Lake on the Mountain: A Dan Sharp Mystery (17 page)

Dan felt himself blushing. “Okay, yeah — it was hot. But now all I can think about is how stupid I was.”

“Revenge is sweet.” Trevor’s expression turned serious. “I gather my cousin will have other things to worry about if they’re looking at Daniella’s death as a possible murder. I know it’s none of my business, but do they actually think he might have killed her?”

“No, I don’t think so. Calling it suspicious is still a step away from declaring it foul play. They may think he had a motive to kill her, but that’s different.”

Trevor looked out the window and down at the traffic doing a soft-shoe shuffle along Yonge Street. “It seems unbelievable we were attending a wedding a few days ago and now it’s a murder investigation.”

The room was nearly empty. They were among the last diners. Their waiter sat at another table tabulating his receipts. For once he didn’t seem in a hurry to have them leave.

“I know this is also none of my business … but what are you going to do about Bill?”

Dan’s eyes darted away then back. “What would you do?”

“I’d probably make plans to break up with him and then not have the guts to go through with it.” Trevor looked sidelong at Dan. “On the other hand, if I were you, I’d ditch the bastard and accept my offer for a visit to the Left Coast.”

Dan laughed softly.

“I’m serious. If you need a place to get away, some place safe to visit. No strings.” He shrugged. “Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find you sexy as hell. I’m sorry if that seems to be an inappropriate comment right now, for any number of reasons.”

“No apology necessary,” Dan said. “And ditto for you.”

Trevor put a hand on Dan’s wrist and rubbed his thumb against the skin next to his watchband. He sat back. “Time to go, I’m afraid.”

Outside, traffic crawled through the intersection. Pedestrians brushed impatiently past Dan and Trevor as they stood outside a dollar store with a boarded-up front window and a sign:
We Moving!
To the north, the Brass Rail, Green Mango, and the Shoe Company vied for signage. A few doors away, another Starbucks, ubiquitous as mosquitoes. Urban life unfurled in one long, unending street named for its promise of eternal youth.

An Asian man went by with an anxious face. Korean, Dan thought. Or possibly Vietnamese. Probably sent here by his parents after a lifetime of saving to get him to the land of dreams, where he now worked two jobs to send money home and pay them back for the rest of his life for having given him what they would never have. He lingered on the steps of the Brass Rail, torn between duty and the posters of girls with their biologically impossible breasts inviting him in. A ferret-faced man approached and spoke a few soft words, the salesman’s surreptitious pitch. The Asian man’s eyes flickered nervously over at the strip club, then back to the man.
Go for the girls, buddy,
Dan thought.

Two doors up, a bleached-blonde dressed in suburban shopping mall jeans two sizes too small lingered in front of a shoe display. She had Tweetie Bird tattooed on her left shoulder, a bruise under her right eye.
Whose sad little dolly are you?
Dan wondered, mapping the clues that might help him or one of his colleagues decide where to begin looking when the expected phone call didn’t come, the key didn’t turn in the lock.

Trevor’s voice intruded. “Remember, my offer’s there any time you need it.”

“What was the name of that island you live on again?”

“Mayne Island. It’s part of the Southern Gulf chains. Guaranteed to be the most restful place your mind has ever visited.”

Dan didn’t think he’d heard of it and doubted he would again. A cab pulled up and Trevor stepped in.

“Let’s keep in touch,” Trevor said.

“Will do.”

Dan shut the door with a pang of regret as he watched the cab sail around the corner.

Fourteen

Klingsor’s Castle

The message light was flashing like a storm warning when Dan got back to his office. He didn’t recognize the number, but he knew the voice. Thom and his mother had heard from the Picton OPP regarding Daniella’s death. Remembering Dan’s connection with the officer who’d taken their statements, Bill had offered them Dan’s assistance. He was calling from the Killingworth’s residence in Forest Hill. He concluded with an address and a time for Dan to drop by that afternoon. “Thanks for doing this, buddy. I’ll see you there.”

Dan played it through twice. There was nothing personal in the communication, no inquiry into his well-being, though that wasn’t unusual for Bill. He wondered what Bill had in mind when he’d offered his help. As much as Dan disliked the presumption that he’d show up on — he glanced at the clock — two hours’ notice, he was already scrambling through his office organizer to free up his schedule.

He rebooked his first meeting then emailed Sally with the rest of his appointments, asking her to make sure they were followed up. As usual, there was no answer on Bill’s cell. Dan left a message to say he’d do whatever he could for the Killingworths then picked up the phone and dialled the number for the Picton OPP. Saylor took his call.

“Detective Constable Saylor here.”

“Hey, Pete — Dan Sharp.”

The surprise in Saylor’s voice was audible. “Don’t tell me. It just occurred to you how brilliant my theory was and you’ve called to tell me so.”

“Bang on,” Dan said.

“And other than that?”

“I was just wondering. How much have you told the Killingworths about the investigation?”

Saylor hesitated. “Only that the death was considered suspicious.”

“Any personal details?”

“You mean the pregnancy? No — I spared them that. Remember, she’s not their family.”

“Then do me a favour. Let me break it to them. I’m going over there this afternoon.”

There was a pause as Saylor calculated this request and its consequences. “All right, but you didn’t hear it from me. And mum’s the word on my private theory, mind.”

Poplar Plains Crescent was the city’s most desirable mid-town street. A long-time WASP enclave, with rows of high-banked old money estates, it had begrudgingly given way to the ranks of wealthy immigrant families only in the past decade. Or maybe not so begrudgingly — there were just so many old money families left in Toronto, and not all of them wanted to live on a hill in an enchanted forest. Especially not now, with the newcomers changing the tone of everything.

Dan drove south, noting the declining numbers. He was momentarily stunned when he saw the one he wanted. The Killingworths’ in-town residence made their country home look like a summer cottage. Someone in the family had a preference for imposing structures. One of the grande dames of a bygone age, this was Bayreuth and Klingsor’s magic castle rolled into one.

Dan parked curbside and climbed the stone walk past a rose garden and the trunks of a dozen century-old trees. A servant answered his ring, a bent and withered ancient whose presence seemed to have been wrested from the earth. He stood there, grim in a hair-shirt, guarding the ancestral realms.

The walk-in foyer was lined with oak panels and overhung by the polished links of an eight-tiered chandelier. Terra cotta angels danced on the perimeter above the entrance. It might have been the first sight glimpsed by the dead entering Valhalla. Dan’s coat was hung in a closet the size of most people’s living rooms. A staircase twisted up and out of view. Dan recognized the glowering features of Nathaniel Macaulay — another oil portrait. This one clearly predated the one in Adolphustown. Still, the family forebear looked no friendlier at thirty-something than his aged self had. “Malevolent” was the word that came to mind. Dan wondered if they made portrait subjects sit on tacks back then.

He was shown into a sitting room and left alone, half-expecting to be given an admonishment not to touch the valuables. A damask weave sofa and two armchairs commanded centre stage; a vase of blossoms, gigantic and pale-pink, languished on an oval table. A fireplace with a cavity large enough to stand upright in filled the north wall. In medieval times, it might have served to feed the king and his men as they passed through on their way to the crusades. In the front window, lid cocked, a full-size grand piano waited expectantly, keys glittering like freshly minted teeth beside a gold-framed harp and standing cello. Dan wouldn’t have been surprised to see a circus troupe waiting in readiness, with a couple of prancing ponies and a small corps de ballet to complete the set. Was it Thom or his world that Bill was in love with? Dan mused.

After a moment’s wait, Thom entered with his mother. He was dressed in jeans and a white shirt and seemed to have recovered from his ordeal. He took Dan’s hand, greeting him with an earnest sobriety, like old comrades who’d been fighting the same battle for years. Lucille, somewhat more subdued, wore a chaste beige sweater over a long black knitted dress, possibly her attempt at mourning. In the room’s autumnal light she appeared more severe than Dan recalled, her face pinked with syllables of exhaustion or worry. He could see the family resemblance now, the wide, intelligent brow, the long, full cheekbones, the gold under-toned hair.

She offered him a hand. “Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to come all this way to see us,” she began, her voice suggesting fragility. She gestured toward the sofa. “Please, sit.”

Dan sat on the end near the fireplace. Thom sank into one of the wide chairs across from him. Lucille remained standing. Nervousness, Dan thought. Or maybe she intended to keep things brief.

She clasped her hands and addressed him directly. “As you know, we’re anxious to learn as much as we can about this terrible situation,” she began, her voice quickly regaining its equipoise. “Naturally, we’re shaken by this poor girl’s death. I can only imagine how her family must feel.” She stopped and looked at Thom. “My son and I thought — in light of what’s occurred — that it would be best if we were prepared for whatever might happen next. Bill McFarland felt you might be able to help.…”

Dan saw this as his cue to jump in with words of reassurance, possibly wisdom, though he doubted that what he had to say would fall into either category. “I might have a bit of information that will help,” he said. “I’ve been in touch with a constable at the Picton OPP detachment. I believe you already know they’re treating Daniella’s death as suspicious.”

“Yes,” Lucille said with a shiver. “That’s what’s so worrisome. It seems ghastly to think anyone could suspect that one of our guests might have had something to do with this. Have they considered that it might simply have been an accident?”

“I’m sure they have. It’s routine to treat a death as suspicious unless it was clearly the result of an accident. Without any witnesses, they have to consider other possibilities.”

Lucille absently fingered one of the pink blossoms. Begonia, Dan thought. Or maybe peony. He thought of tissue-paper pompoms used to decorate wedding cars. Not funeral flowers.

Lucille continued. “But several people have said she was quite inebriated before she fell overboard. A number of people saw her drinking heavily that evening. Surely they must realize it was a case of a tragic, drunken fall?”

“The autopsy revealed there was no alcohol in her system,” Dan said. “In fact, she hadn’t been drinking at all.”

“Is that possible?” Lucille’s face resumed its pensive look. “Even so, what makes them think it could be anything but an accident?”

“There was a large bruise on her forehead just under the hairline above her right temple. Thom saw it.”

Lucille looked to her son, who nodded. “And … that’s why they think she may have been murdered?”

“I don’t think the police would use the word ‘murder’ at this point. The bruise is one reason they’re treating the death as suspicious,” Dan said.

“Will we need alibis?” Thom said suddenly.

“They’ll probably ask people to state where they were once they determine when Daniella fell overboard,” Dan said. “The window of time in which it could have occurred is small. Can either of you say with accuracy where you were right before you heard of her disappearance? Or rather, Sebastiano’s disappearance, since that’s who people seemed to think had fallen overboard. If it comes to that, we may all have to prove where we were at the time.”

“I was with Bill,” Thom said, running a hand through his hair. “We went off for a little drink and a private chat. He was … concerned about something.”

“And I was in the stateroom with my guests the entire time,” Lucille said. “But still, do you think it will come to that?”

“I hope not,” Dan said. “In fact, I rather doubt it. The only people who might have to worry about providing alibis will be anyone who was wandering alone on the upper decks at the time Daniella disappeared.”

Lucille wrapped her arms around herself and looked over at Thom. “I guess it’s time to call Larry,” she said softly.

“Our family attorney,” Thom said, to Dan’s inquisitive glance.

Dan wondered why they’d hesitated to call him before now. His thought was interrupted by Lucille.

“I was hoping to keep this out of the papers,” she said grimly. “But it’s already been all over the news. The ‘troubled Killingworth family.’ They’ve even dragged up my husband’s disappearance.”

“I’m sorry to hear,” Dan said. “I hope things are resolved as quickly as possible.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a resigned smile, the gracious hostess whose concern is first and foremost for the comfort of her guest.

“Where is Sebastiano? If I may ask?”

Thom answered. “We’ve arranged for him to stay at a hotel downtown until the body is released. Then he’ll go home with Daniella. Under the circumstances, we thought it best that he was somewhere else.”

“Of course. It would be difficult to have him around. There is one other thing you might want to know,” Dan said, looking from mother to son. “Daniella was pregnant when she died.”

Thom’s face flushed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“How awful,” Lucille said quietly.

“My god,” Thom said, anger overtaking the shock. He turned to the fireplace. “These people were unbelievable!” His mother put a hand on his shoulder. Thom turned to face Dan again. “We had no idea. None!”

“It is quite incredible,” said Lucille. “To think that Thom was so thoroughly deceived by these people. Is there anything else we should know?”

“Not at the moment,” Dan said. “But I’ll let you know anything I find out — provided I have a legal right to do so.”

“I understand,” said Lucille. “We wouldn’t ask you to do anything that might compromise yourself.” She took his hand and squeezed it warmly. “You’ve done a great deal to ease our minds, Daniel. Thank you. Is there anything we can do for you?”

Dan’s eyes met hers. For a moment he wondered again why he was here. He couldn’t see that he’d done or said anything that might be of use. “Not at all. I’m happy you feel I’ve been helpful.”

“Then we won’t keep you,” Lucille said. “Thank you again. My son will see you to the door.” She swept out of the room with more assurance than when she’d entered, her conscience eased, her heels making small clicking sounds.

Thom sat shaking his head and looking down at the floor. “Fucking hell,” he said at last. “This is really awful.”

“I’m sorry things have turned out so badly,” Dan said.

“I can’t believe I trusted that guy. I mean, I’m not naïve. I knew I was helping him, but obviously he was just waiting to get his citizenship, then he would have dumped me and brought her in as his wife.”

“I doubt they would have got away with it,” Dan said.

“And the pregnancy! I guess I can tell you why I — why my mother and I — were shocked when you mentioned it. A good portion of my grandfather’s money is held in trust for the first great-grandchild.”

A clock chimed three. It had been less than half an hour since he arrived, but Dan felt he’d been there for ages. “Did Sebastiano know?”

“He knew.” Thom made a sound of disgust. “And I agreed to it. They duped me completely. The plan was for her to have a child with help from a fertility clinic after the wedding. But it was supposed to be
my
child! I might never have known!”

He looked tormented, as he had the morning they’d gone to identify Daniella’s body, as though truth had a demoralizing rather than an edifying effect on him. Thom was one of the ones who got no relief from the knowing, Dan saw.

Thom straightened suddenly and laid a hand on Dan’s knee. There was nothing lascivious in the gesture, his expression set beyond all that. “Thank you,” he said. “You’ve really been great about everything. I’ll tell Bill how helpful you’ve been.”

“I was happy to help.”

Thom stood. In the hallway, Dan said, “I thought Bill was going to be here. His message gave me that impression.”

“No, I don’t think Bill intended to be here this afternoon. At least not that I was aware of.”

Something in Thom’s expression suggested otherwise. Dan ignored it. He busied himself with his leave-taking. The putting on of his jacket, followed by a patting of pockets and the double-checking —
Ah, here they are!
— for his keys. They both pretended to be taken in by this dumbshow. Thom’s self-assurance had returned. He shook his head sympathetically. “Maybe Bill changed his mind.”

“I must have misunderstood,” Dan said.

Thom opened the door and Dan stepped through into what was, all things considered, just another ordinary day. The world beyond seemed a little less dazzling than the one he was leaving. He hadn’t wanted to be there. Now that he was, he didn’t want to leave.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said.

The drive across St. Clair and down Bayview delivered him to his driveway in less than twenty minutes. He could have returned to the office, but he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate. On the way home, he mulled over his visit to the Killingworths. He hadn’t helped them in any way he could see. Had they simply wanted hand-holding? He pulled out his cell and left a message for Bill saying how the meeting went.