Dos Equis (14 page)

“You are a gentleman, and very tactful for saying so. I know she was a great pain in the ass a lot of the time too, right?”

Marie-Genevieve said with a sudden smile and glint of a sparkle in her eye. “But I loved her for it.”

What could I say? I only grinned and nodded.

“Russell, JP has told me that you have agreed to help him. To help us. Thank you so much. Jane would have wanted it this

way. It would have driven her crazy to see a killer go free.”

“We’ll do our best, Marie-Genevieve.”

“Are you okay, sis? Everything going all right? Is the car behaving?”

Marie-Genevieve looked at me. “My sweet brother gave me his car to use. In case I needed it with all that’s been going on

around here since…well since the other day. He wouldn’t even take it back to get to Saskatoon. He took that horrible bus.”

“It’s not such a big deal,” JP insisted. “It’s a temperamental car anyway. It probably wouldn’t have made the trip.”

“Where’s Joshua? Is he asleep?” JP turned to me: “Josh is Marie-Genevieve and Jane’s son. He’s the greatest kid. Almost a

year old.”

“Not quite. Barb is with him.”

“Oh. Barb is there again?”

“Barb?” I interrupted. “Barb Harper? Millie’s partner?”

“Yes,” Marie-Genevieve confirmed. “She drove up all the way from Muenster again, to be with us and help out around the

house. I feel so bad letting her do all of this. But I have to admit, it’s nice having a friend here right now.”

“Are things going okay?” JP sounded worried. “You look tired.”

“Listen,” I said, making to get up. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk. Marie-Genevieve, it was nice to meet you. We’ll do

everything we can to make sure Jane’s work doesn’t go to waste.”

She nodded, the shadowed look of a fresh widow falling over her pretty face. “Good-bye, Russell. And thank you again.”

I winked at JP, picked up the papers from the printer, and left the room.

It was nearing seven a.m. when I woke up. The first thing I saw were two eyes, staring at me with unrequited love. Barbra.

She’d finally forgiven me. When she saw that my eyes were open, she reached out with her tongue and gave me a few happy

slurps. Rekindled love is a powerful emotion, even for a dog.

“Hello first born,” I murmured to her, patting her exposed belly.

I felt the bed shift as Brutus, hearing action up above, jumped up to join the love in. I could see through a half open blind that although there still appeared to be a few flurries outside, the wind had died down. The storm had passed. It still looked bitterly cold though. Wrapping my arms around my furry bodyguards, I luxuriated in our shared warmth for several more minutes.

After I’d left JP in the den, Skyping with his sister in Regina, I’d settled into bed with the three-hundred-people-long listing of potential Frances Hubers. The information was good. It included name, last known address, and brief personal statistics. But still, it was three-hundred-people-long. I began reviewing each entry, not really knowing what I was looking for

(inconveniently, none of them listed Killer as recent employment). Next thing I knew, it was morning.

Eventually I got up, put on my housecoat, and headed into the hallway. I stopped at the open door of the den and saw JP. He

was fully dressed and fully asleep, on the couch where I’d left him last night. He looked like a little boy, clasping his laptop to his chest like a pillow or beloved teddy bear. Leaving him there, I made my way to the kitchen. After letting the dogs out, I prepared their breakfast, put on coffee, went to get the paper from the front yard, and whipped up two Gruyere cheese smoked ham sweet chili omelettes. With the dogs back inside, I took a tray with the omelettes, juice, and coffee, back to the den, where the kitchen noises and smells had gently eased JP into wakefulness.

“What time is it?” he asked all groggy and gravel-voiced.

I handed him a glass of juice. “Eight. What time did you fall asleep?”

He gratefully downed the juice. “Oh wow, this stuff is good. What kind of juice is this?”

“Apple lime. Did you get much sleep?”

“I was kind of worked up after talking to Marie-Genevieve, so I worked for a few more hours.”

“Is everything okay with your sister?”

“Not really. Jane’s family has descended. I don’t know if you ever met them, but it turns out they are just as big assholes as Jane always said they were. They’ve basically told Marie-Genevieve that until they figure out what belongs to whom—

including the money in their bank accounts—that she can’t touch anything. Marie-Genevieve barely persuaded them to let her

stay in the apartment. I think they agreed only because of the baby. Without Josh, I wouldn’t doubt they’d have thrown her out in the street! In the middle of winter! Gawd, Russell, this makes me so mad!”

“But wait a minute,” I said calmly, sitting next to him. “You said Jane and Marie-Genevieve were married. Jane’s family

doesn’t have the legal right to do any of this.”

JP rolled his eyes. “They didn’t really get married. They just had one of those silly commitment things in their living room one Sunday afternoon.”

“Why? Same sex marriage is legal.”

“Marie-Genevieve got pregnant with Josh a lot quicker than they expected. So they wanted to tie the knot right away, without getting into all the legal hassle. They kept on saying they’d have time to do it the right way later on. I guess they were wrong.”

“I see. So Marie-Genevieve’s in trouble.”

“I’m afraid so. I don’t know what to do to help. I gave her whatever money I had. I put her in contact with a lawyer buddy of mine. But other than that, I just don’t know. I think it helps her to know we’re trying to finish Jane’s last case. That seems important to her. But part of me just wants to be back in Regina, helping her get through this.”

I rubbed JP’s back. He was in a tough position, no doubt about it. “I’m sure you’re doing everything you can. You’re being a good brother. She knows that. I could tell, last night on Skype, how close the two of you are.”

“We only have each other. No one else. No other family.”

“You’ve got Joshua.”

JP smiled, and it was as if light was finally allowed back into the room. “Yeah. We’ve got Joshua.”

“Eat some eggs before they get cold.”

JP pushed aside the plate and instead turned on his computer. “But first, you’ve got to see this.” He tapped a few keys and

opened a file where he’d saved a document. “Last night. I found one!”

“One what?”

He moved the computer onto my lap. “You read it while I dig into this. These eggs smell incredible, Russell. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I mumbled, as I began reading. The document was obviously a newspaper item scanned into digital

format. The print wasn’t completely clear, but legible enough to make out. I pulled in my breath when I saw it.

“Read it! Read it out loud!” JP enthused, mouth full of omelette.

“…left to mourn Agatha Dunwoody are her daughter Claudia Dunwoody, nephew Duncan Carlisle, niece Caroline Shaw,

and her trusted caregiver…oh my god…her trusted caregiver Frances Huber.”

Chapter 10

There was something deeply satisfying about seeing Frances Huber’s name in the obituary found by JP. The two pieces of

information together, or separately, still proved nothing against the woman. But the fact that a Frances Huber had rented a car seen at the home of Hilda Krause, and a Frances Huber was a caregiver for another elderly woman in Crestwood, Kentucky,

both of whom were now dead, was finally something to hold on to. Something that, deep in our hearts, told both of us that we’d identified our killer. But now what?

Mary Quail had left a message on my machine asking us to come down to Colourful Mary’s to meet with Onya Knees. Mary

thought Onya, a part-timer at the restaurant, might be able to help us identify popular suicide websites. I wasn’t sure what the connection was yet, but anything with the potential to lead us closer to Frances Huber was of interest to me.

We arrived just after ten a.m. The place was quiet. The regular, mid-morning Saturday coffee crowd was thinner than usual

because of the unpleasant weather. Mary seated us at a table in a far corner, half-hidden by leafy palms and exotic carpet

hangings. We ordered coffee and waited.

“Okay, bitches, shove over!” a booming bass voice ordered.

I looked up and saw a towering mass of Barbie-blonde hair, tinged with strands of Barbie-convertible-pink. Beneath the

impressive up-do, was five-feet-two-inches of barrel-chested manhood-turned-womanhood. I thought it was a touch early in

the day for a cowl-necked, pink sequin blouse, and too early in the season for a white leather mini. Then again, Anthony often reproaches me for being too conservative in my wardrobe choices.

JP and I did as we were told, allowing Onya to slip into the booth next to JP.

“Coffee will kill you,” Onya announced with hearty Health-Canada-empowered scorn. “Try vodka. Doesn’t stain the teeth,

and it goes with almost anything.” She laughed with the gusto of a drunken truck driver.

I was guessing that when Onya did work at Colourful Mary’s, it must be the evening shift. She was simply too loud and

boisterous for mornings.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet us,” I said quietly, hoping to average out the sound wattage coming from our corner of the

restaurant. “I’m Russell and this is JP.”

“You two are better looking than a pair of Salvatore Ferragamos at Payless Shoes. I could just pour cream on top of you and

have you for dessert. Interested?”

Both of us reacted with a shrug and our best killer smiles.

Onya shielded her eyes and pulled back. “Stop! Stop! The shine off all those teeth is going to burn a hole in my falsies!” She readjusted and leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Now listen up, you two. Mary told me what you’re

looking for. You have to understand a couple of things. First, what we’re talking about today has nothing to do with Onya

Knees. You got that? Onya is fabulous and loves life. Everyone wants to be Onya, or be with her. What we’re talking about is all Steve.”

“Steve?” JP asked.

Onya glanced down at her larger-than-life get up. “He’s under all this somewhere, believe me.”

We nodded our understanding.

“Second. While you’re talking to Steve, I don’t want none of that Pollyanna shit. Like: “
You’d never really consider killing
yourself now, would you Steve
?”, “
We can help you, Steve
.”, “
Let’s make it all better together, Steve
.”, “
Life is too
wonderful to throw away, Steve
.” Capiche?”

Again we nodded, a little less exuberantly.

“Steve don’t need that shit. Steve may or may not be contemplating suicide right now for all we know. Whatever. It’s none of your goddamn business. Got that?”

“We do,” I promised.

“Third. No judgment from either of you.”

“Deal.”

“Good. Then we’ll get along, and I’ll try to help you. Mary told me all this has to do with the murder of some lesbian in

Regina, is that right?”

I nodded.

“Okay then. Mary also told me you were looking for suicide help sites on the ‘net.”

“Well,” JP said, “not exactly help as in needing help because you’re suicidal. More like help because you’re suicidal and

would like to know more about how to do it.”

Onya/Steve nodded. “I got that. I totally know the best ones. A lot of people might think these sites are repulsive. Evil even.

But come on, people, face facts. Suicide has been around forever. Suicide will continue to be around forever. People kill

themselves. Some for better reasons than others. I know that. But sometimes, it really is the only way out. And if people are going to kill themselves, doesn’t it make sense they should have some guidance? Some help telling them how best to do it?

Somebody to tell them this way is more painful but quicker, this way takes a while but is pain-free. This way has only a fifty percent chance of success, but this way is almost guaranteed. It’s
Suicide for Dummies
. If we’re going to do it anyway, shouldn’t we know what our choices are? How else can we make informed decisions?”

Onya was asking some very deep and serious questions. I hoped she wasn’t expecting answers. With answers came

judgment. With judgment this conversation would be over. I decided the best thing to do was listen, and remain as impassive

and stiff-faced as possible. I looked over at JP. He was attempting the same.

“Some of these sites are dangerous. I won’t kid you about that. There are predators everywhere. Some of them are just

bullshit. Filled with lies and bad information. I’m not surprised you couldn’t find anything useful in just a few hours of surfing the web. Finding the best sites takes time.

“I don’t give a flippin’ burger if you two go sniffing around this world. But I have to warn you. There are some very dark

places out there. You might wish you never went there. You ready for that?”

More nodding.

Onya reached into her bosom and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, laying it on the table between us. “Listen, I don’t know exactly what you’re hoping to find, or what you’re looking for, and I don’t really care. All I’ve done is jot down a list of several sites you might want to take a look at. They’re the best…in my humble opinion. If you don’t find what you’re looking for here, then forget it, boys. Steve can’t help you. And Onya never could.”

With that, Onya left the table. On her way back to the kitchen, I saw her stop at a table of octogenarians having a late

breakfast. Although I couldn’t hear what it was she said to them, it was no doubt outrageous and totally inappropriate for both the audience and time of day. The three oldsters threw back their heads and had the best laugh they’d probably had in months.

With a self-satisfied flourish, head tilted back, nose held high, Onya continued on her journey.