A Season for Killing Blondes (3 page)

Darn! Another officer in the room, and I had missed his name and more importantly, his title. Was he a detective or a constable? I’m sure Sofia would know. In the meantime, I better stop daydreaming and start listening. I nodded in the direction of the beefy officer. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Expertly trimmed moustache. A big bear of a man who reminded me of Magnum P.I.

Carlo cleared his throat. He was ready to get down to business. Police business. “It appears that Carrie Ann was your first client. You haven’t opened this office for business yet. How did that happen?”

My heart raced as I spoke. “After Sofia and my mother left…I’m not certain about the time…um…I…I heard a knock at the front window. I looked up and saw Carrie Ann. Hadn’t seen her in ages.” I paused and then added, “Still wearing the same pageboy hair style and that blonde color—”

Carlo waved his hand. “Stick to the facts, please.”

I felt myself reddening as those piercing blue eyes bored right through me. “Oh, sorry. Um, I let Carrie Ann in.”

“And?” Carlo said when I hesitated.

I shrugged. “We just talked for a while, then, uh…” I closed my eyes and tried to recall the conversation. But nothing concrete came to mind, only Carrie Ann’s infectious laugh and bubbly compliments about the decorating scheme. When I opened my eyes, the other officer offered me a water bottle. I thanked him and gulped down half the contents.

“You scheduled her for a session tomorrow morning,” Carlo said as he held up my appointment book. “Carrie Ann is…was considered one of the best interior designers in town. Why would she need counseling from you?” His dark brows drew together in a suspicious frown. “Were you planning to tell her to give it up?”

“For your information, Detective, career counselors don’t tell people what to do with their lives. We provide a sympathetic ear and help them gather all the relevant facts before making their final decisions.” I knew that I was using my teacher voice, but I didn’t care one bit. I was passionate about my new business, and I didn’t want people getting the wrong impression about career counseling. I caught a glimpse of the other officer wiggling his eyebrows and trying to suppress a laugh. If Magnum was anything like some of my former students, he would mimic me afterward and tease Carlo about being reprimanded.

Carlo grunted and waved his hand again.

Bits and pieces of yesterday’s conversation started to come back. I took several deep breaths and continued, “I remember her glancing at her watch and mumbling about having to be somewhere before six. She then headed out the back door.”

Carlo flipped through his notes. “You said she knocked on the front window and came in the front door. Why would she need to go out the back way? Did she park back there?”

What did it matter whether she came in the front entrance or back? “I assume she parked out front. She had just come from the bank so it wouldn’t make much sense to park in the back alley.”

“Did she give you any idea where she was going?” Carlo asked, moving closer to me, so close I could smell his aftershave.

“All I remember is that she needed to get there by six.”

Carlo scribbled something and underlined it for emphasis. He spoke to the officer, “Get someone to check all the offices within walking distance first thing tomorrow morning.” He fixed his eyes upon mine. “What did you do after Carrie Ann left?”

“I needed to get to the bank before six. So, I grabbed my purse and walked over.”

“What about the doors?”

“I locked the front door after me. The back door locks automatically.”

“Who served you?”

“Karen Anderson. We sat in her office for about ten minutes…no, it must have been longer than that because the bank was closed by the time I left.” More details rushed through my mind. “Karen accompanied me to the door, unlocked it and let me out. When I got back here, I started to check my email messages. Sofia called and told me to leave the office.”

Carlo raised one eyebrow. “Does she do that often?”

Warmth rushed up to my cheeks, and I knew that they had turned a deep shade of pink. I didn’t want Carlo to know about my tendency to obsess over every detail, but again I had no choice. “Sofia wants me to lead a more normal life, so she calls or drops by before six. But it must have been later than that yesterday.”

He pointed to the telephone.

“I erase all my calls before I leave each day.” I saw him frowning, and I tensed up again.

“We need to account for every minute after Carrie Ann left.” He mumbled, “I’ll have to give Sofia a call.”

“Do you think she was murdered yesterday afternoon…right after she left here?” My stomach churned at the thought of murderers lurking in the back alley. Would I ever feel safe again?

“Right now, I’m considering all possibilities.” He sighed in exasperation. “Do you remember anything…anything at all…that could pinpoint the time?”

I racked my brain for details and came up with one morsel. “I didn’t check the time when I returned from the bank, but I spent about fifteen minutes answering emails before I left the office.” I perched on the edge of my chair and accessed my email account. I scrolled down through the list of sent messages. “There it is. My last message yesterday at six forty-seven.”

Carlo continued to write in his black notebook. “Where did you go afterward?”

“Uh…I went…uh…home and then grabbed a quick supper…yoga.” I couldn’t believe how incoherent I sounded. Had I lost the ability to speak in complete sentences?

He gave me an appraising once-over but said nothing. Magnum smiled and wiggled those eyebrows again. Was he flirting or playing good cop? Either way, I decided not to make eye contact. I had enough problems recalling details and didn’t need any more distractions. “The class ended at nine, and I joined a couple of the ladies for coffee at Tim Hortons.”

“I will need to know the location of the yoga class and which Tim Hortons you visited.”

“The yoga studio and the Tim Hortons are in the Canadian Tire plaza. Jean Taylor is my instructor, and I had coffee with Laura Jamieson and Adele Martino.” My hands trembled as I reached for my purse. I didn’t want to involve anyone else in this nightmare, but I didn’t have much choice in the matter. A murder had been committed and, as Sofia had pointed out, I was probably the last person Carrie Ann spoke with before her tragic death.

“Don’t worry about that now. I need to hear what happened this morning.”

“I don’t know what you mean—”

“Well, for one thing, you discovered a dead body. That bears some mention.”

I must be turning every shade of red today, and I couldn’t escape from those icy blue eyes. I wasn’t at all comfortable with Carlo’s detective persona, but I had to answer all his questions and somehow get through this inquisition. “I got here about nine. Sofia had just arrived. Our mothers and Uncle Paolo came earlier. I’m not sure what time they came.” I added, “They created an Italian corner out front.”

“Yeah, I saw that.” A hint of a smile crossed his face as he checked off a few items in his book. “Does anyone else have a key to this office?”

“Just Sofia. She’ll be helping out for the next month or so.”

His eyes widened. “Is Sofia a career counselor?”

“No, she’ll be helping with reception and general office duties. And she’s done all of the decorating.”

“Hmm.” Carlo raised his eyebrows as he glanced around the room.

Sofia had worked her magic and created the perfect backdrop for ReCareering. She had allowed only dusty roses, mint and sea foam greens, and varying shades of ivories. Mint and sea foam greens. Thanks to Sofia, I could now—at age fifty-one—differentiate between the two shades. For the furniture, she had insisted on light oak, antique oak to be more exact. But the Georgia O’Keeffe prints on the wall had been my idea. I loved the feisty artist and hoped her bold prints would inspire my boomer clients to shake up their lives.

“Gilda! Gilda! Are you with us?” His eyes darkened with annoyance. I had to stop daydreaming and focus.

“You had just arrived this morning,” Carlo prompted.

“Oh, yes. We divvied up the duties. I finished getting my desk in order. Sofia organized folders for the guests. Uncle Paolo unpacked and assembled some of the chairs and tables that had arrived yesterday.”

Carlo’s head shot up. “Furniture arrived yesterday. You didn’t mention that before.”

“You asked about Carrie Ann,” I said. “The furniture arrived yesterday afternoon around one. Two men from the Furniture Mart unloaded the boxes and left them in the back offices.”

“Which entrance did they use?”

“The front entrance. They weren’t here too long.”

He gave an impatient wave of his hands.

“By eleven-thirty we were ready for lunch. My mother, Sofia, and I were in the front office and making our way back to the kitchen when we heard my aunt scream. Uncle Paolo came inside and told us about the dead body. Sofia offered to call 911, but Uncle Paolo placed the call.”

“When did you move into this office?” he asked.

Was this a trick question? I hadn’t watched too many police shows lately, but I knew they often tried to catch suspects in lies. My pulse raced a little faster as I answered Carlo’s question. “Uh…Last month…right after Labor Day.” It must have been Tuesday, but I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure.

“Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary in the back alley?”

“Just a lot of cars—”

“That are illegally parked.” He shook his head. “We get three or four calls each week from some of the other business owners. Today’s an unlucky day for anyone who decided to park back there.”

When they were pressed for time, Sofia and Uncle Paolo liked to park right next to the Dumpster. I decided not to volunteer that information.

Carlo finished writing and closed the black notebook. He sighed deeply.

I wondered about Carrie Ann’s injuries and cause of death, but I knew I couldn’t ask him. Especially not today with Carlo in detective persona and the other officer observing me.

Carlo yawned. “It’s getting late. Why don’t you go home? Drop by tomorrow afternoon and sign the report. It should be ready by then.” He got up and put on his jacket.

A knock at the door startled me. Carlo opened the door to one of the officers. “Sorry to interrupt, Carlo. We’re tying up a few loose ends, and we’d like to leave soon.”

Carlo nodded in my direction and followed the officer out the door.

Chapter 4

Friday, October 21, 2011

The perfect day to stay home and play hooky. Not a cloud in the sky and sixty-two balmy degrees. Practically Florida weather. When I moved back to Sudbury, I expected an early frost in September and snow in October. At least that’s how I remember the autumns of my childhood.

I sat on my balcony and watched as couples and groups of women walked along Lake Nepahwin. Two young men were canoeing, and I could see a sailboat in the distance. I loved living on this lake, and it was one of the main reasons I had come back to Sudbury. With over three hundred lakes in the Greater Sudbury area, I was never more than a short drive away from any one of them. I had my choice of lakefront properties, and in the end, had selected this three-bedroom condo in one of the newer buildings.

I still hadn’t made any plans for the day. The other officer—I still didn’t know his name—had advised me to stay away from the office to give the police more time to complete their investigation. He warned me that reporters and overly curious friends would drop by if they knew the office remained open for business.

After that grueling session with Carlo, I grabbed a quick supper, took the telephone off the hook, and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillows. I didn’t wake up until eight this morning. In two hours’ time, I had managed to shower, get dressed, and eat breakfast. I didn’t know how I would get through the rest of today, let alone two or three more days.

I went back inside the condo and replaced the telephone receiver. Within several minutes, it rang. I checked call display and saw Jean Taylor’s name and number. Calm, thoughtful Jean, my yoga instructor.

As soon as I picked up the phone, Jean started speaking. “I tried to call you last night, but your line was busy.” Anger and alarm rang in her voice. “Carlo Fantin called yesterday afternoon. That call threw me off for the rest of the day. My students suffered because of it. And my husband wasn’t too happy. You could have warned us.”

Was this the same Jean Taylor who lit candles and radiated kindness and goodness to everyone? One phone call and she falls apart? What kind of yogini is that? Tempted to make a sarcastic comment, I took several yoga breaths before responding. “I’m sorry to hear that you’re so upset. When Carlo questioned me yesterday, I had to tell him where I had been when Carrie Ann was…um…died. He probably called to confirm that I was at the studio between eight and nine that night. I don’t understand how that could upset you or your husband.”

She hung up. I had been planning to go in for more yoga sessions this week, but I thought I’d give Jean some time to reconnect with her spiritual self.

The loud and persistent knocking at the door startled me. Someone had managed to get past the controlled entry of the building. After checking the peephole, I opened the door to an angry and frustrated Sofia. “I’ve been calling you all morning. I can understand you not wanting to talk to anyone last night, but are you planning to leave the telephone off the hook all day?”

“Sorry! I’ve been in a daze since I got up. I put the phone back a while ago and just had the most unpleasant conversation with Jean Taylor.” I gave Sofia a recap.

Sofia raised her eyebrows. “What happened to all that peace and calm she preaches about?”

“I still can’t figure out why her husband is upset.”

“Taylor…Taylor…Do you know his first name?”

“I’m not sure, but her son’s name is Michael. She calls him Junior sometimes so, maybe—”

“Michael Taylor…Michael Taylor…Omigod! He’s Carrie Ann’s ex.” Sofia smiled knowingly. “I bet Carlo asked a few questions about
his
whereabouts that night. And maybe Mr. Taylor didn’t have an alibi.”