A Season for Killing Blondes (18 page)

I gasped. “You need to turn that over to that police. It’s evidence!”

“Not in its present form.” She handed over the diary.

As I flipped through the pages, I saw what she meant. There were squiggles, doodles and scattered initials and jumbled words. “She must have been drunk or stoned when she wrote in this diary. I don’t mean to sound negative, but I don’t think you’ll find any clues here.”

“Oh yes, I will. I know some of that code she used.”

“What code?”

Grace explained. “When they were all teenagers, Melly Grace came up with a code their parents wouldn’t understand. One summer at French River, they spent time practicing it on those cool, rainy days. Whenever they sent letters to each other, they would use the code to talk about their boyfriends and other personal stuff. Melly Grace and Carrie Ann stopped using it when they left home, but Anna May continued journaling all her life. There are more diaries in Mom’s basement, but I’m not interested in Anna May’s distant past.”

“Why don’t you ask Jenny Marie to decipher it?”

“Mom doesn’t know about the code,” Grace said. “She was the youngest and the tattler of the family. Anna May and the others didn’t trust her with it.”

“How did you find out about it?”

“After I graduated from Ryerson, I spent three months with Melly Grace in Tennessee. One day, I found an old diary of hers, and she explained the code to me. A corresponded to Z, E to Y, and there was a twist with the consonants. I don’t remember all of it, but I know it’ll come back to me. I’m good with puzzles.”

I hated to think that Grace would waste her time on such a fruitless endeavor. “That would be helpful with some of the words that Anna May used, but I don’t know how you can make sense of the squiggles.”

“That’s Pitman shorthand. Anna May and Mom studied that in school.”

“You know Pitman shorthand?” I hadn’t heard of anyone taking shorthand in years.

“Well…no…but, I can get a book and figure it out.”

“Okay, so you figure out. What then?”

Grace winked. “I prepare a transcript and show it to your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. We’ve never gone out.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Grace pointed to the phone. “Call him up and invite him over to dinner. Dazzle him with manicotti, fettuccine Alfredo, or one of your other signature dishes.”

The confidence of youth! I didn’t have it back then, and I often wondered if I had it now. As for signature dishes…I didn’t want to go down that road. “What do you think I should be doing here in Sudbury while you are decoding in Toronto?”

“Keep your ears and eyes open. Find out where some of those men hang out and—”

“Stop right there! I have no intention of getting involved with Ray Centis and any of that crowd. I didn’t hang out with them during high school, and it would look very suspicious if I started to do so now.” And if one of them did turn out to be the accomplice, I would be in danger. “Your mother said they all had alibis.”

“Their wives provided those alibis. I’m willing to bet one or two of them lied.” She frowned. “But I can see your point. If you’ve never socialized with them, it doesn’t make too much sense to start doing that now.”

“They’re not the only suspects,” I muttered.

“You know something. Tell me.”

“This may sound farfetched to you. These people are close to your mother’s family, and I don’t want to point any fingers—”

“Spill it.”

“Jean and Michael Taylor.”

Her eyes widened, and she paled. She said nothing for several minutes, and then she spoke more softly. “I can’t see her directly involved in any way. She’s too fragile. But she could be covering for him.”

“You know something about him. Do you want to share it with me?” I watched as different emotions appeared on her beautiful face. Shock. Anger. Fear. The confident young woman started to unravel.

“Only Melly Grace and Carrie Ann knew about this,” Grace said. “You must promise not to tell anyone else, especially not my mother.”

I nodded and watched as she swallowed hard and forced back tears. “When I was about three years old, Michael Taylor tried to molest me. He and Carrie Ann were babysitting me while my parents were out one evening.” Her lower lip puckered, and tears pooled in her eyes.

I reached over and squeezed her hand.

“Carrie Ann came into the room just as he unzipped his pants while standing next to my bed. She made him stop and didn’t let me out of her sight for the rest of the night. The next morning, she phoned Melly Grace for advice, and they both decided not to tell my parents.”

“Carrie Ann left him the following week.” Tears streamed down her face.

I went over and hugged her. While I had heard variations of this story during my teaching career, it still shocked me. For several minutes, we sat there locked in a tight embrace. Her thin body shook as she sobbed. I didn’t want to share a troubling thought with Grace. Michael could have molested her on other occasions before Carrie Ann confronted him. When she stopped crying and sat up straighter, I continued the conversation. “When did they tell you?”

“Melly Grace visited the summer of my twelfth birthday. She and Carrie Ann told me the whole story then. They believed I had a right to know.” Her jaw tightened. “Michael and Jean were getting married that fall.”

“Did you have any further contact with him?”

“After Carrie Ann divorced him, my parents cut off ties with him. Grandma continued to support him, through his depression and suicide attempts.”

“Why didn’t Carrie Ann tell her parents about Michael?”

“That would have scandalized Grandma and Grandpa. You remember how straight-laced they were.” She shuddered. “God only knows what they would think about the four deaths and Anna May’s behavior.”

“Did you ever confront him?”

Grace smiled triumphantly. “Years later, after Carrie Ann agreed to mend fences for Jean’s sake, I told him what I knew, and what I was prepared to do if he ever tried anything again.”

“Did you get any counseling?”

“Carrie Ann arranged for some sessions with a social worker. I went a couple of times and then stopped. I didn’t remember the incident, and Michael was not part of my life.”

“You were fortunate to have those strong women on your side, but I think Carrie Ann should have told your parents and reported him.”

Her eyes widened. “I wonder if Anna May found out about it. She had a habit of sneaking around and eavesdropping on conversations. If she had something, anything on Michael, she would have used it to get what she wanted.”

This was becoming too uncomfortable for her, so I decided to let it go for now. “When Jean and Michael dropped by the other day, he mentioned seeing Carrie Ann earlier in the afternoon.”

“Does Carlo know?” Grace asked.

I doubt that would have come up in any phone conversation. When he called the Taylor household, Carlo would not have thought to ask about Michael’s whereabouts. His primary concern was Jean’s visit to my office. I started to share this information and then stopped. Now that I knew about Michael’s disgusting behavior, I felt the need to protect Grace from the Taylors. “I’m not certain what Carlo knows. He did call Jean several times, so he might have suspected something.”

“Hmm. The plot thickens. How do you feel about snooping on them?”

Part of me wanted nothing to do with Michael Taylor. I didn’t think I could even look at him without wanting to throw up.

But deep down, I knew Grace was right. If we didn’t get involved, the police would never find the killer. And then I had an idea. “What if I hire Jim Nelson to keep an eye on Michael and those men who gave Anna May money?”

“That sounds great.” Grace clapped her hands. “Does he have enough resources to follow six men?”

I remembered that small, cramped office and wondered if he had any other partners. “I’ll ask how many he can handle. I still remember the names on that list. I know that Ray Centis would be at the top of my list of suspects. I’ll rank them and then decide which ones are priority one.”

“This is starting to sound exciting,” Grace’s eyes lit up. “I wish I could blog about our investigation. It has the makings of a novel and maybe even a feature film.”

“Don’t you dare! We don’t need any attention directed our way. I feel uncomfortable keeping this from your mom. She should know what’s going on.”

“No! You’ll only upset her. She’s not as strong as Carrie Ann and Melly Grace. And she still hasn’t recovered from Anna May’s bullying. That woman made her life hell since they started living together.”

I thought of my own need to protect my mother. It seemed to be a trait many of us shared, one that had crossed over into the next generation of women.

“I want to get to Toronto before rush hour.” She rose and headed toward the door. “Give me a call if you find out anything at all about those men. I’ll let you know when I finish decoding Anna May’s diary.”

I walked with her to the front door.

Before she left, she hugged me again. While I had never regretted my decision not to have children, today I wondered what it would be like to have a daughter, especially one as beautiful, intelligent and kind-hearted as Grace Godfrey Robinson.

Chapter 21

I went back into my office and called Nickel City Security. I got the answering machine and left a message asking Jim if I could drop over later in the afternoon. I decided not to call Adele. All I could think about was the investigation Grace and I had decided to launch. Instead, I heated up a Michelina dinner and worked through lunch.

My first client of the afternoon arrived. Janice Evans, a retired boomer. I perked up. This was the distraction I needed to tide me over until the end of the day.

Unlike the younger clients, Janice volunteered very little information. I had to pry it out of her. It took over half an hour to find out the details of her life. The fifty-nine-year-old retired nurse was already bored after one year of retirement. She and her husband had taken a Mediterranean cruise last summer, and Janice had spent the month of September visiting a friend in Provence. The rest of the time, she puttered around her house and garden.

“I need more structure and variety, and I don’t know how to get it,” she said as she clenched and unclenched her hands. “It seems all I do is clean the house, make meals, do laundry, and visit my mother.” She sighed. “There aren’t any grandchildren yet.”

“What had you hoped to do during retirement?” I wondered about her expectations and wanted to know just how realistic they were.

“Oh, I don’t know.” She sighed and looked out the small window. “Thought I would be traveling more, at least three or four times a year. Maybe taking a few cooking courses. Improve my French. Volunteer.” She managed a tight smile. “I know I’ll be busier when the grandchildren come.”

“The grandchildren aren’t here yet. And I would be very careful about making that kind of commitment. You don’t want another full-time job for the next five years.” I thought of the many retirees who were now
parenting
the next generation of children. Some of them relished their new role while others were exhausted and counting the days until the children went to school full time.

“My husband has made it clear he doesn’t want a full-time babysitting job.” She made a face. “I think that’s why he isn’t planning to retire for a while.”

A touchy subject I did not wish to address. I was not a marriage counselor and, given my own track record with relationships, had no intention of helping others in that arena. I decided to focus on her retirement goals. “Are you planning any other trips?”

“We’re going to Mexico in January, and I have an open invitation to visit Marie in Provence—” Her voice faltered. “The days are much too long.”

“What about the volunteering?”

“I’m pretty active in my church, and I’ve been helping with some local fundraising events, but I don’t find any of that stimulating. Too many meetings and committee work. And lots and lots of politics.”

I paused as I checked my notes. “Check into cooking or language courses at Cambrian College. Ask your friend in Provence to check out Cordon Bleu courses in France.”

While Janice smiled and nodded at the right places, I knew that she wouldn’t rush home and start implementing any of these suggestions. Could she be depressed? New retirees are disappointed when life on golden pond turns out to be as exciting as watching grass grow.

I decided to try another approach. “Do you swim, golf, ski…?”

“I’m not that athletic. I thought of joining a gym, but I didn’t like any of the ones I visited. They remind me too much of high school Phys Ed which I hated with a passion.”

“You could do yoga. It’s very relaxing and much easier on the joints. I go to Jean Taylor’s studio regularly.” At least I did until recently. Regardless of my feelings toward Jean, I had no qualms recommending her to any of my clients.

“I could do that.”

“Are you getting out each day? You could incorporate a twenty-minute walk into your schedule.”

“I try to consolidate all my trips into three days a week,” she said. “It saves on gas.”

I shook my head. “Get out each day. You need to interact with people.”

Janice forced a smile. “I should go. I promised my mother I would drive her to her doctor’s appointment.”

I handed her several brochures. “Give us a call if you want to schedule more appointments.” As I watched her leave, I wondered if she would return.

A puzzled Belinda came into my office after the last client left. “A woman called from Nickel City Security. She said that Jim would be available any time after four-thirty. Are you upgrading the alarm system?”

She must have assumed Jim Nelson handled that type of security. Just as well. I didn’t want to arouse any of her suspicions, which could feed the gossip mills of two separate generations.

“It doesn’t hurt to research other options.” I pointed toward the back alley. “We could use more lights and security back there.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost four. Why don’t we call it a day? I can pick up any calls that come in now.”

Belinda left within minutes. I tidied up, checked my email messages and left shortly afterward. I considered walking over, but still felt apprehensive about the back alley. It wouldn’t hurt to beef up the security and the lighting.