Revenge With a Twist (Three Mystery Shorts) Page 3

  Louanne made a strange hissing noise. The letter fell to the floor as all the tiny clues of a lifetime fell into place. Then Louanne did something she would have considered unthinkable ten minutes earlier. She ran back up the stairs and without even a passing glance at the worn carpet, she ransacked her brother’s room. Every drawer, every box, every garment bag. She tugged and pulled and dragged out every one of them, dumping their contents as she went. When she was finished, she stood in the middle of the room and railed at her absent brother in language Miss Mead would never have approved.

  All the missing pieces from her mother’s old wardrobe and jewellery box were now accounted for – except for one particularly flattering pink chiffon, and Louanne had a terrible feeling she knew exactly where it was.

  ***

  Adele, on the other hand, was feeling quite pleased with herself. Working with the dead was extremely pleasant. They were neither rude, nor fussy and they were guaranteed to look better by the time she’d finished.

  Luckily, she’d packed exactly the right shades. A little more lipstick and Oscar would look quite pretty if you ignored the fact that he really was a sixty-one-year-old man wearing a slightly faded blonde wig.

  She’d thought him quite something when they’d first met.

  In fact, they’d become quite good friends, swapping makeup samples and secrets of the trade.

  “I do so love a party,” Oscar would drawl, and they would burst out laughing. Of course, she’d never attended his parties herself, not after that first night. Far better to watch and learn from Oscar.

  Boys only, Oscar would waggle his finger at her and they’d have another giggle. And if Adele’s aunt and uncle ever wondered about the bizarre friendship between their niece and their next-door neighbour, they kept it to themselves. The Chump acreage was worth a lot of money and, despite the rumours, one never knew, did one?

  With a sly smile tickling the corners of her mouth, Adele picked up her case and slipped behind the curtains just as a pair of rather large and well-made-up women entered from the other door.

  It was, as Adele had suspected it would be, a very private viewing. Lionel Purvis, Neil Asselstine, Fred Turner. And the ever-pompous Charles Winship. Pretty in pink.

  The curtain rustled beside her.

  “Do you think you can get a group shot?” whispered Millicent Denomme handing over her camera. “I’m thinking about sending them each a copy say, around Christmas?”

  “What if your husband finds out?” Adele arched a brow. “He’ll arrest you.”

  Millicent reached over and patted Adele on the knee. “No he won’t.” She pulled a small flask from her handbag. “Thanks to Oscar, we’re going on a Caribbean cruise! I’m just here to gather more evidence…Chief Denomme calls it ‘hush’ money…,” she confided. “Toast?”

  “To Oscar,” smiled Adele accepting a small beaker of whisky.

  And her own six hundred acres of land.

  ***

  Across town, Louanne finished refolding the last of her brother’s sweaters and placed them in the top drawer of his bureau. What goes on behind closed doors, stays behind closed doors, she reminded herself sharply. She was “Miss Louanne Winship,” and nobody, not even the likes of the late Oscar Chump was ever going to pull the wool over her eyes again.

  She switched off the light and went downstairs in the dark.

  Bermuda Short

  Carolann Gravelle flew to Bermuda two days after Alex and his new bride.

  Had it been any other Tuesday, she would have been at her desk in suburban Toronto, processing death claims for Parkwood Life and Casualty. But not today. Today, she was flying first class on Air Canada’s Flight 942 to Bermuda, drinking champagne and dreaming of death and dismemberment amidst the bougainvillea.

  Carolann had fantasized more than a few people to death over the years. Her favourite method, used countless times by the great Agatha Christie, was poison. Especially the obvious ones. They made one feel so decidedly superior.

  She chatted with her seat companion as the plane flew over Manhattan and headed out over the Atlantic. He seemed pleasant, and she enjoyed his company until he began flirting with the flight attendant. If that was the way he was, Carolann decided, she’d rather read her book.

  Allowing herself an anticipatory shiver at the thought of being with Alex again, she settled back in her chair.

  The first time she’d met Alexander Wright, she’d been hovering around the mystery section in Mirvish Books, disappointed that there was nothing new from her usual authors, when a rather handsome man had asked her a question.

  At first, she’d thought he’d mistaken her for one of the clerks. But when he’d engaged her in a spirited conversation about the state of mystery writing in Canada, she realized he’d wanted her opinion. Next thing she knew, they were moving towards the cash together and talking about structure.

  “It’s all in the plot. Don’t you agree?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Carolann had said. He had such beautiful blue eyes. “As long as there are strong characters driving it along.” She’d hesitated, groping for the right answer to keep his interest and the conversation going. “But I do think it’s just as hard to kill someone as it is to figure out who did it.”

  Alex had given her an appraising look. “You seem to be well-versed in the subject.”

  Clutching her book bag hopefully against her chest, Carolann had told him all about her book club as they walked out of the store together. They’d had coffee in a little Hungarian restaurant on Bloor Street and afterwards, he’d walked her to her car.

  The next six months were the most glorious in Carolann’s life.

  They’d gone bicycling on the island, checked out the specialty books shops around town and spent Sundays exploring the surrounding countryside in Alex’s leased Mercedes.

  Much to her surprise, and secret pleasure, Carolann found herself haunting lingerie departments on her lunch hour. She even read Cosmo in the grocery line.

  At thirty-two, Carolann had all but given up on the reality of a long-term relationship. It wasn’t that she couldn’t attract men. She was simply too possessive. After two or three dates they invariably backed away. Her social activities of late had been restricted to odd evenings out with other lonely, single women.

  Not anymore.

  Having Alex was a dream come true. He was even interested in her job, constantly asking her questions about the insurance business and how it worked. Carolann wondered if he might be planning a book. Sara Paretsky, the Chicago mystery writer, had worked in the insurance business and used that insider knowledge to her advantage. Why not Alex?

  When his questions had become too complex for her to answer, she’d put him in touch with one of the sales reps and forgotten all about it.

  Alex’s job, buying and selling commercial real estate, was extremely idiosyncratic. More than a few times, Carolann had had to pick up the entire bill when they went out on the town. But she didn’t mind; it was a small price to pay if she could be with him.

  Their relationship continued to blossom until one blustery afternoon in late November when Alex had unexpectedly arrived at Parkwood Life and Casualty. A client had given him two tickets to a special performance of The Mousetrap. If they went directly from work, they would just have time for dinner before the show.

  With pre-season snowflakes melting on his dark hair and the shoulders of his cashmere overcoat, Alex could have posed for a Harry Rosen ad. Half the women in the office had surreptitiously had their eyes on him since the moment he’d walked in.

  Having a beau was a unique situation for Carolann, and she had delighted in showing him off, especially to Judith Costello.

  Executive assistant to the vice-president of claims, Judith Costello was the most vain, shallow and mean-spirited woman Carolann had ever met. She was also one of the most gorgeous. Judith’s father, Victor Costello, was on the Board of Parkwood Life and Casualty. It didn’t take a genius to figure out how s
he’d gotten the job.

  Despite the sexy black lace and garters she now wore beneath her business suits, Carolann felt like a frump beside Judith and Judith knew it.

  “You’re a well-kept secret,” Judith had purred. She’d taken Alex’s hand in hers and turned her back to Carolann.

  “We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?” Alex had answered prompting Carolann to intervene and whisk him away before any permanent damage could be done.

  Rather than raise her stock around the office, Alex’s visit had seemed to work against her. Conversations dried up in mid-sentence when she entered the staff lounge. People checked out the ceiling when she stepped onto the elevator. When Carolann had jokingly asked one of the clerks if she had the plague, he’d flushed alarmingly and mumbled something about a rush job down in photocopying.

  Even Alex had begun to act strangely. He had the flu, he’d said, but when Carolann had offered to come over and nurse him back to health, he’d put her off.

  Judith, on the other hand, looked radiant. Tall, with long chestnut hair, she had always been the best-dressed woman in the office, but lately, even Carolann had to admit, she’d outdone herself. Designer suits, silk blouses and skin-tight dresses which hugged her body in curves that Carolann could never hope to have.

  A few times Carolann had spotted Judith eyeing her stealthily from across the room. She’d put it down to paranoia until an anonymous note, left on her desk one noon hour, had finally confirmed her fears. Alex and Judith were an item and nobody’d had the nerve to tell her.

  The next few weeks were humiliating.

  “I just want to be free to see other women,” Alex had said when Carolann had stormed into his apartment in fury. He’d given her the usual routine of wanting to remain friends, etcetera.

  Carolann planned to hold him to it.

  After that, whenever they saw each other, Carolann was bright and cheerful and Alex had typically acted as if nothing had changed. He’d even gone home with her one night when Judith was out of town, convincing Carolann that he loved her still.

  She was so sure that Alex would eventually see through Judith’s superficiality and come back to her that she’d been totally unprepared for Alex’s announcement.

  He’d been in her living room, drinking her scotch and sitting on her couch when, after a few minutes of idle chitchat, he’d set down his glass and taken her hand in his.

  “I’m marrying Judith and I want you to come to the wedding.”

  Carolann had been stunned.

  “Don’t say no right away,” he’d said anxiously. “I want you to think it through first.” Then he’d raised his glass to her, and said, “After all, you are my best friend.”

  Carolann had wanted to scream. How could he sit there and calmly announce his engagement when he knew she loved him? She told herself to calm down and think. She’d invested too much in him to lose him now.

  When the day of the wedding finally arrived, Carolann had put on her best black dress. People would admire her for her strength, she thought, as she added a little black hat with a hint of veil across its brim.

  The wedding had been a glitzy affair, three bridesmaids, twin flower girls, a sit-down dinner for eighty and an open bar.

  A videotaped recording of the ceremony, complete with close-ups, had played over and over again on a big screen behind the head table, forcing Carolann to frequent the bar more than she should have.

  “Tell me you’re having a good time,” Alex had pleaded when he’d come upon her standing alone, drink in hand, in the hallway outside the reception room.

  “Not really.” She’d gazed up into his eyes and saw what she’d always seen. Alex loved her.

  He must have seen it too, because he had reached for her hand and given it a squeeze. “I’ve missed seeing you, Carolann.”

  “Then why did you….”

  She couldn’t finish. Her throat had been so thick with impending tears that they’d stood there in awkward silence until a rustle of organza told them Judith was near.

  “There you are,” she’d said as she walked up to them, and slid her arm through her husband’s.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, darling. It’s time to cut the cake.”

  “I was just chatting with Carolann,” Alex had said and he’d winked at her.

  Judith was not amused. “Daddy wants us at the head table now, darling,” she’d said to Alex.

  Then she’d fastened her claws on Carolann. “I’m sorry to steal him away from you like this, Carolann…but you know how it is…, but, no, I guess you don’t, do you?”

  Bitch, thought Carolann. She hoped the baker had accidentally laced the cake with almonds. It would serve Judith right. Everyone at the office knew about Judith’s allergies. She’d actually bragged about them as though they made her even more special. Her wedding cake was to be made with no almond paste, no citron and no pecans. And no taste, Carolann had giggled as she’d watched the bridge and groom, poised, knife-in-hand, for another round of pictures.

  Later that night, depressed and overloaded on scotch, Carolann had taken the small doily and ribbon-wrapped piece of wedding cake from her purse, and amused herself by sticking it with a straight pin.

  “He loves me, he loves me not…,” she’d chanted over and over again. The more she poked at the cake, the more she thought about Judith. And the more she thought about Judith, the clearer her thoughts became.

  By the time the light began to lift over the lake, Carolann had made her plans. But first she’d need a few hours’ sleep. She stumbled into bed, somewhat unsteadily, and slid the cake under her pillow. Maybe it would bring her good luck.

  ***

  Carolann breathed in deeply. The early afternoon air was salty and moist, with just a hint of hibiscus and oleander.

  She passed through Customs as Anita Johnston, using the passport she’d saved from her late cousin’s estate, and queued up for a cab.

  Neither she, nor Anita, had ever been to Bermuda before, and as the taxi rattled across the wooden causeway linking the airport with the main island, Carolann was ecstatic that Judith had chosen the tiny island for her honeymoon. It was beautiful. Carolann kept a firm grip on her purse. Before she’d left Toronto, she’d withdrawn a large amount of cash from her savings account and booked a “Bermuda Short,” the three-day holiday package named for the island’s famous knee-length dress shorts. Carolann thought it most amusing.

  Next, she’d purchased a new wardrobe, which, combined with a few supplies from the health food store and the pharmacy would provide all the cover and ammunition she’d need.

  The roads in Bermuda were much narrower than they’d appeared in the brochure. Carolann was dazzled by the way they twisted and turned along the hilly terrain, passing so close to the side of the road, that every now and then a palm frond would slap against the open window of the cab.

  As the driver swung around the traffic circle outside Hamilton, she anxiously rechecked her reflection in the rear view mirror.

  Her hair was now a deep reddy-brown, almost mahogany, with a wisp of bangs trailing across her forehead. The green eye liner she wore in concert with a pair of tortoise-shell frames had changed her appearance so drastically she was sure neither Alex nor Judith would recognize her.

  The moment the taxi rolled to a stop in front of the pink-stuccoed Chelsea Hotel, a bell hop stepped from the shadows of the front portico and opened the rear door of the cab.

  “Welcome to the Chelsea, ma’am,” he said as he helped her alight. “Is this your first trip to the island?”

  Carolann nodded and followed him into the hotel.

  The lobby was stunning. Butter-yellow sofas with matching wing chairs were scattered invitingly around the room, their colour complemented by dramatic displays of island flowers. With its panoramic view of the Great Sound, the whole effect was breathtaking and somehow very British, despite the tropical blues and greens beyond the glass.

  The receptionist ha
d everything in order, and if she was surprised that Carolann was paying in cash instead of using a credit card, she kept it to herself.

  “Enjoy your stay, Ms. Johnston.”

  “Thank you,” said Carolann. “I’m sure I will.”

  She followed the bell hop across the lobby and into the waiting elevator. They chatted about the island and the sights she should see as the mahogany-panelled lift slowly rose to the third floor.

  “You must be Canadian,” he said as he led the way down the corridor.

  Carolann smiled. “How can you tell?”

  He looked over his shoulder to make sure there were no stray Americans. “Canadians are more conservative,” he whispered as he unlocked the door to her room.

  Carolann tipped him five bucks U.S.

  The room was a delightful mix of rattan and floral prints. Carolann did a quick survey of the amenities before she carefully unpacked her bag. The small glass vial of walnut oil was still intact, safely hidden inside the plastic case she normally used for her toothbrush. She left the walnut oil where it was and placed her toothbrush on the counter. No one would assume the case was anything but an empty container.

  At precisely seven o’clock, Carolann went downstairs for dinner.

  Tables for two lined the perimeter of the dining room. Their elegant linen settings and high-back chairs had been carefully placed to give solitary diners the illusion of belonging to the crowd.

  Carolann had a table by the window, but she still felt conspicuous, sitting alone, drinking a glass of white wine. It was almost seven-thirty before Alex and Judith strolled in, arm-in-arm. When the maître d’ showed them to the next table, Carolann nearly fainted.

  She smiled stiffly in response to Alex’s polite nod, and buried her face in the menu. A cold trickle of sweat rolled over her rib cage and found its way to the waistband of her silk pants. It was incredibly exciting sitting beside them. Almost sexual in its intensity.