Date with a Sheesha (32 page)

“Correct. Unnati and Colin Cardinale are there now. What do you think you may find there?”

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I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for. And sometimes that’s the best a detective can hope for; that maybe you’ll recognize someone or something when you see it.

I didn’t.

I studied each arrival carefully. My greatest hope was that either Hema and/or Stretch and Squat would appear before us.

My lesser hope was that something or someone would show up that shouted: Yoo hoo! Over here! Me! A Big Clue!

Of course, none of that happened.

By noon, the last of the WACS delegates had arrived. They’d been whisked off in taxis and buses and private cars, all with the heat turned up to blasting. Unnati and Colin followed, no doubt to ensure that none of their charges died of frostbite or pneumo-nia before attending the conference. They hadn’t worked so hard for so many months for nothing. I headed for a quick lunch with Anthony and Errall at Truffles on 21st Street. The restaurant was close to
gatt
and, more importantly, several of Saskatoon’s better jewellery shops.

“Russell,” Errall pointed out with her usual cutting precision, as we stood over the fourth glass display case in as many stores.

“People traditionally take months to select the right engagement ring, not a few minutes after lunch.”

“I’ll know it when I see it,” I said, not sure if I was telling the truth. With what Pranav Gupta was paying me for my current case, I was feeling flush. So, not even cost was a stumbling block.

Yet still, I was having a difficult time picking out the perfect ring.

There were so many more to choose from than I’d expected.

“I have faith in you, Puppy,” Anthony murmured, sticking up for me, and giving my hunched over, aching back a patient pat.

“What about that one in the corner, with the circle of diamonds?”

“Too much bling,” I said.

“I don’t understand the reference,” he replied dryly.

“What about the one with the Aztec design around the edge?”

asked Errall, somehow still mistily pale, even after spending the last few days on a Mexican beach.

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“Too ‘too-much-retsina-in-Santorini’.”

“Oh Kee-rist! Just pick one, will you?”

“I wish Sereena were here,” I said, my nose pressing against the cool glass. “She’d know what to do.”

“You’re marrying Ethan, not Sereena,” Anthony accurately pointed out. “This ring should be about him. Not Sereena. Not me or Errall. Not even about you. This is Ethan’s ring.”

I straightened up and stepped back from the display case. I turned to look at Anthony. As usual, he was right. I was making this too hard. Thinking too much.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and approached the rings one more time with my new-found perspective.

Immediately, I saw the right one. A simple, pale, red gold band.

That was Ethan. Classic. Solid. Handsome. Nothing fancy or gim-micky or trendy. It was perfect.

I know I shouldn’t answer my cellphone when I’m driving, but when I’m in the throes of a big case, I cannot help myself. I reached into my coat pocket to retrieve the beeping device. It was a text. Fortunately I was driving down 2nd Avenue on my way back to my office. The blocks between 19th and 23rd have a reputation for being slow going, particularly on a Friday afternoon.

The street was jammed up tight with cars and bundled up downtown denizens trying to get home to start their weekend. This inch-along movement gave me plenty of opportunity to check my message. When I saw who it was from, however, I knew I’d have to stop.

I scoured the street ahead of me. The gods of parking were smiling on me. Just as I was coming up to the Starbucks on my right, a car pulled out. I handily slipped into the abandoned space.

I pulled the phone’s display close to my face and studied the text.

Russell

If u want 2 keep bf and kid safe

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We must meet

Ash House pond

Now

Hema

Bf and kid. Bf and kid! She was talking about my boyfriend, Ethan, and his daughter, Simon. How could that be? How could they possibly have gotten involved with this?

Anger blew up inside me like a nuclear reaction—abrupt, furious, and destructive. I wanted to scream. Lash out. Throttle someone.

With no heed for passing traffic, I screeched out of my spot amidst blaring horns of protest. What did I care if this stupid van I hated got rear-ended? I inched up the street, aggressively riding the bumper of the car in front of me, swearing at the driver like he had some choice in the matter. At the next cross street, I peeled off the molasses trail and headed for the freeway. It was still much slower going than I’d have liked, but swerving, horn blowing, and more swearing served me well.

There was only one spot Hema could have meant by “Ash House pond.” It was right in the brochure for the place. One of the pictures—I’d taken it myself—showed about half a dozen of the elderly residents enjoying an ice-skating party on the property’s own pond, just over the hill from the house. The unusual sight had turned out to be one of the best-selling features. Instead of a

“resting place” or “care facility” or “old age home,” Ash House was offering an enjoyable, active lifestyle for fun-loving men and women of a certain age.

But now, that great photo had invited danger.

And a threat against two of the people I cared about most.

How had this happened? What was going on? My brain raced with the possibilities as I headed south out of the city toward Ash House. Intermittently I texted Hema back and tried her phone line, but got no response. I found more swear words. I knew I needed to get control of my anger. As good and right as it felt, it would not help me. I needed my wits about me.

Once on the highway, shattering speed limits to reach my des-223

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tination, my head a little clearer of rage, I made a call to the police station. I left an urgent message for Constable Darren Kirsch, my Saskatoon Police Service go-to guy (whether he liked it or not).

When that was done, I unlocked the glove compartment and pulled out my revolver. I rarely use a gun in my line of work. I prefer to do battle with my mouth or, in some cases, my muscles.

Sometimes, I can’t even remember exactly where I last hid it. But something this morning had told me it was time to dig it out. I’d stuck it in the van before leaving for my meeting with Pranav. Just in case. Only when things get extreme—as they just had—do I actually pull out the firepower. But, I would not hesitate to use it.

I wasn’t going to take any chance of being out-gunned when it came to protecting my loved ones.

As I approached the turn off the highway, I moved on to prayer.

I made the right turn and was faced with a fork in the road.

The one to the right led to the house. The one to the left circled around the heavily treed hill and ended up in a small clearing next to the large pond. That’s where I was headed.

Less than two minutes later, I jerked to a halt in the makeshift parking lot. From here, Ash House was completely invisible. I was glad. The elderly residents did not need to witness whatever was about to go down.

I searched the area. Even through my dark glasses, the sun was blindingly bright against an immaculately white landscape.

The ground, covered with a fresh layer of snow, was unsullied, except for the bluffs of trees that rose from a colourless earth.

I yanked on my gloves and grabbed the gun.

Slowly I swung open the door of the van. I stepped out, the soles of my Sorels crunching as they hit the ground, like stepping into a crème brûlée world made of snow and ice.

From inside the vehicle the day had seemed all bright and sunny, with a sky of flawless blue. But outside, God it was cold. A north wind added to the misery. But I didn’t dare flip on my ear-muffs. I wanted to hear every tick and boo and heartbeat.

I stepped forward and studied my surroundings.

There was no other vehicle in sight.

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Hema was nowhere to be seen.

The only obvious hiding place was in the bushes. Was she in there sheltering from the wind and cold? Did she expect me to go in after her? Where was she? Why call me here, then not show up?

My eyes swept across the field of white to the pond.

At the exact centre of the body of water’s frozen surface, I saw it.

My breathing stopped.

Every bit of air in my body was replaced with burning rage.

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Chapter 17

Until recently, it had been a mild winter. So mild, in fact, that Ethan and Jared had so far resisted taking the Ash House residents skating on the pond. They were waiting until they were confident the ice was thick enough to support them without fear of cracks or breaks.

Someone had decided to wait no longer.

In the dead centre of the pond was some kind of object. From where I was standing, next to the van, the sun’s glare obfuscating detail, it looked to be nothing more than a big, dark lump. But there are no lumps in the middle of a frozen-over pond.

Something was not right here. I whipped off my sunglasses and peered at the thing, all the while quick-stepping to the frozen water’s edge.

And then I was horribly sure. This wasn’t some unlucky wild animal, a deer, or perhaps a large coyote or wolf. It was a person.

Simon!

She was lying in a crumpled heap. And worse, she was wear-226

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ing only a light jersey and sweatpants, as if she’d just stepped outside to get the mail or something. The girl was going to freeze to death if I didn’t get to her immediately.

“Simon!” I called out to her, my voice ragged with fear and anger, both exploding in me like competing poisonous mushroom clouds. “Simon! Can you hear me?”

Was she unconscious? It was the only option my brain would allow.

There was no time to figure it out. Any of it. Least of all, why Ethan’s thirteen-year-old daughter was lying inappropriately clothed in the middle of Ash House pond. But I did know
how
. I could see a narrow path of tiny footsteps, drawn in the dusting of snow that covered the pond from last night’s storm.

Gingerly I took a first step onto the ice.

Simon seemed secure enough where she was. The ice was holding her up just fine. Then again, I had a good eighty or ninety pounds on her.

Slowly I inched my way down the same path, ears cocked for the telltale sound of weakening ice.

By the minimal disturbance of the snow, I could tell there was only one set of tracks. Simon had walked out here on her own.

Why would she do that? Did she have no choice? How did they force her? Who could do such a thing to a child? My anger surged forward, as did I.

Forward.

Forward.

Forward.

Then, a sickening sound.

Crackle.

My stomach turned to stone. My cheeks flared red. My brain screamed in silence.

I stopped. Perfectly still. Holding my breath.

The sound had been slight, but definite.

I tried to remember everything I’d ever learned, or seen on TV, or in movies, about being on ice.

Moving as slowly as I could, I lowered myself down, down, down, until finally, I was flat on my stomach on the ice.

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“Simon?” I tried again. “Honey? Can you hear me?”

No response.

I had to get to her.

Using a shimmying motion, I once again began to move towards the motionless girl.

Forward.

Forward.

Crack!

My head popped up like a gopher from his hole. I looked around. Nothing. No spiderweb of death forming beneath me. No shaking of the icy platform below me. No seep of glacial water inching up my pant legs.

Crack!

“What the…?” There was something strange about the sound.

It was different. It wasn’t coming from below or around me. It was coming from higher up. Behind me.

Crack!

Oh god. It wasn’t the ice cracking. It was something much worse.

Gunfire.

Part of me wasn’t surprised. Hema Gupta didn’t text me a threat against my family just for fun. She was a madwoman.

Likely she was working with others. They’d lured me out here, onto this frozen pond’s dangerous surface, for a reason. They knew I would try to rescue Simon, no matter how risky the situation might be. And they were right. I could never allow
anyone
to stay out here, abandoned on the ice in a killing cold. No one deserved such a fate. But now, I knew in the aching pit of my heavy stomach, this doom…was meant for two.

And I knew one more thing.

They weren’t shooting at me.

Or even at Simon.

In a way, the plan was ingenious. A perfect murder. Whoever the shooters were, they had likely forced Simon to walk out onto the lake under threat of death. Of course, she must have known an unhappy ending was coming for her anyway—she couldn’t imagine she’d last long without layers of warm clothing in this 228