it up?”

“Not true. I still managed to rent a car, go to the grocery store, make chili, walk the dogs, and identify Hilda Kraus’s killer.”

I leaned in closer, not sure if I’d heard correctly. “You what?”

“I made chili.”

“JP, the part about identifying the killer?”

“Well, to be fair, I can’t take credit for coming up with the name. But it’s what I did with it that counts.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The name of the killer. The credit goes to you and your friend—Roger is it?—at Dennie’s Car Rental.”

“Roger called back? You talked to him?”

“Of course not. I’d never answer someone else’s phone.”

“Oh no. You’d only break into their house and tie them up.”

“You’re never going to leave that one alone, are you?”

“Duh, no.”

“He left a message. I was making chili and overheard it. He said the car with the licence number you gave him was rented by

a woman named Frances Huber.”

The name sat in the air between us like a dark, cold stranger who’d just entered the room. For a moment we said nothing.

“I did some checking. There are less than two dozen Hubers listed in the Saskatoon phone book. Fewer in Regina. None of

the listings are for Frances or F. Huber. There are only a handful on Facebook. We have to assume she could be from

anywhere. Tracking down every possible Frances Huber around the world will take a very long time, not to mention trying to

contact them all.”

“I need to call Roger back. Maybe he can give us an address…”

“I wouldn’t bother. I already did.”

I was about to blast him, until I realized that he’d done exactly what I would have in the same situation.

“He said she paid cash, bought no insurance, left a credit card impression, but no other personal information. And no, he

was not willing to share the credit card information or anything else. He said he was already putting his tail in a trap for you.

Colourful expression, don’t you think?”

“Well,” I replied slowly, already feeling weary from all the hours in front of a computer screen I could forecast were in my future, “we’re just going to have to think of another way to whittle down our possibles.”

“Well, while you were working your fingers to the bone…drinking martinis was it?...I got an idea. I figured it had to be

serendipity.”

“Serendipity? What?”

“Meeting Princess Elena had to mean something, right? I got to thinking that foreign royals and diplomats and all those kind of cats must have access to all sorts of information.”

“And you know that because of why? You read it in a Robert Ludlum novel?”

“Maybe. Anyway, don’t worry, I didn’t tell her any real details. I asked her what she’d do if she were looking for someone.

She loved the intrigue, and made some rather scandalous guesses as to why I needed to find Frances Huber. Then, bim bam

boom, she called her assistant. The assistant said she’d have a list of every Frances Huber in Canada and the U.S. emailed to me within half an hour. Going farther afield than North America would take longer. But I thought it was a good place to start. It should be in my inbox now.”

Like a dog on a bone, I jumped up, taking my chili and wine with me and headed for the den. “You couldn’t tell me this first?

What are we waiting for?”

JP was right behind me. Barbra and Brutus, happy by the fire, were not so quick to join us.

Resettled on the couch in the den, JP booted up his computer, found the promised email, and downloaded the list. Together

we scanned the pages, our faces getting longer with each passing one.

“There’s still got to be three hundred names on this list,” JP stated, sounding a little deflated.

“It’s a start, JP. You saved us a lot of time by getting this.”

“Told you I rocked as a detective.” The self-assured JP was back.

“I’ll hold off on engraving the award until we find the real Frances Huber.”

“Do you think she’s our killer, Russell?”

“I don’t know. But as they say in the police business, she’s definitely a ‘person of interest.’”

JP sent the list to my printer. As I went to retrieve it, JPs computer made a noise telling him he had an incoming Skype call.

“Russell, it’s my sister. Why don’t you come over here and meet her.”

I returned to the couch and nudged up next to JP. Seeing Marie-Genevieve Taine’s face pop up on the laptop screen was like

seeing a softened, feminized version of JP, complete with blonde hair, green eyes, and dimples, sans the lantern jaw and five o’clock shadow.

“Marie-Genevieve, hey girl, I have Russell Quant here with me.”The young woman allowed a small smile on an otherwise

serious face. “I can see you both,” she said, her voice tinged with a francophone accent, similar but stronger than her brother’s.

“Hello Russell.” Came out sounding like ‘ello Russell. “Nice to meet you.”

“Good to meet you too, Marie-Genevieve. I want to tell you how sorry I am about your loss. I knew Jane. She was a fine

woman, and very passionate about everything she did. I admired that about her.”