To Keep a Secret
Authors: Brenda Chapman
Brenda Chapman
Copyright © 2014 Brenda Chapman
First published in 2014 by Grass Roots Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Grass Roots Press gratefully acknowledges the financial support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Government of Alberta through the Alberta Foundation for the Arts.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Chapman, Brenda, 1955–, author
To keep a secret / Brenda Chapman.
(Anna Sweet mysteries)
ISBN 978–1–77153–006–4 (pbk.)
I. Title. II. Series: Chapman, Brenda, 1955– . Anna Sweet mysteries.
PS8605.H36T6 2014 C813’.6 C2014–900325–0
For my sister, Donna Russell—and all the good times.
S
torm Investigations’ newest recruit, Nick Roma, texted me just as I was sitting down to supper. A meal that included my dad’s fall-off-the-bone spareribs and mashed potatoes. I glanced at the message on my cellphone:
Call me at the office when you get this. Urgent.
I set my beer bottle on the table, sighed deeply, and stood up.
“Looks like I have to make a phone call,” I said. “Work related.”
Dad said through a mouthful of meat, “Thought you had the day off.”
“So did I.”
Evan looked up from his plate. Barbecue sauce dripped down his chin. “Are we still going to watch the movie after dinner, Aunt Anna?” He was wearing that hopeful puppy-dog look. His mom, who was my sister Cheri, and his dad, Jimmy, had been working long hours lately, including now. When not in his Grade One class, six-year-old Evan was spending a lot of time in after-school programs or with a sitter. He reminded me of a little houseplant thirsting for attention.
I reached down and ruffled his hair. “I don’t see why not. I just need to let our new office manager know that he should be phoning Jada. She’s on call today. Not me. Otherwise, it can wait until tomorrow.”
“You tell him,” Dad said, waving a rib in the air.
I speed-dialled the office as I crossed the kitchen floor and stepped into the hall. Nick must have been waiting with his hand hovering above the phone.
“Anna, sorry to bother you, but . . .”
I cut him off. I didn’t try to hide my irritation. “Jada’s the one you should have contacted. I’m on a well-deserved day off, if you recall.”
I pictured our new hire. Nick Roma was twenty-eight, tall, and good-looking. He had straight black hair that he wore shaggy and on the long side. His soulful eyes reminded me of black velvet. He had too much going on to be working for minimum wage in a start-up PI business. But I’d yet to get his full story out of Jada. Nick had managed to sidestep my personal questions like a boxer dodging opening jabs.
Everything about him made me grumpy—from his handsome face to the patient way he looked at me. I just couldn’t get a read on what was going on in his head. He reminded me of my brother-in-law Jimmy Wilson and every man I’d ever dated who believed women owed them just for looking good. Well, I was older and wiser now and not so trusting. I could feel in my bones that Nick Roma was up to something. I just didn’t know what . . . yet.
“Jada’s the reason I’m phoning you.” Nick paused as if waiting to see if I was going to cut him off again. When I didn’t, he said, “Jada got a text message around ten thirty. She told me that she had to leave for a minute but would be back for a one o’clock meeting. She never showed up.”
Odd but not earth-shattering.
“Did she call in?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea where she went?”
“No. I’ve tried calling her all afternoon. But her phone’s been off.”
Jada never turned her phone off.
I tapped my fingers against my forehead while I thought. Had she told me about a new client? I didn’t remember, if so. I realized that I knew nothing about her life outside the office. I hadn’t wanted to get too attached to my business partner. I planned on leaving Ottawa in the spring and returning to my life on the road in the US. Maybe I should have made more of an effort.
“Do you have her address handy?”
“Right here. She lives downtown near the bus station.” I couldn’t fault Nick’s research skills. He was proving to be always one step ahead.
I jotted down the address. Jada lived in a rough section of town. “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’ll swing by after supper,” I said.
A supper that I wasn’t going to enjoy, now that worry was sitting like a big cabbage in my stomach. And especially now that I had to tell Evan that I wouldn’t be around to watch a movie.
• • • • • • • • • •
It was close to eight o’clock and snowing lightly when I parked across the street from Jada’s house. I’d checked in again with Nick before I told Evan I had to go out. No word from Jada. She’d been out of contact for eleven hours.
I zipped up my jacket and looked across the street. Two weeks into November and grass was still showing. This light snow would melt before long, too. I waited for two men in grubby jackets and black skull caps to walk by before I stepped out of my car. I made sure to lock it.
Jada’s once proud house was now tired brown brick: old-style windows, peeling paint, and lopsided steps. The front yard was small and hemmed in by driveways. The building had been a three-storey mansion in its day. Now it was divided into apartments. I climbed the snowy steps carefully and checked apartment numbers under the eight mailboxes. They were screwed into the brick in two crooked rows. Jada’s box was empty.
The front door wasn’t locked, so I pushed it open and stepped inside. There was just enough light to see two apartment doors and a staircase. I climbed the grey painted steps, taking care in the near darkness. I found Jada’s apartment on the right of the small landing on the second floor. Apartment number three. I knocked and waited. I knocked again, louder this time, and leaned my ear against the door to listen for sounds of life. Nothing.
I checked that nobody had poked their head out of the other apartment. Then I reached inside my pocket and took out a pick. It took me a good minute to work the lock. As quietly as I could, I turned the door knob. Then I slipped inside my partner’s apartment and pulled the door shut behind me.
A
ll of the lights were off. But a streetlight outside the living room window brightened the darkness, so I could see well enough. I stood for a moment in the hallway, trying to get a sense of the space. Then I walked down the hall to the kitchen and turned on the overhead light. It was a long, narrow room with a small window looking out over the driveway. Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink. A stain of milk spread across the counter. The stove and fridge were ancient, built in another era. I crossed to the small table and two chairs tucked into the corner.
A bulletin board on the wall above the table had photos of Jada and a hot-looking young man. In some pictures, he was alone, dressed in a soccer uniform. In others, he had his arm around Jada and they were smiling. They were both fit, compact with glowing brown skin and dancing black eyes. For some reason, I’d thought that Jada lived alone. Did her boyfriend live here or did he have his own place?
I backed out of the kitchen and kept going down the hall. The bathroom had an old claw tub and a black-and-white tiled floor. Jada’s bedroom was just big enough for her double bed, dresser, and bedside table. Crime novels and murder mysteries were stacked in piles on the floor. Her reading lamp had a pink shade and tassels. There was no sign of a man sharing the room.
The back bedroom was slightly larger. Posters of Ottawa Senators hockey players and Blue Jays baseball players covered all of the wall space. Two rows of shelves held sports trophies and high school text books. I checked inside a chemistry notebook.
Henry Price
was written in blue ink on the inside cover. Now why hadn’t I known that Jada was living with her brother?
I made another check of the apartment, but didn’t find anything out of order. I hadn’t expected to, but I’d sleep easier knowing. No signs of a struggle or bodies on the floor. I flicked off all the lights and stepped outside the apartment, pulling the door closed. I turned around and shrieked.
A white-haired woman was glaring at me through gold-rimmed glasses from across the hall. She stood just inside her apartment with a brass chain keeping the door from opening very far. She held a cellphone in her raised hand. Her eyes pinned me to the wall.
“Give me one good reason not to press 9-1-1,” she said in an upper-crust British accent.
I held up both hands to show that I hadn’t stolen anything. “I’m just looking for Jada Price,” I said. “She’s gone missing.” I smiled weakly.
“And you would be . . . ?”
“Her partner, Anna Sweet. We work together.”
I heard the chain scrape out of the lock and the door swung open. “You’re earlier than I expected. Taller, too.” Her beady blue eyes looked me up and down before she turned and disappeared into the apartment.
I stood in the hall, completely confused. Should I wait or high tail it out of there? Was she even planning on coming back?
As I hesitated, she called out, “Well, are you coming in, then? I haven’t got all night!”
“On my way,” I called back. Just what was I getting myself into?
I stepped inside her apartment and into her living room. The apartment was laid out the same as Jada’s, just completely reversed. The woman had crammed a houseful of furniture into the tiny living room: a massive couch, two Lazy Boy chairs, a rocker and footstool, a large oak coffee table, four end tables, lamps, and a hutch. Framed photos of cats and grandkids covered every square inch of the walls. Figurines filled the surfaces. It took me a moment to take it all in.
