Spoiled Rotten (19 page)

“My head aches worse than a gin hangover. I can't seem to move my arm either.”

“Is it broken?” I asked.

“Maybe, but before I die, tell me what we're doing in here.”

“There's a mad person out there trying to kill me.”

“Who's mad?”

“Never mind, it's a long story. I thought you left for home until I saw your briefcase outside the men's toilet. What were you doing down here?”

“I decided to unclog the men's urinal before I left. I needed to get a screwdriver from the basement, but when I opened the door, the lights were all out, including the emergency exit light. The way our luck's been going, I thought I better put a new bulb in before we got a fire inspection. I was standing on the ladder when someone knocked it over and attacked me from behind.” Rick's head nodded against my shoulder for a moment. He mumbled, “Did you try the door?”

Why didn't I think of that? I almost slapped my head, but remembered it had taken enough punishment for one day. There was enough room in between the dairy shelves for me to stand up. A narrow aisle ran down the centre of the fridge, and feeling my way slowly toward the thick metal door, I found the safety handle and pushed it down hard. That should have popped the door open, but it didn't. My worst nightmare was coming true: claustrophobia being at the top of my list of fears.

Rick sounded worried. “I hope we're not going to be in here for the night.” His face was so pale I could see it in the dark. I wasn't faring much better. My head was killing me. Then I realized I could see shadows and make out dim shapes around us. There had to be light coming in from somewhere.

I sniffed the air, recognizing the smell of burning wood. A thin wisp of smoke curled under the massive fridge door. My senses went on red alert. The pungent smell of gasoline fumes reached me first and then I could hear crackling. The basement was on fire. The walk-in was sealed tightly with insulation and sheet-metal walls, but it wouldn't keep out the smoke for long. Why wasn't the fire alarm going off? Then I heard it ringing faintly upstairs.

It was no longer cold inside the fridge; the air was rapidly changing.

“Thanks, Liz. I'm getting warmer now,” Rick said and then sighed deeply.

I put my ear to the door and thought I heard a faint meow.

“Kitty…?” I called. Was she trapped in the fire? Oh, no, I couldn't bear the thought. Then I heard her meow again. I followed the sound to the back of the cooler, stepping carefully over Rick's slumped body. “Kitty, where are you?”

She stuck her head out from around an apple crate and I swear she smiled. Maybe it was the smoke. I tore away the boxes stacked against the wall, exposing a hole the size of a cantaloupe. I had found her secret passage way. Getting down on my stomach, I turned my head on its side and pressed my eye against it. There was light and the air was fresh. I sucked in a lung full, and, getting my senses back, realized I was looking into the candy store's basement attached to us next door.

Last year's flood had caused major damage to the room-sized walk-in, after all. The metal liner didn't run along the back of the fridge where it was attached to the adjoining brick wall. A foam sheath remained in place, but it was dank and its wooden frame was rotting at the floor boards.

I could feel the heat on the other three walls. Butter was melting inside its foil wrap and dripping onto a case of eggs below. The air inside the fridge was getting thicker. Positioning Rick's head by the opening, I lay beside him on the floor. Kitty had disappeared again. I put my hand through the hole and starting yelling for help, the candy store had been closed for hours, but it was better than thinking about being burned alive.

My throat was soon raw from yelling and the heat was suffocating. I was nodding off, perhaps for all eternity, when something fell on top of me, startling me awake. A two-foot piece of insulation running along the back wall had broken off. My arm flew up, knocking another piece loose. It was soft with mildew. I remembered Bill saying something about the liner of the fridge being compromised by the flood. He warned me that I was going to have to replace the walk-in compressor again if I didn't seal the leak. I wasn't a big fan of closed spaces and never investigated. If I had, my nose would have discovered this amount of moldering dampness long ago.

I sat up and turned around so my feet were facing the wall. With all my might, I kicked at the base of the wet wall. Another large section of the insulation fell apart, landing on my head. It was like sponge. I knocked out the wooden slats it had been attached to, leaving the brick wall exposed between the two basements. A few of the bricks were white from moldy decay. I kicked again, knocking two bricks into the candy store's cellar, and then sent two more flying. The remaining brick was solid and I was losing my breath from the exertion.

I now had a hole big enough for me to shove my head and neck through and breathed in, gulping down the intoxicating, fresh air. I could see Kitty calmly licking herself on the other side. Rick coughed. I pulled my head back in and nudged his head into the hole. I turned around and saw flames licking at the base of the fridge door. When I poured a carton of milk along the crack it sizzled. I started dumping everything I could get my hands on, orange juice, Clamato juice, Vichyssoise, anything wet. Wonder of wonders, I found a case of mineral water. It was warm, but I drank heavily and poured some over my head. Rick coughed again.

“I must have died and gone to your heaven by mistake,” he said, “look at all the chocolate bars.” I pulled his head back into the fridge. I gave him a drink and poured water over his clothes. We took turns poking our heads through the hole while screaming for help.

“Break the wall down. Hurry they'll burn to death.”

I recognized Winn's voice instantly, and then heard heavy boots clomping down the basement stairs of the candy store. I poked my head through, “David, quick, Rick's hurt and the fire is coming inside.”

“Get back, Liz! We're breaking the wall down.”

Firemen pulled Rick and I through the broken wall to the candy store just as a loud crack split the air and flames engulfed the floor behind us. I looked around to see if the seat of my pants was on fire.

R
ick was whisked away in the back of a waiting ambulance while I dangled my feet from the back of an emergency van with an oxygen mask over my face. By the time they dragged me out of the candy store I looked like a melted ice-cream cone. My entire body was thick with the dairy products I had poured over myself to keep cool. A clump of yogurt had dried in my hair and grease from a ten-pound block of butter had covered my clothes. Rick was in the same condition, but he was gone. He didn't have to suffer the sidelong glances and double takes of the calendar-worthy firemen.

Winn stood a few feet away, quietly talking to the fire marshal. As soon as I was pulled free from the hole in the wall, David lifted me in his arms and carried me up the stairs to safety. His long, grey coat was smeared with creamy bits of food. I couldn't begin to describe how happy I was to see him, at least not without making myself cry.

The chief was providing details about the fire. He turned around, speaking loudly enough now for me to hear. “The paper supplies were doused with a quick accelerant. The loose lumber, paint cans, and stored grease containers would have enabled the fire to spread quickly. I suggest, Ms. Walker, that you store these items separately in the future.”

I was about to protest that the basement was greatly needed storage space, but he held up a gloved hand to silence me. As if clairvoyant, he said, “Find another place or I'll be back one of these days to make sure you do. Luckily, the fire was contained in the basement due to the heavy fire door that separates the private area from the public washrooms. There was absolutely no damage to the restaurant.” Next time that steel door bangs shut on my heel I promised not to swear like a stevedore.

The fireman explained that if the walk-in refrigerator had been solid at the back, Rick and I would have died from smoke inhalation and burned to a crisp. He didn't actually say burned to a crisp, but I added that for him.

The fire was almost out. There was so much stuff kept down there it had taken them some time to thoroughly search through the debris for live embers. The marshal's walkie-talkie rattled and a voice came through loud and clear.

“We found something, sir. I think you might want to have a look.”

Both men disappeared into the restaurant. I took the mask off; my head had cleared from the pure oxygen and reality was settling in. How long was I going to have to remain closed for business this time? I started to tally the damage when two firemen carrying a loaded stretcher emerged onto the sidewalk. Winn followed closely behind. Seeing my look of shock, he came to my side.

“That's Arthur Tilson isn't it?” I said, flabbergasted. Winn nodded his head.

“Probably. It's a little hard to tell right now. But we believe he was the guy who attacked you. He was found unconscious in the staff washroom. It was a small, closed room; the fumes must have overcome him. We found a charred flashlight lodged behind the toilet, a wig, and a pair of glasses in the toilet bowl. If he dropped the flashlight and then dropped his glasses, he may have become confused and panicked. We also found this.” Winn handed me a partially melted tape recorder, the tape inside a liquid mass. “You'll have to testify in court that he tried to murder you and Rick. It won't be for a while though, and that is, if he recovers. He's badly burned. He was trying to tell us something but we didn't get it.”

I jumped off the back of the ambulance. The oxygen mask sprung off my face and hit the sidewalk. I barely noticed. “What is wrong with me?” Both men shook their heads in unison.

“You know, Winn, I can't believe Tilson had it in him to stage all these murders, let alone execute them, and try to blame them on Louise! He was a bit of a wet noodle, if you know what I mean. Now that I think about it, I remember hearing that same hoarse voice arguing at the C.N.E. I was never sure that it was Daniel in the hallway. I remember the rasp clearly now. At the community meeting Tilson seemed fine. But I noticed after he announced that Tony's wife was selling the business and everyone started yelling that his voice got high-pitched and reedy. Some kind of a nervous condition, possibly. It was his voice I heard yelling before I had my head shoved into the water fountain. I should have known he was involved.”

“Why would you?” Winn answered. “You left me a message warning me to suspect Louise Kozinski. I have to admit I thought it was Meriel and Daniel Chapin right up to tonight. It was only after the apron I found in your office tested clean that I revised my opinion. I was beginning to believe it had to be Louise, too. But just because Tilson was pretending to be her doesn't mean she wasn't initially involved. He could have been partnering with her and then decided to set her up.”

“Why would he go to all the trouble of pretending to be her if he intended on killing me?”

“I think he intended to leave a tape of your conversation in the basement, pointing a finger at Louise. Possibly he thought the tape would be safe in the staff washroom, but the fire got out of hand. Arson is a science in itself. He's lucky we got to him when we did.”

My son pulled up to the curb in my car, which he had fetched from the parking lot. Winn handed me my purse.

“It was upstairs on the bar where you left it. I found your keys in it.”

Jon came around and opened the door for me. With a promise that I would see my doctor tomorrow, I wiggled out of going to the hospital for a check-up. I felt fine. I just needed a shower and a good night's sleep.

I rolled down the window. Winn leaned on the door.

“Take your mother home, young man, and make her stay there. And keep an eye on her for concussion.”

“I'm telling you, Arthur Tilson wasn't alone in this,” I said. “He had to be working with Tony's wife. Cecilia is the mastermind. I'm convinced.”

Jon suddenly spoke up, “Did you say Cecilia? That's a familiar name. I saw it yesterday on several purchases of property that you asked me to look up. Only the last name was Santos. Cecilia Santos.”

I looked at Winn. “You better find them before before it's too late.”

“Don't worry. I've got both of them in jail.”

Before I could get another word out, Jon stepped on the gas. The sun was starting to come up.

I
slept until two in the afternoon. I needed to, considering Jon was waking me up every two hours to make sure I hadn't gone into a coma. I finally woke up for good to the alarm and the phone ringing simultaneously. Winn was on his way over to my house to give me a lift to the doctor's. I told him it wasn't necessary, but delighted when he insisted. I'm sure Jon would be thrilled that I could be properly ruled out for head trauma, as well.

An hour later, Winn was waiting out front in a dark blue unmarked sedan. I ran outside rather than make him come up to the house. It wasn't a date. Even so, I tried on ten different outfits until I was satisfied.

“You look good,” Winn volunteered as I climbed in the front seat.

“I didn't want to scare the doctor.”

“Well you scare me, but it's not because you look good.”

“That's rather ambiguous.”

“Let's talk about you and me later.”

Winn pulled down the street and headed for Toronto General Hospital on University Avenue. Since my doctor was leaving for a medical convention in Calgary the next day, he arranged for me to come to a cubbyhole of an office he used to interview surgery patients. Winn drove slowly. “I have some bad news,” he said.

“Arthur Tilson died?”

“No, he's conscious, at least enough to get us a warrant for Cecilia Vieira's arrest. Unfortunately, we can't find her.”

“You said you had her in jail last night, I mean this morning.”

“Her lawyer got her out on bail.”

Without covering his mouth, he opened wide and yawned.

“Have you been to sleep yet, David?” It was my turn to say how awful he looked, but uncharacteristically I held it back.

“Too busy to sleep. After Mrs. Vieira made the complaint about Mrs. Kozinski attacking her, I decided to bring both of them in for questioning. Especially since Kosinzski claimed it was the other way around. She charged that Cecilia Vieira came to her apartment, threatened, and then attacked her there. I needed time to interview them separately in order to validate their stories.”

“I was more concerned for Cecilia's safety than anything. Boy was I wrong.”

“Listen Liz, it was a toss-up right from the beginning. Don't feel too bad, you led us to Louise. When we brought her in, she bawled liked a baby. Not Cecilia Vieira, though. She didn't shed a tear, in fact she was defiant with an unmistakable air of superiority hard at work. Most criminals are egoists and she was no exception.”

“What time was this?”

“After our phone conversation last night, you said you saw Louise in the crowd of spectators outside Toscano's. I radioed down with a description to pick her up and they found her wandering around in a daze. In the meantime, I found Mrs. Vieira at home. She wasn't too happy about being interrupted. It looked like she was celebrating with a magnum of champagne in her hand when she came to the door. The one question that constantly nagged me was why she never got very sick after ingesting the rat poison.”

“I know what you mean. I thought it was very lucky she didn't like red meat. It saved her from a fatal overdose.”

“Luck or a calculated mistake to make her look innocent. After the hospital pumped out her stomach, they found no trace of the poison the contents. We knew she vomited before the ambulance arrived, but it was cleaned up by the convention staff immediately along with the councillor's vomit. Forensics went through the stomach contents, but at the time no one thought it was murder. It was just assumed to be a lethal case of food poisoning. Her bite of meat may have had only a little in it, but it didn't make sense.

“I shuffled through my desk for a picture of the sit-down dinner taken by a newspaper reporter. The picture showed a close-up of Mrs. Vieira with Albright sitting close beside her. She was holding up her fork with a piece of steak on the end of it, supposedly from his plate. It didn't show her actually eating it,” Winn said, thoughtfully.

“Could someone have doctored the food after she was photographed sharing the councillor's breakfast — a waiter or another guest?” I asked.

“Could have, but we questioned everyone and found no connections whatsoever. I wondered about the recent changes to Tony's will. The notarized date on the new will showed that it had been changed a week ago. Right before Tony was murdered. Louise claimed that she didn't have any knowledge of the bequest until two days ago. Cecilia says that Louise knew all along. There was one other person I needed to question concerning the will.”

“Who?” How many more players were going to star in this twisted production?

“Vieira's estate lawyer. He just got back from Portugal. I spoke with him this morning. Mr. Vieira apparently came to his office last week in a total frenzy and asked that his will be changed. In the event that anything happen to him all his properties would be left to Louise Kozinski.”

“Could he do that?”

“Not according to the lawyer. That is to say, not on the properties he purchased with his wife's name on the deeds, but the cheese shop was his alone.”

“He knew the deal on the condos would go south without Louise's place. Was it just out of spite he changed the will or a safety rope in case he suspected his wife of double dealing? He would want to sell the properties as soon as possible if that were the case. Maybe he thought she was going to divorce him and hook up with Albright. She'd still need that property and she couldn't get her hands on it without him. She'd have to stay married to him.”

“In other words, he never intended for Louise to inherit her father's store back. So much for their romantic involvement. She actually liked the guy.”

“Too bad she trusted him. Sounds like a case of Stockholm syndrome — she fell in love with her captor.”

“I'm glad you said that and not me,” Winn remarked. “In reality, he was unwittingly setting the stage for his own death, and supplying Louise with motive for murder. Cecilia must have believed he was serious about the will and she was angry about the double-cross. It's even possible he threatened her with divorce when he found out about her affair, and knowing it might take years of probate to iron it all out, Cecilia took a short-cut. She would still inherit the other properties.”

“And she would still make a lot of money even with separate townhouses built on the site.”

“What your son said last night sunk in after about twenty coffees,” said Winn. “After Cecilia disappeared this morning, I ran a background on her to get the address where she was born. I was hoping I could track down family or old friends. Lo and behold, the security card she used for ID belonged to a ‘Cecilia Santos,' who has been dead for twenty years.”

“She was building her own empire. Where did she get the money to buy the other real estate?”

“Now this is a big leap, but we think Cecilia ran the operation on her own and Tony, well, either he didn't care, or he didn't know. Probably didn't know, he really was just the butcher man after all.”

“Last question, why kill Albright?”

“Possibly the same reason she killed her husband. She didn't want to share. The councillor probably assumed that with Tony gone, he would become heir to his throne.”

“There's still Maria's murder,” I pointed out.

“That's easy,” said Winn. Boy, he could be cocky when he wanted to be. “She killed Maria to shut her up about the card scam. Without Maria's testimony, IMO can't confirm the source of origin. And perhaps Maria didn't even know. We thought Anthony and Cecilia Vieira ran the operation at ground level, now we think it was all Cecilia's doing. As to how high up the conspiracy goes, we'll have to investigate further to find out. I'm afraid our agent ‘Inez' won't want to be involved this time.”

“Inez is lovely,” I said looking out the passenger window.

I felt Winn's eyes on me. “What's that got to do with anything?”

I shrugged my shoulders and continued to stare out the window.

Winn continued, “Between conscious and unconscious states, Arthur Tilson provided us with enough of a statement to issue a warrant to search the Vieira house. We discovered concentrated rat poison in a perfume bottle in Cecilia's medicine cabinet and when we jacked open the wall safe, we found a gold plastic bag containing a knife wrapped in a torn safety apron and a protective chain-mail vest. The DNA lab will have the evidence back tomorrow, but I didn't need it to arrest her.”

“Maria carried her costume in a gold bag. A trophy for Cecilia, perhaps?”

“Until we find her, we'll have to wait to ask. She was gone from the house by the time we did the search.

“Is Louise still locked up?”

“We let her go after she gave us her personal history on Mrs. Vieira's background. Apparently when Cecilia first arrived in Toronto, she applied for a job at the Cheese Emporium. She had a certificate in Deli Management from Lisbon, which qualified her to be a skilled butcher of smoked meats and fish. Louise wanted to hire her, but she couldn't afford to, despite the fact that she would have been good for a faltering business. She was quite beautiful and young and despite the gravelly timbre to her voice, quite charming. Louise sent her along to Quality Meats, knowing that Tony would hire her. He did, and a year later wedding bells rang.”

“What about Tilson? If he lives, what are you going to charge him with?”

“I think that accessory to murder, conspiracy to murder, and attempted murder should cover it.”

“You said you talked to him, what did he tell you?”

“He said to tell you he was sorry. His conscience made him save you once, but he couldn't do it again or else the love of his life would leave him.”

“He was the one who called the police about me in the Dumpster?

“Yup, poor dupe.”

“Hey, he tried to kill me.”

“Love is blind. I didn't have the heart to tell him she disappeared.”

“Cecilia probably initiated the affair with Arthur Tilson. Unlikely too many women like her would give him the time of day.”

“He had no idea who he was dealing with. He was way out of his league. By the time Mrs. Vieira convinced him to help her; she had already administered a fatal dose of poison to Albright and chopped up her husband. And that was just for starters.”

“If you weren't such a buttinski, she wouldn't have bothered with you. She planned all along to frame Tilson for the poisoning and Louise for Mr. Tony's and Maria's murders. She would be a very rich lady if it weren't for you.”

“Do you think she'll come after me?”

“We'll find her before that happens. She has nowhere to go. I've got men placed outside Superior Meats and her home. We found a great deal of cash in the store safe. I surprised her at her home, so I doubt she has much money. We're waiting for her to show.” He looked over at me. “Don't worry, she'll be lucky to get out of prison before she's ninety.”

I was thinking the prospect over when Winn's cell rang and he answered quickly, “Winn here. Yes, yes, all right, don't do anything. I'm five minutes away, thanks.”

He reached under his seat and pulled out a plastic portable emergency light. Arm through the window, he placed it on the roof and a second later, the rotating red flash lit up the car.

“Remember Nathan, the homeless guy? He just spotted Cecilia in the alley. He followed her to Superior Meats, but when she saw the police she bolted. He lost track of her, but she's around, I'm sure.”

We were on University, speeding along side streets and reached the market in under five. Winn turned into the alley behind the meat store. He turned off the flashing light and coasted along quietly. He passed the uniforms standing outside the back door and motioned to them. They shook their heads.

“She's hiding here somewhere and needs money. She can't get into the store, where could she be?” I looked along the alley. The rear doors to all the stores were shut tight. Most of them had security alarm doors that didn't even have handles on the outside, only locks for specifically made keys.

Then I remembered that there was one place that left the back door open. Air conditioning was out of the question with the large ovens going all the time. Even in winter, a door or window was always left open to allow a draft.

“Try the bakery,” I said. “It's near the end of the alley.”

Sure enough, the door was open. Winn silently pulled the cruiser in behind the store.

“Wait here.”

“No, I'm coming with you.”

“Shit.”

I stopped at the doorway, allowing Winn to get ahead of me. A dark man, arms speckled with flour and lost, deep in private thought, was slowly rolling around a clump of dough on a heavy wooden table. He barely looked up when Winn showed him his badge. At this time of day, he was the only baker in the kitchen. The other areas, nearer the ovens, cleaned and ready to go, would be filled later with bustling activity throughout the wee hours of the night.

The air was close, scented with cinnamon and chocolate, and the rhythmic kneading motion of his hands, over and under, tuck, over, and under, tuck, were lulling me to sleep. Winn had disappeared into the front of the store and was showing the clerk a photo. I watched the man with the quiet face until I thought I was going to faint. I couldn't really sit down without getting flour all over my clothes and decided to go back outside. The fresh air revived me, and, standing by a small barred window set into the back wall, I watched for Winn to come back.

I looked at the large bags of flour standing loosely about the room and noticed a large mound of flour spilled in one corner. I wondered how they dealt with the health department. It would be impossible to keep the floors clean. I looked again. There were handprints on the floor outlined in the spilt flour. One of the bags moved.