A Season for Killing Blondes (7 page)

I inserted a Rolling Stones CD, and let the music fill the car. It took little over an hour to reach Little Current, the largest town on the island. I pulled over and stopped the car on the side of the road to check Karen’s instructions.

Last week at the bank, Karen had mentioned that she was putting her cottage on the market. She was planning to relocate to Barrie to be closer to her adult children. I expressed an interest in the cottage and picked up the keys on the day Carrie Ann died.

Like Karen, the instructions were precise and direct. I followed Highway 6 and took in the splendid show of color created by the maple trees which dotted most of the island. Providence Bay had the longest beach on the island, and I couldn’t wait to take a stroll on the boardwalk.

I had no trouble finding the cottage. It was much smaller than I had expected. There were two bedrooms and one bathroom. Typical of most cottages, but not that convenient if my family or friends from Guelph decided to visit. The cottage had a musty odor and old blankets and quilts covered the furniture. Karen mentioned including all the appliances and furniture, but I couldn’t imagine keeping any of them. I sighed and thought about the renovations that would have to be done. As I brought in my cooler, coffee maker, and laptop, I tried to visualize the comfortable house that could replace this small, rustic cottage.

I put on a heavier sweater and decided to spend the day outdoors. A cool day, but the clouds were clearing, and soon the sun broke through, creating a spectacular view of Lake Huron. I spent the morning walking on the boardwalk and after a quick lunch, took out my laptop and settled into a comfortable chair on the porch. I started to plan the PowerPoint presentation for the grade ten career classes. While ReCareering catered to an older clientele, I didn’t mind facilitating workshops and seminars at the local high schools in Sudbury. I managed to get halfway through the presentation before my eyelids started to get heavy. When I woke up, the sun had started to set.

The ride home was an uneventful one, a few more cars than the morning, but nothing to delay my arrival. I had told no one about my solo adventure, and there had been no way for anyone to contact me.

I smiled contentedly as I neared the city and caught glimpses of the Big Nickel, that famous landmark associated with the city. I recalled the many times I had visited the large coin, climbing the rocks and sneaking in the back way. When it first opened, there was no fence or extra staff to supervise the grounds. And then I thought of the other attractions in the city—Science North, Bell Park. Maybe it was time to revisit them again and show them off when my southern Ontario friends visited in the spring.

When I arrived at my condo, the telephone rang, and the message light flashed ominously at me. I groaned. I would be spending the next hour responding to all my relatives’ concerns. Or I could put it off until tomorrow. Without bothering to check call display, I picked up the telephone and managed to say hello.

“Where have you been?” An irate, masculine and vaguely familiar voice accosted me.

“I’m sorry…who’s calling…”

“Carlo Fantin. Have you forgotten me already?” Anger tinged every word, and there was a sarcastic edge to his voice. “But I guess with your busy schedule, you can’t keep up with regular, everyday occurrences like murder investigations.”

“You sound angry and put out.”

“Two murders in one week have a way of doing that to me.”

“Two murders!” My heart plummeted. “What are you talking about?”

“Where have you been, Gilda?” Carlo spoke more gently.

“I went to the island.”

“What island?”

“Manitoulin Island. I went to Karen Anderson’s cottage. She works at the bank in my plaza.”

“Yes, I know Karen.” Carlo sounded relieved. “I’m glad you spent some time with a friend. It’s a bit cool, but I know the island is beautiful at any time of the year.”

“I went by myself. Karen and her husband are thinking of selling it, so I decided to check it out.”

Carlo paused. “You must have gotten to know her neighbors. It’s always a good idea to check out who’ll be sharing the waterfront with you.”

“I didn’t meet them. Most people locked up their cottages last week. The place is usually deserted between October and May. At least, that’s what Karen tells me.”

“You must have seen someone.” I could hear an intake of breath on the other end and I tensed, expecting Carlo to lash out at me. “Did you stop for gas? Where did you eat?”

“This is starting to sound like an inquisition, and I’m not too crazy about your line of questioning, Detective.” My heart beat faster as I gripped the phone. “I filled up with gas last night, and I brought a cooler with food.”

“Coffee?” he barked.

“I love my espresso, and I don’t go anywhere without my own coffee maker.”

“Great. Just great,” Carlo groaned.

“You’re beginning to make me nervous.”

“Good! It’s about time you realized how serious this situation really is.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Melly Grace is dead.”

The information hit me like a blow to the stomach. “Oh, my God! What happened?”

“You know I can’t give you any details.”

I persisted. “She was alive last night when I left the restaurant. I don’t know—”

Carlo interrupted, “I’ve heard many versions of what happened last night.” Another pause and then he asked, “And what time were you up and about this morning, Gilda?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but the Godfrey women verbally attacked me.” I paused to take several breaths and then continued, “I don’t remember what time I got out of bed, but I left around five-thirty, and I arrived at the cottage two hours later.”

He persisted. “Did you call up your mother or see Sofia? You must have phoned Karen and picked up the key before you left.”

“No, I got the key when I visited her office the day Carrie Ann died. There were several older couples walking on the boardwalk, but I didn’t have conversations with any of them. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to—”

“I’m going to terminate this conversation right now. For your own protection, I suggest you find yourself a lawyer and come downtown as soon as possible.” He hung up.

I sank into the leather couch and held my head in both hands. The telephone rang. This time I checked call display. I breathed a sigh of relief as I picked up the phone.

“Where have you been?” Sofia asked in an exasperated tone.

“I guess no one says hello anymore.”

“So you know. Who told you?”

“I just finished speaking with Carlo.”

“How was it?”

“Terrible. He advised me to get a lawyer.”

She swore under her breath. “I wish I had talked to you first. Then you would have been prepared.”

“I told him the truth. I have nothing to hide.”

“Then why would he say you need a lawyer? And you still haven’t told me where you’ve been.”

“I’ll answer your second question first. I couldn’t sleep. I got out of bed and decided to get out of town. I drove out to Manitoulin Island and spent the day alone at Karen Anderson’s cottage. I’ve been gone the whole day, and there’s no one who can vouch for me. And that’s why Carlo thinks I need a lawyer.”

“This is beyond damage control,” Sofia muttered.

“This is murder. And I think someone is trying to set me up.”

Sofia spoke briskly. “First things first. Tomorrow morning call Henry Keenan. He’s the best criminal lawyer in town and, thank God, you can afford it.”

“Isn’t it wonderful how handy a lottery win can be.” I bit down on my lower lip.

“You sound strange.” Sofia lowered her voice. “Go ahead and cry. Let it all out. You’ll feel better.”

I stopped biting my lip and sobbed uncontrollably for a few minutes. I sniffed and blew my nose. “Thanks.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“No, I have a splitting headache, and I plan to go to bed very soon. I’ll check my messages tomorrow, but I think I’ll call my mother now. I wonder if she knows.”

“Everyone knows. They reported Melly Grace’s murder this afternoon, and word has spread like wildfire.”

“Who told her? And what did they tell her?”

“My parents gave her an edited version, and Maria and Rosa gave her all the details about last night at Olympia. Rosa’s son and girlfriend were sitting a few tables away from us, and they heard and saw everything. She has been listening to the radio, and I’m sure she’s called you a number of times.”

Would it ever end, I wondered. “I’ll call her right now.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sofia said. “My parents and I took supper over there, and before we left, she took a sedative and went to bed. Tomorrow morning, we’ll all come over and have a family powwow at your place.”

“I’m willing to bet you’ve even baked something for the occasion.”

“Well, you know how I like to bake in crisis situations. This afternoon I baked double batches of blueberry and banana muffins. What we don’t eat, you can freeze.” Sofia cleared her throat. “We’ll be there around ten. Good night and sleep tight.”

I felt a bit ashamed about my earlier thoughts. I was fortunate to have family and relatives who would drop everything to help me through this nightmare. And what a nightmare it was turning out to be.

Chapter 8

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

I watched on the flat screen as Sofia led the solemn, slow-moving group past the entrance into the foyer. My mother and aunt were wearing head-to-toe black and clinging to each other. Uncle Paolo followed behind, head down. I waited for the knock at the door and then opened the door to let them in. My mother burst into tears, and both Uncle Paolo and Aunt Amelia had to help her sit down.

“Please, Ma, don’t cry. It’s going to be all right.” I forced a smile and bent over and kissed her.

“Things will only get worse.” Head down, she continued to cry into her handkerchief.

“I agree,” Aunt Amelia said. “There have been two murders, and I’m certain there will be a third. Everything comes in threes.”

“Why not four murders? There are two more sisters, and they’re both blondes. This is a season for killing blondes,” Sofia joked as she arranged the muffins and fruit on the table.

“Sofia! That’s terrible. Don’t even joke about it.” I was taken aback by her comment.

“Sofia, what’s gotten into you?” Uncle Paolo gasped in disbelief. “What if someone else had heard you?”

Sofia rolled her eyes. “Just kidding! It’s pretty bad when you have to muzzle your comments in front of family.”

Yes, isn’t it, I thought. Although I did not approve of her comments, I envied her ability to speak so bluntly. It made life a lot easier and less stressful.

Sofia stood back and surveyed the table. She had artfully arranged the food and flowers to create an autumn burst of loveliness. Aunt Amelia and Uncle Paolo smiled and nodded in approval as they sampled the banana and blueberry muffins. My mother poured coffee into the small, espresso cups and carried the tray into the living area. The angry moment had passed, and now everyone focused on the food.

“Sofia, these muffins are delicious.” Uncle Paolo had both types of muffins on his plate and alternated between them. “Much as I hate to agree with your mother’s Aunt Renata, I have to admit she was right. The blueberry muffins are the best.”

Aunt Amelia laughed. “I never thought I would hear you say anything nice about her.”

We all joined in the laughter as each of us recalled the year that Aunt Renata decided to spend the winter in Canada. She did nothing but complain about the weather and the lack of stimulating activities. Recently widowed, she had decided to travel and visit her many nieces and nephews in Canada and the United States. She had not bargained for a harsh, cold winter and bouts of influenza. I visited Sudbury once during that time, so I hadn’t experienced the full impact of that woman’s selfishness and self-absorption. “I still don’t understand why you all catered to her. You treated her like a guest for four whole months. I wouldn’t have had the patience for it.”

“We felt sorry for her,” Sofia said. “Her children had all moved to northern Italy, and she lived all by herself in that large, rambling house in Calabria.”

“She drove everyone away,” my mother explained. “And she had such a sad ending in Italy. I heard that very few people attended the funeral. Maybe we should have gone, Amelia.”

“It wasn’t a good time for either one of you, Aunt Assunta. You had just lost a husband, and Ma had that cancer scare.” Sofia put down her coffee cup. “Enough about Aunt Renata. We have more important matters to discuss.”

Sofia nodded in my direction. “Did you call Henry Keenan?”

“I’m meeting with him early this afternoon.”

Sofia continued, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I’m fine.” I really wasn’t fine, but I didn’t want to alarm everyone. Somehow, I would muddle through this mess.

Uncle Paolo cleared his throat. “Gilda, you need to start thinking very carefully about every move you make.” He waved his hands. “We feel you should move in with Sofia or your mother.”

“Are you putting me under house arrest?” Did they think that I could be involved?

“You’re alone and you never have any…what is that word…” My mother started to cry again.

“Alibi,
zia
.” Sofia shook her head. “She’s right. You don’t have an alibi for the two murders, and you’ve had dealings with both of the women.”

I spoke in a choked whisper. “I’m not a murderer.”

My mother continued to cry as Aunt Amelia comforted her. Sofia started arranging muffins and fruit on a smaller tray. She picked up the tray and pointed toward the balcony. I followed her outside. She waited until I closed the sliding door before speaking. “We know you’re not a murderer. But the rest of the world is not convinced. Even Carlo has his doubts.”

“What do you mean?” Where on earth was she getting all this information? “Ah, don’t tell me, more news from Curves. I guess you went there this morning.”

“I missed yesterday, but I went in today. The women couldn’t stop talking about the murders and Carlo Fantin.” She paused and took a sip of coffee. “I don’t know how much you are prepared to hear.”