Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) (35 page)

“I guess she must have forgotten,” I mumbled. “She’s been sick.”

“Tell me about your mother, Marie.”

There was something in Worth’s face that made my mouth go bone dry. Why was she asking anything about my mother?

“She has nothing to do with this.”

“I think she does. I’ve heard interesting things about her from my compatriots up in McMurray.”

Oh God, what did she know? I desperately tried to remember if my mother had ever worked with the police, but nothing came.

“You’re wrong,” I whispered. We played the staring game for a few seconds until Worth smiled, and threw her pen down on her desk. I could have crumpled into a heap right there, and touched the edge of the desk to keep myself upright. Quicksand was everywhere in that room.

Sergeant Worth slapped the file shut. “Looks like you aren’t the only one in your family to keep secrets,” she said. She gave me another measured stare, and I willed myself quiet. I was nearly out of danger.

“However,” she continued, “this does put firebombing a couple of apartments right in Arnold Stillwell’s wheelhouse.” She turned to James. “Excellent deducing, there, Lavall.”

“Thanks,” he said, putting on his “aw shucks” face.

“We’ll put out an APB on Arnold Stillwell. He should be off the streets soon.”

“And Carruthers?” I asked.

“We’ll do what we can,” Worth said. “Latterson still hasn’t linked him to anything to do with the Palais, and the explosion destroyed—well, nearly everything. If you’d kept the cheque, we could have used that, but the way it sits, it’s your word against his. We’ll keep digging.”

“The cheque was from his business account,” I said. “C&R Holdings.”

Worth looked at me dourly. “Well, that’s something.”

But it wasn’t enough. Even I could tell that. Without the cheque, it was my word against his. He was a rich businessman. Me? I was nothing.

“I guess we’re done here,” Worth finally said. “You two need some place to stay or something? Need to talk to Victim Services?” She started fishing in the top drawer of her desk. I shook my head.

“You already gave me their card,” I said.

“Fine.” She looked past me to James. “If anything more comes to you, give me a call.”

“I will.” James held his hand out to the woman. “Talk to you soon.”

“Yes, you will.” Solemnly, she shook his hand, then turned away from us, pointedly. Interview was over. Time to go.

Thank God.

Farley:
The Drive to the Office

“So, are we going to talk now?”

It was Jimmy boy’s voice, pulling me out of a great dream. Funny thing, I didn’t feel pissed at him. As I stretched, I realized I was still in the back of his car, and looked with some amusement at my legs, which were hanging out through the left side of the vehicle. Bet the kids would have laughed their asses off if they could have seen that.

The dream had been about Jasmine’s kids—and about Rose. My daughter Rose, miraculously the same age as Jasmine’s daughter, playing innocent games with her, by a river, under a tall tree. I’d been leaning against that tree, watching them. We were all laughing, and having such a good time. It had been so beautiful, I felt like I still held the sunshine from that dream on my skin.

However, the look on Marie’s face told me I’d missed something big.

What had I missed?

Marie:
The Drive to the Office

I ignored Farley as James dug in his pocket for his car keys. He hadn’t said a word since we’d left Sergeant Worth’s office, and I couldn’t read his face.

“So, what’s going on?” Farley asked. He looked around the underground parking garage. “Are we still at the cop shop?”

“Do you want to talk, James?” I asked.

James pulled the keys from his pocket, and shrugged. “I thought none of it was my business,” he replied. “Isn’t that what you said?”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I guess since Arnie tried to burn down your place, some of my business is now your business. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, and unlocked my door, even holding it open for me. “So where do you want to go to have this talk?”

“I don’t know.” I unlocked his door. As he climbed in, my throat tightened dangerously, but I pulled myself together. Crying time was definitely over. “I’m not going back to Jasmine’s until they catch Arnie, and I don’t have a penny to my name. So I don’t know.”

“Well, we can’t go to my place,” he said, rather unhelpfully. “What about a restaurant?”

“You could go to Jimmy Boy’s office.” Farley said. “Because I don’t want to spend the next nine hours or whatever down here while you two try to make up your minds.”

I glanced back at him, surprised. That was a good idea. We needed a quiet place to talk, and the office was definitely quiet. I looked at James.

“Do you want to—” I started.

“Well, you know,” he said at the same time, then we both stopped and then did the politeness stammer.

“You go first,” James said.

“No,
you
go first,” I replied, keeping my voice even. “Please.”

“What the hell is up with you two?” Farley barked. “Make up your frigging minds!”

“I was going to say maybe we could go to my uncle’s office,” James said. “We can talk there. What were you going to say?”

“The same thing,” I admitted, and felt the heat of a blush touch my cheeks.

“All right, we’ll go there, then.”

But he didn’t start the car. He glanced at me, and he looked like he had more to say. I looked down at my hands, waiting for the yelling to start again.

I wouldn’t have blamed him. If he’d known about Arnie, he could have gotten away from me. Protected himself. Then his place wouldn’t have been burned down.

“Look,” he finally stammered, “I’m sorry about everything I said in the Sergeant’s office. I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

Oh. That was definitely not what I had expected. “Don’t worry about it,” I said cautiously.

I felt Farley’s eyes boring into the back of my head. “What the hell went on?”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” James said. “I understand that. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“Thanks, James,” I said. “I appreciate it. The police will catch Arnie, and they’ll figure out the rest of it. I think we’ll both be all right.”

“I wasn’t really talking about your ex-boyfriend or Carruthers,” he said. “There’s more you’re not telling me, but I can wait.”

I sighed. Even if he hadn’t run away when he found out about Arnie, I knew he’d run away when he learned the rest. I wanted to put this off until I felt stronger.

“You know most of my dirty little secrets now, James. Can that be enough for a while? Please?”

I tried to keep my voice light, but the pleading was there. Even James sensed it. And he left it alone, gentleman that he was.

He nodded and started the car, pulling carefully out to 98th Street. We were only about three blocks from the office.

“Do me a favour,” he said, as he waited for the traffic to give him sufficient room to make the turn. “Get my parking pass out of the glove box, would you? It’s an orange tag.”

I flipped open the glove box and started digging through the paper and bits of crap that always seem to collect in glove boxes everywhere. “I don’t see it,” I finally said.

James maneuvered the turn, then glanced at me. “Keep searching. It’s in there somewhere. I don’t want to get a ticket.”

I dove back into the junk-filled glove box one more time, and James watched me do it. Wasn’t the best thing for him to do, focussing on the inside of the vehicle like that.

“Son of a gun!” he cried, and slammed on the brakes, nearly driving me into the glove box. I looked up. He’d nearly rear-ended the vehicle ahead of him that had stopped for a pedestrian. A truck following us squealed its tires mightily, and I braced for impact.

Somehow the truck missed us and pulled into the lane adjacent. I scrambled back into the seat and looked out at the vehicle that had almost hit us. I was honestly going to wave apologetically or something, but what I saw froze me. Absolutely froze me.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “It’s Arnie.”

Arnie was not pleased at being spotted. He began cursing a blue streak, and digging around under his seat for something that had evidently fallen to the floor.

“That’s Arnie?” James asked. “What’s he doing here?”

“What do you think he’s doing? He’s following me,” I gasped. I couldn’t stop staring at Arnie, who stopped digging under his seat when he felt my eyes on him. He looked up, with his crazy, crazy eyes, and I shuddered. He had definitely gone from stalker to psycho.

“We have to get away from him!” I cried.

James shut his mouth, and nodded once, glancing around for some place to go.

Arnie was back digging under his seat, and hadn’t been paying attention to an old guy toddling across the street, so when traffic began to move again, James took advantage, pulling in front of him with shrieking tires.

I did some shrieking of my own, then quieted down when it became apparent that we weren’t going to die in the first few seconds. I started again when James managed to almost get the Volvo up on two wheels going around the corner onto Jasper Avenue, and then again when he made an illegal left hand turn in front of about two tons of traffic down the hill by the MacDonald Hotel.

“Where are you going?” I yelled, clutching the dash for dear life as we weaved through the traffic on their way down the hill.

“I don’t know!” he yelled back, lurching into the right lane, and cutting off a number of vehicles in the process. “I’m trying to get away!”

He blasted down and around, looping back and forth in the maze that is the river valley. I always hated trying to get anywhere down there, but he seemed to have a good handle on where he was going.

“Is he still following us?” he bellowed.

I chanced a backward glance. “Yes.”

“Son of a gun!” He found another gear, and blew down Victoria Trail, weaving through traffic like it was standing still.

We went past the Royal Mayfair Golf Club and caused the first accident as a Jaguar that was leaving the parking lot lurched to a stop in order not to be crushed by us, and was promptly rear-ended by the Lexus behind it. Horns started to blow, which caused gawkers driving in the other lane to slow down and stare. This caused the second accident.

James didn’t falter, didn’t stop and do what was right. He kept blasting hell bent for leather, toward the Groat Road exit, with Arnie rapidly gaining on us.

We got pulled over just past the golf course proper, at a Check Stop. A cop jumped out in front of the car to direct it into the parking lot.

“Son of a gun!” James yelled. The car slewed side to side as he fought to bring it under control. The cop leaped out of the way even though we weren’t that close, just seemed that way, the speed we were going—and glared mightily as we pulled to a sliding stop near the other cop cars. It didn’t take the police long to pull James out of the car and throw him face down on the ground.

“We were being chased!” I yelled as the cops helped me, a lot more gently, from my seat. I tried to pull loose, so I could point at the big black Ram three quarter ton flying down the street.

“Get him! It’s him!” I screamed. I kept screaming and pointing as we all watched the black truck as it slowed down and toddled past the parking lot as though out for a leisurely stroll.

“Son of a gun,” James moaned into the gravel as the cops again turned their unwanted attention back to him. “Son of a gun.”

Marie:
The Drive to the Office, Part Two

It took us a long time to talk our way out of that one. Actually, it was Sergeant Worth who saved us.

“Talk to Sergeant Sylvia Worth,” James kept saying, as the police roughed him up. “She knows us. She knows what’s going on.”

One of the officers got her on his radio phone, and after that, a couple of the officers who had been lounging around watching us get beat up sped off in their vehicles to see if maybe, maybe, they could track down Arnie’s truck that we had all watched scoot merrily away.

James got the ticket, of course, but the police quit threatening him with hauling him downtown to charge him with trying to run down a police officer. One of them even helped him brush the gravel dust off his clothes before they let him back into his car and out on the road again. I for one was glad Sergeant Worth pulled so much weight.

We didn’t speak until we were back on the road again.